FICTION BY JG FAHERTY

Born and raised in New York’s haunted Hudson Valley and more recently a resident of North Carolina’s equally haunted Cape Fear region, JG Faherty is the author of 25 books, 4 collections, and more than 95 short stories, and he’s been a finalist for both the Bram Stoker Award (twice) and ITW Thriller Award.

He writes adult and YA horror, science fiction, dark fantasy, and paranormal romance, and his works range from quiet, suspenseful horror to action-packed paranormal thrillers. He is proud to be a relative of Mary Shelley.

You can follow him on X, Facebook, and Instagram as @jgfaherty.

HIVES
By JG Faherty

“Don’t move.”

Doctor Ralph Hodge paused, his left foot raised in mid-step, at the touch of Esteban’s hand on his shoulder. After three weeks of slogging through the tropical rain forest, he’d learned to trust the native guide without question.

Esteban’s firm grip on his shoulder reinforced the serious, whispered words. The short, wiry man slowly inched his way past Hodge on the narrow trail and used his long machete to poke at the other side of the fallen tree Ralph had been about to step over.

With a hiss like escaping steam, the wide, triangular head of a snake struck lightning fast at the blade and then withdrew, its brown and black diamond pattern blending perfectly with the fallen leaves and branches on the ground. Esteban eased back, pulling Ralph with him, and then made a wide arc around the log.

“What the hell was that?” Ralph asked. It was by far the largest snake he’d seen since arriving in Brazil ten days earlier.

“Surucucu,” Esteban said. “Bushmaster.”

Ralph’s heart beat a little faster as he realized how close he’d come to death. The bushmaster, a tropical viper that reached nine feet in length, had a reputation as one of the deadliest snakes in South America.

“Gracias, Esteban. We’ve only got one more day out here. Think you can keep me alive that long?” Hodge mopped his forehead and neck with a dirty bandana. As much as he tried to make light of his inexperience in the jungle, he knew that if it wasn’t for Esteban, he’d have suffered something far more serious than the assortment of irritating but ultimately harmless bites and stings that covered most of his exposed flesh.

Not that he could complain.

After all, a private photo-excursion through the rain forest had been his idea for a vacation. And now there’d be no rest before his next big adventure.

The space station. I still can’t believe it. Ralph allowed himself a brief smile as he thought about how soon he’d be living a life-long dream.

Two weeks in space. Conducting experiments of my own design. He was already the envy of the Biomolecular Lab at CalTech. He’d be doubly so after the resulting monographs were published. Maybe triple, if there ended up being any results he could monetize.

“Hurry,” Estaban called out from up ahead. “You do not want to miss your boat back to Manaus.”

Ralph picked up his pace, brushing aside wide leaves and trusting that Esteban had cleared any snakes or tarantulas from the path. He couldn’t miss his boat. He’d barely left enough time in his itinerary as it was. From Manaus he’d take a plane to Rio, where he’d connect with his flight back to Miami, arriving just in time to shower, catch a night’s sleep, and then join the rest of the shuttle team at Vandenberg.

Shouldn’t have cut it so close. He grimaced as he brushed away several flying ants that had landed on the sleeve of his khaki shirt. Raj Bhogal, the mission commander and his roommate back in their undergrad days, would have his hide if he screwed up the window of opportunity for the launch. What choice had he had, though? The trip to the Brazilian rain forest had been on the books for almost a year and cost nearly two months’ pay. He couldn’t back out. Just like he couldn’t say no when Raj told him he’d pulled some strings to get him on the next shuttle trip.

I can sleep when I get back to Earth.

Scratching at random itches on his neck and arms, he hurried to catch up with Esteban.

*****

“We had even money you weren’t going to make it, Dr. Hodge.” Doug Rayburn turned in the pilot’s seat and looked back at Ralph. “I had ten bucks on you myself.”

“Glad you won your money.” Ralph smiled as he unbuckled his straps and rotated his body before pushing off toward the back of the shuttle.

“Yeah. Danny-boy here wasn’t so lucky.”

“Screw you,” came Daniel Hartmann’s reply. “Somebody had to take the bet.”

Pilot and co-pilot continued their good-natured arguing while Ralph checked to see how his twenty-four white mice had handled the lift off. The small rodents floated in their containers, pink feet scurrying as the confused animals tried to figure out where solid ground had gone. They were the focus of his experiment, observations on the effects of cosmic radiation on retroviral mutations. With none of the mice showing any ill effects from the first stage of their flight, he entered some notes into the small computer interface mounted next to the cages and returned to his seat. Unlike the rest of the crew, Ralph had little to do until they rendezvoused with the space lab in twelve hours.

As he put on his headphones to drown out the voices of his companions, he scratched futilely at his neck and left arm, wishing he could get his hand under the heavy material of his Launch and Entry suit. Three days after leaving the jungle and his bug bites were itching worse than ever, despite the daily doses of cortisone cream he’d been using.

Never again, he told himself, wishing he could soak in a tub of salve. No more rain forests.

*****

“Five minutes, Dr. Hodge,” Mission Captain Raj Bhogal’s voice crackled from the speakers.

“All set here, Raj,” Ralph said, and laughed softly at Bhogal’s quiet groan. He still thought it funny how his best friend was always so formal at work. That’s why he made it a point to not use the astrophysicist’s title unless he had to.

“The latest readings indicate the section of the radiation band you’ll be passing through is eleven point three two percent stronger than previous simulations, mostly due to a higher-than-predicted concentration of muons. Will this be a problem? We still have time to perform a course correction.”

“I saw that, too. The levels are still well within the experimental range, and they’re certainly not high enough to be dangerous to us through our suits, so I see no reason not to proceed as planned.”

“All right. Mister Rayburn, will the increased levels affect shuttle’s systems in any way?”

Ralph wondered why Raj would ask a question like that when he surely had the pertinent data right at his fingertips in station’s computers. Then he realized Raj probably wanted all everything recorded for posterity. Or to cover his ass later, if anything did go wrong with the shuttle’s flight. You didn’t get command of a six-month mission on the space station without knowing how to play the game.

“Don’t worry, Doctor Bhogal,” Rayburn said, and Ralph heard the smile in his voice. “All critical systems are triple shielded. We could handle ten times that amount of radiation without it affecting our electronics. Plus, we’ll pass through the band in less than six minutes. Piece of cake.”

“Glad to hear it. In that case, I’ll turn the final countdown over to you. Our next communication will be when you begin your return loop. Bhogal out.”

Ralph scratched at a particularly annoying spot on his shoulder and looked over at Rayburn. “You’re the captain now. Want to do the honors?”

Rayburn gave him the thumbs up and cleared his throat. “On my mark...three, two, one. Separation.” The shuttle rumbled as the engines fired. The clang of the locks disengaging came simultaneously with a sudden thrust that pushed Ralph back in his seat. Unlike their lift off from Earth three days prior, the pressure only lasted a few seconds and then zero gravity returned.

“Three minutes and counting.” Rayburn hit a switch and a clock on the display board began counting backward.

Ralph used his keyboard to turn on all four video recorders. There’d be nothing else for him to do during their six-minute trip through the radiation band except make sure the cameras stayed on. His work would come later, back in the CalTech lab, when he and his team would carry out their studies of the mice.

As Rayburn announced the one minute mark, Hodge cursed silently.

Damn these bites! He rubbed his shoulder vigorously against his seat, while at the same time rubbing the most irritating spots on his forearms. He could only imagine what was going on under his suit. None of his creams were working, and he’d stopped taking the Benadryl because now his stomach was acting up. Between the itching, his nausea, and his nervousness over his experiment, he’d barely slept.

“Ten...nine...eight...”

Ralph tried to ignore the insane itching long enough to trigger his own throat mic. “This is Doctor Ralph Hodge. Entry into the radiation band in...three...two...one...now.” He timed his voice to match Rayburn’s count.

A computer readout provided a graphical display of intensity for each radiation wavelength. Ralph kept silent, knowing it would be easier to add in verbal commentary later. For now he had a camera trained on the screen.

He glanced back, observing the mice scuttling around in their cages, quivering noses rising up in the air, tiny pink feet scrabbling at the plexiglass of the tanks. In three days, the shuttle would leave the station and return home, where blood samples would be drawn from all twenty-four test subjects to see what, if any, effect the radiation had on the retrovirus they’d been injected with.

The next six minutes were spent fighting to hold the camera steady when all he wanted to do was scratch his arms and shoulders.

*****

“Welcome back, Doctor Hodge.” Sally Kriss, his current post-doctoral fellow, greeted him at the door to the lab with a cup of black coffee. “I’ve got everything set up to draw the blood samples.”

“Fine. Let’s get this done. I don’t want to waste time.”

Ralph grabbed the cup, sloshing coffee over both their hands. Sally yelped and he muttered an apology, but he didn’t pause in his fast walk to the lab. All he wanted was to get the samples prepared and return to the privacy of his office.

The past three days had been hell. Rather than fading away, the bug bites had grown, each one now the size of his pinky nail, more than a dozen of them scattered around his shoulders, neck, and arms. Hard little mounds that seemed impervious to his nails or the assorted lotions and creams he slathered over them. On top of that, he’d been suffering frequent stomach cramps and his belly was bloated. A classic allergic reaction, and his symptoms were growing worse, not better.

As much as he hated to admit it, the damn bites were going to require a trip to the doctor.

He instructed Sally and one of the lab techs to draw the blood samples and prepare them for cryoelectron microscopy, the first step in his evaluation of any radiation-related effects. Following the physical examination, they’d carry out a more detailed study that followed the retrovirus’ replication process via integration of viral RNA into the host cell genome. Ultimately, Ralph hoped to identify a way of using radiation to modify retroviruses so they could be more effectively used as vectors for gene therapy.

“Sally, when you’re done, you can configure the cryoelectron microscope and start on the photographs. After that, we’ll set up some samples for Western Blot to see if there’ve been any mutations along the protein strands.”

“Yes, Doctor Hodge.” Sally’s voice carried none of its usual warmth.

Still pissed. Oh, well. She’ll get over it.

He pushed through the lab doors and hurried to his office. Once inside, he stripped off his lab coat and shirt. In the adjoining bathroom, he examined himself the mirror over the sink. If anything, the pustules had grown. Their pinkish color had also darkened to red.

Some of them appeared to be pulsating.

Ralph leaned his shoulder closer to the mirror and bent his head forward for a better look.

Damn these fluorescent lights. I can’t see a-

One of the swellings suddenly expanded, doubling in size before bursting open. Sticky fluids exploded outwards, peppering his cheek and the mirror with wet droplets.

“Christ!”

He stumbled backwards, bumping against the toilet and losing his balance. He flung one hand outwards to catch himself but missed the seat; instead, his body ended up wedged into the small space between the toilet and the wall.

“Son of a bitch.”

He started to push himself upwards, only to fall back, this time hitting his head on the porcelain tank, as several more of the bites erupted in volcanic fashion, spewing their contents onto his skin and the wall.

Hodge found himself staring at a particularly large nodule on his bicep just as it opened like an overripe tomato and a gout of clear liquid gushed out. Movement on his arm caught his attention.

A tiny shape emerged from the open wound and scurried away.

He slapped at it with his free hand but missed. The creature tickled the hairs on his arm as it went around to the other side.

Jesus! Those weren’t bug bites. Something in that damned jungle laid eggs in me!

Two more of the lumps burst. Before he could get a good look at the minuscule pink creatures they were gone, scurrying over his shoulder and out of sight.

Wet warmth on his other arm let Ralph know more of the vile invaders were hatching. Rapid prickling sensations traversed his neck and back.

God help me, I’m infested.

Visions of jungle spiders eating him from the inside out filled his head. He slammed his back against the wall, his wet, sticky flesh sliding along the smooth surface.

Wait. I should save some of them. They’ll have to be identified, in case I need some kind of special treatment.

Reaching up, he grabbed a plastic cup from the sink and slammed it down, trapping three or four of the creatures as they scampered across the tile. The tiny monsters were clearly visible, although distorted by the cup’s curvature. Ralph leaned closer.

Each parasite had a pink body and a black head, and stood about a centimeter in height. They...

They’re standing.

He peered more closely at his captives.

Four distinct figures stood there. Two arms. Two legs. What he’d mistaken for black insect heads were now well-defined faces with dark hair.

Human faces.

He lifted the cup and brought his head down until his cheek rested on the floor.

Four miniature versions of himself looked back at him.

One of them raised a hand.

**Hello.**

The small, faint voice in his head was the last thing Ralph heard before the world went dim and disappeared.

*****

Darkness. Something cold and smooth against his face.

What happened? Where...

Memory returned.

Ralph opened his eyes and jerked upright. The four figures on the floor had been joined by more than a dozen other duplicates.

This can’t be happening. How...?

Three new Ralphs scurried into view, hurrying along in single file. They moved in a rapid, robotic fashion. The group surrounded the new comers, running their hands up and down the bodies of the recent arrivals.

Something about this is familiar. They’re like...ants! The way they touch antennae.

Why would...

Radiation.

Oh, Christ. That has to be it. Those were eggs under my skin, some kind of insect, and the goddamn radiation...

‘Not strong enough to be harmful.’ That was how he’d classified the radiation levels before deciding to take the shuttle through the belt.

No, not to a mammal. But what about an arthropod egg or larva? Somehow they mutated, probably during meiosis, and some of my DNA got mixed in during the process.

I remember one of them speaking. Did that really happen?

“Can you hear me?” He kept his voice just above a whisper.

Two dozen heads nodded in unison.

They understand.

One of the pale creatures stepped forward. **We are you.**

The voice in his head again.

“No, I’m me.”

**We are all you.** The voice was louder now, as if all the diminutive hims were speaking at once.

As one.

The absurdity of the situation crashed over him.

This is like some kind of acid flashback, except I never took drugs.

“What do you want?”

**More of you. Necessary.**

“Why?”

**To continue. The you must always be.**

A hive mentality. That would be right, assuming those were ant or bee eggs I’d been carrying.

The temptation to crush all the mutant bugs was so strong his hand started to rise. He stopped it, brought it back to his lap.

You can’t kill all of them. Think about the possibilities here. The research. The papers.

The fame.

Scientific institutions would be throwing money at him for research. He’d be able to write his own ticket forever.

He reached for the plastic cup.

**Stop.**

His hand froze in response to the command.

**We cannot let you do that. Not yet. There will be time, in the future. First we must grow.**

Ralph tried to move but his arms and legs no longer obeyed his thoughts.

“What do you mean, grow? Grow larger?”

**No. Grow in numbers. Many more of you are needed.**

“Can you read my mind?” If they could, he was doomed.

**Your mind is our mind. The same, but not. Separate, yet whole. We can communicate this way because we are you.**

Visions of his body covered in pulsating, ripening domes of flesh, each holding a mutant clone of himself, flashed through his head.

I won’t end up that way!

**There is no danger. We will not hurt you. You cannot hurt us.**

Hodge considered that. Was it a threat, or a statement of fact?

“Why do you need more of me?”

**To help you. To carry out your work. To create the world in your image.**

“Create the world in—”

He stopped. All hives had one thing in common. They were ruled by one individual. Usually a queen, who laid the eggs and...

Oh, shit. I’m their queen.

But that would mean they have to listen to what I say.

“Tell me something. If you’re here to serve me, why have you stopped me from doing what I wanted to do?”

**The you is not thinking clearly. The you is reacting emotionally. We are part of you. We know what lies beneath. We will help you accomplish that.**

“Really? Tell me, what is it I really want?”

The mental voice spoke for a while. When it finished, Hodge leaned back against the wall and considered its words.

It made sense. More than that, it was exactly what he’d have chosen to do if he wasn’t constrained by time, money, and the limitations of the human brain.

New avenues of research. Endless possibilities. Cures for diseases, for conditions that had plagued mankind since the dawn of time. Once it reached a certain size, the hive mind would act like a supercomputer, more powerful than AI and without conflicting programming. A million brains, capable of both independent thought and singular focus.

His focus.

All he had to do was build the colony.

That would take time. But they could do it, together. It would just require suitable hosts.

Many of them.

He looked at his bloated belly, and the down at his own face, mirrored back to him dozens of times in miniature.

Expressionless. Waiting.

Soldiers in need of orders.

“Yes. Let’s do it.”

He wobbled as control of his limbs was returned to him. He placed the cup down on the sink and went back into his office, where he thumbed the intercom to the lab.

“Sally?”

“Yes, Dr. Hodge?”

“Can you come here, please? I need your help with something.”