What Remains When The Stars Burn Out: a horror collection by P.L. McMillan by P.L. McMillan

Author:P.L. McMillan [McMillan, P.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Salt Heart Press
Published: 2022-03-31T05:00:00+00:00

Buzzkill

The head of an axe makes a strange, slick sound when it slices through the skull of a Hivemind.

The genetic modification was supposed to save the bees, make them more resistant to disease and pests, boost their procreation, and increase their honey production. It did that, and more.

Honey oozes over the axe blade, chunky with what brains remain in the skull of the thing that was once conscious.

Hiveminds used to be people.

All it takes is one moment, one second outside without a suit. The bees are busy little things. It only takes a few seconds for their stings to overwhelm an average sized person, only a few minutes for them to make their way into the skull through the ear canals and set up shop, carving out tunnels and rooms in the soft brain tissue.

With a yank, Anthony pulls the axe free, globs of hot amber liquid land with splats on the grass. He’s glad for the suit that protects him from the bees and the smell. Honey from the infesting bees preserves the flesh surrounding the victim’s face, allowing it to remain untouched, while the rest of the body slowly decays.

The Hivemind’s face droops, the one eye not bursting with honeycombs rolls back into its skull. Bees swarm out of the gaping wound, buzzing with rage as they throw themselves against the man’s bulky helmet. Their fuzzy bodies bounce off with dull taps.

Now free of the insects that were keeping it mobile, the body drops to the ground, twitching.

Pulling a grenade from his belt, Anthony pulls the pin, and drops it at his feet. Yellow smoke envelops him and the bees that surround him fall to the ground, their wings fluttering weakly.

Now the hard part. Pesticides don’t work on the bees anymore so Anthony grinds each one to smears of ichor with the butt of his axe.

His body aches. This is Anthony’s second Hivemind kill of the day. Each infected human can have dozens of bees in their skull and each one has to be stomped out of existence or the bee will rise again, on armoured wings and with an insatiable need to pollinate the soft, gray folds of the flower that makes up a person’s mind.

Anthony slips his axe back into its loop on his belt. His arms sing with pain, but his heart finally settles once the adrenaline wears off. Kneeling by the quickly cooling corpse, he lays out a scraper, an oiled leather pouch, and a sharp knife. With these tools, he slices away the skin on the dead man’s skull and locates the fat queen. Dropping her on the ground, he then slices her to bits with his knife. After that, he begins to scoop out the rich honey from inside, depositing it into the pouch.

The metal scoop scrapes at the inside of the bony hive until Anthony harvests all the honey. Bits of brain matter pepper the otherwise perfect amber elixir. Finished, Anthony puts away all his tools and sets off at a jog.

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