HIVE Read online

  HIVE

  By

  Dan Taylor

  ©2018 Dan Taylor

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55 – Abel’s Interview

  Chapter 56 – Klutz’s Interview

  Chapter 57 – Angus’s Interview

  Chapter 58 – Callum’s Interview

  Chapter 59 – Dr Leitner’s Interview

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  The impromptu operating theatre was set. The walls were painted a clinical white and there was a glass screen separating the room in two. In front of the glass wall a solid steel table had been bolted onto the floor and a blanket was covering the wriggling body that had been restrained to the table. Behind the glass screen, which for safety's sake had been made using one-inch-thick bullet resistant glass, was a row of chairs. On these chairs a host of the UK's most important people sat. These included, various members of parliament, the general chief of defence staff, General Holt, top scientists in their respected fields, and Prime Minister Ken Lockhart.

  Ken Lockhart had been Prime Minister for over a year now and his approval ratings were through the roof. He sat in the confident upright manner which had been instilled in him since his childhood etiquette lessons. He was amazed by how quickly his team had changed the room around. Thirteen hours ago, the room was an unassuming board room in Downing Street, but it had been stripped, cleansed, sterilised and redesigned for the purpose of today's demonstration. Prime Minister Ken Lockhart looked up at the buzzing noise from above his head. Amazing, they had even installed a filtration system to keep this side of the room free from any contaminates.

  The audience witnessed a door fly open behind the glass and a tall, greying man walked into the room.

  "Good-evening ladies and gentlemen" said the greying man in a thick Austrian accent as he closed the door behind him.

  "I am Dr Schaf Leitner, and we are here to discuss what we already know and what we believe." His pronunciation of W's sounded like V's and T's like Z's. His grey hair was matted and sticking up which Ken Lockhart thought made him look like a mad homeless man. In actuality Dr Schaf Leitner was one of the best scientists in the field of parasitic disease with notable work on protozoans; unicellular organism which live within animals. He spent most of his time in his lab at Imperial College London working on various biological science projects for HIVE, or at St Bartholomew College helping out with the research in the pathology department. But for several months he had been helping the government diagnose and help prevent a new disease nicknamed 'the Brain-dead Madness'. Prime Minister Lockhart approved of this nick name. It was catchy, mysterious and frightening. A government that acts quickly to prevent a scary new disease wins votes for sure. He would have to thank the journalists at 'The Daily Post' for coming up with such a genius name. According to 'The Daily Post', the disease had been contained, so far, with all ten cases worldwide quarantined to stop any spreading. There was no apparent link between the cases, except that they had been in densely populated cities, and more importantly no cure. There is more to this disease that meets the eye and more than Prime Minister Ken Lockhart would want to share with the Daily Post for sure.

  In reality there had been as many as fifty cases worldwide that Ken knew about. Enough to warrant a global pandemic status. But these had all been controlled and disguised as other illnesses. Rabies had been a great excuse, especially in less developed countries where the brain-dead madness has been first discovered. The fact that he and HIVE’s team of specially appointed ops had managed to keep the World Health Organisation suspicions away from his government had been nothing short of a miracle. He was playing a very dangerous game but one he knew he had to play.

  Beneath the wriggling blanket, the body's chest was steadily moving up and down. The sight sickened Ken and put a bad taste in his mouth. He wanted desperately to gargle some mouthwash or chew some gum, but he was curious and had only seen one of these in photos his intelligence officers brought him.

  Dr Leitner pointed to his subject on the steel table then in one theatrical movement, whipped off the blanket to reveal the horror that lay beneath. The air in the room suddenly went thick as the smell of decaying flesh dispersed from the jerking and wriggling corpse strapped to the table. Even behind the thick glass Ken Lockhart and his guests were not protected from the smell. The filtration system buzzed even louder as it pumped in fresh air to remove the awful tang.

  "This is Robert Fisher. Say, 'Hello', Robert." The leathery skinned Robert did not say 'hello', "As you can see what we have here is a poor, poor man who has been afflicted with the disease that the UK newspapers have aptly named the Brain-dead Madness. This is the first case in the UK since we had patient zero in Sao Paulo a little over a month ago." Dr Leitner walked around the corpse making sure to keep eye contact with the people in theatre. He tried to act like this was another routine lecture at the university and not a meeting with some of the most powerful people in the country. "First of all, I want to make absolutely clear, that what we are doing today is an autopsy and not vivisection. For you see that the vessel behind me is one hundred percent deceased and the movements that it is making are products of the virus using the host body to its will. I am completely against vivisection and will never practice it ever," he paused for effect, "Also, it is important that we understand that the 'madness' and 'brain-deadness' are the diseases that have inflicted Robert here, but the virus is the real threat. We should think of this as a brain-dead madness virus rather than calling it a brain-dead madness disease that the newspapers have been misrepresenting it as." Dr Leitner did not approve of the nick name, it was constantly printed as being a disease and not a virus which was scientifically incorrect and typical of a tabloid newspaper. In his opinion whomever came up with that name should not be involved in any scientific journalism and should stick to celebrity gossip rather than real news.

  He looked down at the squirming and sometimes violently convulsing body. Its eyes were shut and breathing was a mere stutter. Three fingernails on the left hand had been snapped off and been replaced by dried clotted blood. This had happened during transportation. The deceased Robert had gripped so tightly to the hospital bed that they bent back and broke off much like the ring pull on a can of coke. "I will now perform a clinical autopsy with my apprentice, Jason."

  Dr Leitner was a brilliant scientist but not
a forensic medical examiner or a coroner. Jason was one of his most trusted students. He had passed his medical examinations and was currently training to become a medical examiner.

  " So, let us begin." He looked towards the door and yelled, "Jason my instruments."

  A spotty ginger twenty-nine-year-old stumbled in pushing a stainless-steel medical trolley and put it next to the feet of the corpse. Jason looked up once and briskly walked to the corner keeping his eyes downcast towards the table in the middle of the room. He was shaking with nerves.

  The body’s wriggling slowed to a calm rhythmic pulse and its face relaxed and looked almost tranquil. Slow rasping breaths whistled from a slit in his dry lips. It had been stripped naked with the leather straps covering both his nipples and genitals for modesty's sake. He was dead cold with features that had been sunk and his skin was turning grey. His eyes were closed but beneath the eyelids the eyeball could be seen to move from one side to the other in time with its breathing. To Jason it looked like a man about to receive a massage at a spa lying gently and occasionally stretching to help relax. It was strange for him to see, particularly since whenever he has operated on a cadaver they had never been moving. When Jason had first seen Robert Fischer in the pathology lab, he had looked so peaceful then too. The body had been naked and still with its eyes closed, but at that point the virus hadn't really taken over and the corpse was, well just that, a corpse. The name tag still hung on its toe but it was gently swaying as the corpse tried to stretch and wriggle free from the straps which securely hugged him to the table.

  Jason looked up to see Dr Leitner was staring at him.

  "Ooh right ok," Jason said shakily, he turned to face the audience although he kept his eye downcast,

  "This is Robert James Fischer. Time of death: 18:30 Friday 29th March. Place of Death: Burger Town restaurant, 12-14 Shirley High Street, Southampton. Cause of death: Undetermined, although most likely the brain-dead madness virus.”

  Meanwhile Dr Leitner had taken two sets of clear PVC overalls and black rubber gauntlet from the lower shelf of the medical trolley and put one set on. He threw the other towards Jason for him to wear.

  "Ok, let's get started!". And with that he picked up a six-inch butcher knife and slammed it down into Robert Fishers foot just below the ankle.

  Chapter 2

  Whilst the autopsy was in full swing, a tall, bald man named Callum Jamison was sat in a cheap two-star hotel room. He had just driven for over an hour to get to his destination. He was desperate to find the place far from work where he could finish off what he been planning to do for several months.

  Callum Jamison was unusually tall, muscular and Spanish. His father (who had named him) had been Irish and his mother Spanish. He had grown up in Madrid for the majority of his life before moving to Galicia, but he always considered himself one of the Madridleos. He had been working abroad for several years now and all his time, effort and extensive research was about to pay off. The company he worked for sent him all over Europe which was fine by him. Like Greece and Ireland, Spain's economy had crashed and work was scarce. He had suffered much in his research and would work long exhaustive days, but it would finally be worth it as great things were about to happen. This quiet, English town he had discovered months ago by driving down random country roads one after each other was soon to go down in history as one of the most important places of scientific advancement. It was also the place he was going to be transformed from a respected but lowly lab assistant into something much greater.

  Callum stared at the silver briefcase that was carefully placed next to him at the foot of the bed. That suitcase held the single most import discovery the world was yet to see. And it was partly his discovery. How unfitting for such a thing to be placed in a location quite so unromantic and unceremonious. It lay at a perfect right angle to the cheap wooden bed frame and sunk ever so slightly into the blue and yellow bed throw. Callum felt his body begin to sweat and rubbed his hands over his bald head to remove the newly formed beads. At the top of his neck he felt a blister about the size of a five pence coin. It was painful to touch. What was about to happen to him was not going to be pleasant. It was probably going to be painful. But it would change him forever. It would change the world for ever.

  He looked at the briefcase with anxious excitement like a child on their way to Disneyland. He noted the irony that all his life he wanted to be normal like everyone else but after today he would be more different than anyone could ever imagine. Growing up as a Spaniard in Madrid with the name Callum Jamison turned out to be tough. In his lower school years, he got teased for his lack of surnames. It made him look like he had only one parent. He was no Raul Castillo Valdez or Juan Martinez Hernandez. School life was tough, the playground rules may as well have been the laws of the jungle. In upper school he would help the teasing of his unfortunate name by pronouncing it in a Spanish Style. He was not 'Callum Jamison' but 'Kayyum Yamision'. This helped and stopped the majority of the teasing but his luck turned for the worse when he turned fifteen and was diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder called benign chronic familial pemphigus, but much more easily dubbed Hailey-Hailey Syndrome. This meant he had a mutation in a specific gene that created a protein that was essential for helping his skin cells to stick together. This disorder would give him breakouts of blisters and erosions that often-affected Callum's back, neck, armpits, and most unfortunately his genitals. He was too embarrassed to go out on dates or go swimming or even walk around on a hot Spanish day with his shirt off. He was 30 years old and still a virgin. When he got the blisters on his genitals, which he often did, it would look like an aggressive sexually transmitted disease. 'Who would want to have sex with that?'. That is what partly prompted his motives. He longed to be more than just a Spanish guy with an English name and a rare blistering condition. Soon he would. In this hotel room, things would change. He would heal quicker, live longer and be stronger than anybody had ever been. He would be loved and adored by peers and feared by his enemies. He would also share his gift with the world free of charge, much like Sir Tim Berners-Lee, inventor of the internet. And quoting Sir Tim Berners-Lee as he flicked opened the silver brackets on the briefcase, Callum Jamison said to himself rather pompously "This is for everyone".

  Chapter 3

  It was a calm spring day and the daffodils were out in full bloom. The Royal Duchess Hotel sat on top of its hill proudly in the middle of its grand estate overlooking a large lake and boathouse. It had been demoted to a two-star status for some time but it still oozed Georgian charm and quintessential British Spirit. It needed a lick of paint here and hedge trimmed there but all in all the Royal Duchess was a beautiful hotel. It had been through some difficult times as of recent, with various new owners and not enough investment to keep the building in pristine condition, but it survived with the steady supply of regular guests who would love to visit the tea room and go on walks around the grounds. This regular supply of guests included the Carters.

  Bill and Linda Carter had visited the Royal Duchess twice a year for thirty-five years. They had witnessed it transform from being the busy and lively talk of the town (serving at least two hundred covers a night for dinner) to the quiet and peacefully building it had become (service about twenty guests for dinner if they were lucky!). The Hotel seemed to have aged parallel to themselves and they like it this way. The Flock and damask wallpaper would be peeling in sections and the gilded wall lights needed a polish. What was once full of life is now full of peace; like a tomb, but in a nice way.

  Bill and Linda were sat on the dresser chairs in their room looking out over the lake. 'Good old Room #203' Bill thought to himself. He and his wife, Linda, had been in the same room on every occasion. They did not want to try any of the other rooms as this was where he had proposed. It was perfect. On the night he had proposed Linda had looked like a movie star in a little black dress and pearls standing on the balcony with the wind blowing through her hair. He had treated her to a weekend away, m
uch to the protests and disapproval of his future father in law. They were getting ready to go downstairs for some ballroom dancing when he got down on one knee.

  That memory would always bring a tear to his eye especially when he revisited the Royal Duchess Hotel. Even at seventy years of age she still held some of that movie star beauty that had made him fall in love with her.

  "Would you like some tea Hun?" Linda asked Bill.

  "No thank you dear, but I wouldn't mind one of those biscuits."

  Linda eased herself out of the chair and walked slowly to the tea tray in a style that all old ladies walk. She was slightly hunched now and when moving more than ten meters would require her cane. As she approached the tea tray she turned to Bill.

  "Oooo Bill they've remembered the milk this time." Every year they had requested fresh milk in their room and not that horrible UHT long-life milk, and more often than not the hotel had remembered to switch.

  "That's good. You know ever since they have hired that new general manager, they haven't missed the milk," Bill remarked.

  It was as Linda was putting the kettle on, she heard a blood curdling scream. She paused still as a statue. It happened again. It wasn't a scream of terror or surprise but a scream of pure pain. For the first time in a long time she felt panic.

  "That new General manager apparently also wants to build a swimming pool, Ha! can you imagine, I mean...." Bill was cut short by Linda, "Shhhhuuuuussshhhh Bill! listen!" Bill, now in his late seventies was half deaf. Knowing this was serious he got up and made his way over to Linda.

  The screaming did not stop. It sounded like a man's scream and whoever was making his noise was in real trouble. "Bill phone downstairs and get help, it's coming from next door."

  Bill not entirely understanding the situation picked up the phone receiver and dialled zero. After three rings somebody answered.

  "Good afternoon reception, Klutz speaking, how can I help?"