S t y x humanhive, p.1
S.T.Y.X. Humanhive, page 1
part #1 of S.T.Y.X. Humanhive Series
Arthur Stone
S.T.Y.X. Humanhive
Chapter 1
Life is unfair. You make plans for the future. You take steps to make them reality. Then your path brings you to a marker announcing an obstacle ahead, a marker blotting out your careful plans with indelible black ink. Oftentimes you don’t realize this right away, for fate has a funny way of arranging things to keep you from noticing your downward slide into aspirational oblivion—until you hit bottom, anyway.
On this day, fate’s weapon of choice was the unremarkable mud of a country backroad. Its aim was true, blasting to bits the life of its hapless victim, along with all his meticulous plans for the years ahead. And all he’d had to do was delay it just a few moments, keep it from crossing that irreversible line, thereby avoiding altogether this life-changing twist of fate.
The day seemed, at first glance, an ordinary one. Leland had no idea that his fate would take a drastic turn, wracked by that providential turbulence that destroys those who find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. His plans were ambitious, but simple, devoid of anything life-threatening or even dangerous.
First, he would commute back to the city. Then he would rinse off the sweat of a hard day’s work, change his clothes, and head out on a date with his darling Catalina. They had scheduled it just the day before. He had a surprise ready, one which tends to soften the hearts of the fairer sex, the kind of surprise that bypasses conventional courtship rituals altogether. The kind that leads to you spending the night away from home.
Well, he would indeed be spending the night away from home. At least he was right about that.
This young, lonely man had his entire boring life planned out. But Leland had no idea something was about to invade that life, eviscerating all his plans with surgical finality.
It all started simply enough, several hours before his destiny’s annihilation was slated to occur.
The sacrifice was set to happen at a certain place and at a certain time. But first, the victim had to be delayed.
Leland had a real Jeep, the kind that “family Jeep” owners often wish they had as they wander in search of a tractor to help pull them out of the Dakota mud. An endless stream of skilled drivers and amateurs alike got stuck here with each passing year. The drivers themselves had little to do with it. Some would pass by with no trouble, while others following in their tracks would get hopelessly mired, victims of nature’s mischievous duplicity.
So, what was he to do, being stuck in the mud? There was no place around to look for a tractor. And the oil drill was just too far to get back to before dark. The town of Emerson was much closer, but no equipment there, just a few hicks who would only help him if their mood—and current blood alcohol level—were inclined to do so. The highway was within walking distance, but only barely. Getting there would take too much time.
So, Leland had no choice but to roll up his sleeves and get down in the mud, which wasted no time in announcing its intention to detain its four-wheeled prey indefinitely. Soon he was covered in sweat and cursing his decision. It’d be better to walk to the highway and catch a ride there. He could figure out how to free his car tomorrow.
He was already hopelessly late to his date. Even worse, his phone seemed nothing more than a fancy camera slash alarm clock. No service. Maybe he could climb a tall pine tree to get a signal? Nah. That trick would never work in this narrow valley, surrounded as it was by high hills.
The mud finally gave up—once nightfall was little more than an hour away. Leland could hardly get the car started again, and the muffler was damaged, making the engine roar like a wounded beast.
It wasn’t a total victory, but at least the Jeep was on the road again. Now, as long as he could avoid breaking down or stopping, he could fix nearly anything in his vehicle with some wire, pliers, and a few other things, but that would also take too much time.
Leland made his way down the rest of the mudslide path, got on the highway, and drove as fast as possible to the city, but a thick blanket of mist soon forced him to slow down. Around here the fog sometimes came in the evening, but he had never seen it this dense before. His lights reached feebly out, only to be stopped by a tall milky wall in front of him, the asphalt only visible for several feet, and that only barely.
Catalina should be growing impatient to the point of exhaustion by now, gnawing her carefully painted nails in anticipation of a phone call, any phone call—and he was still far from the city. How far? Who the hell knew. So much for a nice, pleasant evening, but at least he was through the worst of it.
He pulled off the road, switched on his hazard flashers, and walked away from the idling car. He was afraid to turn it off lest he might never get it started again. He walked a few dozen steps away, hoping to have a short chat on the phone, away from the noise. His new sweetheart was a smart girl, and she should understand, forgive him, even sympathize with him. And if not, to hell with her. He’d have no problem finding someone else. It wasn’t that Catalina was his soulmate, the woman he wanted to grow old with. He simply held some physical goals in common with most of the world’s male mammals.
He lifted his phone to his ear and winced. Some nasty chemical must have been burning nearby—it smelled like an open vial of acid was being held right under his nose. Maybe this wasn’t just fog, after all. Maybe it was smoke. But what around here could cause such a massive blaze? He was way out in the sticks, with nothing else around but a few miserable farms eking out their existence, four clay quarries—two of which were closed down—and a railway stop, which had been practically abandoned for a decade. Perhaps some long train hauling chemicals had gone up in flames at the stop. Those rail lines carried all kinds of hazardous substances back and forth.
His phone call was suspiciously quiet, and he immediately saw why. Still no service. Strange. There’s always decent service here. The city was only a stone’s throw away, so why would there be no signal? Even out by the oil drill, he could get a good cellular data connection if he climbed up high enough.
Without warning, a huge black SUV emerged from the fog, racing towards him. At the last moment, it swerved to avoid his Jeep, but not soon enough. It swiped Leland’s vehicle with crushing force, shattering the corner of its bumper and ripping off a part of its hood. Still it careened down the road, lighting the way with its single surviving headlight. But not for long—it slammed into the metal guardrail at the next bend, crushing both the rail and itself, and finally came to a stop.
This day was really not going well.
But now didn’t seem like the best time to worry about his crippled vehicle. After all, his car was empty, but the SUV must have had people in it, and the crash was a serious one. People might be hurt.
Leland rushed to the driver side door and yanked at the handle. Nothing happened. He tugged again and again, and at last it gave in with a snap, all of its resistance gone in an instant. A stout bald man pushed out from under the deployed airbag and collapsed to the ground, then struggled to his feet, and began skittishly looking every which way, muttering something and shaking his head.
“Hello? You okay?” Leland asked.
The driver of the SUV stared at him, wiped the blood from his lips, and mumbled. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m from that car you just, uh, high-fived.”
The man turned, looked at the wounded Jeep, and began to yell at Leland.
“Son of a bitch! Who taught you to drive? I bet you don’t even have a license, don’t you?”
Leland wasn’t surprised at the outburst. He’d heard worse. Plus, it was likely just the stress from the accident getting to the guy’s head. He tried to answer firmly, but without provoking the man overly much.
“Slow down and take a breath, man. No need to get all worked up. You’re all right. My Jeep wasn’t moving. It was stopped on the correct side of the road with its hazard flashers on. In fact, it’s still there, see? There’s even a double yellow line here, but that didn’t stop that huge black hearse of yours from charging across it. Didn’t you notice the fog? It’s so thick that driving two miles an hour is as dangerous as going backwards around a NASCAR track—and you were going at least forty. So, which one of us needs to go back to driver’s ed, do you think?”
“Shut up, smartass. We’ll see whose fault it was. Just wait till I see you in court!”
So much for not provoking the man. “Sure,” Leland shrugged. “Let’s call the cops. I’m all for it. You the only one in the car?”
“Am I the... oh no. No! Dammit! Kara! Kara, can you hear me?”
The stranger flew over to the car and jammed his head inside, crying out as a father might gently call to his baby. “Are you OK, babe? Not hurt, are you?”
A woman’s tearful voice screeched out from inside the car. “My nose got smashed by the airbag, and I think it’s broken. I’m scared, Greg. What do we do? It’s dark out, with no doctors around this time of night.”
“It’s OK, sweetheart. We’ll take care of it in no time. You rest there and let us handle it.”
The man started tapping at his shiny smartphone at a furious pace, all the while mumbling and muttering to himself. It seemed he couldn’t find what he was looking for.
“Hey, you! Please tell me you know some doc’s phone number. No, forget it, I’ll call 911.”
“No use. No signal here.”
“I just made a call a minute ago! The signal was fine.”
“Suit yourself.” Leland waited patiently.
“Huh, you’re right
“Like I said, no service. Zip.”
“Kara’s worried. Her nose is in pretty bad shape, and she just had surgery on it the other day. She cares about how she looks, you know, so she needs a doctor right away. Your car still work?”
Leland shook his head. “Radiator’s shot, and the engine stalled when you hit me. Probably won’t be able to get it started again. It was hard enough last time.”
“Why the hell would you ride a rusted old shitwagon like that? People like you are what’s wrong with this world! Just my luck, running into a worthless son of a bitch like you when—”
“That ‘shitwagon’ can happily plow through places that clunker of yours would drown in.”
“I don’t spend my days riding through shitholes.”
“Well, I do.”
“Look, we’ve got to figure out some way to deal with our cell phone service problem. And fast. We can’t keep Kara waiting with a nosebleed like that. She scares easy.”
“We could walk to a farm or village and look for a landline.”
“Is there one close by?”
Leland shrugged. “I don’t know. With all this fog, I have no idea where we are. I don’t think I passed the lake yet. It should be over there to the right, with a little bridge crossing over on the other side.”
“A narrow bridge, you mean? I just went over something like that. Right before I ran into you.”
“Good. There’s a road just over the bridge, also on the right. Leads to a village on the opposite shore of the lake. It’s new, still under construction, but some of the houses are done and already inhabited. Not sure they’ll have landlines, but it’s a decent enough place they should have Internet there. We can call an ambulance from the hospital’s website.”
“You can do that?”
“Well, I never have, but I’ve heard you can, yeah.”
“Could you go there and call an ambulance? I just don’t want to leave Kara here alone. She’s like a baby when I’m not around. Go on, you’re young, so it should be easy for you. Here’s my card, so you know who they’re sending help to. Let me write a phone number on the other side here for you. Try calling this number from there, OK? It’s Tad’s number; he’s an old friend of mine. A practical, intelligent guy who knows how to take care of things quick. Well, what are you standing there for? Go! Or else we’ll be stuck spending the night here. Nobody is on this road this late, and plus, it’s like this fog has wiped it clean!”
It was true that Leland didn’t want to spend the night here. And no cars were on the road, either, so Greg’s suggestion seemed to be the right move. Leland was the best man for the job. But still, the guy was being a real dick.
Beatdowns would have to wait until another time. Besides, it probably wasn’t Greg’s fault. Leland doubted his parents had ever taught him any manners. What else could make someone act like such an asshole?
* * *
That pungent smell was getting worse. Soon Leland’s eyes began watering, and he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe some deadly chemical was on fire in the vicinity, and if he inhaled it, he’d be poisoned. Even fatally poisoned. And how could he stop that? He didn’t have a gas mask, and the direction the danger lay in was unknown, meaning that the direction towards clean air was also unknown. The best he could do was make his way to the village, get the scoop on the latest news, and try to reach somebody on the phone.
But there are no cars on the road. This mist really could be smoke from some poisonous chemical. Maybe the road was blocked off ahead and behind him—Leland had ridden here from that maddening prologue in the muddy forest, not from the main road, and the SUV driver might have barely made it through before the road was closed, or else taken some little-known back road.
At the very least, he could breathe through a damp rag instead. It was no gas mask, but it would help avoid ordinary smoke. The smell was approaching unbearable. Something about this fog was clearly off.
He felt a moist breeze, damper than the mist. Leland was certain that the lake was on the right, even though he could see practically nothing through the white clouds. By local standards, it was a big lake, with decent fishing—a good place for a suburban village. If Leland had the money, he wouldn’t have minded a cottage here, but the prices were ridiculous.
He was right: the lake was close. A minuscule stream flowed out of the lake into a pitiful muddy depression, a bridge hastily slung across it. The crossing was narrow, only one lane wide, never meant to be permanent. Vehicles found it tough to cross without scraping the guard rails. NDDOT made a big show of bridge safety regulations on TV, but their vigil sure didn’t show here—there was no space at all for pedestrians. Someone had run a few planks for on-foot travelers across the stream under the bridge. Crossing that way was no fun even during the day, but in the dark without a decent flashlight you might as well be walking a tightrope blindfolded.
Leland decided to take the upper level. There were no cars around, after all. The road was dead, as Greg had said.
Too bad he had forgotten this was his unlucky day. Just as Leland was nearing the middle of the bridge, he heard the rapid approach of a rumbling engine. The strange mist distorted the sound, so the car appeared to be at least five hundred feet away—when suddenly a pair of headlights emerged from the darkness. It was a minibus, closing on him rapidly.
It was riding right next to the guard rails, reducing the chance any pedestrians would be spared to approximately zero. The driver was flying along like a maniac, much faster than that fatso in the SUV. How in the world had he avoided landing his car in a ditch this whole time? Driving like that in this fog was suicide.
All of these thoughts rushed through Leland’s head as he threw himself over the side. He couldn’t charge for the opposite railing—the bridge was too narrow. A slip of the wheel and the crazy driver would slam right into him. Heading down might not be the most comfortable option, but at least it was an option. The bridge wasn’t far above the ground, so only his clothes would suffer from the fall. It was filthy down there, all year round.
Leland exited the space above the bridge with mere seconds to spare. He jumped out eight feet into the darkness, prepping his legs to cushion his landing. But instead of landing on the mushy ground, he caught the edge of the boards used by pedestrians.
His plan failed miserably in a recurring theme of this whole evening. His leg twisted back painfully and he lost his balance, collapsing into the darkness and slamming his head into a huge bridge support column. The blow drove consciousness from him, filling the void it left with infinite blackness.
And so ended the worst night of Leland’s life—or rather, the worst night of his life thus far. Fate chuckled. That summer evening was but the opening salvo of its mischief, the first dish of its feast of pain, and many courses still waited to be served.
Chapter 2
Bridge pylons make for the worst hangovers.
Leland’s head was gripped in a vice of agony. His legs dangled in the cold water of the lazy brook, his body resting on the filthy mudgrass. An enormous green frog sat by his nose, staring at him arrogantly, as if imagining itself a prince in disguise. As the man started to rise, though, it fled the scene.
Leland looked around, bewildered. He reached for his head and located the large bump on top of it. He felt nauseous, yes, but he had a hard time believing he had struck the ground so hard that he had spent the whole night there, unconscious. But what else could explain the faint but growing light along the eastern sky?
He pulled his phone out to check the time, but the water had ended its life. It might still function if he dried it out, but not for several days.
What do I do now? Head for the town? He had the look of a vagabond who belonged anywhere but in a lakeside village. The driver of the smashed SUV was nowhere to be seen, so perhaps he had found a way to get out of here. There had still been cars on the road, after all—one crazy minibus, at a minimum. Leland wasn’t far from where he had started. Best to head back, ascertain the situation, and grab his backup cell phone from the trunk. It was an old phone, and he only carried it for its utility as a flashlight—a function which had rescued him from a jam or two. He failed to fathom how he had forgotten about it last night. A flashlight would’ve come in handy.
