The Last Honey of the Bee

In the year 2108, the only thing more valuable than water was honey. As far as humanity knew, bees were extinct. Only the Militia knew the beekeepers were still out there, hidden as they were.

Mel woke up to the hum of her bees. Her greenhouse was glowing orange and pink from the sunrise filtering through the panels. She rested in the haze between sleeping and waking as long as she could. Her hair was a mass of spectacular coiled curls, and surrounded her head like a storm cloud, raining over her shoulders. Gradually, she felt the reality of her situation set in. The familiar fear creeping up her spine. As though they sensed it, several honey bees came close to her, buzzing with comfort and encouragement, and resting in the spirals of her hair. The bees were her family now. She rubbed her grandmother’s heart shaped locket between her fingers for luck. The locket was gold, rubbed smoothed from the seven years’ of mornings like these. In the locket was a photo of her grandmother, Zara and Zara’s best friend, Viroqua. The two of them leaned into each other laughing, carefree. Mel stared at the picture in hopes to embody that feeling herself until her eyes grew tired and she fell back asleep.

The bees, as well as monarchs and other insects, adapted beautifully in the aftermath of the war. So beautifully in fact, that they too, radiated with a new glow like the fireflies of old. The chrysalis of the monarch scintillated with rainbow colors. The bee species glowed with a golden yellow halo around their tiny bodies; and honey bees made rich, healing, radiation resistant honey that glimmered in the dark. This honey fortified the same resilience in bodies that ingested it, and for this, the beekeepers thrived alongside their hives.

Militia from around the world battled for supremacy and control of the exchange of information. The war resulted in more than three million satellites orbiting the earth. The impact shook the planet to its knees. Vast, unruly radiation storms haunted the horizon, and drove humanity to seek shelter under electromagnetic shield enclosures lest they succumb to debilitating bone and brain deterioration outside. This mass exodus severed what was left of humanity’s connection to the natural world.

Mel had no idea how many other beekeepers existed now, had been captured, nor how many, like her, managed to survive. The Militia loathed the beekeepers and envied their resilience; they worked tirelessly to capture the beekeepers, plunder their hives, and force the beekeepers to teach them their ways. If the beekeepers did not comply, they were forced to watch their family members be executed one by one. Beekeepers who passed on the knowledge were executed afterwards regardless. The Militia grew hideously stronger for a time from the hives they produced, but within a matter of years, their bee colonies collapsed. This infuriated the Militia and only emboldened their mission to annihilate the beekeepers and conquer the ways of beekeeping for themselves.

Mel opened her eyes again and sighed. It was later than she usually woke, but lately she spent sleepless nights monitoring the hives. She offered a rare, brief smile to her bees, stretched, and walked to the kitchen. She had a long day of chores ahead to keep the bees, and herself, alive. But first, breakfast: lentils with salt from the storage and lemon balm tea with honey. Mel reviewed her notes and furrowed her brow. She was concerned. Her hive’s numbers were dwindling rapidly. At first, Mel thought it was a normal fluctuation, but the numbers were lower than they’d been in weeks. After breakfast, she walked the enclosure, studying the soil as her grandmother’s notebook described. She checked the pH of the soil and sensed the needs of the plants, thinning them, adding nutrients, singing to them, and at times stroking their leaves tenderly to comfort them. She was lonely, and she imagined they might be too.

She was reluctant to admit it, but Mel knew her bees were sick. A fourth generation beekeeper, she tried everything her mother and grandmother taught her. Before the raids, she was glued to their sides, studying their every action. Now, she read and re-read the notebooks they left behind.

After all these years, to avoid being captured, Mel tended to her bees fervently, and stayed close to the center of her family’s property to stay secret and hidden. She hadn’t needed to step outside beyond this refuge, until now.