Stung (Zombie Gentlemen) (9 page)

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Dals ‘ave money.”

“But here, you didn’t have a man for so long. Is
it even worth it?” Victor sighed, scanning his face with unfeigned interest,
but he could almost physically see Crunch crawling into a shell, clenching his
jaw, tensing up.

“A small inconvenience for a better future.”

“What future is that?”

“A house in Bylondon maybe.”

“Where you will live alone, because everyone will
soon know what you used to do.” Victor shook his head, feeling his heartbeat
pick up. “You should leave, Crunch.”

The guard sneered at him all of a sudden. “Ya
don’t seem to mind what I do.”

Victor swallowed. “I’m not in Bylondon anymore.”

“Maybe I’ll take ya with me.”

Victor blinked, his chest tightening as he looked
up at Crunch, speechless.

“I know I just met ya, but ya seem a good fit. Why
not?” The guard shrugged and smiled at Victor. He couldn’t be lying. His eyes
were far too sincere for that.

Victor exhaled, grabbing the front of his own
shirt in order to do something with his hands. He really hoped Crunch wouldn’t
stay. He was strong, intelligent. For someone like that, it certainly couldn’t
be too hard to find work back in the city. “I... I hope you’re not just saying
that, because if you do, I will do something we’ll both regret,” he chuckled.

“Nah, serious. Just, ya know, it’s not gonna
‘appen overnight, that’s why ya have to blend in.”

Victor sighed, hoping Crunch wouldn’t take it
against him that he ran away. “I would really like to see you in London.”

Crunch let out a long breath, not answering, as
they approached the hill.

“So... I’ll see you tomorrow?” Victor gave him a
soft smile. He squinted when a reflection of light from one of the domes caught
his eyes.

“Yeah. I’ll bring ‘oney.”

Victor felt a knot of unease form in his stomach,
but he dismissed it quickly, hoping Crunch could keep his word this time.

Chapter 6

Victor practically licked the bowl of porridge he
got for supper. Unlike the other prisoners, he wasn’t trying to communicate
with the women crowded on the other side of the room. He didn't bother to count
them, but estimated that for every female, there were four or five male workers
in the camp. Despite being lesser in number, for the most part, women looked
healthier than the men, so he assumed either the portions were sufficient for
their needs or they had something to snack on between the meals. He suspected
the latter.

Some females worked alongside men in the orchard,
but they were mostly assigned to making preserves, cooking, milking the cows
and a task that was complained on so loudly, he could hear it from his place
against the wall - laundry duties.

Even though contact between the sexes was
technically not allowed, Victor started noticing after a few days here, that
not all the guards were bothered enough to stop the passing of little notes or
an exchange of smiles. This kind of normal human contact must have been
something that kept the long serving prisoners sane. Victor’s thoughts were
nowhere close to the other side of the room.

There was a slight glimmer of hope in him that
told him to leave it all to Crunch and avoid the risk of spending days marching
through the woods, but he was quick to dismiss it. He couldn’t allow himself to
depend on anyone’s mercy.

He
was
like all the others. The need for
human contact was making him careless and too trusting. He couldn’t--

“Hey, you!”

Victor looked up. A guard who was probably younger
than him pointed a finger at him.

“Yeah, you.”

Victor cleared his throat, looking into the
heavily spotted face. “What?”

“Someone wants to talk to you outside.” The guard
nodded at the door, as if that was supposed to be enough of an order.

Victor’s heart fluttered, and he gulped down his
tea just to refresh his teeth. Maybe Crunch was on watch again tonight? “Of
course, mister.” He gave the guard a polite nod and walked towards the wide
door, trying to hide his smile but it was a lost cause. He hoped Crunch
wouldn’t mind.

He exited under the watchful gaze of other guards,
but the silhouette he saw against the purple sky was not the one he wished for.
It was Iron Teeth. Startled, Victor came to an abrupt halt, looking around in
hope he would spot his lover somewhere. The realization that they were in fact
alone hit him like a hammer to the head, and his blood ran cold.

“Victor, right?” The guard approached him
casually, with hands on his hips. He was bulky, with a bit of a pot belly that
didn’t make him any less intimidating. Victor hid his hands in the pockets of
his trousers and nodded, keeping his eyes low, at Sharpe’s muddy boots. He knew
some people believed looking them in the eye was a sign of arrogance and right
now, he felt like the humblest man in Honeyhill.

“Yes, mister.”

“Come with me. I know you’re new here, so I
thought we needed to have a chat. You wouldn’t want to associate yarself with
the wrong people.” Sharpe made a small gesture with his hand, urging Victor to
walk with him.

Victor looked back, but there was no one to stop
him and with his heart hammering somewhere beneath his larynx, he followed
Sharpe. He had no clue what to expect, especially after Crunch specifically
told him to avoid Iron Teeth. Twice.

“I saw ya mingling with Crunch today. What did you
talk about?” came the unwanted question.

“Oh... he, ah...” Victor stuttered, but he willed
himself to get a grip. “He wanted me to teach him some music. I am-- was a
singer.”

Sharpe looked back at him with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, that’s interesting. Crunch wants to learn how to sing, eh?” It was obvious
he didn’t believe a word Victor said.

“Well, he said he wants to impress some lady
friend.” He cleared his throat, wary of his expression, though the tension of
his muscles was almost painful. With Crunch so far away and unaware of what was
happening, a man like Sharpe could do anything to Victor.

“Is that so? By singing? Very interesting.” They
were walking roughly towards the hill, and Victor felt like a piglet being
taken to the slaughter house. With everyone gathered on the other side of the
camp, it was quiet and dark as they walked between empty barracks.

“Most ladies find it romantic when a man sings for
them,” he tried.

“You can stop this rubbish now. What did he really
want from you?” Sharpe's voice got a sharper edge. “We can do this normally:
with you telling me everything or the hard way: with me squeezing it out. Which
one will it be, Victor?” he sighed. Every hair on Victors body rose when he
realized they were in fact going uphill, to the buzzing domes. Victor trembled
and his legs became wobbly, but he assumed sticking to the story was his only
option. He couldn’t bring Crunch in danger and he was pretty sure Iron Teeth
wouldn’t spare him anyway. His legs became heavy, stiff, but he knew there was
no way out of this, so he went on, with Sharpe just a step behind him now.

“I... am sorry, sir... this is the truth.” He fell
silent when Iron Teeth waved his hand dismissively, but didn’t dare talk back.

“That’s good to know. I thought we could be
sincere with each other. That’s why I decided to show you our Hives. Not
everyone gets to see them, you know.”

A deep shiver went down to Victor’s insides and
clenched around his gut when he looked at the dark skeleton frame of the dome
ahead, menacing like a huge oriental spider. “I... was working here earlier
today, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Oh, you haven’t
seen
it though.” Iron
Teeth raised his eyebrows, urging Victor on to the double-doored entrance to
the dome. Victor slouched, watching him pull out a big bundle of keys and use one
to open the entrance. The harsh buzz channelled by the tube of the walkway send
a shiver down Victor's spine

“I... don’t know. Maybe we could talk somewhere
else?” he asked, his teeth already clattering. He was getting nauseous.

“Don’t you want to see how the glorious Dal Honey
is made? With you being so sincere with me, I can imagine you’d want to see the
truth behind it, right?” Sharpe bared his hideous teeth and pushed Victor
forward. A glint of the red, fading sun bounced off the glass, blinding him for
a moment.

“They say people enjoy some things better without
knowing where they come from,” rasped Victor, following Sharpe to a simple room
with low benches by the walls and the same black costumes he’d seen today
hanging on numerous hooks. “Like... bread.”

“Or pork?” Sharpe laughed, clearly mocking
Victor’s work in the pigsty. He left his prisoner waiting, as he proficiently
donned all the parts of the beekeeper’s uniform, hat and veil included.

Victor kept clenching and unclenching his hands,
trying to breathe. “Where will I find one my size?” he asked in a voice so tiny
he felt a flush spread over his face.

“You won’t. Women don’t work inside and that would
be your size,” Sharpe said as he pulled on the long leather gloves.

“Surely, there would be one I could use to
visit... the glorious apiary,” Victor looked at Sharpe’s face behind the veil.
He couldn’t stop the tremble in his body, as if it resonated with the endless
buzz of insects. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement of a dark shape crawling
on the other side of the glass between the dressing room and another part of
the building.

“You wouldn’t see it as well if you wore a veil,”
Sharpe told him as if Victor were a silly child asking to wear a raincoat on a
sunny day.

Victor stared at him, his stomach sinking with the
realization that Iron Teeth didn’t want him protected. He wouldn’t humiliate
himself by saying anything else, so he hung his head down, waiting.

Sharpe unlocked the door to the corridor and
gestured for Victor to go first.

“But... what if one stings me and it affects my
voice? Mr. Crunch would not be happy about it,” Victor tried, glancing at the
long, strangely cool corridor.

“Crunch needs to do his job, not sing for ladies.
He’s rotter bait anyway. In.” Sharpe reached for his gun.

With all his defences broken, Victor reluctantly
stepped in, hugging himself as he progressed towards the door at the end. With
each room they passed so far, the buzzing became clearer, lower. He couldn’t
stop thinking about the man walking behind him. They were all alone here, and
each step brought him closer to a place where even the workers were required to
wear protective gear. But how could he refuse? So he walked, counting the tiles
beneath his feet not to throw up.

There was a thud and a buzzing above him when a
massive bee hit the glass, but when he looked up, red sunlight blinded him
again. All he could hear apart from the buzzing, was the opening of another
lock, and Victor’s skin crawled at the intensity of the hum. If it was any other
situation, he would have nervously spotted the insect, but the buzz dawned on
him with an intensity he never expected. It echoed all around him, the sound
doubling, tripling and soon, he was too afraid to keep his eyes closed.

Sharpe’s voice was muted behind the veil. “Isn’t
it a heavenly sight?” he asked, but it was a lot more like hell on earth.

Drowning in the orange light of the sunset,
rotting bodies writhed in their chains on the ground, growling and clattering
their teeth. Victor’s lungs emptied as he looked at the rows and rows of
zombies, laying spread eagle with their legs turned towards narrow alleys.
Victor’s body went cold and he forgot all about the bees when his gaze stopped
at the nearest undead. Flowers grew in its open, rotting ribcage like a
gruesome offering. Heavy calyxes in intense bright colours contrasted with the
zombies' greyish bodies. The green parts were tangled so thickly that only
after a moment Victor realized a climbing plant was creeping up naked ribs that
were pulled to the sides, making up walls of the grotesque flowerbed. It was
then that the smell hit Victor. Sweet, rotten smell, like that of his mother’s
room after she’d been kept there for three days after she died. His stomach
clenched, and he rapidly bowed down, vomiting on the dirt beneath his feet.

“Not to your likin’, canary?” Sharpe chuckled, and
Victor wanted to throw up again when a few bees the size of hummingbirds flew
down to his puke. He staggered back, hitting Sharpe. Never before had he wanted
to get away from anything as much as from those huge, hairy bodies, wading in
the sick on fat black legs.

“Oh, God, please,” he cried, clenching his fingers
on his shirt. He could hardly breathe.

“Are you ready to tell me the truth about what
Crunch talked to you about?” There wasn’t even a hint of smile on Sharpe’s face
this time.

“I told you what he wanted. What else could he
possibly want from me?” whispered Victor, stepping even further back from the
bees. He curled his arms when another one started circling him in the air, its
huge black eyes matte and dead.

“Oh well, I will have to test that then. Hold out
your hands, Victor, and come closer,” he said with a bored sigh and pulled out
a knife from its sheath at his hip. Victor’s eyes widened, and he took a step back
in horror.

“What... what do you mean... sir?” His voice was
almost screechy now, but he still pressed his eyes shut when the bee flew by
right in front of his face.

“I mean, ‘hold out your hands’.” A slap to the
cheek jerked Victor back into attention and when Sharpe looked into his eyes,
Victor lost his voice. He got stuck, utterly terrified. The smell of death,
only masked by the sweet scent of flowers all around them didn’t help. Despite
the numbing fear, he knew he couldn’t possibly avoid this, so he moved his
hands slowly, showing them to Sharpe with their backs up.

The guard grabbed his wrist, never looking away
from Victor’s eyes and quickly reached into the inside of his palm with the
knife. There was a sharp flash of pain and for a moment, Victor barely
comprehended why there was blood seeping out of a gash in his skin.

A small gasp was all he managed, instinctively
trying to yank his hand back. It hurt like burning fire, and bright red blood
was now spilling down to the ground. His knees felt weak. And worst of all, the
zombie growls around them, intensified. So did the buzz. Suddenly, the huge,
lumpy insects were all around and he clenched his hand, desperately hiding it
against his chest, but the bees could still sense its coppery smell.

“So, Victor.” Sharpe was still gripping his other
wrist. “Will you tell me the truth or do you want to play this game? With this
poor bugger maybe?” He yanked Victor towards the closest alley of rotting
flowerbeds. One of the zombies reached for him with stumps instead of hands but
with a groan no less vicious than that of a free range rotter. One of its eyes
was ripped out and left to rot above its cheek, still hanging onto a strip of
flesh.

Victor screamed, digging his heels into the
ground. “No... this... this is the truth!” he insisted, terrified at the sight
of a fat yellow bee abdomen stirring in the calyx of a large purple flower. He
flinched when one of the bees brushed against his ear. If he stayed here for
long, he would surely go mad and end up as a flowerbed himself. “Why would I
lie?”

“Because he told you to. As I said. I think you
allied yourself with the wrong man, Victor,” Sharpe said without sympathy, his
hand landing heavily on Victor’s arm.

Victor wasn’t bound. He could run, could attack...
but where would he go? And if he attacked, Sharpe would probably beat him into
a pulp or just throw him to the zombies. Victor had no rights here, and no one
would care if he died. Even Crunch, but for the kindness he had shown Victor,
he’d never expose him by telling Sharpe what they were actually doing.