Hive Page 2

  “Calm yourself, Glave,” Oleg says. “It’s not your wife. Guy’s face is covered in blood, but even I can tell this Prospector’s male.”

  “His legs!” Pennies shouts. “Where are they?”

  Jinx nods. ”Must’ve been blown off.”

  Strips had been torn from the man's tunic and tied around the stumps to stem the bleeding. White shards of bone protrude from each stump. His legs, or what’s left of them, are hard to look at.

  “Damn fools,” Jinx spits. “Must’ve happened when they blew the door.”

  Ret kneels down next to the man. “Hold on! He’s not dead.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Oleg asks.

  Ret might not be as learned and knowledgeable as Oleg, but he’s the medic for our group. There's no one’s judgment I trust more, but right now I have to seem impartial. “Can we save him?” I ask.

  “Hard to say.” He's looking up at me and it's clear as day he knows I'm playing the politician. “Guy’s got a pulse. It’s faint as hell, but it’s there.”

  Oleg has an indignant look on his face. It’s obvious he’s not a big fan of being shown up, especially by his inferiors.

  Ret pulls the six-inch knife from the sheath on his vest and holds it under the Prospector’s nose. The blade fogs. Oleg storms off. The old man’s pride isn’t sitting well with me. That sort of thinking down here can get people hurt or killed.

  Ret gets to work tending to the man’s wounded legs. It isn't long before he waves me over. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” His voice is low, and I lean in, and he must see the puzzled look on my face. “Jinx was dead wrong,” he continues. “His legs weren’t blown off in an explosion. They were eaten.”

  -5-

  “Oh, come now,” Oleg starts. “The Prospector stepped on an explosive. Didn’t your own man say that?”

  “He did.” I concede. “But the bones sticking out from his legs have obvious teeth marks.”

  Ret stands. “And that’s not all.” He's holding the twelve-shot pistol that Prospectors use to fend off thieves and wild dogs. “His gun is empty.”

  Pennies looks shaken. “Bullets aren’t cheap,” says the Trader. “No self-respecting Prospector I know would fire a shot unless he had to.”

  “Spoken like a true cheapskate,” Bron adds, flashing those rotting chompers of his.

  Oleg looks hesitant. “Let’s not draw any hasty conclusions. For all we know, this man could have been shooting at the rats gnawing on his legs.”

  “You mean the same rats turned inside out not fifty yards back?” Jinx replies.

  There’s a look on Oleg’s face that says he doesn't care one bit for Jinx’s sarcasm.

  This bickering is really pissing me off. “Is he stable enough to move? Yes or no?”

  Ret hesitates and then nods.

  “Bron, stop bothering Pennies and carry this guy.”

  Bron grumbles and scoops up the Prospector, as if he were a sack filled with goose down.

  I realize I’m about to err on the side of caution, and I signal to Ret and Jinx. They draw their weapons: a multi-barreled grenade launcher for Jinx, and a hundred-round automatic shotgun for Ret.

  Ret says he came upon the shotgun in a camouflaged bunker in the desert. It was lying in the skeletonized hands of a man dead more than a hundred years. The bastard was sitting on more ammo than he’d ever need, and perhaps out of despair or loneliness, he’d used it on himself.

  It's hard to say what drives men in desperate times, and harder still to judge the decisions they make. In his day, the world outside was swarming with the worst kind of bloodthirsty monsters. Those must have been bleak times indeed, and thinking about it now, I'm still not entirely sure how humanity managed to pull through.

  -6-

  The man in Bron’s arms starts to moan, and I can't tell if he's about to keel over or wake up from whatever Ret gave him to ease the pain. “Can someone tell this guy to shut up?” Bron pleads.

  Ret smirks. “I doubt those arms of yours make a comfortable bed.”

  The Prospector’s cheeks are dark and sunken. His body begins to convulse. “I don’t think our friend here’s going to make it,” Bron says.

  There’s a dusty control panel up ahead, and Ret points to it. “Take him over there and I’ll have another look at him.”

  I wipe off a deep layer of dirt and grime with my sleeve, and Bron plops the Prospector on a bed of old buttons and levers. His body is flopping about like a fish out of water. With one hand, Bron holds him down.

  “I don’t understand,” Ret says. There’s a disturbed look on his face I've never seen before. “His legs, they’re healing.”

  I look and see that he’s right. Since we’d examined him, the loose flaps of shredded flesh around the man’s severed legs had fused together. Only the tiniest hint of bone is still showing. I look at Oleg. “What do you make of this?”

  Oleg comes so close his nose is almost buried in the man’s festering stump. “I need more light,” he demands.

  I bring the glow stick closer. He stands there for a moment, transfixed. “Magnificent!” he exclaims. “I didn’t think it was possible. The wounds are closing before my eyes.”

  Jinx is shaking his head. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “See for yourself,” Oleg says, a defensive look on his face.

  Jinx turns to survey the perimeter. He’s not crazy about blood, and is too proud to tell Oleg anything of the sort. An odd sort of affliction, given that his chosen profession centers around blowing people apart.

  I snap myself back into the moment. “So he’ll live, then.”

  Ret and Oleg both nod.

  Bron groans.

  “We need to take him back to Sotercity right away.” There's a fire in Oleg’s eyes, and for a moment, he almost looks younger.

  “What about the others?” I protest.

  “We’ll come back.”

  “Rosaline can’t wait that long.” It's Glave, and he has an almost feral glint in his eye. “Look at the one guy we’ve found so far. His legs were eaten off, and you want me to believe my wife can just wait?”

  “Glave's right,” I say. “No one’s leaving. For all we know, there are three other Prospectors in much worse shape.”

  Oleg’s face sharpens into a scowl. He’s about to raise another objection when the wounded Prospector’s eyes snap open. Two glowing, white orbs cut streamers of light through the darkness. There's a gurgling or a growling sound coming from the back of his throat. His mouth stretches open and reveals a foul, blackened gullet. In a flash, his hands swing wildly to grab the first thing in reach. It’s my luck that thing just happens to be my head. The Prospector’s vise-like grip is ripping my skull from the rest of my body. Thunderbolts of pain fire through my neck and head.

  -7-

  My arms hammer down into the soft bends of his elbows, but nothing happens. I see what he's trying to do. He's pulling my face toward his festering jaws. They smell like rancid meat. Bron closes his metal hands around the Prospector’s neck and squeezes. The sound of snapping bone is sharp and brutal. Blood bursts through his mechanical fingers. A thick and syrupy blood-soup pours from the Prospector’s mouth, but he's not letting go.

  I pull the Katana off my back and swing it down on the man’s head in a single, graceful arc. The blade slices through bone and brain, and stops when it makes contact with Bron’s hand. Twisting the blade, I split the Prospector’s head in two and it falls to the floor.

  I stagger backwards, fighting the urge to rub the sides of my head. I don’t want to let on how much it really hurts. For a moment, everything looks like a shadowy blur.

  Ret rushes to my side. He's checking to see if I'm okay. “Bron, what took you so goddamn long?”

  Bron's looking down at his blood-soaked hand in disbelief. “They usually drop when I hear that crunch.” A second later, Ret’s barbed comment seems to register. “I didn’t see you do much of anything, pretty boy.”

 
; “Because I didn’t have a shot.”

  “Well how about next time a guy with glowing eyes tries to–”

  “Stop it!” I shout. “Both of you!”

  The two men silence at once.

  “Can anyone tell me what the hell just happened?” I eyeball each of them. “Ret, did you give him an adrenaline shot?”

  Ret throws his arms in the air. “Don’t look at me. All I did was tie off some tourniquets.”

  Bron is flicking a lump of flesh off his hand. “I don't get it either. I was sure I felt his neck snap.”

  I sheath my Katana. “Oleg?”

  The old man looks shaken. He’s mumbling to himself, and I’m sure he’s praying to Newton or Copernicus or one of the other gods they’re always blabbing on about.

  Pennies has wedged himself behind some old heating pipes about fifteen feet away. He holds out a hand to Sneak, and she slaps his hand away.

  Jinx grabs the Trader by the arm and pulls him to his feet. “She doesn’t like your kind," he says with a wink. "Don’t take it too personal. And if I were you, I'd keep my eye on those jewels of yours.”

  Pennies pats himself furiously and checks for the earrings. It’s only when he plucks them from his pocket a second later that a look of calm settles over him.

  I spear Oleg with my eyes. “Those old stories The Keepers are always so eager to tell about cities swarming with monsters. What did they call them?”

  “The Volgoroth.” Oleg’s voice sounds grim.

  As a young girl, I remember playing Monsters and Keepers with the other kids. My father used to call them shitsacks, and I was never quite sure why. You didn’t need to hear more than a few stories to realize these things had been soulless killers, and zombie – or Zee for short – seemed as good a name as any.

  I see a light go on in Ret’s eyes. “Volgoroth. You make ‘em sound like a race of people when all they were was a disease.”

  Oleg opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “A disease that was wiped out. I mean, that’s what I’d been taught as a child, that the hordes of Volgoroth had been driven back and exterminated.”

  There’s a rusted chair beside a row of old pipes and Oleg settles into it. “Driven back yes, and untold numbers of them were destroyed.”

  “But not all of ‘em,” Jinx adds.

  “The cities.” Oleg’s eyes look tired, as if he wants nothing more than to sleep for a hundred years. “That was where they came from, and in the end, that was where many of them were driven. Our ancestors believed that the people infected by the tainted water would eventually die off. As far as I’m concerned, they have.” Oleg’s head sinks into his hands, and it’s clear that he’s not nearly as convinced as he lets on.

  -8-

  Even in the dim light of the control room, I can see Glave’s hands trembling.

  “I don’t know why we’re wasting time on this,” he complains. “My wife could be just around the next corner. Isn’t this supposed to be a rescue mission, or do I have to go it alone?”

  “Be my guest,” Bron says, sweeping his arm to show Glave the way.

  Glave mutters under his breath and storms ahead.

  “We should follow him,” Ret whispers in my ear. “We can’t let him wander off, even if he is just an idiot Grinder.”

  I agree.

  As we make ready to leave, Bron flings the Prospector’s corpse into the corner. What just happened has affected us all. I can see the fear on Pennies’ face, and Oleg is showing signs of fatigue. I’d bet the old man hasn’t walked this much in his whole life. I motion forward and we press on. There’s an access tunnel ahead.

  Glave’s there, standing in the damp passage, crying. I want to reach out and comfort him. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. Inside, he’s still soft. Hasn’t built up a hard shell yet. He will, eventually. Emotional pain and heartache in large enough doses act like anesthesia for the soul. I try to tell myself the men that follow me aren’t my family, that Sneak means nothing to me, but I’m not having much luck believing it.

  The access tunnel seems to go on forever. Framed light fixtures are built into the wall, but it’s clear they stopped working years ago. Jinx is saying something behind me.

  “We need to protect our rear.”

  I agree. “What do you propose?”

  He holds a proximity mine over my shoulder. “But we’ll only use a few of ‘em,” he promises. “That way, anything tries to sneak up on us will have one hell of a surprise.”

  Jinx has been itching to play with his toys since we arrived, but he has a point. I’m not sure what drove that Prospector mad, but the eerie glow from his eyes is still fresh in my mind, along with the throbbing headache that’s accompanying my thirst. I should have brought more than a flask of whiskey. I got cocky. Again.

  Up ahead I see something. The others are close behind and I can hear Bron grunting. He’s about to start complaining again, which is good because I only worry about him when he’s quiet.

  The tunnel comes to an end, and from here it looks like it opens into a much larger space. We haven’t seen a sign of anyone since the boiler room, and I’m getting worried we won’t be finding much more than a pile of corpses.

  -9-

  Ret, Bron and I draw our weapons. Even Pennies is clutching his little semi-automatic pistol. Jinx is behind us, setting his proximity mines. I take a second to make sure everyone’s accounted for and we move on.

  We enter an open area with high ceilings, once covered with paintings, now blackened and crumbling. Just ahead is a thick, wooden railing which overlooks several lower levels. On either side of us are abandoned shops. Mounds of dirty and rotting clothes lay fallen near each entrance. Used to be some kind of indoor market, is my guess.

  “Hey get a load of this,” Bron calls out. He’s holding what looks like a matted coat made from animal fur. “This whole place is full of ‘em.”

  “Bron, quite messing around,” I say, “and keep your eyes peeled for those Prospectors. Where are we, Oleg?”

  Oleg tears his eyes way from Bron’s windfall and scans our surroundings. “Looks like we’ve entered a shopping mall.”

  Ret and the others throw him puzzled looks. Oleg points above one of the shops to a series of damaged signs with missing letters. “Louis Vuitton.” And then others. “Ralph Lauren... Chanel. These were places women of society and the well-to-do shopped for clothing and goods. During certain times of the year, thousands of people would be here at the same time, rushing around and fighting each other to buy gifts.”

  “Touching,” I say, “but it still doesn’t explain why Prospectors were snooping around in here. Traders, like Pennies, I get, ‘cause they’re only interested in turning a profit. But Prospectors work for Keepers, and Keepers gather knowledge and technology. So, why would a group of Prospectors risk their lives to find a bunch of old stores?”

  “I’m not sure,” he says, and I can smell the lie from here.

  I look at Glave. His wife was one of them, and maybe he knows something, but he’s got a beaten look on his face and that tells me he’s not gonna be much help.

  Bron is pointing to a shop with glass cases flanking the doorway. “What’s the name of that one?”

  Oleg squints. “Cartier. Why?”

  “Cause Pennies just ran inside.”

  Crap! I knew this was gonna happen. Another reason I hate Traders, they’re always running off to fill their pockets. “Dammit, wait here,” I bark, and take off running. I can see my hands wrapping around Pennies’ scrawny neck, shaking him senseless. I sure as hell didn’t sign up for this.

  Broken glass crunches under my feet as I clear the doorway. I’m not sure what Cartier used to sell, but it must have been worth a ton for Pennies to run off on his own.

  Rows and rows of display cases. That’s what I see. Most of them are intact, but there’s too much dust and debris to tell what I’m looking at. Ten feet away, I catch Pennies’ head pop up from behind one of the cases. H
e’s trying to shatter the display glass with the butt of his pistol and I can tell he’s afraid of getting a shard in his eye. Pussy.

  “Pennies, are you a damned idiot?” He knows straight away I’m pissed as hell, and he looks up at me like a frightened animal. “You already got your loot, greedy bastard. I oughta leave you behind.”

  He points at his stash. “Do you see what this is?” There’s an intense lust in his eyes. “Enough gems in here to buy every square inch of Sotercity.”

  With my light, I catch something blue twinkling at me. Maybe Pennies has a point. But owning all of Sotercity isn’t on my to-do list. Only thing I care about is paying Lars back and having a little left over. Looking at Pennies, I raise my repeater, stock over the glass case and that’s when I hear Ret. He’s peering into the doorway and the look on his face spells one thing. Trouble.

  -10-

  By the time we reach the others it’s too late. Bron’s got both of his 20mm cannons aiming down that black tunnel we came through moments before, ready to unleash holy hell. Something’s coming at us in a dead run, and I can hear it hissing and shrieking and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I can’t see a thing, but I can tell there’s more than one; a lot more. Whatever comes out of that darkness, Ret and Jinx are ready to blow it away. Pennies is next to me, grasping his pea shooter like it’ll do him any good, his face full of fear and determination.

  I remember Jinx’s proximity mines and realize our blunder. A hissing shape nearly makes it into the light when the mines go off. All of them at once. Knowing Jinx, he’s stacked way more than he should have. Fire, smoke, and ancient concrete dust come billowing out. The tunnel acts as a rifle barrel, firing chunks of rock and concrete. I hear a deafening clanging sound as a rock bounces off one of Bron’s arms. Savage grunts are coming from inside the tunnel. Some of them aren’t quite dead.

  Then the ground begins to shake as the tunnel collapses in on itself. Dust is flying everywhere. It’s hard to breathe, and I grab Sneak and pull her away from the growing cloud. Ret is waving his hands in front of his face to clear the air. We all retreat a few yards to let everything settle, including our minds.