by S A Ison
Men were encouraged to get vasectomies, women, to either have their tubes tied or use some form of birth control. Pregnancies would not be tolerated. If a woman tried to hide the pregnancy, she’d either submit to abortion or be kicked out. The atmosphere in the Hive was oppressive. The people worked long hours and were given rations that just barely sustained them. They were promised that once the harvests started coming in, their diet would improve. The gardens in the upper tiers of the Hive were producing, but Megan had rarely seen any of that food on their plates.
She paused for a moment, looking around the field. The children carried five-gallon buckets and walked along the tilled-up earth, dragging the large buckets. Farther down, along the rows of disturbed earth, robins were busily feasting on excavated earthworms. The occasional woodpecker swooped in for a wriggling treat. There was a small flock of redwing blackbirds that waited long-sufferingly for the robins to leave, then they’d swoop down to help themselves. Above, the sky was a cerulean blue, beautiful and cloudless. A soft smile lit her face when she saw Sandhill cranes flying in a V formation, far above her. She wondered where they were going. Megan then rotated her head and tried to shift the ache from her shoulders. There were hundreds of people out in the vast fields. And so many children, children that should be in school or playing. When the subject of school came up, for the children, the Hive alleged that in time, there would be programs set in place. Megan didn’t believe it. She figured the Hive wanted them all ignorant and dependent.
She’d opted to come and work out in the fields, instead of staying cooped up in the Hive. Three men had been executed for stealing food from the upper tiers. There had been a raid on their rooms. It had been a horrible affair. They’d been shot in the atrium, where all could see. The black clad guards with the yellow belts had carried out the sentencing. Their world was such a nightmare that Megan wondered if it wouldn’t be better on the outside.
They could leave, buses left everyday with people who chose to leave the Hive. Once gone, you could never come back. That was the threat, the hook. Once you go, you’re on your own. And that, was a scary thought. Life was hard in the Hive, but what awaited them out there? Looking around, she watched the guards. There weren’t many. They all had AR15s. The residents had been told the guards were there for their protection. That there were violent people and gangs roaming the areas.
When the bus had brought them here, she’d looked out the window. Topeka had been a ghost town. She’d been so shocked to see all the windows, doors and buildings broken, shattered and destroyed. They were blackened and scorched. Homes burned to the ground. Devastation all around. She’d even seen skeletal remains in yards. She’d cried softly for the lost souls. Yes, life was hard in the Hive, but they were promised an easier time once the first crops started coming in. She didn’t believe it though.
A trading post had opened in the atrium, once a week. Items, such as lotions, deodorants, paper, and other odds and ends were traded. More things became available to buy with their coupons. The residents of the Hive were not given money, but they were given coupons. Two months ago, goods were brought in, and the residents could now purchase items. It wasn’t a lot and the Hive had over thirty thousand residence now. Things went fast at the market. Then, later, items popped up at the trading post. Slowly, things were getting better, but again, they were worked like dogs. Eating was done in shifts, sleeping done in shifts, working done in shifts and they had one day off.
There were no more than four people allowed to gather at one time for any reason. So, there were no church services. Politics and religion were not allowed to be discussed, at least not loudly enough to be heard. Megan, Tilly and Ian lived their lives in whispers. They spoke the propaganda bullshit that the Hive wanted to hear and whispered their true thoughts.
Ian was wanting to leave, but not with the Hive’s permission.
“Something isn’t right. I don’t see them just agreeing to let people leave like that. Not when we’re so fenced in and guarded. If we were truly free, then we should be able to leave the Hive and come back when we want. But we can’t. So why would they let us just leave on a bus? Why won’t they let us just walk?” Ian had said one evening. They were sitting on the living room couch, close together, so they couldn’t be overheard by the monitoring devices that were all over the small apartment.
“What do you think they do? If someone wants to leave, why would the Hive care? Less people they have to feed.” Tilly had asked. Megan smiled and wiped at her face. She was so glad to have Tilly with her. She’d have gone crazy, if it hadn’t been for her friend. She looked over at her, the woman was taller and seemed to manage the tiller easier than herself. As did Ian. He looked over at her at that moment and grinned and winked. She grinned back and got back to task.
Her mind went once more to the conversation. All she had was thinking these days. There wasn’t a lot of free speech at the Hive, so all you could do was think and think and think some more. What Ian said to Tilly’s question, shook her deeply. She wondered if Ian was right?
“I think they take people away, telling them they’ll set them free, but honestly, I think they kill them. I don’t know why, but I don’t think the government wants us roaming free anymore. I think this is just a way to keep us under control. Years ago, the UN proposed Agenda 21. Back when I was a baby. It essentially wanted to limit human expansion, depopulate and regulate usage of land. They wanted to put people in places like the Hive. To contain us, to keep us from breeding, over populating.”
“That’s crazy.” Megan had hissed, shocked. She’d never heard of Agenda 21.
“Yeah, well, the president signed on. Back in 1992, at the Earth Summit, and essentially, they wanted to accomplish global sustainable development. In other words, they wanted to set limits on land usage, population control, pollution control and other key problems. Which, on the surface sounds good. But the UN wanted a say over the United States, over our constitutional rights. It essentially gives the very few a say over the vast majority. Us.”
Megan had been stunned. Was this what had happened? Had the government turned the tragedy of the bombings into some kind of control? Had the Hives been a contingency all along? To move the vast majority of the populations into small islands of life, while leaving the rest of the country to lay fallow, to go back to pristine conditions? Ian’s perspicuous perception was eye-opening. If what Ian said was true, then there was misery ahead, and there was no end to it. They’d sold their freedom for bread and shelter.
A cloud passed overhead, and Megan shivered. She was sure it was from the musings of that earlier conversation. They certainly had their rights taken away. There were no freedoms in the Hive, though the Hive wanted the residents to believe otherwise. It would seem that the one percenter had made them all the none percenter. The residents of the Hive had nothing, but the food, shelter and clothing given to them. In return, they worked twelve-hour days at hard labor. It didn’t matter what their educational level was, they were all beasts of burden. If they had some kind of special skill, such as a doctor, then a few would be sent to the infirmary, to work.
She wondered what the affluent felt, having to work alongside her in the hot sun. She figured, unless they were billionaires, or politicians, no one escaped the Hive. They were all blind to what was going on outside the razor wire of the Hive.
She knew nothing except from what she could see with her own eyes. What she’d seen was devastation and ruin. She wondered if they’d ever be free. She knew Ian was planning something, though what, she didn’t know. He’d said he had to ponder it for a while. But, when the time was right, that she and Tilly should be ready to go on a moment’s notice.
Ӝ
Ian moved the tiller with ease. He wondered why they weren’t using large farm equipment. It could be done faster and with ease and efficiency. He snorted, probably they needed to keep the residents of the Hive working until they were too tired to question the status quo. He was not adverse to hard work
, he’d done it all his life, on his family’s farm. He had a strong back and enjoyed being outside. He looked over at a couple of young men. They’d been vocal about not wanting to work out in the field. When they didn’t get their food rations for a couple days, they changed their minds.
It would seem that the Hive wasn’t opposed to starvation tactics. With no other recourse, the men had complied, though not gracefully. They’d bitched and complained the whole ride over. When they got to the field, one of them had out and out refused to work, until one of the guards had taken a riot baton and smacked him across the back a few times. Ian snorted again, so much for free will.
He watched as Megan struggled with the large tiller. She was a fighter. They all were, and he’d get them out of this hell hole. He’d have to figure out a way to get them past the guards. He was pretty sure they would be shot, if they tried to leave. If, however, there was some kind of distraction, then they could slip away. Hide and then make it back to his family’s farm. Unfortunately, it would have to be a spur of the moment incident. He’d warned both women, that on his signal, they were to bleed into the woods, or fields or whatever obstruction could conceal their escape. Hopefully they wouldn’t be missed until it was too late.
He knew it was a shitty plan but going out on the bus was not an option. Deep down, he knew they’d not survive that bus ride. Only by complying now, with no complaints, would eyes be elsewhere. The loudest bitching drew the attention. The guards were immune to bribes. He thought perhaps they lived outside the Hive. Given special treatment, so they would do their jobs well. He’d suggested that Tilly and Megan attempt friendship with one or more of the guards. All attempts were met with harsh rebuffs, as though the guards had been warned against fraternization. They were probably threatened with being put in a yellow jumpsuit.
A bitter smile creased Ian’s face. He’d been gone from his family for more than four months. He was sure they thought he was dead. He thought of his mother and her grieving. She’d take it the hardest. He’d not give up the idea of escape. He would not live in this oppressive place. He’d take his friends with him as well. He was sure once they got away, they could find an abandoned house and lay low. Gather clothing and get rid of the beacon yellow coveralls. He figured it would take them near on a week of hiding and traveling. They would hole up during the day, and travel at night. If they could move through wooded patches that would be great. Kansas was a flat state with open fields. It would be hard, but he thought they could do it.
They had to, the only alternative was to live out the rest of their lives as drones, worker bees, working to provide food for the one percenter population. To live in some kind of drab, dystopian existence. That was a post-apocalyptic life, and that was no kind of life to him.
EIGHT
Kansas City, MO
Hogan and Trish grabbed the bleeding man by both arms, he groaned in agony but held tight to the weak and fretful mewling baby, inside his coat. He could barely speak, but kept saying, help me, help me, over and over. Tears slid down his wrinkled cheeks, deeply grooved with pain. Hogan looked over at Trish, her face a mask of fear and worry. They got to the house and brought the pair inside. They sat the old man on the couch. Trish went to the woodstove and added firewood, building up the fire.
She then went to the kitchen and got a pot and poured goat’s milk into it. The goats had been milked that morning. Trish had planned to make cheese, but Hogan was sure the baby would need the milk. Trish placed the pot on the top of the woodstove. Hogan could feel the heat radiating off the stove. It wouldn’t take long to heat the milk.
“What can I do?” He asked, standing in the kitchen, looking around, ready to do her bidding.
“Look in the junk drawer, with all the cooking odds and ends. There are several large syringes in there that I use from time to time. Grab a big one.”
Hogan nearly yanked the drawer out completely. He moved poultry sheers and can openers out of the way, digging around. He found a small syringe and tossed it aside. Then he found a bigger one, that would hold at least eight ounces. He pulled it out and grinned, holding it up. Trish smiled and nodded.
“Once that milk gets warm, I’m going to give you this large syringe, filled with the warmed milk. That baby will want to suckle, you’ll have to push the plunger slowly, so as not to choke or drown the baby with the milk. I’m going to put a towel on the top of the stove to heat it up. Once it is warm enough, I’ll take the baby from this man and wrap it up. It might have hypothermia.” She said in a no-nonsense voice. She was now in nurse mode; a soft smile creased his lips.
“What about the old man?” Hogan asked, trying to stay out of her way.
“He can wait, that baby is more important. Here, let me check the milk.” She said, putting her finger in. Drawing it out, she nodded. She took the large plastic syringe and drew the plunger back, sucking up several ounces of warm goat’s milk. Hogan took the syringe and watched as Trish took the towel off the top of the woodstove. She felt to make sure it wasn’t too hot, then turned to the man.
“I’m going to take the baby now. I’ll wrap it in this warm towel. My friend, Hogan, will feed it. Do you understand?” She asked the old man gently. The old man’s eyes were going in and out of focus, but he nodded, relaxing his grip on his coat. When Trish opened the man’s coat to take the baby, Hogan could see the man’s bright yellow coveralls were saturated with blood. The baby was covered with blood, but not as saturated as the man’s clothing. He wondered if it were the old man or the baby who was bleeding. He figured if it were the baby, it would be dead.
Trish carefully extracted the baby, lifting it. The baby was nearly gray looking. She wrapped it up like a tight burrito and handed the baby to Hogan. Hogan swallowed. It was a newborn, or about a week or two old, no more than that. He set the tip of the syringe to the baby’s lips and it started the mouth movements for suckling. He carefully put the tip of the syringe into the baby’s mouth and squirted.
The baby latched on with ferocity and Hogan’s heart broke. The baby blurred, and he felt warm tears sliding down his face. He blinked rapidly, and kept the slight pressure on the plunger, careful not to go too fast and choke the baby. He looked up for a moment and saw that Trish was caring for the old man. She’d stripped his coat off and Hogan could see that the man had several wounds.
“He’s been shot in the back. Someone shot him in the back.” Trish said, her voice shaking with rage.
“Th…th…they were trying to…to.. kill us all.” The old man grunted, his breath coming in shallow pants.
“Who, who tried to kill you?” Trish asked.
“Th..the guards. Fr…from the ..the Hive.”
“Why? Why would they do that?” Hogan asked, looking back down at the baby. It had eaten an ounce. Good. The color was starting to come back into the baby’s cheeks. The blue veins spread out through the thin skin, so fragile.
“The…th..they killed all th…the old and y..young. The b…b..baby’s mother t..t..turned when t..the guard sh…sh..shot her. She dropped t…the baby. I gr…grabbed the baby and I….I..I ran. They shot me too. B..b..but I got away.” He grinned and then began to cry.
“Jesus Christ.” Hogan snarled, holding the baby protectively, nearly crouching over the child.
“My God, why would they do that? Why would they murder people?” Trish cried.
“Old c..can’t work hard. Too y..y…young, can’t work. N..n..no good, guards k..k..kill small children and o…old. And p…p..parents of small ch…children. Whole b..b..bus of us. They a…all died. E…except me and t…the baby.” He finished, panting heavily.
“Those fuckers.” Trish hissed out, while she peeled the fabric away from the wounds. She had her trauma scissors, cutting away what she could. She went to the woodstove, where a kettle held hot water. It kept the house humidified. She had several old towels that were kept on hand for emergencies. They were clean and she dipped them into the water.
Hogan watched as she carefully began
to clean around the wounds. She mumbled under her breath, her head shaking.
“He’s got four gunshot wounds.” She said looking up at Hogan, and what he saw in her eyes wasn’t good.
“What’s your name?” Hogan asked the man gently.
“Jackson Reed. I ..I worked at the bank, Bank of the West.” He breathed out, grunting in pain, his eyes squeezing shut.
“I’m sorry Mr. Reed, this is going to hurt.” Trish apologized. Reed lifted a hand and waved it away.
“Was taken t..to the Hive, c..couldn’t get p…past the road b…block. They said w..w… we were goin to another Hive. T..there were thirty of us.” Reed choked and tears fell down his face. Trish had tears sliding down her face as well. The baby had stopped suckling and Hogan automatically raised the baby to his shoulder to burp. He patted the infant and was rewarded with a burp. There was a little milk left in the syringe and he put it to the baby’s mouth, but the baby was in a milk filled stupor. Content. He got up and went to the linen closet and got another towel. He placed it on the woodstove, and let it heat up. It only took a minute, and he lifted it off. He pressed the towel to his face, to ensure it wasn’t too hot. He unwrapped the baby and then put the warm towel around the newborn.
The skin was now a healthy pink. The diaper the baby wore was swollen and full. He went to the kitchen and grabbed several paper napkins. Going to the hot water, he dipped the napkin in and then squeezed out the hot water. He then reopened the towel and stripped off the diaper and blood sodden clothing. It was a boy. He carefully cleaned the baby. Careful of all his bits and parts. He got most of the blood off the infant. Then, rewrapped the baby in the warm towel. They’d have to figure out something for clothing and diapers. For now, the towel would do.
