The hive sat in a corner of the retirement home garden, hidden between a hedge and clumps of barely-tamed plants. It looked like it had been abandoned there, left to rot amongst the weeds. However, anyone watching the hive closely would see bees entering and leaving; and, if they were to put a hand on it, they would feel warm vibrations coming from within.

Joshua had been brought up with bees. He like to joke that when he was born, his parents had taken him to their hives to introduce him. As a result, the bees had always thought of him as one of their own - which explained why he had never been stung. The truth, as always, was more mundane. Over the years, Joshua had developed a tolerance to bee stings. He barely felt them any more, and the worst that happened was that he would get a small lump that would itch for a minute or two.

The hive in the garden of the retirement home was one that Joshua had managed to smuggle in. When his children had moved him into the retirement home, he had not been able to bear the thought of leaving behind his precious bees. After all, they had been together for almost eighty years. However, the home had a 'no pets' policy; and, while Joshua didn't think of his bees as pets, he had no doubt that the manager of the home would have a different opinion. So, Joshua had bribed a pair of his friends - fellow apiarists - to bring in one of his hives under the cover of darkness and to put it somewhere out of the way. None of the staff at the retirement home had noticed the hive's arrival or its continued presence, although a few did comment that Joshua's daily garden walks had become rather long ... .

Unfortunately, Joshua's visits to see his bees were not without incident. On a cold autumn day, Joshua had made his way to the hive as usual. He was not prepared for the carpet of wet leaves that covered the stone flags of the path. Joshua had lain on the wet grass, unable to get up, for almost two hours before one of the other residents noticed him. A visit to the local hospital confirmed that Joshua had broken his left femur. He would be in hospital for at least a month.

The manager of the care home had come to see Joshua. She was all smiles and concern while the nurses were there, but, once the door closed and they were alone: "You - dinosaur!: she shouted. "What were you thinking?"

"I was just going for a walk," Joshua protested.

"But why up there of all places? There's a reason why that part of the gardens is out of bounds to residents! What if you hadn't been found? What if you'd been left there overnight?"

"I just wanted some peace and - ."

"Did you think about us? Did you think about what the inspectors would say?"

Joshua was silent. He lay back in his bed and let the manager continue with her rant.

""Well," the manger said at last, "there won't be any more opportunities for you - or any other of the residents - to get into trouble. We're going to have that part of the garden cleared, starting tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Joshua's heart sank. If the garden was cleared, then the staff would find out about his hive. What if it wasn't there when he got out of the hospital? Would they give it to another beekeeper? Would they destroy it? What would his bees do without him? What would he do without his bees?

As the days passed, Joshua grew weaker. He worried about the fate of his bees. The few visitors he had didn't mention them to him, and he didn't dare ask about the bees in case he gave away his secret. The staff at the hospital worried that Joshua was not getting any better. He heard them whispering to each other in the hall. When his children came, they were more gentle with him than they had been before.

On his thirteenth day in the hospital, Joshua was at his weakest. He had woken up, unsure what time it was. The room was dark - much darker than Joshua remembered it being - and his blanket felt warm and heavy. He reached for the bell to summon a nurse.

The door to the room opened. "What's the matter?" the nurse asked, turning on the light. Then she screamed.

Joshua looked down along the bed. It was covered in a moving carpet of yellow, black bodies; their eyes and wings gleaming in the harsh, fluorescent light.