Other than bees, there were never insect or arthropod sounds on Joan’s organic bee farm. The absence of bugs was so difficult to explain to the organic control body that Joan could not label her products organic. In a natural environment, the silence felt ominous and backward. Many beekeepers quit because of it, but nobody except Emma admitted to the creeps, and some beekeepers struggled to identify the cause. For the observant ones, saying the reason aloud sounded pathetic or stupid. However, Emma asked where the fauna went, hoping to sound more curious than mildly alarmed. Then she adjusted to the surroundings.

Joan said the bugs moved away over decades, so gradually, she wondered when it began. Once she noticed, Joan thought it was a consequence of modern agriculture. Her ecologically friendly endeavors failed to attract wildlife. Whenever Norman and Joan attempted vermiculture for their flower beds, the worms slithered away, and macroscopic life emigrated from their compost heap. Insectivorous birds and animals foraged elsewhere. The other birds and animals rarely visited and always completely avoided the beehives. Melissa took soil and water samples from across the farm and examined them for microscopic life. The life she found lacked brains; the microscopic life consisted solely of bacteria, viruses, fungi, plants, and algae. Melanie claimed Melissa’s data demonstrated anything with half a brain cell considered the bees dangerous.

While Joan, Melanie, and Ross proceeded with their part of the extermination plan, Emma and Norman went outside to drown Paige’s beehive.

The bees usually hummed loudly, but that day, they were quieter than in the middle of winter. Later, Emma compared walking past the beehives to walking through London during lockdown.

“Joan doesn’t seem very upset,” Emma said.

“She hides her moods,” Norman said.

“What will we tell Paige?”

“Melanie will think of a good excuse.”

Emma felt guilty about drowning the bees; Paige loved them. But everybody agreed the bees posed a danger to any beekeeper, regardless of age.

Joan and Emma exterminated diseased or weak colonies, but Paige’s healthy bees crammed the hive and worked productively. If Emma had time and a safe opportunity, Joan suggested harvesting the colony’s produce. It would keep until Paige felt well enough to use it. Generally, before extermination, Joan and Emma harvested everything from the hive. Sometimes bees considered them thieves or maybe they objected from self-defense, but some seemed to understand the situation. The bees knew when they were ill and how much Joan or her beekeepers harvested yearly.

Joan estimated Paige’s box currently contained 10,000 bees, each necessary to survive until the next summer—if the queen bee expected to return herself. Also, in the queen’s absence, the nurse bees would raise a new one, who required thousands of bees to found a successful colony. But, if the queen bee thought Ross might escape, she might have emptied the hive of all bees except eggs, larvae, nurse bees (who tended the larvae), and bees aged 10-20 days old (who built the honeycomb).

Joan still wondered how exactly the bees passed on knowledge, but they certainly did. A new queen in Paige’s hive might possibly cause trouble for Ross. She believed the eggs, larvae, and pupae were inherently less cruel than the queen and adult bees, being too little to receive instructions. Within weeks, the larvae would be adult bees. Extermination was the most sensible option if adult bees passed the grudge against Ross to the young. Further, colonies descended from Paige’s probably possessed an aggressive streak.

Emma brought a smoker and Norman armed himself with a spray bottle and several water balloons filled with soapy water. Under normal circumstances, stinging failed to intimidate her. She hoped the bees understood for the colony to survive, they needed to live. The fact that Emma planned to kill them anyway was beside the point. A stinging honeybee eviscerated and killed itself.

Thousands of bees zipped out of the top bar hive, ready to sting and buzzing their angry buzz. Emma smoked the bees to mask the bees’ alarm pheromones and trick them into gorging themselves on honey before the hive burned down.

The bees bearded her uncapping knife. It resembled a cake server sharp enough to cut through a honeycomb. Running out of space, the bees settled on her hands and arms.

“I know I’m a bit early this year, but Paige needs the honeycomb and honey,” Emma said to the bees. “It will make her feel better.”

“Royal jelly, as well,” Norman said. “She needs to eat the royal jelly or she won’t grow proper.”

“Auntie Joan will feed you honey all winter.”

“Right. I forgot a jar honey.”

“Let me get it.”

The bees stood on Emma the entire time Norman collected a bottle of emergency honey from the apiary shed. She held still.

Norman set bee feeder full of raw honey the ground. Several bees gravelly inspected it. Then the bees flew into the air and hovered menacingly in front of Emma.

Emma concentrated on transferring honeycombs from the top bars to the bucket. The bees knew Joan and her beekeepers harvested an amount acceptable to both parties, but once Emma exceeded it, the bees swarmed over her hand and knife and the frame.

“Shall I fire?” Norman brandished the spray bottle and a pink water balloon.

“They haven’t hurt me yet,” Emma said, slowly cutting, giving the bees plenty of time to move. “Paige needs the honeycomb.”

Bees stung Emma. To her relief, her bee suit and extra layers protected her, and she let them without comment, hoping they would give up.

Sweat soaked Emma and Norman and veils prevented drinking water. Her mother warned her that elderly people suffered heat exhaustion quickly. Also, Emma wanted to get away from the increasingly agitated bees.

When Joan exterminated bees, she normally used sulfur or dry ice. She thought fools burned sulfur during a wildfire watch and she did not keep dry ice on hand. Therefore, she told Emma to flood the hive—which had a screen bottom.

“We have enough for Paige. You can keep the rest.” Emma closed the hive.

To her surprise, the bees buzzed through the hive’s entrance. Emma nailed scrap wood over the entrance, then nailed the top down. She grasped the hive as if preparing to lift it.

Norman maneuvered his mobility scooter to a leg and sawed through it.

“Don’t know why bees need topple-proof legs,” he joked.

“Bees standing all on one side pull it over,” Emma said.

“Is it too heavy for you?”

“No.”

The pressure on Emma’s hands felt worse than the strain on her arms. Joan gradually changed to top-bar hives because the honeycombs hung side-by-side in one layer, but to access one of the boxy hive’s layers, she lifted tens of pounds. Emma hoisted the boxy hives with more muscles than people expected. With a grunt and her whole body, Emma heaved the bee hive onto its side and then onto its back. Emma poured old paint buckets of soapy water through the screen until the soapy water sticky with honey and full of dust and droppings flowed out.

“All done,” Emma said. “Do you think they suffered much?”

“They can’t hold their breath." Looking towards the cottage, Norman said, “Somebody should have been out by now. No emergency call, at least.”

“I’ll put the produce in the apiary and process it later,” Emma said. “Go into the house and cool down.”

“Joan issued strict instructions to watch you,” Norman said.

Emma and Norman made their way to the apiary, but Emma felt compelled to say, “They probably already killed the dangerous bees, so I don’t need supervision.”

“Arguing shall leave us in the sun longer,” Norman said.

In the house, Norman and Emma struggled out of their extra layers and bee suits. Norman asked her to check on the others, feeling too overheated and exhausted to hustle.

A trail of squashed bees and pesticide rescue led from the lavatory to Joan and Norman’s bedroom.

The tape around the shut lavatory door hung loose. Emma knocked. “Mr. Spencer wants me to check on you.”

“I’m cleaning the loo,” Ross called over the ventilation fan and another fan in the window. “I have a few stings, but I’m alright for now. Ask Melanie about Auntie Joan.”

Emma knocked on the door and Joan feebly said, “Come in.”

“Oh, no!” Emma said. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Joan lay on the bedroom carpet, ashy and sweaty. She felt faint in the lavatory but made it to her bedroom before falling. She thought broke her hip. Melanie cut off Joan’s extra layers and bee suit and gave her several ice packs, and a big glass of ice water. She insisted on disposing of the bee carnage before calling an ambulance. Ross called 999 anyway and to escape Melanie’s wrath, he helped.

Already, Melanie had opened every window in the house and lit scented candles. She ran the last load of bathroom furnishings from Joan and Norman’s bedroom to her old bedroom.

“I might have broken me hip,” Joan said, as Melanie left to collect the suspicious clothing. “I have something to tell you. Sit down near me so I can whisper.”

Emma sat and Joan whispered, “Tell the bees about me and tell them not to kill people or hurt people. Don’t worry Melanie with it.”

“Sure,” Emma said.

In a normal voice, Joan said, “I don’t want to bother anybody, but where is Norman?”

“I’ll get him.”

Norman trundled upstairs in his chair lift and transferred to his wheelchair. He tended to Joan while Melanie, Ross, and Emma continued tidying up. Dead bees stung them occasionally. It affronted Ross; Melanie just said, “Precisely why I told you not to touch them.” Just as the ambulance arrived, Emma ripped the tape from the bathroom door as the ambulance arrived, Norman plucked a dead bee from Melanie’s ponytail, and Ross scuttled into the cupboard under the stairs.

Dozens of bees had stung Melanie and Joan. The EMTs believed Melanie’s story. She and Joan worked with cranky bees on a hot day. She asked Melanie for help; Emma worked on another acre, hence their opposite conditions. Joan became faint from the heat and bee stings, so she decided to cool down in the cottage. She passed out while undressing and broke her hip.

The ambulance, EMTs, Joan, and Norman left.

Melanie and Emma checked on Ross, who was developing a severe reaction to the bee stings. His weight protected him from the venom’s effects somewhat. Despite the clothing, Ross suffered hundreds of stings over his body, though most stingers barely penetrated his skin. Also, Melanie kept him too busy to remove the stingers; she thought he suffered less than Joan.

Melanie and Emma helped him onto a couch downstairs. Melanie scraped out the bee stings and gave Ross Joan’s home cures for hives, sting swelling, itching, and pain. He felt a little better in the fresher air.

Melanie put her hands on her hips. “Alright, now, neither of you tell anybody anything about killer honeybees.”

Emma almost dared ask, Or what? but at the last moment, made herself say, “Sure.”

“Paige’s bees were diseased and needed to be exterminated,” Melanie said.

“Varroa mites?” Emma asked.

“No, believe it or not, they have brains. It was an unidentifiable, contagious disease.”

“What about the legs Mr. Spencer sawed off the hives?” Emma asked.

“She can’t have more bees. I’m taking apart the hive today and Norman can burn it when the wildfire watch ends. She will be in a rehabilitation center until then, probably. If she isn’t, she won’t be well enough to rummage around in the shed. Ross, what is your excuse for being stung?”

“What?” Ross asked. “I didn’t—”

“How will you explain the bee stings?”

In a panic, Ross blurted, “I went to Auntie Joan’s farm to order honey and got attacked somehow. I don’t know what I did to the bees. Emma, what did I do to the bees?”

“What is his excuse, Emma?” He looked at her in wide-eyed panic.

“Mr. Andrews wanted to see the inside of a hive and dropped the worker bee brood,” Emma said, drawing from personal experience.

“Excellent excuse,” Melanie said. “Both of you go home.”

“What’s a worker bee brood?” Ross asked.

Melanie groaned.

“Where the bees live,” Emma said. “Bees don’t like being dropped. Would you?”

“Right,” Melanie said. “Emma, you don’t need to work tomorrow. Mum and I won’t be here and the work can wait. Melissa arrives tomorrow and intends to stay until Mum recovers, so you will be working with her. Now go home, both of you.”

Ross trudged outside and Emma gathered her things and left.

“Wait, I can’t bike in my condition,” Ross said, standing uncertainly on the cottage step.

“I’m not driving a man,” Emma said because it was the kind of thing her mother would say. “Good luck asking Melanie.”

In her car, Emma texted Melissa: Auntie Joan wants me to tell the bees she broke her hip and tell them not to attack and kill people. How? What if they attack the hospital? Then she drove home.

 

Ross’s wife picked him up at the farm’s gate and made him go to the doctor.

 

Melanie cleaned the dried pesticides from the lavatory ceiling and wall and the floor’s puddles of pesticides, soapy water, and hemolymph on the floor. Despite her efforts and the fan running constantly for days, the lavatory stank like an unethical pesticide factory’s illegal chemical dumping ground.

Then Melanie dismantled Paige’s hive and hid the pieces, locked up, and visited Joan, who was in surgery. Norman berated Melanie for waiting to call an ambulance, and Melanie hissed at him to be quiet. He refused.