The Hive: A Post-Apocalyptic Life Read online

  There were several very large camouflaged tents as well as several construction trailers. The camp was situated between Vaquero Lake and west of Sherwood Lake, in a large cleared area, it was someone’s property, the grounds well kept, or what she could see of the grounds.

  “I think we need to go to those larger tents. Check in, I guess. See if we can’t get a tent and some food.” Megan said, pointing to one of the large tents. Both women walked toward the larger tents, weaving in and out of the smaller ones. There were people all around, looking just as weary as her and Tilly. There was a low rumble of voices that filled the air. Constant chatter. Megan investigated some of the tents, children sleeping. She couldn’t imagine trying to bring children to a place like this. But people had few choices.

  It was a recurring theme, they looked thin and dirty and she was sure that she and Tilly looked just as bad. Ahead, they saw a long line, that curved and twisted, outside one of the large tents. People held their belongings, children sat at their feet, staring vacantly into space. She and Tilly went to stand behind and at the end of the line. The wind blew around them and Megan shivered. She could smell the porta potties and was glad when the wind shifted.

  “It’s getting colder by the day.” Tilly said, her teeth chattering. She pulled her coat around her, her blonde hair blowing around her face. The woman in front of them turned and smiled tiredly. She was older, perhaps in her fifties.

  “You girls are lucky, I heard that this camp is getting ready to reject anyone else coming in. They are only accepting maybe one hundred more, but that’s it.”

  “Where will others go? If not here?” Megan asked, looking around.

  Shrugging, the woman shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m just thankful I made it here safely. I’ve been hearing about robberies, murders and rapes along the way. You girls have any problems? I’m Karen, by the way.” Karen grinned.

  “I’m Megan and this is Tilly. We had our food stolen. We didn’t have much, but some assholes took it. He had a gun and friends. Guess we should be glad we weren’t assaulted. We joined a bigger group, but some of their women had been raped. I think we were really lucky.”

  “You are lucky. At least here in this camp, there are local guardsmen, they patrol the camp. I’ve been talking to a lot of the people here. As they pass by, I ask what I can.” Karen smiled.

  “At least we’re here. I’m so tired I could sleep standing up.” Tilly said.

  “Don’t get too comfortable. We’re going to be put to work. Apparently, they are going to build some kind of permanent housing for us. It’s called the Hive. And this is just rumor, mind, but one gentleman said that a rich high muckety-muck is funding the build. This is his land. Said the government or rather FEMA can’t house and feed all of us. Seems like they are talking about millions on the move. All of them heading east. So, some of the rich, and I’m talking about some serious one percenters’ are footing the bill and building Hive complexes all over.” Karen said, looking around.

  “So, what are we supposed to do? We’re not builders.” Megan asked, confused. They moved forward and the line was growing shorter.

  “Don’t know. I just know, there ain’t no free ride. If we don’t work, we don’t stay. I heard even the children will be put to work. If you’re sick, you can’t stay.”

  “What? That’s crazy. That’s wrong. People have lost their homes. There’s nothing left for them.” Tilly said, looking around for the sick.

  “I don’t know for sure. But, if you’re not healthy, they’ll send you away. An old man had been sent away earlier. He came out of the tent, crying. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he’d been rejected. Said he was too sick. He said he has cancer, but he said he could still work. They told him no and that he’d have to leave.” Karen shrugged, a sad look in her eyes.

  “Jesus Christ. That’s terrible.” Megan said and shivered. Where in the hell is the compassion, she wondered?

  “I guess there are so many people that they can’t take on the very ill.” Tilly said quietly, looking down at her hands.

  “But where will he go?” Megan worried.

  “He’ll have to find someone willing to take him in.” Karen said quietly. “Life is going to be harsh for the very old and the very ill. They won’t live long.”

  Ӝ

  Kansas City, MO

  “I’m going to take a drive over to the Tiffany Greens Golf club. There is a refugee center there. I am going to see about maybe getting information about the people coming in.” Hogan said, tying up his boots. He’d been living with Trish for nearly a month. His leg had healed nicely and his headaches had stopped. She’d brought him a flyer from work. It would seem that the camp was looking for guards to work at the golf club, local hires only. There was a lot of construction going on, to build housing for the massive influx of refugees. There had been an upswing in crime, no surprise.

  “You going to try to get a job?” Trish asked.

  “Not unless you need me to. If I’m not here, who would be here to guard the place?” Three nights ago, he’d chased off two men who had tried to come into the fenced area. He’d come out with the dogs who’d charged the two men. He’d fired his gun into the ground and watched as the men climbed over each other, trying to get through the gate before Baby caught them. He’d have laughed had it not been such a close call. It had started.

  “Good. I was kind of afraid you might leave.” Trish said sheepishly. “I was almost afraid to give you the flyer but thought you should know.”

  “Thanks. The news people still cannot pin the government down on how many nukes were dropped. Some reports are still saying over one hundred, while other reports say less than fifty. It’s a clusterfuck out there, sorry for the language. I’d seen something about it on the local news. I also saw that they are beginning to start rationing at the stores. You can only buy with the new coupons. You should get some, you know.” Hogan said.

  “I know, I’ll head to one of the banks. I think we’re supposed to go to our parent bank. I’ll go to mine once you get back. I think it’s weird to have to buy food with coupons, but that’s apparently the only way for locals to get food. They aren’t wanting the refugees to acquire local food. The refugees have to get their own food and they have to get the food at the camp.”

  “I guess when there was a run on the stores and the police had to be called, things got ugly.” Hogan said, once more thankful he had a place to live. Thousands of refugees were streaming in. Some on foot, others in vehicles. It was nearing the end of November and the temperatures had plunged. The sun was beginning to peek through the constant haze. He’d been afraid that he’d never see the sun again. After a week at Trish’s home, she had suggested he get a local driver’s license. He’d been able to pick up his weapon at the police station. He’d given Trish’s address as his permanent home. Hogan had been given a hard time, but since it was at the beginning of the crisis, the local people had been sympathetic, he’d gotten his license. Now, that would be an impossibility.

  Having that license with the local address made him a resident. He’d been asked when he went shopping, for an ID. Now, he could no longer use a credit card, nor cash. All residents were urged to use the coupons and stores were now accepting them and were reimbursed. Now, you had to have a local ID in correlation with the coupons. This prevented refugees from accessing food supplies meant for locals. He’d seen on the news; a helicopter had hovered above the tent city. There were tens of thousands of tents. It looked like hell there. He could not imagine the living conditions, especially with the dip in temperature. Also, the smell of unwashed bodies, Hogan was sure it was a wretched place to live.

  “Just be careful Hogan. You go there and they find out you’re from someplace else, they might not let you leave.” Trish warned.

  “What? What do you mean?” Hogan asked, surprised.

  “We’re hearing from some of our patients, who’d gone looking for loved ones, you know, that live west of us. They go int
o the camp easily enough, but when they try to leave, they are questioned and detained. They had to prove residency here. Hogan, you’re on shaky ground as it is. You go there, you might not get out of there.”

  “Shit. What should I do? I have to try.” Hogan said, looking at Trish, who looked as miserable as he felt.

  “Go, but before you go through those gates, make sure they know that you live here.” Trish advised.

  “Will do. I’ll see if they have some kind of roster with the names of the refugees. Maybe I can put Laura’s name on a list, see if they can contact me if she turns up. I know it is a longshot, her coming here, but she knew this was the last place she spoke to me.”

  “That sounds good. Just be careful.” Trish said.

  An hour later found Hogan pulling the truck close to the golf course. He felt nervous and hopeful. He seriously doubted Laura and the girls would be there. But he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t check or try. He saw a huge chain link fence that was topped with razor wire. It looked like a prison to him. He slowed and drove up to a blockade, there were several tandem blockades ahead of the one in front of him. It would seem there were several checkpoints to get through. It wouldn’t be as simple as driving in. A man in camo fatigues and winterwear stood in front of the first barricade. He wasn’t military, but something between.

  “Can I help you?” The guard asked.

  “I’m trying to find out if someone I know is here.” Hogan said, his heart beating quickly.

  “Are you a resident of Kansas City? If so, you need to show me ID.” The guard replied, without answering his question. Hogan pulled out his wallet and pulled out the driver’s license. The guard took it and looked it over, then looked at him and then again at the ID. Handing it back the guard stepped back.

  “The protocol for locating loved ones or persons is as follows. You must go to city hall and fill out paperwork, DD129-F. You’ll have to have a residence and phone for contact. If anyone comes through that matches your name, you’ll be contacted. You will be allowed to sponsor the refugee or refugees. There’s more paperwork with that, but city hall can help you once your people are located. You’re not allowed on this property. I’m sorry, I can’t let you in.”

  “All right, thank you for your help.” Hogan said, very disappointed.

  “Yes, sir. You can pull over there and turn your vehicle around.” The guard indicated a small area that had been marked as a turn around. He pulled the truck around and drove back out, passing other cars. He drove back toward the center of town, toward 12th Street. He would register Laura and his daughters.

  Hogan arrived back home, and it was weird to think of it as home, two hours later. He’d filled out the paperwork and there were many intrusive questions. It made him feel paranoid. One question asked if the person he was looking for was a felon, or if he were a felon, had been a felon. Christ. He saw Trish at the side of the house and joined her. Baby came up to greet him.

  “Hey boy, are you guarding the place and earning your keep?” He laughed at the dog’s excitement. The dog’s body waggled back and forth. He nearly knocked Hogan over in his excitement.

  “How did it go? And glad to see you back.” Trish called, coming from around the side of the house. Her cheeks were flushed, the colder weather bringing out a flush. He smiled at her.

  “They’ve got that camp locked up tight as hell. No one gets in or out. You were right. They checked my ID. I went over to city hall and filled out paperwork for Laura and the girls. They gave me looks and kept checking my driver’s license. I thought they were going to arrest me and put me in the camp.”

  “I’d not be surprised. I was watching the news. People are being rounded up in other states and cities, the ones that have refugee camps. If they don’t have a valid ID or proof of residence, they’re being sent to the camp. It’s turning into a witch hunt, something like a police state. They are even rounding up the homeless.” Trish said nervously.

  “Jesus. They mention anything about the location of the dead zones yet?” Hogan asked, both heading to the house. Baby stayed outside, his heavy coat keeping him warm. The government was still dancing around declaring the bombing locations. Prices of gas and food had skyrocket to ridiculous prices. There had been a crackdown on price gouging. The government was having to step in and stop it. The prices were still extremely high, however. There had been odd and even days to get gas. People were panicking as the shelves became thin with products.

  Refugees found walking around town were picked up by the police or beaten up by locals. The locals were blaming refugees for the lack of food and high prices. Stupid as the idea was, it was the damage to the resources, pipelines and grids that caused the shortages. Also, the food storages that had been destroyed out west contributed to the pressure being felt by towns and cities. But being a refugee was dangerous now. It was a dirty word and they’d become pariahs.

  “No, they keep dancing around it, saying classified and classified. Need to know. That kind of thing. There are more reports about violence in the camps. There are three more Hives popping up in eastern Kansas, to take on the volume of refugees. The refugees are being picked up, right off the street. They’ve got five camps in eastern Texas alone. Almost a million people total. I don’t know where they’re getting the food for them. Maybe Europe is helping, but the news won’t say.” Trish said, going into the living room. She turned on the TV and put it to the news channel. She turned the volume down and Hogan watched the rolling banner below. There were aerial views from aircraft, of the camps. There were different camps, and locations given. Some had structures going up. Circular. Hives, they were called. What a peculiar name for a refugee structure.

  “The reports are saying that the refugees are actually building these things. If they don’t build, they don’t eat. But then there are reports that say others are building the structures. One man said he got a note from a refugee, smuggled it out. He said the refugees are being treated like slaves and convicts. They aren’t allowed to leave the camp.”

  “The camp at the golf course had a number of blockades. Not only that, the fence that surrounds it is well over twelve feet high, along with razor wire. I think the government continues to obfuscate what is really going on. I think they are trying to keep a lid on everything and all information. I think there is a lot of censorship going on in the news.” Hogan said.

  “Wow, it really does sound like they’re prisoners. I’m kind of torn about this issue. Where will they go besides the camp? How will they find homes? There are millions of them. Maybe once the Hives are built, and they’re housed, things will get better. Maybe if people begin to sponsor them, and then, little by little, things get back to normal?”

  “I don’t think things will ever get back to normal. I saw the lines at the stores. I think this is just the beginning. I’ve a bad feeling that things are really going to get even worse.” Hogan said, shaking his head.

  Ӝ

  Franktown, CO

  Quinn had just killed the chicken. He’d not really cared for the job, but it was better than plucking. That job was left to Laura.

  Laura grimaced. “Thanks, I really hate killing them. I’ve never cared for that job.” She shivered and gritted her teeth, then smiled.

  “Well, I don’t like it either, but I really hate plucking the damned things.” Quinn grinned handing the dead hen over to Laura. She had set up a bucket of boiling water and would dip the bird into the scalding water. This would help to release the feathers, making it easier to pluck. At least they only had to do this once a week. Though there were many chickens, it had been decided that they could eat one chicken a week and still maintain a healthy flock. Come spring, more chicks would hatch and replenish what was eaten.

  “Are you and my dad going hunting soon?” Lauren asked, while pouring the scalding water over the carcass. Quinn wrinkled his nose; he hated the reek of wet feathers. Steam drifted up in tendrils from the large metal basin, the hot water covering the bird.
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br />   “Yes, Milly wants to put up venison. It’s about time, the deer are nice and fat by now and it is rutting season.”

  “That does sound good.” Laura smiled. Quinn smiled back, he liked Laura. Both turned when they heard the dogs barking like crazy, out front. Quinn turned and ran around the house; he could hear Laura behind him. The day that Bart had come to his home, the men had loaded up a trailer and hooked it up to the old green tractor. The men had filled it with supplies from Quinn’s barn. Some of the supplies had been heavy bales of barbed wire, along with eight-foot lengths of pressure treated wood. Both had agreed that putting up a barrier around the house was a smart move.

  Thankfully, both men had heavy leather gloves with Kevlar woven in. The gloves had saved them all kinds of pain. It had taken nearly a week to put the barbed wire around the house. The intervals were roughly sixteen inches between strands. Someone could get through, but it was going to hurt.

  Quinn came around the house to see two men, both looked rough as hell. He looked over and saw Bart at the front door, an AR15 in hand. Quinn had pulled his Glock and so had Laura. Good. They’d all sat down and discussed situational awareness and not going anywhere on the property unarmed. Quinn knew the women would be vulnerable, but kept that thought to himself. Milly was especially prickly about being treated other than a mean, green, fighting Marine. A smile flitted briefly across his mouth. She was a marine to her heart’s core.

  Both strangers looked like hell, thin and filthy. Quinn waved Laura back and he walked up to the fence. He made sure he was out of Bart’s line of fire. He didn’t want to get plugged.

  “What do you want?” He asked briskly. Besides the discussion on situational awareness and being armed at all time, they’d all agreed not to give out any food or information. Milly had a basement full of canned food as well as a root cellar. She also had carrots, potatoes and sweet potatoes still in the ground. They were covered with blocks of hay. The pumpkins, cabbages and other vegetables and fruits were in the root cellar.