14 Aug The Colony

Keith cursed himself as he pulled into the car park of the transport depot. He was late, and he hated himself for it. It had taken longer than expected to prepare his packed lunch, and for some reason, there had been more traffic than usual during his commute. Now he was late for his night shift, and he searched for a parking space frantically.

Tonight was a bad night for Keith to be late; this was the final shift of his trial period. As an agency driver, it was Keith’s intention to get a full-time job at Foodstar, but in order to qualify he had to get through the mandatory twelve-week trial period with good attendance and no major incidents. He hadn’t done badly so far; most of his deliveries had been on time over the last few weeks, and he hadn’t caused any damage to the lorries. But it was now the last shift of the trial period, and he was late.

After parking his car, Keith put on a high-vis vest and ran towards the entrance gates of the complex.

Inside the depot, fluorescent-coated workers whizzed around on forklifts of various designs, picking up shrink-wrapped pallets. Sticking to the designated walkways, Keith made his way towards a grey hut in the far corner, which served as the transport office. By the time he clocked in, he was nine minutes late. Nine minutes wasn’t enough for him to get told off or sent home, but it was enough for Reg, the transport manager, to give him a frosty look as he handed him his paperwork and keys.

Keith looked at the delivery sheet:

Padstow

Delivery Time: 02:30 a.m.

Keys in hand, Keith walked out to the yard to search for his unit. Thankfully, it wasn’t blocked in by any other vehicles, and so he jumped straight in and started his checks. It was a routine he knew very well: tacho card into the tachometer; log into the Microlise; flick through the dashboard computer to check the oil, water and coolant; then climb back out and check the tires and headlights. Checks complete, Keith fired up the engine and drove around the yard in search of his trailer.

Fifteen minutes later, he was coupled up to a huge trailer loaded with tons of food and drink, ready to depart. It was only after he had pulled up at the exit security barrier that Keith realized he had made his second mistake of the night.

‘This is the wrong trailer,’ frowned the security guard, looking up from the paperwork towards a number displayed on the side of the trailer.

Keith’s heart sank. ‘What?’

‘This trailer’s 3345. You’re supposed to have 3346.’

Keith glanced up at the number. ‘Oh, fuck.’

This had never happened to him before. He always double checked trailer numbers, so why tonight, of all nights, was this happening to him?

You prick! You stupid prick!

Back around the yard he went, following the one-way system, parking the incorrect trailer and then searching for the correct one.

It took another fifteen minutes for him to couple up to the right trailer and carry out the necessary checks, and he glanced at the dashboard clock as he got back into his cab.

I can’t be late for this delivery. I just can’t.

As long as Keith got to Padstow on time, everything would be okay. But if he was late, Reg would log into the system and scrutinize every step of his journey, and then discover that he had made a mistake with his trailer.

The last day of my trial period.

Sweat poured from Keith’s brow as he drove out of the depot, and his foot was heavy on the pedal.

* * * * * *

Padstow was a rural town, accessible by a series of narrow country lanes. Keith cruised along one of these lanes, driving a little bit faster than he should have been, trying to make up for lost time. There wasn’t that much further to go, less than ten miles, and Keith reckoned he would get to the delivery point around twenty minutes late.

Not ideal, but not a total disaster.

That’s what Keith told himself—until he reached the T-junction.

Keith had delivered to Padstow many times, and so he knew that he had to turn right at the T-junction. This didn’t seem possible tonight, though, because the turning was blocked by a rectangular sign which read: Road Closed.

‘Oh, fuckin’ hell! What now?’

Road closures were always nerve-racking if you were driving a forty-four-ton lorry; even more so if you were in a rural area with tiny country lanes. The list of potential dangers was endless: dead ends, width restrictions, low bridges, and so on.

There was no traffic behind him, so he was able to pull over just before the T-junction in order to think about what he was going to do. The last thing he wanted was to speak to Reg, but it was unavoidable. In situations like this, it was always best to get clearance from the transport office. Leaning over to the Microlise, Keith put a call through.

Reg’s voice boomed from the door speakers: ‘Hello, Keith.’

‘Reg, I’m on the outskirts of Padstow, and there’s a road closure.’

A short pause as Reg traced his location on the system, then, ‘You’re at the T-junction, right?’

‘Yeah, but I can’t turn right.’

Reg sighed. ‘Is there a diversion in place?’

‘No. Just a road closure sign.’

‘I don’t suppose you can turn around?’

‘’fraid not. What do you want me to do?’

What do you want me to do? Always pass the buck. Always avoid liability.

‘Turn left. That’s all you can do. According to the map, you’ll rejoin the access road a few miles down.’

Clearance gained, Keith ended the call and turned left at the T-junction.

* * * * * *

The road was unlit and flanked by tall trees on either side. As Keith drove tentatively on, peering through the windscreen at the unfamiliar territory, his headlights created a green tunnel-like effect. The road seemed to get narrower a few miles down, and the lorry’s wing mirrors began to scrape against overhanging tree branches.

‘I shouldn’t be driving down here,’ Keith mumbled, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. He had gained clearance from the transport office, though, and that provided him with a degree of comfort as he rolled along, taking each section of road at a time.

‘What’s that?’

Keith hit the brakes.

At first, he thought it was a speed bump. But Keith had never seen a speed bump like this before. The color was wrong; it had a pale, peachy hue, almost like…flesh.

Drawing to a halt, Keith engaged the parking brake and sat stationary for a while, squinting at the obstruction up ahead.

‘Is that…?’

Not quite believing what he was seeing, Keith switched off the engine and climbed out of the cab.

Taking slow steps, illuminated by the lorry’s headlights, Keith approached what appeared to be a long tangle of bodies. It stretched from one side of the road to the other, naked limbs woven together into a thick rope.

The rope moved.

Keith wailed, then jumped back. The people at his feet were alive, and they moaned and writhed against each other. There were about twenty of them, all female, interlocked to form a chain link. Legs curled around heads, arms wrapped around torsos, and breasts squeezed against buttocks to form a thick flesh cord along the tarmac. The sheer sight of it reduced Keith to a state of idle stupefaction.

Thud.

Keith felt a sharp pain on the back of his head, and he keeled over. Hands then seized him, many hands all over his body, and a huge weight pinned him down to the ground.

‘What…What is this?’

Under the dazzling glare of the lorry’s headlights, Keith’s wrists were bound with some kind of cord, and more people appeared.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

None of the women replied. They simply went about their business in a perfunctory manner, displaying neither anger nor joy.

A creaking sound rose from somewhere, and Keith guessed that his trailer doors had been opened.

A robbery. Of course, it’s a robbery.

Lying there on the tarmac, wrists tied, Keith suspected now that the road closure may have been a ploy. He felt foolish as well as scared. The long white headlight beams began to shake and sway as figures climbed into the back of the trailer, looting the food and drink. Keith was still pinned firmly to the ground, but he could see that another human chain had formed near the back of the vehicle, and boxes were passed from one person to another. This second chain led towards the foliage by the side of the road, where a line of naked, disheveled women disappeared into the darkness.

Keith didn’t bother putting up a fight. He was vastly outnumbered, and he didn’t get paid enough to risk his life. His plan was to lie there passively, let them do their thing, and then hopefully they would let him go.

Hope is often tenuous, however.

Keith felt himself being lifted into the air, and then he was passed along the sweaty backs and shoulders of another line of women, joining the flow of looted foodstuff. The lorry receded into the distance, and he bobbed above the phalanx of naked females, passed along with the endless supply of tinned beans, instant noodles, and jars of marmalade.

There were more of them than Keith realized. Passed from hand to hand, sliding along like an item on a conveyor belt, Keith could see that the line of women stretched deep into the shrub land which flanked the road.

A fresh sliver of fear rattled Keith’s core. This was no ordinary robbery.

Keith heard the river before he saw it. For a horrible moment he wondered whether his captors were planning on throwing him into the water, but that wasn’t the case. They carried him to what looked like a rope bridge, a large, sagging structure cast in blue light from the moon.

There was a long drop from the bridge to the water down below, and Keith had no control over his movements whatsoever. He shrieked as he was carried over the flimsy bridge, and hardly dared to peer over the edge. An odd noise caught his ear halfway along, however–a chorus of weak, muffled groans. And, glancing down at the rope bridge, he discovered that it wasn’t a rope bridge at all.

No! It can’t be!

The bridge was comprised of yet more interwoven bodies, a huge marriage of flesh spanning from one side of the ravine to the other, cords of biological rope. Countless torsos and dislocated limbs formed the deck of the bridge, and the side rails were a latticework of outstretched arms. Wails and moans echoed through the air every time his captors took another step across the deck, their footsteps crushing ribcages and teeth.

A body bridge, thought Keith.

Something about it reminded him of a National Geographic documentary he once watched, but his mind was too scrambled and stirred to remember what it was.

Over the body bridge they went, flesh on flesh, skin on skin, one trail of bodies over another, until they made it to the other side.

The next obstruction came in the form of a barbed wire security fence. A dark blot ran up the side of the fence and over the top of it. Against his better judgment, Keith presumed that someone had thrown a roll of carpet over the fence, but of course that wasn’t the case. It was a human ladder, another flesh and blood utility, and one by one the naked female looters climbed up the ladder, passing various food packages along as they went.

When it was Keith’s turn, the many hands pushed him up the fence to the barbed wire summit, where mangled, dripping carcasses were stuck in the barbs. Blood dripped from open wounds, flaps of skin dangled from razor-sharp shards of steel, and clumps of hair protruded from chain links. On the other side of the fence, some of the sacrificial bodies were upside down, held in place by the barbs enmeshed in their bosoms and thighs. For an uncomfortable few seconds, Keith’s body was also turned upside down as he passed over the summit of the fence, but his fall was cushioned by the carpet of hands down at ground level

* * * * * *

A factory.

The security fence had been put in place to secure a large factory, but the building now looked derelict to Keith. Rusty pipes and moss-covered windows formed its exterior, and the entrance doors were half obscured by long grass. Keith didn’t like the look of the place one little bit.

‘Put me down! I’ve had enough! Just let me go! Let me go and I’ll be on my way!’

It was unclear whether any of his female captors could even hear him, let alone understand him. They seemed to be able to communicate and cooperate with each other efficiently using a range of grunts and sniffs, but Keith hadn’t heard any of them using plain language. His protests were ignored, and they carried him down a grass slope towards the looming factory in the distance, passing him along with the flow of yogurt, apples, and cans of Spam.

The factory may have been officially closed, but its interior bustled with activity. Scores of scarred, haggard women scurried to and fro under candlelight and torchlight, lifting things, moving things, sniffing things, and rearranging things. Each and every one of them was covered in a thick patina of grime and sweat, and their body language was mechanical.

The stolen cargo from Keith’s trailer littered the main floor of the factory, plastic packaging and cardboard boxes stretching as far as the eye could see. All of it was frantically processed, shifted around from one place to another.

Keith finally broke away from the food trail, his now-bruised body joining a different circuit. Nobody seemed to be in charge, but he was deftly steered towards a small room in the corner, and then dumped unceremoniously on the floor. His captors then left and slammed the door shut behind them.

Hands still bound with cord, Keith looked around at his makeshift cell. Pieces of rusting industrial machinery were scattered around the room, and streaks of grime covered the tiled walls and floor. He considered dragging himself up to his feet to see if the door was unlocked, but it seemed futile. Instead, he curled up into a ball and rubbed his sore, aching wrists.

With resignation, he thought, I’m definitely not going to get to Padstow on time.

* * * * * *

When the door eventually burst open again, Keith was unsure of how much time had passed. He was still in the same position, curled fetus-like on the cold floor, aching and now slightly hungry. A cluster of naked workers stormed in, some bipedal, some quadripedal, and they grabbed him under the armpits and hoisted him high up into the air.

‘Enough’s enough,’ groaned Keith, as they carried him out onto the factory floor. ‘You’re gonna get in serious trouble for this. Just let me go and I won’t say anything. I’ll tell the police that I didn’t see your faces.’

His words fell on deaf ears. The women carried him through the heart of the factory, amidst the incessant hustle and bustle that was taking place.

The factory boasted many different sections, and as Keith was pushed and carried along the various corridors and walkways, he peered into some of the rooms he passed. Some of the rooms were filled with stacked fruit, presumably picked from the nearby woodlands, whereas other rooms contained raw materials like wood and steel.

One section of the factory that really caught his attention, though, was a medium-sized chamber that looked cleaner and more sanitary than the others. The space was filled with mattresses and blankets, arranged neatly side by side, and unless Keith was mistaken…

Babies?

Screaming babies and toddlers rolled around on the mattresses, crying out for attention. Female workers attended to them, scrambling around to their aid, cleaning them and…

What the hell is she doing?

One particular woman held a baby in her arms, cradling it against her scratched, grimy bosom. Tilting her head, she then stuck two fingers down her throat, triggering a gag reflex. A wave of vomit then splashed over the baby’s face and into its mouth, which it greedily lapped up, feasting on the regurgitated meal. The entire spectacle took place over the course of just a few seconds, and as Keith was carried away, he was once again reminded of certain nature documentaries he had watched over the years.

What animal does that? Birds do it, but what else?

Deep in the bowels of the factory, the foot traffic thinned out. The hectic din was replaced by a mellow calm, and Keith was carried under an archway into a tall chamber. There was a raised section at the rear of the chamber, almost like a stage, and three huge mounds were visible upon it.

These mounds, pale and pasty in the candlelight, were surrounded by piles of food and drink. As Keith was lowered before these mounds, his initial presumption was that they were piles of sand or rice. But then, to his astonishment, one of the mounds began to speak.

‘I hope he has good genes.’

Keith blinked, then squinted up towards the source of the noise. The three mounds were actually women, obese to the point of disfigurement. Their faces were barely visible over the domes of their overinflated bellies, every square inch of which was smeared with breadcrumbs and blobs of sauce. A handful of workers fussed over them, spoon-feeding them jam and peanut butter, while others dabbed their wobbly limbs with wet sponges.

‘Strip him down and get him up here.’

It was the center queen who spoke, and there was an authority to her tone that unsettled Keith.

Several hands immediately went to work on Keith, and his clothes and restraints were taken off. He was then forcefully pushed towards the center queen’s open legs.

‘Err, I’m not sure about this,’ Keith stammered. ‘I’ve actually got a girlfriend.’

The center queen swallowed a mouthful of food, then burped, ‘Get him in me!’

The hands were on him again, coaxing him towards the queen’s quim.

‘I’m sorry,’ gasped Keith, his cock soft and flaccid, ‘I’ve never been much of an exhibitionist!’

‘Fuck me!’ growled the queen. ‘Inseminate us now!’

Keith took note of the plural. “Inseminate us now!” Glancing over at the other two queens, he could see that they were repositioning themselves upon their beds of marmalade and chocolate, waiting for their turn.

Escape crossed Keith’s mind, the possibility of fighting his way out of the room, but the idea was fleeting. Instead, he adopted a stoical manner and dealt with the situation as best he could.

* * * * * *

Knackered and spent.

That’s how Keith felt as he was carried out of the queen’s nest upon the shoulders of the loyal workers. They carried him back through the maze of the factory, back into the frenetic activity, alongside the hundreds of busy bodies rushing to and fro.

Glazed-eyed women with knotted hair attended to damaged brickwork, others stockpiled uneaten food in various nooks and crannies, and others still carried litter and debris to designated areas, keeping the pathways clear. Keith noticed several more nurseries as he was carried along, playpens filled with the offspring of unseen males.

Where are all the males?

This thought snapped Keith out of his subdued state. ‘Hey! Where are we going? What are you going to do with me?’

He didn’t expect a reply, and he didn’t get one, either. His captors simply continued marching on through the underground tunnels and corridors, holding him up with their sinewy arms.

What’s that smell?

Reaching another section of the factory, a pungent smell hit Keith’s nostrils, a smell strong enough to make him gag. They emerged from the network of corridors and entered a large yard with a battered corrugated roof, and it was then that Keith saw the source of the odor.

Huge towers of excrement filled the yard, thousands of human turds stacked in tall piles, separated by concrete partitions. The yard looked as though it may have been used to store sand or gravel back in the day, but it had now been converted into a refuse chamber. It was a neat refuse chamber, though, and the many stools were arranged in an orderly fashion, every piece of fecal matter having been placed in one of the brown columns with apparent care and attention.

The flies, however, could not be contained in the same manner. Thick clouds of bluebottles circled the turd mountains, drawn by the thick aroma that hung in the air. The insects feasted on the buried nutrients, laid their eggs in the tender soil, and buzzed around as though they were in their element.

For a horrible moment, Keith wondered whether his captors planned to dump him somewhere in the refuse chamber, but they passed through without stopping.

When they arrived at their destination, Keith regretted not having been dumped in the refuse chamber.

They were in a windowless room filled with carcasses. The first thing that Keith noticed was that the carcasses had been neatly arranged, rather like the excrement in the refuse chamber. The second thing he noticed was that the carcasses were all male.

Well, that answers that question.

Flies were present in this room too, as were rats. As Keith’s captors stood around him, he noticed a large rat in the corner, chewing on a dead man’s lips.

‘So you’re going to kill me, is that it? You’ve got what you wanted from me, and now you’re gonna get rid of me?’

One of the women walked off towards a pile of bodies, retrieved a large knife, and then returned.

Kneeling on the ground before them, Keith began to tremble. ‘Look…why? Why are you doing this? You don’t have to kill me! Why do you take orders from those fat, greedy slobs? Are they paying you? I’ve got money too! I’ll pay you more!’

Keith’s pleas were met with blank, apathetic stares.

‘Why is this happening?’ sobbed Keith. ‘I was just trying to do a delivery!’

The knife came closer, then rested against the tender flesh of his neck.

‘Oh, go on then! Do it! Kill me! Do me a favor! Who really wants to be a lorry driver, anyway?’

The mind spews up surprising things when someone is about to die. As the knife wielder took another step closer, preparing to make the lethal swipe, Keith found himself wondering what would become of his offspring. He had ejaculated into all three queens.

Three babies.

Or three sets of twins.

Or three sets of triplets.

Or three sets of…

Keith pushed the thought away. It was too grim to contemplate, too horrid to bear. He now welcomed the knife.

One of the captors grabbed hold of his hair and pulled his head back.

‘Go on then, give me death! Sweet death! Glorious oblivion!’

Keith felt a sharp pain on his Adam’s apple as the edge of the blade penetrated his skin, but then…

A roar.

A mighty roar that shook the walls.

A chorus of shouts, yells, and cries echoed through the factory. It was loud enough to cause Keith’s captors to turn and run out of the room, and he was left there on his own, completely unshackled.

Peering out through the doorframe, Keith could see a mighty ruckus taking place outside, a riot of fists and weaponry.

A nest invasion.

Keith was no genius, but he recognized an opportunity when he saw one. Scarpering from the room, he joined the carnage outside with the intention of finding his way out of the factory.

The invading army, like the defending army, appeared to be entirely female. They possessed a different level of ferocity, however, and attacked the natives mercilessly. Nails sliced through skin, bricks landed on heads, steel pipes shattered ribcages, and ragged pieces of industrial machinery were thrust into jugulars.

Keith wondered whether he was going to make it out in one piece, but to his surprise, he was mostly ignored as he edged his way through the warring crowds. Elbowing his way along, stepping over the wounded, he sensed that he was invisible to the invading female soldiers. He didn’t know whether it was his scent or appearance, but he seemed to possess some kind of invisibility.

I’ve always been invisible to females. Maybe it’s a good thing, after all.

Every square inch of the nest was under attack. As Keith navigated his way back to the main entrance hall, he saw food supplies scattered around and trampled upon, stacks of raw materials sabotaged, and decapitated heads tossed in the air. He saw the most traumatic thing of all, though, as he passed one of the nurseries.

Passing along a passageway full of scrapping soldiers, cadavers littering the floor, Keith peered into a nursery chamber and saw a cluster of infants screaming and wailing on the mattresses. Their caretakers were absent, massacred outside, and they had been left to fend for themselves.

As Keith was considering running to their aid, an invading female soldier ran into the nursery and picked one of the babies up, holding it tightly in her blood-soaked hands.

‘No,’ croaked Keith, from around the doorframe. ‘No, don’t!’

Holding the baby up in front of her, the woman opened her mouth and took a bite out of its thigh as though it were a piece of poultry.

Keith covered his eyes and turned away. He had seen enough. He took off as the woman munched away at the raw flesh, warm blood trickling down her jaw.

‘Where’s the exit? Where’s the fucking exit?’

* * * * * *

The factory had been reduced to an obstacle course of bones and blood, but Keith managed to get himself outside unscathed. The fresh air was a shock to his lungs, and for a good few minutes, all he could do was stand there amongst the overgrown grass, drawing in deep breaths.

The invading army was winning, there was no doubt about it, and this was confirmed when a fresh bout of screams and yells echoed out from the factory behind Keith, followed by a marching procession of soldiers.

With an air of triumph, a group of naked female soldiers emerged from the entrance doors of the factory, holding a huge heap atop their shoulders. Watching on from a short distance away, Keith could see that the heap was one of the queens. Her body was heavy enough to flatten a single soldier, but collectively they managed to carry her outside.

Slash marks covered the queen’s body like a network of scarlet tattoos, and she was clearly dead. Once the procession had reached a sizeable distance away from the factory, the soldiers scattered out from underneath the bulky, flabby corpse and it thundered down to the ground in a wet heap.

The same spectacle took place two more times, as the other defeated queens were brought out of the nest and dumped on the grass. Looking over at the slumped heaps, resembling a trio of beached whales, the first thought that popped into Keith’s head was, That’s tragic, but at least I don’t have to worry about child maintenance anymore.

Keith was now definitely ready to leave, but the grassy slope leading to the security fence was blocked by a steady trickle of soldiers marching down.

Visible under the chalky glare of the moon, Keith watched them all as they clambered over the fence—which had now fallen on its side—and made their way to their new home. It was Keith’s intention to wait and let them all pass, and as he did so he noticed some kind of struggle at the top of the slope.

The new queen.

Supported by dozens of upheld palms, guided along like a piece of sacrosanct treasure, the new heir to the factory throne made her grand entrance. She was easily as large as the ousted queens, maybe even larger, and a smug expression was spread across her round face as she entered the main doors of the factory.

A short while later, once she was out of sight, the trickle of soldiers descending the slope thinned out, and Keith made his grand getaway.

* * * * * *

Terrain tends to look different on a return journey, and for this reason Keith made a few wrong turns as he staggered around in search of the body bridge.

He eventually found it, though, and prepared himself to cross back over it. The bridge looked more worn and flimsy than it had earlier, and Keith put this down to the large amount of foot traffic that had passed over it. Blood now dripped from the deck of the bridge into the river below, leaking from the multitude of soggy, mushed bodies.

As Keith took tentative steps across the bridge, his footsteps caused loud squelching sounds, and gristle stuck between his toes. The human links in the bridge were no longer moaning and groaning, and Keith reckoned that all of the people were now dead, their limbs and torsos held in place by rigor mortis alone.

Reaching the other side of the ravine was a relief, but Keith didn’t hang around. Pelting back the way he had come, ignoring the stones and grit cutting into his bare feet, he made his way to the road. The lorry was still there, parked exactly where he had left it, headlights beaming away.

How long have I been gone?

Keith didn’t know the answer to this question. It felt like an eternity, though. Looking around, he could see that the obstruction in the road was now gone, and nobody tried to stop him as he opened the driver’s door of the cab and climbed in.

The keys were still in the ignition, and he switched on the dashboard computer and pressed a few buttons on the Microlise. The Microlise displayed a message from the transport office: What’s your ETA?

Instead of typing out a reply, Keith called the transport office directly. After a few rings, Reg’s voice crackled from the door speakers.

‘Keith. What’s going on?’

Keith opened his mouth to reply, but then stopped. Sitting there in the driver’s seat, naked, scratched, bruised, covered in dirt and blood, his feet torn to ribbons and his wrists covered in welts, it was a job in itself for him to simply hold on to the remaining scraps of his sanity, let alone form a coherent sentence.

Keith closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. ‘Reg, you’re not going to believe this…’