Hive Invasion

by James Axler

  And still they kept coming.

  The seconds turned to minutes, the minutes stretched on into who knew how long. Sweat dampened their clothes, and everyone’s muscles grew weary with each blow, but the front three, as well as the others, didn’t let up for a moment. Everyone knew that it would take only one gap for the bugs to break through and overwhelm them, and if that happened, there would be no hope of stopping the attackers.

  By now Ryan had entered a kind of primal killing zone, his conscious mind focusing solely on slaying anything that was green and brown with claws. He swung and bashed, hacked and cleaved, kicked and punched. Everything he touched, whether with fist, boot or steel, died.

  The sun was beginning to sink into the west, and they were still at it. Doc had been relieved on the front line by J.B., who was wielding the old man’s sword in both hands, lopping off limbs and heads with economical swings of the blade. Jak was also still holding his ground, leaping into the air and kicking a bug’s head clean off its body with a vicious roundhouse kick. He punted its body back down the bug ramp and moved on to his next victim, blocking the two limbs that came at him, grabbing them and tearing them off at the joint. Jak drove the animal’s own amputated claw into its eye, then made it shriek even louder for a second before he twisted off its head.

  For his part, Ryan had lost count of how many bugs he’d killed, or how long he’d been up there. He knew only that the attackers were still coming, and they had to be stopped. A part of him, deep inside, even exulted in the massacre, for that was what it was. He was pure predator now, and there was no shame or dishonor in defending himself and his friends.

  Finally, he looked around, but there was nothing left to kill. The whole rock plateau was covered in a half inch of black gore and littered with bug limbs and smashed, broken chitin. Ryan sucked in great gulps of the cooling air, his muscles still tense from the long combat. Wiping his wet forehead, he stared at the mixture of sweat and blood on his skin and realized he had to have taken a flesh wound during the fight. He trudged over to the edge and looked over.

  The burrow-bugs were retreating, taking the bodies of their fallen with them. In a few minutes, except for many rapidly drying black stains on the ground and the holes left from their assault, there was no sign of the mob of carnivorous insects.

  “Madre de Dios!” Ricky said as he sat down and mopped his forehead. “I never dreamed something like that could exist.”

  “Determined bastards,” Jak said as he examined a shallow cut on the back of his hand, the only injury he’d sustained during the fight.

  “Everyone all right?” Ryan asked as he walked into the shade cast by the rock wall on their right.

  Krysty and J.B. nodded, although J.B. had a troubled look on his face.

  Meanwhile, Mildred was examining Doc’s swollen ankle, with the older man stoically trying not to reveal how much her probing fingers were hurting him. “All that swashbuckling didn’t do his ankle any good,” she said. “Although I have to admit you looked damn impressive up there, Doc.”

  “I only hope I acquitted myself honorably.”

  “Absolutely, Doc. You sent a bunch of those bugs straight to hell,” Ryan said. “Mildred, what’s the word on him walking out of here?”

  “If I bind his ankle tight, and we cram it back into his boot, he can probably limp along for a while, but it’ll be at half speed at best.” She reached for his boot, then hissed in pain and put her free hand to her chest. “Almost forgot one of those eight-legged bastards tagged me, as well.”

  “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Krysty asked. “Here, let me take a look.”

  “Sure, just hang on.” Rummaging in her pockets, Mildred came up with a small tube of antibiotic ointment.

  “Jak, catch,” she said as she tossed it to him. “Rub a bit on each cut. The last thing we need out here is infection.”

  While the two women examined Mildred’s wound, and Jak and Ricky treated themselves, J.B. walked over to Ryan. Despite the half dozen instances of near death they’d all encountered in the past hour, he was as calm as ever, but Ryan saw through the placid demeanor of his oldest friend and realized something was seriously wrong.

  “How many loaded mags for the Steyr do you have left?” J.B. asked.

  “Fireblast, J.B.! I thought I’d take a minute to enjoy still being alive, mebbe wipe the black shit off my face before I did inventory—”

  “Hey, I’m as happy as a scavvie in a honey hole that we made it through that, but it doesn’t mean our problems are over.” The Armorer stepped closer. “How many mags?”

  Ryan walked over to where he’d stashed his empties along with the bandolier and blinked at what he found. “One full and one with four bullets left. Damn, blew through more shells than I thought,” he said at J.B.’s slow nod. “My SIG has two full mags. What about you?”

  “I ran out of 9 mm for the Uzi while getting up here, and there’s mebbe a handful of shells left for the shotgun. I haven’t checked with the boys yet, but I bet Jak’s got one reload for his Colt, and Ricky might have a dozen, mebbe eighteen rounds left. And you know neither Doc nor the women carry a lot of bullets in the first place.”

  Ryan had already pulled his spare blaster magazine and handed it to J.B., who began pushing bullets out with his thumb and loading one of his empty magazines. “We’re low on ammo, is that it?”

  The Armorer nodded. “In a nutshell, yeah. I mean, I’m not blaming anyone—we all did what we had to do to get out of there, but now we’ve got to figure out what comes next, and that involves getting off this rock, and I bet it’s going to be some hard running and fighting to get out of here in one piece.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the killing ground below. “Those bugs don’t seem to be the type to forgive and forget. And with Doc lamed and all of us low on both firepower and supplies, it’s going to be a rough, hard trip out of here.”

  “You thinking those things might come back?” Ryan asked.

  “Probably should ask Krysty about that. She seemed to have a pretty good line on them,” J.B. replied. “Bottom line is we can’t stay here, but we’re not sure where we’re going, either, except out of this damn valley, I figure.”

  “Ace on the line,” Ryan replied. “Well, we best figure out what we should do sooner rather than later. Come on.”

  He led J.B. back to the rest of the group and took a minute to explain the situation as the Armorer saw it. “Now, we all kicked some serious ass today. However, there could be another hundred, five hundred or thousand of those bastard bugs down in their hive or lair or whatever. So we should figure on getting out of here while they’re still recovering from their ass-whippin’. The more ground we put between them and us, the better.”

  Nods and murmurs of agreement met his announcement. “A capital idea, my dear Ryan, but where are you suggesting that we go?” Doc asked. “Surely not back to the redoubt.”

  The redoubt that had brought them here had been cracked open and looted long ago, and their arrival had destroyed its mat-trans unit, as well. Since then, they’d been traveling the dusty plains, with this valley their only encounter with living creatures in the past three days.

  Ryan shook his head. “That’s a dead end. The important thing is for us to get out of this valley and see where we are, then we can figure out where to go. But that’ll mean moving as fast as we can, and with ammo low, we’re going to have to be careful how we take care of problems like those bugs, which J.B. and I imagine are going to come after us.”

  As Ryan spoke, he looked around at the others, seeing exhaustion and pain on everyone’s face, even Jak’s and J.B.’s. Although part of him wanted to set out right then and there, he knew pushing everyone now would only result in more mistakes later on.

  “I figure we should rest for a few hours, then head out at dusk,” he continued. “If we travel through the ni
ght, we should be free of this place by sunrise. Anyone got any questions or anything else to add?”

  Jak spit to the side. “Wonder if bug parts okay eat.”

  “Only one way to find out,” J.B. said.

  “But how are you going to cook them?” Ricky asked. “I mean, you’re not going to eat it raw, are you?”

  Jak shrugged as he walked over to the limbless torso of a bug that had died on the ledge. “Eat worse before.” He cracked the thorax, sliced off a piece of the translucent, jellied inside and touched his tongue to it, then spit it out. “Tastes like putrid mutie shit!”

  “And you would know that how, Jak?” Mildred asked with a smile.

  The weak joke took the edge off the grim mood, and Doc was the first to snort laughter at Mildred’s question. Soon everyone was chuckling at the albino, who flipped all of them off with both hands and a narrow grin.

  “All right, let’s get some rest,” Ryan said. “I’ll stand guard for the first hour, then Krysty, then J.B., then Jak. If anyone sees anything, hears anything—bugs, whatever—get everyone up. We move out in four hours.”

  Chapter Six

  Ryan brought his panga down, pulping another of the everlasting horde of burrow-bug’s heads with the heavy blade. He whirled, searching for another enemy to kill, but saw none. He was alone, surrounded by hacked and broken insect bodies.

  He took a moment to suck cool night air into his starving lungs while checking himself for injury. Blood streamed from several small cuts on his hands, arms and chest, oozing through his torn and ragged T-shirt. Every muscle ached; other than perhaps an hour’s rest all told, he’d been running and fighting almost nonstop for the past eight.

  He glanced up at the stars but saw no glimmer of sunlight to the east. Not that it mattered—all daylight meant was that it was a bit easier to chill the rad-blasted muties. But just like back at the plateau, for every one he’d killed, two more took its place.

  Although Ryan possessed a never-say-die mentality that had served him well through countless encounters with adversity, for the first time in a long time, he was starting to wonder whether he and his companions were going to make it out of this valley of death alive.

  They’d eaten a few bites of tough, salty beef jerky—the last of their food—and barely gotten a couple of hours of rest when J.B. had woken everyone, saying he’d heard movement from the holes below. With Jak in the lead, throwing blade in hand, they headed higher into the rocky hills, hoping to lose the burrowing monsters before heading out to escape the valley.

  Their attempt had been doomed almost from the beginning. With eight legs, the burrow-bugs were well suited to continue their pursuit, their claws clacking on the rocks as they swarmed up after the group. Ryan was hoping their head start would have been enough to discourage pursuit, but Doc was slowing everyone. It also didn’t help that the mutie insects were single-mindedly unstoppable in their quest to kill the intruders.

  Traveling through the darkness had turned into a nightmare of running and gunning, trying to cross the broken terrain while constantly keeping an eye out for burrow-bug pursuers behind them and pit ambushes ahead of them. When every step could be the last, it made people hesitant and jumpy. As a result, they were making piss-poor time out of the valley, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Ryan had issued a no-blasters rule unless there was no other choice, but that edict had been discarded in the face of the odds against them, although to everyone’s credit, they tried to conserve their ammo whenever possible. But every so often a bug got too close while someone was fighting another one or two and had to be dispatched with a single shot.

  After four hours of a grueling pace, interspersed with several skirmishes, Ryan had called a five-minute break so they could catch their breath. Doc hadn’t sat as much as fallen down, his expression nobly stoic, despite the pain he had to be suffering. Leaning heavily on his swordstick, he had staggered through the past hour of travel, and more than once Ryan had thought he was going to have to carry the old man. But Doc hadn’t made a sound or said a word about how he felt, just kept up with them as best as he could. But at this point, Ryan wasn’t sure how much the old man had left in him.

  Ricky and Krysty had also broken out the water bottles only to find more bad news—they were practically empty.

  “This trip is getting better and better,” Ricky said with a grimace.

  * * *

  “ONE MOUTHFUL EACH. We’ll find more when we’re out of here.”

  Ryan walked over to Mildred and kept his voice low. “You got anything that’ll keep Doc moving for another couple of hours?”

  “You read my mind.” She glanced at the tall, thin man, who was drawing his frock coat around him to keep warm in the chilly night air. “He’s a stubborn old coot, I’ll give him that. But he’s also on the edge of exhaustion.” She reviewed her small stash of medicine supplies. “I’ve got a couple of amphetamines that’ll keep him going for a few more hours, but when he crashes, it’ll be hard.”

  “As long as it gets him and us out of here, he can sleep for a week afterward, as far as I’m concerned,” Ryan replied. “Try to get him to take it now. When we move out, I’ll hang back and create a diversion to give you all more time to get out.”

  “Not to be telling you what to do, Ryan, but you have to be as beat as the rest of us.” Mildred held out one of the small capsules. “Take this. Use it only if you think you’ll need it. It’ll get you through.”

  Ryan tucked the pill into his pocket. “Thanks, Mildred. Get Doc taken care of, okay?”

  As she headed over to the old man, Ryan went to J.B. and filled him in on the plan. The Armorer’s only reaction was to raise one eyebrow. “If you think it’s best, Ryan, I’m not going to argue. Just make sure you get back to us on one piece, okay?”

  Ryan’s answering grin was grim. “Trust me, I’d rather not, but if we all stop to fight them, we risk getting surrounded again. Don’t worry about me. I’m not planning on catching that last train west just yet. We’re almost out of the valley. Just make sure everyone keeps moving, and I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.”

  “See you out there.” J.B. went over to make sure everyone else was ready to move. Ryan went with him.

  “How you feeling, Doc?” he asked, checking his face with a small light he carried.

  The old man stared back at him with bright eyes. He was breathing a bit faster and had two spots of color high on his cheeks. “Upon my word, Ryan, I am markedly improved from just a few minutes ago. Even my foot does not hurt nearly as much as it had been. That antibiotic Mildred gave me seems to have done the trick.”

  “Good to hear,” Ryan said with a glance at the doctor, who shrugged and rolled her eyes in a “what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him” gesture. He turned back to Doc. “Everyone get ready to head out. I’ll join up with you in a few minutes. I’m going to backtrack and make sure none of those bugs are on our trail.”

  Krysty rose from her haunches and walked close, her strong hand grabbing Ryan’s T-shirt. “Sure hope you weren’t going to head out without saying goodbye first—”

  Ryan cut her off in midsentence with a long kiss, tasting her sweat and musk, which combined to create a scent that would have made his head spin under different circumstances. “I’m not saying goodbye, just so long for now. Get out of this bastard valley and I’ll see you on the other side.”

  That had been at least an hour ago, and since then Ryan had been engaged in a constant running fight with the bugs. His diversion had worked, all right, but it might have worked a little too well, since it now seemed that every remaining bug in the place was on his ass and his ass alone.

  He heard skittering from just about every direction he could go but up. Backed against a sheer rock wall at least fifteen feet high, Ryan drew his SIG Sauer and raised his panga. The bastards weren’t going
to get him without a fight.

  The vanguard of the bugs came into sight, a pair sidling along low to the ground, antennae waving in the air as they tracked their prey. Upon locating him, they paused for a moment, then split up, one coming at him from the left, the other heading right.

  Clever little bastards, Ryan thought as he lined up his blaster on the head of the nearest one. A squeeze of the trigger sent a 9 mm bullet deep into the head of the bug on the left, making it collapse to the dirt, legs twitching feebly.

  Before Ryan could bring his blaster around, the other burrow-bug rushed in, clawed legs waving. Its two arms beat at his blaster hand, making it impossible to aim and fire. Ryan used his panga to keep the bug’s other limbs from stabbing him as well, chopping at them to break or disable them.

  Man and mutie strained against each other for a few moments, both seeking to gain the advantage. Then the bug’s head darted down, its mandibles seeking Ryan’s throat. He twisted out of the way just in time, and the insectile jaws clamped onto his shoulder, serrated teeth shredding his skin and flesh.

  Forcing his blaster through the mutie’s pummeling legs, Ryan placed its muzzle against the side of the bug’s head and squeezed the trigger. The bullet blew the insect’s brains out just as its claws stabbed at Ryan’s side, opening a long, shallow slash along his ribs.

  The bug collapsed on top of him, and Ryan heaved the corpse off with a grunt. He looked all around but didn’t see any others. However, his predator’s senses were still tingling, and he knew he was still in danger from somewhere.

  The scrape of a claw against rock was enough to alert him. Ryan lunged forward as the bug overhead leaped off the rock face. It missed landing on him, but an outstretched claw raked down the back of his leg, making him stagger and fall on his face.