This story is inspired by the King and Queen cards forming a couple,and the clubs swarming in great numbers.
Ants At A Picnic
The hill was the only place with a decent view for miles, and closer to their house than the nearest corner shop. The ideal spot for exercise and recreation. But olive green fences formed a barrier around the bottom, and signs in hornet yellow told you legally and politely to go away.
They had lived near the hill for five years. Their tenth wedding anniversary plans consisted of frozen pizzas, and the bad buffet of Thursday night telly. She said they needed an adventure. He said he knew where the gap in the fence was.
So this is how they ended up on top of the hill, sharing a chilled bottle of wine under the moonlight, wondering what all the fuss was about.
The stone cube at the summit was a cold but decent backrest if you brought cushions. Moss hugged four walls that rose taller than a barn, and a ladder ran up the side and curled over the top like one at a swimming pool. Neither revealed anything about the inside. The couple were not fussed. They were here to get drunk and explore the night sky. The alcohol and the stars above were such a great cocktail they even discussed renewing their vows.
That was until the men in balaclavas and flak jackets swarmed up the grassy verge.
The pair called out. Threw their hands in the air. Waved the bottle to show the purpose of their trespass. The soldiers advanced, sleek rifles clutched in two hands..
She climbed the ladder first. The metal was cold, and paint flaked under her fingers.
Both expected a dark pit on the other side. Instead harsh spotlights screwed into the stone revealed a path formed of orange dirt, far away like a canal from the air.
Over the top they went. The leather soles of his designer boots slipped on every mucky wrung. A sweaty clamber deep into the core of the hill ended with a dusty jump that covered them in muck. The air was working kitchen hot, and stank of earth. But more spotlights showed off a potential route ahead.
It provided an escape route for seventeen paces. Then the crunching noise, like glass under pressure, invaded their ears.
What emerged from the tunnel scuttled along the floor and climbed up the walls without changing pace. There was no time to tell if it had hands or claws.
Above the ladder a perfect full moon watched the scene unfold. The only impediment was the faces of the soldier at the top of the ladder. With his balaclava on, it was impossible to tell if he was frowning or laughing.
