Hive by Tim Curran Read Free Book Online Page B

“Ever since those mummies came I’ve had people coming to see me wanting sedatives. They can’t sleep, Jimmy, and when they do they have nightmares.”
    Oh, I’ll just bet they do. Some real doozies no doubt.
    LaHune knew what all this was doing, but he was a company man and he’d toe the line regardless of what it did to these people. Even if the crew started cracking up and going at each other — and themselves — with razors, it wouldn’t move him. He’d sit there like some shit-eating weasel atop a heap of turds, simply enjoying the stink, the rot, and the flies.
    Because that’s the kind of guy he was.
    â€œI tell you what, Doc, LaHune better get his hands out of his fucking shorts already and derail this train because I got me a nasty feeling the track ahead is real dark and real bumpy.”

PART TWO
THE MIND-LEECHES
    â€œA voice from other epochs belongs in a graveyard of other epochs.”
    â€” H.P. Lovecraft

10
    B ut the train wasn’t derailed.
    And that night, about two in the morning, there was a fierce pounding at Hayes’ door and from the intensity of it, you could be sure it wasn’t a social call. Hayes came awake, shaking off some dream about mountains of black ice, and took a pull from his water bottle.
    â€œHayes!”
a voice called. “Hayes! Would you fucking wake up already!”
    It was Cutchen.
    Hayes climbed out of bed, hearing the wind moaning through the darkness of the camp, cold and eternal. It sounded like something hungry that wanted in, something looking for warmth to steal.
    â€œComing,” Hayes said.
    He fumbled the lock open — never used to lock his door, but lately he’d gotten in the habit — and pulled the door in. Cutchen was standing out there in the corridor, a small gray-haired man with a matching beard and dark, probing eyes that always seemed to know something you didn’t.
    â€œIt’s Lind,” Cutchen said. “Sharkey said to bring you. Lind has really gone over the edge now. C’mon, we better go.”
    Shit, shit,
and
shit.
    Hayes climbed into his Kansas State joggers and sweatshirt, brushed his bushy hair back with the flat of his hand and then he was following Cutchen down the gray corridors to the other side of the building where the infirmary was.
    Outside the door, in the hallway, St. Ours, Meiner, Rutkowski and a few of the other Glory Boys were gathered, whispering like little old ladies at a funeral, espousing dirty secrets.
    â€œSee, Jimmy?” Rutkowski said to Hayes. “I told you he’d do something like this. Crazy bastard.”
    â€œWhat happened?” Hayes said, his head blown with fuzz from sleep.
    â€œHe slit his fucking wrists,” St. Ours said. “Got a knife in there and plans on using it.”
    â€œHe won’t let Doc get to him,” Cutchen explained. “He’s lost a lot of blood and if she can’t get to work on him right away, he’s going to be toast. She thought you could talk to him.”
    Hayes sucked in a breath and went in there slowly, heavily, like he was dragging a ball and chain behind him. Before he saw the blood, he could smell it: sharp and metallic. It got right down into his guts. He scoped out the situation pretty quickly because the infirmary just wasn’t that big. Lind was sitting in the corner between two cabinets of drugs and instruments, kind of wedged in there like maybe he was stuck. His back was up against the wall and his knees were drawn up to his chin. There was a lot of blood . . . it was scarfed over his shirt and there was a smeared trail of it running across the tiles to his present position. His left arm looked like he’d stuck it in a barrel of red ink.
    And, yeah, he had a knife in his hand. A scalpel.
    Sharkey was standing next to an examination table, her usually capable and confident face looking pinched and rubbery like she’d been out in the cold. Her blue