Becoming Honey
Three

Before she could even think about getting into the Aston Martin, Amber knew that there was something she needed to do. The boot of her Ford Fiesta was absolutely full of firearms and blades, things that would most certainly raise a few questions when the abandoned car was undoubtedly reported to the authorities. It was not too much of a stretch for her though, to realise that the hold-all was for that exact purpose and taking as much care as she could to ensure that no one could see just what she was doing, she filled the black bag with as quickly and carefully as possible. The guns weren’t so much of an issue but the blades, unless they were inserted correctly, could quite easily slice the material and then she would have to explain why her bag of weapons had spilled all over the car park and hey, by the way... why are you carrying a bag of weapons, Miss? You’re nicked!

At least the trio of swords came equipped with their own sheaths, and it was those three weapons that Amber slipped into the bag last, before saying a fond yet brief farewell to the small hatchback that had served her well over the previous couple of years.

Now full, the bag was incredibly heavy as she carried it over to the parked Aston. Thankfully she did not appear out of place, as several people were struggling with similarly heavy luggage, although she doubted that anyone else was carrying the same kind of cargo as she was.

She popped the boot and lowered the bag carefully inside, not at all surprised to discover that it was a perfect fit.

She got into the car, hoping that the vehicle was as easy to drive as her former steed. At least the gear box was a manual one; she hated automatics. She suspected that had the car been a newer model then that would not have been the case but the DB6 was definitely not a new model. It did have a satellite navigation unit fitted to the dash though, which activated as soon as she started the engine.

The map on screen showed her that she was required to exit the services onto the westbound carriageway. She had come from the west, and the fact that was the direction in which she was to trave,l made her wonder for a moment exactly how close to home Ryan Smith was located. There was a lot of country to the west, of course, even beyond the quiet little Sussex village in which she had been shot at some hours prior, but it still made her think.

With a satisfying rumble from the Aston’s engine, Amber pulled out of the parking space and headed for the exit. Soon she was back out on the motorway with the blue arrow on screen pointing straight ahead and it remained that way for several miles before it showed that she needed to take the next exit.

As she did not want to draw any undue attention to herself, she kept just a notch below the speed limit. It was not at all lost on her though, that she was all but retracing her steps from earlier in the day and she lit a cigarette as she stopped at a set of red lights, chuckling as she realised that to her right was the petrol station she had filled up at some hours ago.

At the next junction the Sat Nav informed her that she must take a right turn which finally meant she was traversing new territory, rather than following her earlier route in reverse.

“Finally, something new,” she said with a smile.

Something new it might have been, yet Amber knew where the road led. After seven miles there would be a road sign claiming that it was a dead end, but two hundred yards after that, was a right turn down what was essentially a bridleway. The route was used mainly by horses and kids who wanted somewhere to get the most out of their 125s, but there was an old abandoned farmhouse down there, too. That, Amber suspected, was where the satellite navigation unit was taking her.

Sure enough, the blue arrow pointed to the right as she approached the entrance to the bridleway. She dipped the headlights, lest she blind anyone out for a late-evening stroll, and drove the car gently over the far from ideal terrain.

Her path was clear which Amber thought to be odd, but she assumed that as it appeared Smithie had taken the farmhouse as his own, people were showing respect and keeping a relatively wide berth.

She could see the farmhouse looming on the horizon, though the only sign of life as far as she could tell was the outside light attached to the wall beside the front door.

Amber pulled the Aston Martin to a halt in the drive, pleased that she had only used half a tank of fuel since pulling out of the service station on the M25. She clambered out of the vehicle and stretched her legs, stopping dead when she heard what sounded like a distant clicking and whirring. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a bright red light, in a line two feet in length, upon the ground.

“I’m guessing I don’t want to step over that line,” she said with a fair amount of volume. “Ryan, it’s Amber. What’s going on?”

Moments later the farmhouse door opened and she saw Ryan Smith silhouetted against the light from within the building. He held what looked like a shotgun in his hands. Amber could not see his face but she assumed that as he reached out an arm to his right, the click and whirr sounded once again and the red line of light disappeared, that he was satisfied that it was her.

***

“Tea?” Smithie asked, as she took a seat at the kitchen table. “The kettle’s just boiled.”

“Please, I’m parched,” she replied. There was an ashtray in the centre of the table so she took it as read that she was able to smoke and with that in mind, she lit a cigarette.

“I’m sure you have plenty of questions, Amber,” said Smithie, as he poured boiling water into first one mug and then another.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she replied, honestly.

“Well, once I’ve got this tea sorted, I’ll tell you everything.”

Moments later, Smithie placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her and gestured that she should help herself to milk and sugar, which she did as he took a seat opposite.

“I was recruited into an agency, so secret that only three members of parliament are aware of its existence when I was in my early twenties,” he said, adding several teaspoons worth of sugar to his own brew. “It was the mid-nineties and I’d just got back from the first Iraq war with no idea what I was going to do. Then the Agency came along and offered me a job, training their operatives in combat. I jumped at the chance before they could tell me anything else about it.”

“Would it have made any difference if they had?”

“No,” he replied without hesitation. “Everything was going well. I was training the Honeys to be, as it were. Just because they were trainees doesn’t mean they didn’t see any action. My girls had assignments all over the world, normally as back up to Honey; Hardcore Honey, we always called her.

“Every time one of my girls got called up to the big leagues and took on the mantle of Hardcore Honey, I’ve never been so proud. ’Course, I saw a lot of them go. The life of a Honey is generally short and brutal. I see the look on your face and I’m not trying to put you off, I’m really not. At this point, Amber, you’re the only hope we’ve got of saving the damn world and reforming the Agency.”

“Why me?” she asked, pausing to take a sip from her tea. “I mean, surely there are many girls better suited.”

“You’d think, right?” Ryan chuckled half-heartedly and lit a cigarette. “Everyone we had on our books, everyone we had on our radar... They’re all dead, Amber. All of them. I have no doubt there are other girls out there who we didn’t know about, but without the Agency and the facilities there, we have no chance of locating them, let alone training them.”

“Then how are you going to train me?” she asked. “You are going to train me, aren’t you?”

“I am, and if you happen across anyone else you think is suitable when you’re out in the field I’ll train them, too, but the thing of it is, Amber, as far as I’m concerned you’re the only one. I know you well enough to know that you’re an intelligent, resourceful girl, stuck in a dead end job with an absolute wanker of a boyfriend. I’d be surprised if you don’t pick up the training pretty quickly, to be honest. The sooner the better, as you need to be battle tested.”

“Battle tested?”

“Aye,” he replied with a shrug. “Listen, I know it’s a lot to take in but you’re going to go up against whoever it is that’s trying to eliminate the Honeys. You’ve already met them and survived; the attempt on your life at my cottage was definitely not an accident.”

“You know about that?”

“Of course I do, I watched the whole thing and I have to say, you dealt with the situation pretty well.” He smiled, pausing to take a drag upon his cigarette. “Mind you, if you’d been through the training programme, I wager there’d have been three more corpses for me to make disappear.”

“Well thanks, I think,” she replied.

“Trust me, I don’t hand out compliments easy. You’ll find that out first hand soon enough.” He swigged the rest of his tea and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. “Right, you’ll find the bathroom upstairs and take the bedroom on the left. I reckon the clothes in the wardrobe there ought to fit you pretty much perfectly. We’re up at five so you’re going to want to get some kip.”

“I should empty the car first.”

“Don’t you worry about that, I’ve got it covered,” he replied, gently placing his hand atop hers as she rested it on the table in front of her. “This is going to be anything but easy, Amber, but Honey wouldn’t have chosen you if she wasn’t sure you were up to the task.”

“Well she didn’t really choose me, did she? I mean, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“Trust me when I say that there’s much more to it than that,” he said, releasing her hand. “Now go, get some rest. I’ll see you bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning.”

Ryan watched as Amber made her way up the flight of open stairs and only when he heard the click of the bathroom light and the lock shoot across did he speak again.

“She’ll do well, I’m sure of it.”

“I know, I can sense her energy,” a female voice said from the dark shadows in the far corner of the room. “She is already strong. At heart, she is already Hardcore Honey.”

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Amber awoke to the most glorious smell known to man and woman alike; bacon. As she blearily opened her eyes it filled her nostrils with every breath she took and before she knew what was happening she was salivating more than she would care to admit.

The scent alone was plenty enough to get her up and out of bed which she did and opened the curtains to let the morning in, then proceeded to open the wardrobe to find something to wear. Nothing she could see appeared to look particularly comfortable but Smithie had not been wrong, everything in there was indeed her size, even down to the underwear situated on the shelf to the right.

Within five minutes she was dressed and downstairs, to find two rounds of bacon sandwiches waiting for her upon a plate on the kitchen table.

“Morning,” said Ryan from the stove where he had the kettle on the go. “I’m just about to make some tea, but I see you found some suitable attire.”

“I’m not sure it’s quite what I’d call suitable,” Amber replied with a light chuckle. “But you were right, it all fits.”

“You’ll come to find that the catsuit will be your go-to outfit,” he replied as Amber tucked into her first sandwich. “Tell me you can’t move freely in that. From what I gather it’s like wearing nothing at all.”

“It’s definitely skin tight,” she said through a mouthful of dead pig and bread. “And it doesn’t leave much to the imagination, either.”

“Another upside to the catsuit. One of a Honey’s greatest weapon has always been her sexuality,” he said, before adding as an afterthought, “well that, and kicking arse.”

“Which brings us to training, I assume?”

“Indeed, but finish your breakfast first, eh?”

Amber nodded and wolfed down what remained of the bacon sandwiches, then washed it all down with a mug of hot, sweet tea, after which she followed Ryan outside.

It was a cool, damp morning, but the cloudless sky implied that the day would most likely end up quite warm.

Around the back of the farmhouse, Smithie had created an outdoor gymnasium of sorts, but the first thing he guided her towards was a wooden post, eight feet in height and several inches thick, connected to a metal tripod that looked pretty sturdy.

“This here post is planted two feet deep in a block of concrete. It’s solid,” he said, demonstrating just how solid it was by attempting to shake it, but it refused to budge. “You’re going to break it.”

“You’re not even joking, are you?”

“When it comes to training I don’t joke, Amber,” Smithie replied. “At all other times I’m a very funny guy, but not during training.”

“OK, I break it and then what?”

“Break it first, then we’ll talk.” With that he turned and walked away, leaving Amber standing before the post. She looked it up and down, thinking to herself that it was a bloody tall post.

She had never so much as delivered a punch but figuring that there was a first time for everything she clenched her fist, drew her arm back, and hit the wood as hard as she could.

It did not even budge yet Amber’s entire hand hurt like Hell and she gritted her teeth, shaking her hand as she did so in an attempt to rid herself of the pain.

Time and time again she punched the post but every time the only result was that she ended up in pain, a greater amount with each punch.

Hours passed by, hours during which Amber’s hand went from a well cared for, delicate extremity to something that resembled a bloody, swollen mess, yet she did not give up. She was determined to break the post, determined to keep her promise to Honey.

It was getting dark by the time Smithie made an appearance, carrying a bucket of ice and a bottle of mineral water.

“What’re you playing at?” he asked, placing the bucket to the ground and handing the bottle to Amber. “I’d have thought you’d have snapped that twig in two by now.”

“No, and look at my fucking hand!” she yelled, holding her wounded paw in front of his face before she lowered it tentatively into the bucket. “It’s damn impossible to break that post.”

“You’ll get there,” he said with a smile and a shrug as with her free hand, Amber popped the cap from the bottle of water and drained it without stopping. “Anyway you should come inside. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“I’m not hungry,” she replied.

“’Course you are, you’ve been out here for hours so come inside, eat and get washed up. You can pick this up again in the morning.”

Reluctantly, Amber followed Smithie inside, carrying the bucket in her left hand so that she could keep her right hand on ice.

Dinner was fried chicken and chips and despite what she had said, Amber tucked into it hungrily, accepting Smithie’s offer of a can of Coke.

“Thought you weren’t hungry,” he said, chuckling as he cleared her plate.

“I lied,” she said, grimacing. “Fuck, my hand!”

“Yeah, that’s gonna’ hurt for a while is my train of thought. Still, think of it this way. The sooner you break the post the sooner you can give your hand some time to heal.”

Replacing her hand to the bucket that now sat upon the kitchen floor, Amber placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it, sucking hungrily upon it as if the chemicals contained therein would somehow heal her injury. For a moment or so whilst smoking, she chanced that the pain did lessen, however she knew that was simply psychological, a definite upside to the habit as far as she was concerned.

“I’m going to have a bath and head to bed,” she said as she stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray. “I’ll see you at five.”

No sooner had she left the table and headed upstairs to the bathroom, Ryan heard the familiar voice from the shadows in the corner of the room.

“Give her time, Ryan. It’s only been a day, she’ll get there.”

“I know, I know,” he replied, staring into the darkness in an attempt to get a look at who it was he was talking to. Failing in that, he sighed. “I just hope she gets there soon.”

“She will, and it will be because of you that she does. You have never failed to get the best out of a Honey in your charge.”

“The Honeys I’ve trained have all been trained from a much younger age than Amber,” he said, quietly. “They all knew what they were getting into, it was their birthright.”

“And now times are changing so you must change with them, as must we all. Have a little faith, Ryan. Tomorrow, she will break the post.”

***

The next morning Amber awoke early. She got straight out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Finding a first-aid kit in the bathroom cabinet, she ran her injured hand beneath the cold tap, wincing at the pain that caused, and then dabbed her hand dry with a wad of toilet paper before she wrapped a bandage tightly around her hand, securing it in place with a safety pin.

She was not at all looking forward to another day spent attempting to break the pole but she was determined that she would do so, even if doing so meant that her hand was out of commission for a while and anyway, there was always her left hand.

Dawn was in the process of breaking as she stepped outside. The first rays of sunlight were just about visible on the horizon to the east and as she made her way around to the rear of the farmhouse her breath hung in the air before her. She was not at all cold though, far from it in fact. The catsuit was incredibly warm and the adrenaline she felt as she stood in front of the pole, only served to add to that warmth.

“Right then, you bastard,” she said, quietly talking to the pole. “You’re going to break, do you hear me? I’m going to fucking break you.”

With her teeth gritted she drew her arm back, ready to accept the inevitable pain as the pole did not break. She was just about to deliver the punch when a thought struck her out of nowhere.

Smithie never said I had to break the damn post by punching it. He just said I had to break it!

She had no idea how that fact had escaped her. Clearly she had been so caught up with the idea that Honeys were strong that she had failed to consider that strength meant not only physical strength but mental strength, too.

“Stupid fucking girl,” she muttered, shaking her head. Turning around, she scanned her immediate area for something suitably strong that would easily break the post. “Oh, you’ll do nicely.”

She smirked as she jogged over to the Aston Martin, parked at the side of the house. Ryan had obviously moved it when he had removed the arsenal from the boot, and she had simply failed to notice that he had done so before now.

With a glance through the window she could see that the keys were in the ignition and she smiled as she opened the door.

The engine roared as she turned the key and put her foot to the accelerator pedal, then she dropped the clutch, spun the vehicle around on the gravel at the front of the house, and eased the Aston into position, directly in line with the post.

Amber gripped the wheel as tightly as she could with her injured right hand, whilst her left hand rested upon the gear stick. She took a couple of deep breaths and accelerated quickly through the gears, crashing through the post, breaking it into several pieces in the process.

Satisfied with her handiwork, she reversed the car back to its parking space, gouged bonnet, cracked windscreen and all, and went inside for breakfast in a much better frame of mind than she had gone for dinner the previous evening.

Ryan was already in the kitchen frying a pan of bacon when she entered, and the delicious smell hit her like a wall.

“The Aston, eh?” he said with a shrug. “I’ll tell you now, it took you less time than most to realise that I never said anything about punching the post.”

“Still took me too damn long,” she replied. “I’m not going to be able to use my hand properly for weeks.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he said with a smile. “There’s a margarine tub in the fridge with an ointment inside. Coat your hand in that and give it a couple of hours before you wash it off. Your hand will be as right as rain after that.”

“You didn’t think to tell me that yesterday?”

“You hadn’t broken the pole yesterday,” he retorted. “You’re here to be trained, Amber, not mollycoddled.”

“Fair enough,” she said with a sigh, as she went to the fridge.

“You’ll want to wait ’til you’ve eaten before you do that,” he said. “That stuff tastes like shit and it would be a bit of a shame to ruin this bloody delicious bacon.”

It was indeed, bloody delicious bacon. Smoked, thin cuts, with just the right amount of fat. It went perfectly with ketchup and thick slices of white loaf.

“As you’ve broken the post already,” Smithie said, as he placed a plateful of bacon sandwich upon the table in front of her, “the rest of the day is yours, but if you could pop into the village and pick a few things up for me, that would be lovely.”

“No problem,” Amber replied. “But the Aston is in a bit of a state.”

“Don’t worry about that, I know a guy,” he said with a wink. “Besides, I thought you might want to take the TVR out today.”

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