The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  Jarek gave a sober nod, the reminder of the fight to come—of facing down Gada once more—evaporating what good humor their momentary victory had conjured up.

  As if in response to his emotional shift, the street dimmed around them, a cloud passing in front of the sun. He looked up just in time to see a raknoth ship—presumably that of the late Taga’s clan—rocket by overhead, bound northeast toward Central Park.

  Further in the distance, along the same trajectory, several dark storm clouds were rolling along toward Camp Krogoth with the promise of shady gloom and terrible fighting conditions.

  Wonderful.

  “I think,” Alaric said, frowning at the distant storm clouds himself, “you’d better get your ship in here and get as many as you can carry to Krogoth’s line.”

  Jarek gave a casual two-fingered salute. “Sir, yes sir. You heard the man, Al.”

  Alaric started to turn away from them but doubled back and added, in a low voice, “Good work, by the way. Both of you.”

  A small grin pulled at Jarek’s mouth. “Probably not exactly what you had in mind when you gave me that leadership talk, huh?”

  Alaric’s eyebrows twitched upward by a few hairs. “You don’t know where I’ve been, son. Still, I’m not sure we would’ve survived if and when Taga’s clan decided to join in. You saved a lot of lives.” He cocked his head. “For now at least. And you too, Al’Drogan. Your assistance is appreciated.”

  Behind them, Drogan gave a slight shrug, watching for Jarek’s approaching ship, clearly impatient to be moving.

  Alaric glanced up as the ship crested into view then clapped his hands to Rachel’s and Jarek’s shoulders. “Now get moving. We’ll be right behind you.”

  24

  “Two thousand,” Jarek said slowly, turning the word over in his mind. “Two thousand trained, armed men, marching to help destroy humanity.” He gave his head a sharp shake, jolting himself out of the thought, and looked back at Drogan, who stood at attention next to Alton in the cockpit with a clawed finger to his earpiece. “Where the hell did Gada find a real army?”

  “Ashida,” Rachel said before Drogan or Alton could answer. “Bastard’s got an army, and if anyone was gonna turn on us, it was definitely that tea-sipping asshole.”

  Drogan lowered his finger from his earpiece and nodded. “Rachel Cross is correct. And Nan’Ashida’s treachery is not necessarily the worst of the news.”

  Jarek glanced at the five Resistance troops crammed into the cockpit with them. Behind them, the ship’s cabin was packed to bursting with more soldiers, most of them listening intently to find out just how thick of shit they were about to fly into.

  He wasn’t sure they could all handle worse news at the moment, but now still seemed better than once the bullets were flying.

  “What’s worse than a freaking army, Stumpy?”

  He was pretty sure he already knew, but somehow it didn’t soften the blow when Drogan said it.

  “Zar’Taga’s clan was not the only one to be swayed by Kul’Gada’s recruitment efforts.”

  Shit.

  He opened his mouth to ask how many enemy raknoth they were about to be dealing with, but the look Alton shot him made him think better of it.

  Better now than later for the nature of the danger they faced, maybe, but as for the exact details…

  Maybe now wasn’t the time to delve into exactly how many raknoth were still trying to kill them after they’d just narrowly convinced Team Resistance to fly into battle beside a couple dozen raknoth.

  It was the damnedest thing—a bunch of humans and raknoth trying to defend themselves against the big bad Kul, and what did they have to contend with? Freaking humans and freaking raknoth—not to mention the giant swords-for-claws monstrosity that would no doubt be coming for them on the battlefield.

  Of course, it wasn’t like the humans on Team Apocalypse 2.0 were exactly marching to the beat of their own drum out there. Not much they could do about being telepathically enslaved. The enemy raknoth would be operating on a much weaker excuse, namely fear, but that hardly mattered now.

  Al would get them there, they’d charge down that ramp, and they’d fight until they’d won or until they couldn’t. Simple as that.

  Simple. But not even close to easy from the looks and sounds of it.

  Through the viewport, the Hudson was drawing into view, and already he could see the smoky haze of combat permeating the distant air above Central Park. He almost thought he could smell the gunpowder too, but that was impossible, just a phantom sensation as his mind placed what he was seeing into context.

  “Let’s have a better look, Al,” he said quietly.

  Al adjusted their flight, gently gaining altitude as they drew close enough for Jarek to conduct a rudimentary visual survey.

  He almost wished he hadn’t.

  Gada’s forces were sizable, to say the least. An impressively large convoy of trucks, other land vehicles, and even a few ships was flooding into the city from the north, much of the traffic continuing on straight for the center of the line in Central Park and plenty more branching out east and west to test the flanks of the New York defenders.

  Suddenly it made sense why Kul’Gada had been lying low for the past week. Setting whatever time he’d spent bending his fearful raknoth subjects back to his will aside, if those were Ashida’s forces down there, finding the ships to carry them all over from Africa by air and ocean would’ve been no small feat. Even if the raknoth had had them on standby, it would have taken days. But now here they were, marching on the wrong side.

  And, without a doubt, Gada was down there with them.

  And, as an added bonus, the clouds that were still rolling in at a good clip from the west seemed to be growing darker and surlier by the minute.

  “Well if that’s not a bad omen,” Jarek muttered.

  Rachel leaned past him and frowned at the incoming clouds. “What, you scared it’s gonna rain on our little parade?”

  He studied her weary expression. “I think you may be spending too much time around me, Goldilocks.”

  “Touching down next to Commander Daniels’ position in thirty seconds,” Al announced to the cabin. “And, sir, I don’t like the way those men down there are—”

  The first shot pinged off of the underside of the ship.

  “—looking at us,” Al finished. “Hold on, everyone.”

  The ship dropped abruptly, dipping between the ruined buildings and leveling out maybe ten feet above street level, low enough to avoid taking much more fire as they flew in behind the central battlements.

  Jarek went through the routine motions of checking his pistols and confirming his new Whacker was still strapped to his back. Behind him, the clicks and clacks of magazines and actions being double-checked filled the ship.

  He turned to Rachel, who’d already concluded checking her batteries and bullet catcher and now stood with her staff planted and gripped in both hands.

  “You ready for this?” he asked.

  She looked pointedly at his shoulder. “Are you?”

  Drogan glanced over then as if he’d been wondering the same thing.

  Jarek shot the raknoth a thumbs up and patted the shoulder in question, which, while still burning from their earlier engagement, had handled the fighting surprisingly well so far. “She’ll hold together.”

  That was sufficient for Drogan.

  Rachel seemed less convinced.

  The look between them deepened, her expression mirroring all the fear and concern he felt wriggling through his own gut. There was something he needed to say, he was sure of it, but for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to find the right words to start.

  Then the ship rocked beneath their feet as Al set her down, boarding ramp already beginning its mournful descent, and the time for words was past.

  The sounds of battle poured into the ship the instant the rear hatch cracked open—sharp, aggressive, and impressively expansive. The soldiers in the back of the c
abin wasted no time in thundering down the ramp, followed promptly by those closer to the cockpit.

  Jarek grabbed Rachel’s wrist and held her back for a moment as their company left the cockpit.

  Drogan, already shifting back to full scaly battle mode, huffed at them and gave a faintly disgusted shake of his head before stalking out after Alton, leaving them alone.

  “Promise me neither one of us dies out there?” Jarek said quietly.

  Her mouth drew into a tight line, then she stepped closer and kissed him. “Promise.”

  “Good.” He slid his faceplate closed with a thought. “’Cause I’ll be damned if I’m gonna die with blue balls.”

  “You’re a real romantic, you know that?”

  He shrugged, smiling behind his faceplate. “I have my moments. Now let’s party.”

  They jogged down the ramp. Al lifted the ship off and guided it to safety a little ways back from the battlefield as they moved after Drogan, Alton, and their Resistance shipmates toward the battlement that currently appeared to be serving as central command.

  Daniels and Krogoth were there amid the human and raknoth fighters, along with most of the Enochians, who’d all donned light armor of some sort and were armed from simple with Haldin’s and Elise’s sidearms and spears right up to the walking arsenals of Enochian artillery that were Johnny and Phineas.

  Ahead, the gunfire both on the fortifications and beyond the ramshackle wall were building in frequency and volume as more enemy forces drew within range.

  While Daniels issued commands to her men on the ground, Krogoth was snapping orders and watching events unfold from atop the wall, surrounded by a small contingent of his raknoth. After a brief exchange with his minty-green not-quite-lady-friend, Drogan leapt up to speak with his Zar.

  Jarek debated pushing his way over to Daniels, but she already appeared to be getting updates from the soldiers they’d flown over, so he followed Alton instead.

  Lietha eyed Jarek and Rachel distastefully as they approached. The Enochian’s greetings, at least, were slightly warmer, albeit understandably tense.

  “Everything’s in place?” Rachel asked Haldin, forced to shout-speak over the growing sounds of fighting beyond the wall.

  “As in place as it’s gonna be,” Haldin called back. “We’ve got cloaking generators covering the line here and the flanks as well. Should keep their men from getting too close without them risking their control. And the other bit’s ready too,” he added with a pointed glance toward a rough-looking patch of earth nearby—one of the pit traps Jarek had been hearing so much about, he assumed.

  He was trying to picture exactly how they’d force Gada into the thing when Lietha and Alton stiffened.

  “What is it?” Jarek asked.

  “Word from our kin,” Alton said. “Gada’s raknoth are pressing the flanks. Hard.”

  “No matter,” Lietha said, flexing viciously clawed fingers. “I will tear the traitors apart myself if need be.”

  As if in response to her words, or maybe just her violent attitude, Alton’s skin began to darken to green hide.

  “Preach, sister,” Jarek said.

  That earned him multiple confused looks and a surprised scowl from Lietha, which reminded him he might well be the only one in the huddle—with the possible exception of Alton—who knew about Lietha’s Shieth status.

  As soon as the thought occurred to him, a fearsome roar in the distance and a pair of concussive blasts that shook the ground beneath their feet reminded him they had entirely more pressing concerns.

  Seemingly out of nowhere, Lietha’s demeanor shifted like a dog who’d just seen the treats come out. “Yes,” she hissed. “We will end them.”

  Drogan leapt from Krogoth’s fortification twenty yards away and landed beside them with a thud.

  Without preamble, he turned to Jarek. “Join us in bringing justice to the traitors on the western flank, Jarek Slater.”

  Jarek touched a hand to his chest. “Little old human me?”

  Was that what Lietha had meant about ending them?

  It was damn confusing—not to mention damn creepy—working with an outfit whose members could all communicate telepathically.

  Drogan nodded. “You can keep pace with us, yes? Al’Brandt requires our aid.”

  Jarek glanced over at Daniels, but she was more than a little occupied directing arriving Resistance forces by comm and shouted commands. “And the eastern flank?”

  “Those who had followed Taga have been dispatched to bolster the other half of Al’Brandt’s clan on the eastern flank,” Drogan said. “Our forces will hold here for the time being, but we must go now.”

  “Go,” Rachel said beside him.

  “We’ll hold the fort here if anything green comes flying over that wall,” Haldin added.

  Jarek wasn’t crazy about parting from Rachel’s side when the shit was so heavy all around them, but at least with the raknoth, he could move fast enough to be back in short order if need be.

  “Give us a ring if the big guy shows up to play?” Jarek asked.

  They both nodded their agreement, and Jarek set off beside Drogan and Lietha.

  Whatever else there was to be said about working with the raknoth, Jarek couldn’t deny that being able to truly stretch his legs without fear of leaving his allies in the dust was a major perk.

  If he’d had time to pause and survey the soldiers they passed, he liked to think they would have used phrases like “with all the speed and grace of a majestic jungle cat” to describe his passage as he bolted along, dodging and vaulting over debris and old, rusted cars as needed.

  Drogan and Lietha, on the other hand, were more like leap frogs. Big, scaly, utterly deadly leap frogs. They bounded along on either side of him, keeping pace with a steady stream of tremendous jumps that carried them thirty or forty yards at a time.

  After the first minute, the sounds of fighting began to dim as they left the main conflict behind. Within the second minute, new sounds appeared and grew louder—gunfire intermingled with the screams of men and the battle roars of raknoth. It sounded like they’d found that flanking party. Soon enough, the fight came into view.

  The defenders on this flank looked to be a mix of Resistance soldiers and Krogoth’s men. Among the numerous dead lining the streets, Jarek spotted several broken raknoth bodies that looked like they’d died tearing each other to shreds.

  Three raknoth were still moving through the defenders’ ranks like forces of nature, tearing and biting and smashing into their human foes with reckless abandon. On the far side of the battle, the raknoth Jarek thought was Al’Brandt was tangled in a vicious struggle with two more raknoth, fighting like a caged animal.

  As Jarek and his allies closed in, a Resistance soldier found her way to the heavy machine gun mounted in the back of a humvee, pried aside the man who’d died there, and opened fire on one of the three rampaging raknoth. The raknoth staggered to the pavement with a shriek. Before the gunner could finish the job, though, she was gunned down by one of Ashida’s soldiers pushing through the opening their raknoth had cleared.

  Jarek pulled his new sword free, triggered the pommel, and leapt into the fray.

  He caught his first enemy unaware. The raknoth was stalking toward a soldier who was frantically scrambling away on hands and haunches. Jarek’s horizontal stroke cleanly removed the raknoth’s head in a flash of azure heat. The smell of seared flesh filled the air, and the raknoth’s body fell slack to the pavement beside his own head.

  The remaining enemy raknoth turned to face Jarek. Even the two struggling with Brandt paused. Most of the Resistance and Team Krogoth soldiers wisely took advantage of the distraction to clear away from the impending melee and return to the task of holding off Ashida’s encroaching soldiers.

  Lietha landed to Jarek’s right side just as the two closer enemy raknoth sprang forward with hungry roars and one of Brandt’s foes disengaged to likewise come deal with the new threat. Before the leftmost of t
hem had made it more than two steps, Drogan descended from on high to smash him into the pavement with his own battle roar.

  That didn’t slow the other two raknoth, who were upon Jarek and Lietha in seconds.

  Jarek dipped back from the first swipe of the raknoth who closed on him. When the raknoth telegraphed his intent to make a lunging grab, Jarek took another long step back, spun left, and brought the Whacker around in a strong upward sweep.

  The attack felt clumsy with the extra resistance of Rachel’s workings, but it was still fast enough to sear and cut through the raknoth’s right wrist and a good chunk of his torso.

  The raknoth staggered, let out an ugly, hissing scream, and, despite the considerable injuries, pressed on, batting Jarek’s blade aside with his remaining hand.

  Jarek ducked right and drove his shoulder into the raknoth’s side. The raknoth shuffled and barely managed to regain his balance. By the time he did, the Whacker was already descending to tear from right trapezius to left armpit with a flash of blue fire.

  The Big Whacker 2.0, it seemed, worked like a freaking charm.

  The cut wasn’t quite deep enough to split the raknoth in two, but he definitely wasn’t moving anymore after collapsing to the pavement, so Jarek turned his attention to scan for the next target.

  His concerns were unnecessary. To the right, Lietha had her foe in a firm headlock. With a savage yank and a sickening crunch, she severed some internal part of the raknoth’s anatomy, then she went to work with her claws, intent on removing her foe’s head.

  Across the intersection, Brandt seemed to have gained the upper hand on his challenger now that it was a one-on-one fight.

  Jarek turned toward Drogan in time to see him deliver the last of what looked to have been several brutal stomps to the head of his opponent, who gave a few twitches then lay still on the pavement, flattened head oozing a disturbing combination of fluids.

  Drogan’s glowing gaze turned toward Jarek.

  “Smashing work, Stumpy,” he said weakly.