The Hive: Part Two (special preview)

Forty is much kinder to me than Twenty-Two, or at least, Forty is more attentive. Twenty-Two only seems to want to be around me when there is a need for tests, or prodding, or something uncomfortable like that. Forty brings me my food, new clothes, they dress me and talk to me more than Twenty-Two does.

There are stories that Forty tells me, ones that sound familiar, just told from the perspective of a different set of eyes. My father had told me that once, our kind, humanity, used to live together, staying in some of the structures we passed regularly on our journey. There was a time when we didn’t have to keep moving or running, a time when being still was preferential. But then They came, and humans had to separate, had to fracture. There became less and less of us because of what They were doing.

In their stories, Forty tells about how humans were cruel and angry, how their own ignorance and fear caused them to lose a great gift. But since they refused it, they had to leave the life they knew, learning for themselves the error of the mistake they made. Only once they were ready, could they accept that gift again.

“We need humans to live,” Forty tells me. “They’re important, and we know how to take care of them.”

I frown deeply at them. “How do you know?”

“Twenty-Two and I have studied humans for a long time. We know all about them. Their history, their health, their habits. The triple H, as we liked to say.” They chortle like they’ve made a funny joke, but the sound fades when they read my expression. “There are others like you, nomads who spend their lives traveling from place to place, never ceasing, never settling. Most of them forget how to speak, though, or they tend to forget the languages. We’ve rarely met a nomad who speaks as well as you do.”

“My father had books,” I murmur.

Forty grows still for a moment, taking on a statue like quality that makes me question if they were alive at all. “You can also read?”

“Some,” I answer. “They had belonged to my mother.”

There’s a sharp buzz through the room, a sound I have grown to associate with Twenty-Two, who remains behind the glass. “How did your mother come to own a book?”

I rub my ears, hating the noise that Twenty-Two makes. “I don’t know, she died after I was born, and my father never talked about her.”

“Where are the books now?” Twenty-Two asks.

I shake my head. “In different places. They fell apart, or I had to make choices as I traveled. I can’t use books to survive.”

“Have you ever met any other humans who knew the same language as you?” Twenty-Two continues to question me, and it’s growing aggravating. They always ask so many questions.

I think of He and the short time we spent together. I’m reminded of his body, his touch, the way his voice breathed into my ear as he lay inside me. I grow warm at the thought, unable to forget those moments, even now as I try to forget.

“Darling?” Forty’s voice is soft.

“No,” I lie. “The only other human I knew was my father, and I had to leave him behind as well.”

Twenty-Two sighs heavily. “Don’t lie to me, Darling.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I clutch the hem of my dress into my hands. “I am not.”

Forty raises their head. “Why would she lie, Twenty-Two? There is no reason for it. Remember the masked hood she was wearing here? She probably has always tried to hide that way, like the rest of the nomads do.”

Twenty-Two goes silent and still like Forty did.

“It’s alright, it doesn’t matter anyways right now.” Forty places their hand over mine, it's heavy and cold and the joints feel strange. “We have Darling now, everything is going to be okay.”

Twenty-Two tilts their head to the side. “Just one isn’t going to save humanity, you know this. We need more humans, especially females. If she has seen any more, it is imperative we know!”