In the early hours of the following morning, a group of people burst into the storage area, barking loud orders over each other. Fingers of blinding torchlight swept the dark, settling on Fee's confused features. A male with a voice she did not recognise got in her face and screamed:

  "UP AND OUT! NOW! NOW! NOW!"

  Fee felt the bed shift violently up, spilling her onto the dusty hardwood floor. A tangled of arms slipped up around her, pulling her to her feet as a dark hood was slipped over her head, her wrists bound together with cable ties.. She crossed her arms against her chest and was frog-marched out into the bitter, biting cold of the hangar area. Still clad in a Long Johns, Fee was led onto a Helicopter and buckled in place. Too scared to speak, she played it safe, remaining silent throughout the journey. Unaware of how much time had passed during the flight, Fee guessed it was more than ten minutes, but less than an hour. All she knew was that her thermal Onesie wasn't enough to keep her from shivering on a cold aircraft to nowhere. Upon landing, she was taken from the helicopter to the back of a nearby van and driven to an unknown destination. This journey felt a lot shorter, closer to twenty minutes, thirty at a push. Fee concentrated on the background noise: A crunch of gravel, followed by the smooth of asphalt. She could tell it was a main road of two lanes, especially when a passing siren dopplered away from the van. The vehicle made a hard turn left away from the street, which caused her to pitch off-centre.

  Keep it together. Don't show your fear.

  Eventually, the van came to a stop, and the sound of a large door sliding open. She was carefully manoeuvred into a quiet area before being told to stand still. The ground felt like grass between her toes, soft like mud (or what she hoped was mud). A chorus of insects chirruped in high places. High places like trees? A forest? There was something remote about the surrounding area. A woman's voice held a trembling timbre of servitude.

  "Forgive us, Majesty." She said. "We were given strict orders to bring you here, away from the others. Head east and you will find a hill with the great Oak, from there you should follow the wall to the Chimney smoke. You must make your way back to the castle before four o'clock or your people will leave without you."

  "Why not drive me straight there? As an order? "

  The two strangers smiled at each other.

  "Your orders were to ignore your orders." The man said. "This is a journey you must take yourself. Besides, the longer we're on the road, the greater our chance of being detected. One last thing, you must count to fifty and remove the hood. Good luck."

  In the darkness, Fee could hear the doors slam and the crunch of tyres disappear into the distance. Then, silence.

  Counting to fifty, Fee pulled off her hood and squinted into the crisp morning air. She shivered in the near darkness, frantically trying to warm the tops of her arms as a slit of amber twinkled on the horizon. The dark trees crowded around her in ominous columns, accentuated by the distant cry of a fox and the hoot of an owl. Using a sharp edge from a broken fence, she managed to cut the ties.

  Rubbing her wrists, she sighed.

  "Alright, which way is east?"

  ***

  Fee trekked through fields, making a mental note to avoid stones and brambles. The grass felt pleasingly wet, but the frozen mud made it feel like she was walking over sharp rocks. The darker hues of the night had given way to frost-rimed pastures bathed in a golden light. She wondered how far she had travelled; it felt close to five miles, at least. Exhausted, Fee cursed herself for not thinking clearly. Anything would have been better than all this pointless venturing. She wondered why no Helicopters were scouring the area, no Drones flying overhead. Did they know she was gone? They must have noticed. Wandering on, until the landscape changed and the morning sun melted twinkling frost before making itself known as a pale light creeping up from a Prussian blue horizon.

  Still drenched in cold sweat, Fee could feel the dry patches plaster against her skin. Her feet were mapped with fresh cuts and a penetrating soreness that lingered on. Feeling faint, she finally caught sight of the Great Oak, which stood like a monolith on a hill. Sinking to her knees, Fee pushed out a dry breath. Climbing the hill was harder than she anticipated. It was deceptively steep, so she was on all fours by the time she reached the top.

  Finding the base of the tree, she wiped her head with a forearm and sat with her back against the trunk. It was then a thought occurred to her; at some point, she would have to steal some clothes to stay warm. She remembered the last thing she stole was an oversized Gerry can from a petrol station, which was done for the thrill. She found it hilarious because it defied any rule for a successful theft. Even the pursuing manager seemed perplexed about why she chose that. This was different by a long shot; countryside people owned guns and were not shy about clipping any potential thieves.

  By her estimation, the best way to get a sense of location was from the highest point; at least then, she would know if there was civilisation nearby. Distant houses were white blobs on the landscape, all with black window frames, like dead eyes on a pale face. What kind of people sat in those houses? If there were people at all, were they all watching her? Could they see from that far?

  Fee shivered and remembered the words of her Mother: 'Do not fill your head with useless things'

  Wasting no more time, she made her way down toward the woods. Fee tread carefully as twigs bit at the soft flesh of her insteps. She picked her way through the woody hill, broken up thick roots that protruded through the mossy undergrowth. The gruelling climb slashed at her shins, causing her to pause on several occasions, feeling a thin sheet of blood trickle down. Eventually, she was able to reach a grassy clearing on the edge of the forest. From the stone wall, Fee could make out the landscape ahead.

  Somewhere in the distance, a ribbon of chimney smoke crept up from the crest of a hill. Fee wondered if she should ask the occupants for help, and was met with visions of being tied up in a basement. Getting to her feet, she followed the stone wall down, but avoided any paddocks that might contain people or bulls. The wall surrounded a small patch of farm; in the centre was an old Whitstone cottage, next to a dilapidated barn.

  Apart from the smoke, Fee saw no other signs of life and reckoned she had only seconds before a nearby dog caught her scent. As luck would have it, the barn had an opening on the top floor, underneath a medium-sized digger. Seeing no other option, she decided to chance it and quickly made her way over the wall. She clambered onto the roof of the digger. To her dismay, she found it was still a few feet shy of the open door at the top. Out of desperation, she pulled herself up using an overhanging rope and slipped inside the barn. Upon entering, Fee waved away the scent of rotting vegetation. Peering over the edge, she looked down. It was a fair drop. Directly below her was a red Off-Roader covered in a thin film of dust. If she aimed for the rear, there was always the chance it would take out an ankle. All these concerns dissipated when something large scampered on the edge of her vision. Rats. Now with the scent of blood, she was on borrowed time. Fee was about to hurry on down when she caught sight of something that made her pause. The most enormous beehive she had ever seen was attached to the wall closest to the ladder. A foul, yellowing Glaucoma spread over the corner of a window toward the rafters.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  She watched the black cloud amass in swirls around the deformed hive. The closer she got, the louder the noise became until it drowned the outside world entirely. Her first instinct was to take her chances and jump down, but there was something off about these bees; for some insane reason, she could feel their energy and the depths of their mood. There was an aura of frustration, like a group of inactive soldiers stationed too long in one place. Worst still, these bees were beginning to sense an outsider presence. Before she could back away, the swarm sped towards her in a dark, shapeless frenzy.

  She went to cover her face, when the insects froze mid-air as a perfect sphere. The rest of the bees soon joined, until she was met with perfect orbs droning loudly in suspended animation. Fee was stunned. She had seen birds migrate in billowing flocks, like a blackened phantasm carried on the wind, but never in smooth geometric shapes. She could feel the swarm was waiting. For what, though? Orders? From what she could tell, the mood had shifted to outright obedience, reinvigorated with a sense of duty. She reached out toward the middle orb, and it parted on cue. Sweeping a hand to the right, the swarm tracked her movements with a precise, hypnotic servitude; its ghostly shape shifting into a dark cloud, before being released back with a simple nod. Soon enough, bees cleared a path toward the ladder.

  What the hell is going on?

  Remembering the rats, she briskly made her way down. On the ground floor, there were six stalls for horses. Most of them were filled with junk, including the frame of an antique motorcycle, a workbench and two microwaves stacked. Fee noticed something in the rear of the vehicle. It was a furry bundle, which made her think it was a sleeping dog. Upon second look, it turned out to be a fur coat. She took the coat and shrugged it on, slipping her arms through the sleeves. Fake or not, she was done being cold. By the massive door, she noticed three translucent green bags in a row.

  "Please be clothes." Fee said. Undoing the twine, she was glad to see all bags filled with piles of neatly folded outdoor wear.

  "Yes!"

  After lifting out a red check shirt, she slipped on a pair of jeans, both of which were a size too big. Tearing off the sleeve of an old wedding dress, she used the rags to secure a sock over the wound. Fee was halfway buttoning up the shirt when a hazy fog of exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she collapsed into a fitful sleep. The last thing she heard was her mother's voice ringing in her head.

  Sleep where you can, when you can.

  ***

  Some two hours later, Fee woke with a jolt when a rhombus of sunlight caught her square in the eye, confused as to why she was in a strange barn wearing a man's shirt. A wash of Goosebumps tracked down her arms, causing her to shiver. The temperature had improved, but not by much. Getting to her feet, she pulled on a pair of boots and was about to clamber back up the ladder when a series of loud scratches raked outside the barn door. Soon, the blonde snout of a German shepherd poked through, until it eventually pushed the door wide enough to squeeze through.

  Tempting as it was to dart back up through the bees, she froze with one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. The dog padded in and revealed to be a fully grown adult male with a dark coat. There was neither aggression nor friendliness in its demeanour; it just studied the intruder with a cool, dispassionate gaze, as if she had been expecting all along. It was waiting for something. It wanted her to follow.

  They made their way across the muddy yard to the farmhouse: a shambling, rundown building two storeys of aged Whitstone. Fee looked up at the mossy, dormer roof, which held a couple of dead windows long since cloudy with neglect. Upon entry, she was immediately hit with the strong scent of cut grass and more rotted vegetation. Mouldy chairs had been piled up on the table, while dust on the dressers had thickened into a grey candy floss. Most of the windows were covered by an ancient newspapers, which did nothing to help the mood. Fee looked around at the forgotten books piled high and caked in heavy cobwebs.

  Ducking under the low frame of the living room entrance, tt took all Fee's courage not to immediately bolt right back out, for there by the fireplace, lay an old man in a black armchair with his emaciated legs resting upon a stool. Under a striped dressing gown, his skin was frail as frail could be without turning sallow or sinking into bone, white straggly hair fell around his withered face, emphasising the hollow of his cheeks. A wiry beard cascaded down across his feeble frame in dry wisps.

  At first, Fee thought the old man was dead, but on closer inspection, she could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. The hearth fire was slowly fading to nothing. Fee watched it diminish to mere orange glimmers pulsing feebly among a veil of ash, obscuring a once healthy flame that had gradually succumbed to the natural cycle of consumption.

  This guy was asleep?

  The sounds of Panpipes and Tabla drums filled the room from a vintage, silver tape deck. Any attempt to inspect the deck further was met with a vicious growl from the dog. For some reason, the music was to remain on no matter what. The dog gestured toward a nondescript door at the back of the room. Fee’s body tingled with a sense of apprehension.

  Opening the door, she was met with a short staircase leading to an ill-lit room. At the top was a medium-sized storage area, devoid of furnishings except for an unmade bed with a blanket and a roll-top bureau. Gathering dust in the corner was an old VCR combo on a mobile stand. In ways she could not fathom, the place presented her with a heightened sense of calm; a haven from the rest of the house.

  Fee was quickly drawn toward a Soapstone carving in the form of a winged insect. It was small enough to close in her hand but weighed as much as a bag of flour. Whatever intricate features it had held were worn smooth over time. Placing it back, she opened the bureau. Inside were a video cassette and a leather-bound book, its pages trimmed in gold. Tracing a finger down the cover, Fee half-expected to map out a pentagram shape, but was disappointed to find it was only a circle with a horizontal line dividing it. Page by page, she leafed through the Journal with a silent incredulity. Every sheet was inscribed in a dark green ink, depicting a series of carefully penned glyphs, maps and diagrams that leaned toward Haruspicy (ie divination through entrails). There were geometric shapes so complex, it was hard for any organic mind to conceive that such a world could be brought into being. Long passages were scrawled in an unintelligible language resembling bricks, next to monstrous illustrations depicting things or apparitions which could not be possible in a three-dimensional reality. Vivid, grotesque sketches of anatomy were catalogued in several classes of species and all beyond human understanding. Turning the middle pages, Fee was suddenly assailed with an intense feeling of cold. Something in her gut twisted with a knot of recognition.

  On one of the pages, her eyes fell upon a distinctive Y-shape symbol, with three dots the same as the one that scarred her back. To the right of this, a segment of the page had been roughly torn out, leaving just a crudely drawn line of people, all shielding their faces in terror. She glanced at the figurine on the bureau and wondered if there was a connection.

  In her mind's eye, she sees a deserted tunnel, one of many in a network of London's underground. She is travelling toward the platform, not running but walking with haste. On the right is a corridor with a gaping, black hole almost as big as the wall. She can see the door blocking the exit, broken, torn off its hinges and jammed at an angle. Shadow people start to flow out of the hole like water, blackened mist with glittering pin-prick eyes. First a single figure, then three, then a horde. The more she looks at them, the more she feels an invisible hand nurse the base of her heart.

  Fee snapped the book shut and felt her breath return. What did it all mean? Who would leave a book of incomprehensible text? Was it a simulation? A part of a test? She turned her attention to the video cassette; a faded label written in thick marker pen had the word 'Dumbfounded'. Curious, she slotted it into the nearby VCR machine and pressed 'play'.

  The screen went from a blizzard of static to violet, followed by scratchy track lines reminiscent of something recorded multiple times. The lines soon thinned out to reveal an opulent chamber, with a luxurious king-sized bed, white walls and sheets. The walls were bordered with gold trim, while lace curtains billowed in front of a large arch-top door. The recording was filmed with a drone, making the room seem weightless. For a minute, there was silence, followed by a familiar voice:

  "Not yet, not yet!"

  What came next made Fee doubt her sanity.