Holdin Stump's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Holdin held the flame thrower steady behind the barricade. The watch quarters creaked above him, its tall observation deck groaning in the wind. Through a slit in the shutters, he spotted a single blue pixie circling the railings. A scout. If it pinned his location, the whole hollow-oak hive would pour down the water path marker straight to this door. He could not let it finish its loop. One shot of fire would burn it, but the flare would mark him just as clearly. He needed it dead and quiet. His eyes landed on a torn warning poster nailed by the door, its bold letters smeared and half nonsense. Bait. He smeared a streak of pantry honey across the paper and propped it on the chest. The scout dipped low, drawn to the sweet glint. Holdin swung the iron stove door open, grabbed the scout in a rag, and slammed it shut against the hot frame. A small blue puff settled like dust onto a nearby stump near the threshold. The scout was dead. No signal had gone out. But honey now coated the doorway, and the wind was carrying its scent toward the hollow oaks. He had bought minutes, not safety. Holdin tightened his grip on the nozzle. The hive was still coming. Now it would come hungry.