Hive Invasion

by James Axler

  But as he stood, using the passenger door of the wrecked vehicle as cover, it suddenly flew open, shoving him to the ground. Jak rolled over to see Ryan step out and walk toward him. He aimed his blaster at his friend, but Ryan lashed out with a combat boot and kicked the weapon out of his hand. He brought his own SIG Sauer down toward Jak’s head, but the albino evened the score and kicked up with his leg, popping the semiauto blaster out of Ryan’s hand to fly off into the darkness.

  Jak didn’t let the one-eyed man get closer, but rolled away far enough so he could get to his feet, fists raised. “Not want fight, Ryan.”

  Ryan held out his hands. “You don’t have to, Jak. Just surrender and join us. It’s unlike anything you could ever imagine.”

  “Fuck, no!” Jak replied. “Ain’t no one shoving slug down throat. No way, no how.”

  “Then you leave me no choice, Jak.” Ryan started advancing toward him. “Your recovery is one of my highest priorities for the Mind, and I am going to accomplish it.”

  “Can try.” Jak bounced on the balls of his feet. “Not succeed.”

  “I think you might be surprised at what I can do now,” Ryan said.

  “Last chance, Ryan. Still time walk away,” Jak said as he studied the man he’d traveled with and fought with across the Deathlands and beyond for years. They had come close to facing off with each other before, but each time there had always been a way out. Now, however, it seemed this time might very well end with one of them lying on his back staring at the night sky.

  Usually Jak counted on getting the first shot in, especially with someone who didn’t know just how fast he was. This time, however, he faced someone who knew how he fought, knew many of his tricks and probably how best to counter them. Jak would not only have to be fast, he’d also have to be sneaky if he was going to win.

  Instead of going on the offensive as he usually did, he stayed balanced on the balls of his feet, hands loosely curled, ready to strike or deflect, and let Ryan come to him.

  A spotlight lit up the both of them, and a voice called out from the side. “Sir, we can take the teenager now.”

  “Negative.” Ryan shook his head. “I have been looking through this one’s thoughts and memories. I know that he has wondered how a fight between him and the white-haired one would turn out. I also want to know. None of you shall interfere with this, except on my order.”

  “Yes, sir.” The light from the truck stayed on the two of them, and Jak circled so that it shone in Ryan’s face. The older man smiled as he circled to the side.

  “Good start, Jak. I was going to try the same thing—” While he spoke, he lunged forward, faster than Jak had ever seen him move. He leaned back as Ryan’s fist flew by his face, then slapped it aside while he moved in with a punch aimed at the other man’s ribs.

  But Ryan redirected his incoming arm down and swept Jak’s fist aside just enough so that he only grazed his side. The albino danced away before Ryan could make a grab for him. “Lucky, that time,” he said.

  Ryan shook his head. “I know your moves. I can see them before you make them, every twitch of your muscles, every glance of your eyes. It’s only a matter of time before you are defeated. There’s no need to play this out. Why don’t you make it easy on yourself and stop now?”

  “We’ll see ’bout that,” Jak said. “Thing inside said you wanted to know. Let’s find out.” The truth was that a dark part of him wanted to know as well, wanted to know which one of them was the better fighter. That was why he hadn’t used one of his throwing blades to injure Ryan, maybe slow him down. He’d considered it, but had dismissed the idea, as a part of him thought it would be cheating.

  But after the first skirmish, Ryan also seemed content to hang back and wait for him to commit. The two fighters circled each other warily, each looking for the slightest opening. Jak deliberately exposed his left side a couple of times, trying to draw Ryan in, but the other man didn’t take the bait. It was time for Jak to go after Ryan’s one weakness. He just had to set it up....

  When he judged the time was right, Jak moved in, his fists blurring in a series of feints and distracting blows. He managed to draw Ryan’s guard off for a fraction of a second, and aimed a shot just below his right eye, figuring if he could swell it shut, he’d have a better chance of taking him down.

  This time Ryan grabbed his wrist and pulled him off balance. Jak quickly twisted free and came back at him again, but now Ryan was ready and blocked his strike. However, Jak had expected that to happen, and brought up his leg in a lightning-fast kick to Ryan’s gut. The blow sent the older man back a few steps while Jak watched him recover.

  “Not see that coming, did ya?”

  Ryan straightened and smiled. “Very good. Now let’s see you keep that up.” He strode forward, straight at Jak, who set his stance and waited for the bigger man to come to him. When he was a step away, Jak crouched and planted his hands on the dirt as if to leg sweep him, but instead launched a foot up toward Ryan’s face.

  The one-eyed man grabbed the boot before it could impact and pulled Jak up off the ground. However, as he did, Jak arched up and threw a handful of dirt into Ryan’s face. Blinded, Ryan still had the presence of mind to throw Jak across the field toward the nearest truck. Helplessly flying through the air, Jak twisted in an attempt to break his fall, but landed with his leg taking most of the impact. It didn’t break, but he felt a sharp pain in his ankle as he fell to the ground and knew he’d probably sprained it if he was lucky.

  Gritting his teeth, he got to his feet and tried putting his weight on it, grimacing at the spike of pain that shot through his foot and leg. He could hobble forward, but his mobility was severely reduced. His gambit had almost paid off, but it had also cost him dearly.

  Ryan stood wiping the dirt from his eye and blinking in an attempt to clear his vision. Knowing he wouldn’t have a better chance than now, Jak realized he’d have to use whatever means necessary to end this. He drew a throwing blade as he hobbled toward Ryan and threw it at the man, intending to distract him with the blade long enough for him to try to get a roundhouse kick off to his head.

  The knife spun away from his hand and Jak quickened his pace. Steeling himself for the flare of pain he knew was coming, he put his weight on his sprained foot the moment he was within range and leaped up, lashing out with his good leg at the height of his jump, the spinning kick intended to crash into his opponent’s face hard enough to knock him to the ground and put him down for the count.

  But even with his lone eye red and weeping, Ryan was able to dodge the thrown knife. He then brought up an angled forearm to deflect the kick, sending Jak’s leg up and over his head. Unable to stop now, Jak felt the big man’s hands on him, and he was pulled to the ground, crashing into the earth with an impact that stole his breath and left him gasping. Before he knew it, he was flipped over on his stomach, and Ryan had pinned his arms behind his back, tying them together with a plastic cord.

  “You fought well, Jak, but this was the only way it would turn out,” Ryan said as he hauled the albino to his feet. “Now you’ve got a meeting with the Mind—”

  “Let him go, Ryan.” The familiar voice came from their left and made Ryan reflexively turn toward the speaker. It was enough of a distraction for Jak to whip his head back hard into Ryan’s jaw, stunning him just enough for him to twist free and run.

  “Stop, Jak!” Ryan shouted. He took a step after the fleeing youth, but a single blaster shot kicked up dirt at his feet, making him skid to a halt.

  “Stay where you are, Ryan.” Krysty emerged from the darkness, her blaster trained on him. “Don’t take another step.”

  “Unidentified woman, put your weapon down—” one of the riflemen in the truck started to say even as he heard a click from behind him.

  “Got them, J.B.?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” the Armorer an
swered from the rear of the truck. He stood with Tully and Ricky, their three carbines aimed at the two men in the truck bed. “They’re covered. I’ll take those longblasters, boys, slow and easy.”

  Ryan had turned to face the red-haired woman. “Krysty Wroth. You are also on our list to acquire.” He frowned. “I know that you have feelings for this man, yet you are pointing a weapon at him, and your body language indicates that you intend to harm him. This does not make sense.”

  Krysty’s voice was low, but the blaster in her hands was rock steady as she approached him. “I don’t know what you are, but there’s a hell of a lot you don’t understand about us humans. I know the man you think you’re a part of now, and I can tell you that although you think you have access to his memories, and his mind, you cannot possibly know how he thinks, how he feels.”

  She paused for a moment. “But I do. And I know that he would rather die than be forced to live under someone else’s control.”

  “You would actually kill the one you love instead of trying to save him?” Ryan asked.

  “If I had no other choice,” she answered. “Yes, I would, because I know he would do the same for me. However, I’ll give you the same option you gave Jak a moment ago. Surrender to us, and I promise I’ll do what I can to have you removed from his body.”

  A low, sibilant chuckle hissed from Ryan’s lips. “A noble gesture, Krysty Wroth, even if it is akin to a monkey telling a human that it will take care of him. You, however, have no idea of what you’re talking about. But it also doesn’t matter. You see, I’ve grown rather fond of this body, and I have no plans to give it up anytime soon!”

  More lights stabbed out of the darkness, followed by the roar of another truck as it charged straight toward Krysty from behind her. She whirled, getting off two shots that starred the windshield before diving out of the way.

  The truck kept going, slowing just enough for Ryan to throw himself into the back as it accelerated into the darkness. The other sec men seized the distraction as well, and jumped into their vehicle and sped away. J.B. and Tully fired several rounds at it, but it kept moving until it was out of sight.

  “You okay?” J.B. asked Krysty as she limped up to him.

  She nodded. “Banged my knee when I hit the ground, but I’ll be all right.” She looked around in the darkness. “Jak, where are you?”

  “Here...” Covered in dust, the albino hopped toward them from the dark, his hands still tied behind his back. “Tryin’ avoid gettin’ run over.”

  J.B. pulled his knife and freed Jak’s hands with a single swipe of the blade.

  “Not seen anything like that before,” Jak said as he rubbed life into his swollen hands. “You really pull?”

  Krysty’s face was expressionless as she stared back at him. “What do you think?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she turned to J.B. “Where’s our truck?”

  “I sent Ricky off to fetch it the moment theirs came at you,” J.B. said as another pair of lights drove toward them. “And here it is now.”

  “Good,” Krysty said as Ricky stopped beside her so she could get in. “Let’s go after those bastards and get Ryan and Mildred back.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Mildred lay on her soft, comfortable bed in the infirmary, a cool pillow under her head, crisp white sheets over her body, and looked around the room.

  The very empty room.

  That more or less went how I’d planned, she thought as she raised a glass of water to her lips. But I don’t think I’m ever going to get this taste out of my mouth.

  Everything had come together the moment she’d stepped into the bathing room. First, of course, she took a long, hot, luxurious shower, cleaning every inch of herself. After turning off the hot water, she turned to the liquid soap dispenser and pumped another generous portion into her hand.

  Damn, they must have a lot of this stored somewhere, to last this long. She sniffed at it, wrinkling her nose as the acrid, vaguely floral scent filled her nostrils. It should be nontoxic, but I guess they’ll still save me whether it is or isn’t. With a gulp, she began licking it off her palm, swallowing the handful while trying not to gag, then going back for more. She ate that as well, then decided to stop, rinsing her hand and mouth while trying not to belch up soap in the process. It had been hard enough getting it down, and she was pretty sure if she got the scent of it coming up into the back of her throat, she’d vomit it all right back out again on the spot.

  Now, to get back to my room. She could already feel her previously empty stomach starting to complain from the indigestible liquid she had forced down. Oh, I hope it doesn’t come out the back way.... Forcing herself to stand up straight, she dressed quickly and walked back outside, where the guard escorted her back to her cell. She was relieved that Morgan hadn’t waited to take her back himself. Somehow she thought he might see through her ruse.

  Mildred had barely gotten inside when the first stomach cramp hit. Gritting her teeth, she made it to her bed, but then launched herself toward the toilet, barely making it in time before a rush of sour bile and slimy soap coursed back up her throat and out into the bowl.

  The next few minutes were nothing but pure agony. Every time she brought up more of the bitter, soapy goo, she’d think that would be the last one, until another lurch of her stomach made her pray to the porcelain god yet again. By the fifth time, Mildred knew she would have been much happier if she had gotten diarrhea instead. At least...that wouldn’t feel...as if I was spitting up acid. The liquid soap, so smooth going down, had reacted with the digestive juices in her stomach and now burned her throat and tongue coming back up. Not to mention the nausea made her double over in agony, retching until she was spitting up nothing but foamy bile.

  Shuddering from the racking convulsions that had accompanied her purge, Mildred got a hand onto the sink and hauled herself up to get a glimpse of her face in the mirror. Well, I was clean when I came in....

  Now she was a sweaty, bedraggled mess. Foam and saliva coated her lips and had trailed down onto her white T-shirt. She seemed pale, and her skin was clammy from the shock to her system. The vomiting had hit her so hard she almost couldn’t think straight, but she did make sure to flush the toilet twice to destroy the evidence of her self-sabotage.

  Better...get to the...door, before I pass out.... Leaning against the wall, she stumbled from the bathroom. Step by slow, measured step, she trudged around the room’s perimeter to the outer door and thumped on the glass window with a hand that felt as if it weighed twenty pounds. After what seemed like minutes but was probably only a few seconds, a guard’s face looked in at her, immediately blanching at her appearance.

  “I’m...sick....” Mildred said even as her legs gave out, and she slid to the floor. The next few minutes passed in a blur. She was dimly aware of some sort of alarm going off, and several very concerned-looking people clustering around her. Then she got the sensation of floating and being wheeled through hallways watching lights pass overhead. She felt the pricks of needles being inserted into veins, and her eyelids were thumbed back as lights were shone into them. She felt the cool, soothing rush of saline hitting her system as they worked to replenish her lost fluids.

  Mildred played her part of the ill patient for as long as she thought it prudent, coming in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours, and even faking a stomach cramp or two to make sure they took her case seriously enough to keep her in the infirmary for observation for the next twenty-four hours or so.

  Which, for all intents and purposes, they were.

  The doctors and nurses had been kind, patient and caring. Mildred had heard the term “QC1” used in reference to her, which she assumed meant that she was a “queen candidate,” if her logic was correct. Once that info had gotten around, they had treated her as if she were made of spun glass. Taking every precaution and then some. Sh
e was just glad they didn’t decide to go for the colonoscopy; the enema had been cleansing enough. Aware that it was standard procedure in some poisoning cases, she had submitted to it, even when it was the last thing she had wanted.

  And now that she was awake and alert, Mildred realized that she was the only patient in the twenty-bed hall. With that knowledge came the understanding as to the second reason the infirmary staff had been so good, which made her feel a small stab of pity for them. Poor guys—they’re highly trained doctors and nurses, but they have nothing to do all day....

  And why would they, when everyone already had their own personal body caretaker installed inside them? Mildred didn’t even see any evidence of the wounded from the flood being cared for here, and she knew that some of them had to have been injured in either the fighting or the deluge afterward. Or had they all been killed in it?

  It didn’t really matter to her either way, as she had larger issues to contend with. Like Morgan.

  He had come to her bedside about a minute after she was admitted to the infirmary—he was the one who had said she was a “QC1,” in fact. Mildred knew he’d remained close by during her examination and treatment, and she was concerned that he was going to come over at any moment and expose her charade. That was the second-biggest reason why she had feigned being ill for so long, to keep him worried that their “queen candidate” might not make it, instead of concentrating on what might have caused her condition.

  Finally, however, she felt as if enough time had passed so that she could come out of it, although she still pretended—partly—to be weak and woozy. She needed time to figure out the rest of her plan, and then the time and space to execute it.

  She rested for much of the afternoon, thinking and dozing, dozing and thinking. When she opened her eyes, she saw Morgan sitting in a chair next to her bed. Mildred started, raising her head off the pillow as she put a hand on her chest and sucked in a breath. Careful there, Hattie McDaniel...don’t overdo it.