“The lies, and truths, and pain?… oh! yet
Stands the Church clock at ten to three?
And is there honey still for tea?”*
The last honeybee died on the 24th of August last year. No one really knew the cause of that final wave of Colony Collapse Disorder. Jared suspected the genetically manipulated crops promoted by the big Agri Corporation. They denied it of course, they always did. But, whatever the cause, the apiaries of the world now stood empty and abandoned. There was still honey of course. Synthesized in the chemical laboratories of the same Agri Corporations, insipid and pale in comparison. But, in time, people would forget the taste and texture of real honey.
Jared Hunter was no film star. At 35 he stood at a slightly
stooped 5 foot 9 inches and had a string of broken relationships to his credit,
or rather discredit. His sandy hair was rough-cut and his slate grey eyes held
more than a hint of sadness. Although he knew little about people, particularly
women, he did know about bees. He had a kind of empathy with them that he
lacked with others of his own kind.
Today was the day that Jared
would strike back on behalf of his fallen comrades. Today was the day that he
intended to discover the truth and broadcast it to the world. He pulled the
black balaclava low over his face, so that his eyes stared out of the two slits
he had roughly cut in the wool. The dark military style parka had useful
pockets for keeping the wire cutters and other tools safe. A quick glance in
the mirror reassured him that he was ready. Picking up his car keys he headed
for the door. Today, the bees would be avenged.
The weeks spent befriending the cleaner at the plant, and
the money taken to buy him drinks at the Red Lion had proved to be worth it in
the end. It was surprising what you could find out from those at the margins of
society if you just chose to listen. They were so glad to be able to talk about
their lives to someone. Jared was a good listener. He knew when to add a
consoling remark and when to remain silent. Now he knew more about the layout
of the plant than many who worked there. After all, cleaners went everywhere
and at all hours. He knew where to cut the perimeter fence unseen and which
window could be quietly broken without sounding the alarm. He even knew the
keypad code to the labs. All of this, just because he listened.
Jared had waited through all the phases of the waning
crescent moon with its silver crescent growing smaller and smaller. Now it had
become a new moon with its far side facing the sun. From earth the moon was
dark and offered no reflected light to hinder his task.
He parked his car about two miles
away and cut across fields he had studied on countless Ordnance Survey maps. He kept
the torch beam low, so as not to attract attention and cursed several times
when he fell on rough ground. After climbing several gates and pushing his way
through a rough hedge that blocked his way, Jared reached his objective.
The wire fence stretched tall in
front of him. Behind it was the concrete and glass of the plant. Everything was
dimly lit. He had chosen a Sunday, as it was the only day when no night shift
operated. He would be alone, except for a few security staff huddled in their
cabin on the other side of the plant, playing cards and drinking tea.
The wire cutter felt heavy in his
gloved hand as he extracted it from his parka's pocket. With the torch in his
other hand he knelt and started to work. The wire strands proved harder to snip
than he had anticipated and his knuckles and wrist began to ache. He should
have practised this at home to build up his hand strength and grip. He quickly
realised that he would have to settle for a smaller gap and somehow squeeze
through. At least the fence wasn't electrified so he didn't need the jump cable
he had brought along.
A shuffling noise behind him made
Jared freeze. Were the security staff doing a perimeter sweep? Slowly he turned
and shone the torch beam. Illuminated in the cone of light was the black and
white shape of a badger burrowing into the hedgerow. Jared took a deep breath,
swallowed and returned to his task.
Eventually the gap was wide enough for him to crawl through
with only minor damage to his clothing and a few scratches to his face. The
balaclava had taken the brunt of the force from the jagged metal edges and now
hung useless on the fence. Jared wasn’t particularly concerned about anonymity
now he was inside the grounds. He wanted to reveal to the world what the
Corporation was guilty of. Hence the mobile phone in his trouser pocket. This
was war and Jared was the advanced guard.
He quickly sprinted across the
grass to the concrete path that snaked around the outside of the building. Like
many modern plants the outer wall was mainly windowless, but Jared knew that
further along was a small window belonging to the cleaners' storeroom, here
they often gathered for a smoke. Opening the window to let the telltale haze
out into the fresh air. For this reason the alarm on the window had been
mysteriously disabled sometime in the past by an unknown hand. Jared intended
to smash a pane and then reach inside to open it before climbing in. Hopefully,
the alarm remained disabled or he was in real trouble.
The window turned out to be
slightly higher than expected but just about reachable. Jared wrapped the thick
cloth he had brought around the head of the wire cutters and gave it a hard
knock against one of the panes. There was a splintering sound and he had to
close his eyes as shards of broken glass showered down over his hair and
shoulders. Standing on tiptoes he managed to stretch his arm inside and undo
the fastening. The window swung outwards over his head. With a great deal of
effort, Jared pulled himself up and slipped through the opening. They made it
look a damn sight easier in films, he thought to himself, as he fell rather
than dropped to the floor. But, at least he was inside.
Jared went carefully through the storeroom doorway into the
dimly lit main corridor. Glossy photographs of the products made at the plant
adorned the plain brick walls as he made his way along the passageway and
through various fire doors. Where the passage branched he knew to keep left and
that he would find the entrance to the laboratory at the very end. This was
where the main research on the synthetic honey was carried out. Here he would
find the evidence he needed. Jared's heart was beating fast with excitement
mixed with the fear of being caught when he was so close to achieving his aim.
The passage grew darker the
further he walked away from the main corridor. Only a ghostly light from the
charging emergency lighting fittings illuminated his way. He had switched off
his torch to save its battery and to help avoid detection, although the
deserted windowless passageway made this unlikely. Finally he came to a large
reinforced glass door that blocked his way. On the bare brick wall next to it
was the keypad.
Jared typed in the six digit code
and pressed the green enter button at the bottom of the pad. For a few seconds
he held his breath hoping that the code hadn't been changed. The metallic clunk
told him that it had been accepted and the door mechanism released. He pushed
open the glass door and went inside.
Jared switched on his torch and scanned the lab. He wasn't
sure what he was looking for, perhaps some evidence of the Corporation's guilt
in the bees demise. What he did see shook him to the core. A massive glass hive
stood in the middle of the room and above it was a large steel hood fed by
pipework. What the hell! He thought.
Quickly he read some documents on
a desk near the hive. The truth slowly dawned upon him. These were virus
resistant bees captured by the Corporation and housed in hives in their plants
worldwide. They were being experimented on in an effort to produce more of the
vile synthetic honey at a greatly reduced cost. The hood obviously supplied a
gas that kept the bees docile in their captivity.
Jared quickly took photographs of
the hive and of the documents on his mobile and sent them to a long list of
addresses he had researched before starting his quest: international
environmental publications, activists and academics. The news would now be circulating
before going viral. Jared thought of the work that the Corporation's press
office would have to carry out in order to skew the narrative, to somehow make
the Corporation the hero trying to preserve the bees rather than the villain.
Some would believe it. But the majority would see through it and the
Corporation would be forced to release the bees back into the wild.
Following the pipework, Jared found the inlet valve and
closed it. A quick release switch on the hive's side unlocked the hood and it
slowly rose into the ceiling space. He knew the bees would soon start to
recover and become angry.
A row of three small windows was
located high up on the far wall. Using a stool, Jared unlocked each and opened
them wide. He knew that this would alert the security staff. He imagined them
throwing down their cards and spilling their tea in a rush to investigate what
had spoiled their night. But, he had time.
The buzz from the hive told Jared
that the bees were now wide-awake. Then it happened, a large bee flew from the
glass prison and circled the lab. Then she sensed the breeze from the open
window and flew straight for it. The queen was about to swarm.
A cloud of wings quickly followed her towards the open
windows and out into the fresh air. The glass door to the lab swung open and
two security men stepped inside. Jared merely smiled at them. The last bee
perched on the window-latch turned to look at Jared, as if in thanks, before
launching itself into the freedom of a new day.
*The
Old Vicarage, Granchester by Rupert Brooke.
Bio:
Mike Everley has been writing for many years and has had
poetry, short stories and articles published in numerous publications and
online. He was a member of both the NUJ and the Society of Authors before
retirement. Now, a silver scribbler, he devotes his time to creative writing.
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