"James Maxey - The Final Flight of the Blue Bee" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maxey James)

Outside the hotel window, there was a noise like a train passing. The mirror on the wall began to tremble
and dance.

Stinger rose from the bed and pulled open the curtains. It was dark out, even the city lights were blotted,
hidden behind a moving curtain of particles that pattered against the window like angry rain. Stinger was
humming a constant "zzzzzz" noise through clenched teeth.

Then, with a kung-fu shout, Stinger thrust his hand forward in a sharp punch. The window shattered.
Honey shrieked as a cloud of bees swarmed in, engulfing her in a black and gold tornado.

"Don't struggle," Stinger said. "You'll make the bees nervous."
"AAAAAAAA!" Honey cried. "Oh God! Oh God! Please! Don't!"

Stinger grabbed her arm and dragged her from the bed. She closed her eyes as bees climbed over her
face, their tiny feet tickling her eyelids, their flickering wings teasing her nostrils. She screamed, her mouth
wide, and bees crawled on her tongue, and on the inside of her cheeks. Her whole body grew encased
by the vibrating, crawling blanket. In utter terror, she fell silent and still, not even breathing. Slowly, the
bees crawled out of her mouth.

"Bees are interesting creatures, don't you think?" Stinger's voice sounded far away, nearly lost under the
drone of the bees. "Quite orderly--one might even say civilized. They can communicate by dancing. Can
you imagine what the world might be like if mankind relied on dance to communicate with one another?
It's their beautiful world. It's not our world. They swim in an atmosphere of pheromones. Their music is
the rumble of ultrasound. Their skies glimmer in ultraviolet. It's like a parallel universe, in the same space
as ours, where flowers have patterns and shapes invisible to us. For a bee, the air is crisscrossed by
highways of scent, which stand out as clear and well marked as our modern roads. And your
screams--the vibrations are heard by their entire bodies. Have you ever felt the subway rumble
underneath your feet without actually being aware of the noise? Bees hear everything this way."

Honey could hold her breath no longer. She sucked in air through clenched teeth. Then, barely parting
her lips, she whispered, "Please let me go."

"I'm impressed that you haven't fainted," said Stinger. "Back in 1964, girls were always fainting. You
future women are made of stern stuff."

"This is crazy," she sobbed.

"Honey," he said. "I'm dressed up like a damn bee. We can talk crazy if you really want."

"Please, please, please, get them off." She felt like the bees on her eyes were drinking up her tears. By
some miracle, it didn't feel like any had stung her. "Please. I'm allergic to bees."

"Ironically," said Stinger, "so was I."
****
Mick had been a sickly youth. He was allergic to everything. He'd been beaten up regularly at school,
until his grandmother had paid for judo lessons when he was fifteen. Suddenly, his small, almost girlish
frame was no longer an invitation for beatings. In the span of a year, he'd gotten his black belt, and
placed nine bullies flat on their backs, out cold. Alas, this only resulted in multiple suspensions, and
eventually he'd been kicked out of school.