Hive Mentality [BMHWC]

“We’ve figured out what’s killing the bees, sir,” Fredrickson said. He handed the clipboard to Kempler.

Kempler studied the data quietly, then glanced up. “Verified?” he asked.

Fredrickson nodded. “Checked and double-checked. No doubt about it, the genetically modified crops are radically changing the bee’s immune system. Then they can’t fight off the effects of the pesticides. Thus, the death of entire hives.”

Kempler laid the clipboard on the table, took his pipe from his lab pocket, and lit it. He drew hard on the pipe, thinking carefully. At last he removed the pipe and picked a piece of tobacco off his tongue. He flicked it into the nearby garbage. “Solutions?” he asked, his dark eyes watching Fredrickson closely.

“Yes, sir,” Fredrickson confirmed. “Benson and Hodges have finished the formula and we’ve successfully tested it on seventeen hives.” He handed a second clipboard to Kempler. “Notice the results from the test? The hives sprayed with the formula appear to be completely immune to the pesticides.”

“What about the hives who are only allowed GM crops?” Kempler asked.

Frederickson smiled. “Works perfectly, sir.”

Kempler smiled back. “Then we are rich, Fredrickson. My God, a way to keep GM crops AND save the bees…well, that’s gold, son. How soon can we mass produce the formula?”

Frederickson thought for a moment, his fingers tapping on the table. “We can be ready to mass produce in two weeks,” he said at last.

“Then lets get busy,” Kempler said.
*******************************************************************************

“Well, #-fire and holy hell,” Kempler growled. “Damn FDA won’t give us the green light without “further research.” He turned to Fredrickson. “How long will that take?”

“Years,” Fredrickson replied gloomily. “Years and years and years. And the whole time we’re doing these tests, the bees are going to keep dying at exponential rates.”

Kempler sighed. “Well,” he said at last, not meeting Fredrickson’s gaze. “Nothing we can do about it now. We’ve got to jump through the hoops and all that jazz.” He paused, twirling his pipe thoughtfully. “Just out of curiousity…..how much product do we have available in aerosol form?”

Fredrickson consulted his clipboard. “One hundred tons,” he replied. “Enough to spray most of Kansas. Why?”

For a long time, Kempler remained silent. Finally, he shrugged. “Just curious,” he said softly. He glanced at Fredrickson. “I’ve been meaning to suggest something,” he began, somewhat hesitantly. “You’ve worked so hard for so long, how would you like a nice vacation? Say, two weeks?”

Fredrickson scowled. “Look, sir,” he replied, his voice testy. “If you’re planning on spraying the product illegally, then I’m damn well going to be part of it. Don’t you dare try to keep me from this.”

Kempler remained quiet for several minutes. Then he sighed and nodded. “We’ll take the Flying Goose, Be ready to go in twelve hours.”

Fredrickson nodded, then turned and left.

*******************************************************************************

“Well, that went very nicely,” Fredrickson said, turning to grin at Kempler. “The entire state tonight….maybe the entire plains next week!”

Kempler laughed. “Keep that enthusiasm under control,” he advised. But he understood Fredrickson’s excitement. They had actually done something for the good of the world…had actually defied the government and done something that would, quite literally, save life on Earth. “About that vacation….” Kempler began. “We’re both going to take one. Meet back here in a week?”

“You’re the boss, boss” Fredrickson replied. He held out his hand to Kempler, who shook it firmly. “Next week it is, then.”

*******************************************************************************

The first reports of something wrong started 72 hours later. People and animals alike began to exhibit strange symptoms; they coughed continuously, vomited up all sustenance, and complained of intense headaches. Health officials called in the CDC for help as emergency rooms became overcrowded with the sick. All of Kansas was quarantined, though by the end of the first week such drastic measures had failed. Nearby states began to report similar outbreaks; whatever was happening, was spreading.

Then, quite suddenly, the patients recovered. It was like precision clockwork; at exactly 7 days after first coming down with the symptoms, patients reported feeling normal and healthy. Blood work, MRI’s and a host of other tests confirmed that the illness, whatever it was, had been defeated. Now the arguments began; what was the illness? Was it an airborne pathogen, or the result of food contamination? What medication brought about the cure? Antibiotics? Antifungals? Steroid treatments? Or did the human immune system simply take care of business? No one knew, and some people worried. Most, however, thought the illness a fluke.

Kempler and Fredrickson talked little during the medical scare, but both men thought it was more than coincidence that their aerial spraying had occurred 72 hours before the mystery illness. But there was cause for celebration; very few had died, and more importantly, the bees were making a comeback.

If only they had known what lay in store for all of humanity.

Three months after the spraying, new symptoms emerged throughout the Kansas community; these symptoms baffled doctors. Physicians and scientists around the world flocked to Kansas to study the inflicted; but no one could explain what was happening.

The people had relapsed. Once again, they reported severe headaches, abdominal cramps, and the like. But unlike last time, there was no spontaneous recovery. Instead, thousands simply slid into a coma. After weeks passed with no recovery evident, doctors began declaring patients brain dead.

It was at this point that the bodies began to disappear from the hospitals and morgues. Not just one or two bodies; but ALL the bodies disappeared. Funeral home attendees were found bludgeoned to death; nurses and doctors on night duty suffered similar fates. Everywhere, the comatose and the dead disappeared.

They were discovered a couple of days later, dancing naked in the fields of crops. Scientists observed the people rubbing the flowers over their bodies in a bizarre ritual. The person, who was more of a robot than a thinking creature, would crouch down next to a flowering plant. Then, he or she would lightly rub their skin on the flower, before rising and moving on to the next flower.

It was Kempler who first recognized what was happening. “My God,” he muttered to Fredrickson. Both scientists were holed up in their lab, trying to avoid phone calls from the media. So far, no one had connected the dots between their compound formula and what was happening in Kansas. Who would? It was simply too far-fetched.

“They’ve become drones!” Kempler cried, watching the news footage of people flitting from flower to flower. “They’re pollinating the flowers instead of the bees!”

“Dear God,” Fredrickson whisphered, horror on his face. “What have we done, Kempler? What have we done?”

“We’ve saved the bees,” Kempler replied. “And made humanity their slaves.”

Very nice story, just read it, and just as I was about to say it is a little bit predictable, the ending completely took me by surprise. My mind was going "Zoombiiieee".

Drones. Who would have thought.

Keep it up, you're good at it.

Your imagination continues to fascinate me! Great job!