The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  “Grop,” I heard myself whisper.

  My voice sounded strange in the dark space. Maybe I was just losing it. And for good reason.

  Mom. Dad. The thing that had attacked them.

  My breaths were ragged in the darkness. Quickening. A band of cold hardsteel tightening around my chest, suffocating me. Terrible sights flashing through my memory. The wrecked living room. The blood.

  The demon that had killed them.

  The band tightened, wrenching at my stomach, threatening to push its contents back up. I rolled over, fighting the nausea. Darkness closing in on me. My heart pounding like a wild animal, bent on escaping my chest.

  My parents were dead. And I was probably about to join them.

  I lost it then. Self-control fled me as I gave in to wild panic, kicking and thrashing against the darkness. I beat at the unyielding trunk hatch, anger and fear and desperation all spilling out of my throat in a strangled, wordless cry. The skimmer might have slowed at my outburst. I barely noticed. Just kept slamming my fist against the hatch, raging at that piece of scud latch holding me here to my doom, screaming like a madman for my parents, for a fighting chance, for that Alpha-cursed trunk hatch to open—for the love of Alpha, OPEN!

  It did.

  I wasn’t sure how or why. Only that, one second, I was pounding and screaming against the wall of my dark prison, and the next, I was staring dumbly out past the bobbing trunk door to the lines of nighttime skimmer traffic and rushing city lights beyond, my entire body trembling with sudden and inexplicable exhaustion. I felt like I’d just been electrocuted.

  But I was free.

  It didn’t make any sense. But that didn’t matter right now. I was free, and I needed to move my ass. The skimmer was already slowing down, apparently alert to my situation. Luckily, we were down with the street-level traffic and not up in one of the skylanes. We were still moving a good thirty or forty miles per hour, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it.

  I moved into a crouch, turning to face the front of the skimmer, painfully aware of how sluggish my limbs felt. But I was free, and this was my only chance.

  I leapt from the trunk.

  Indignant buzzers sounded from the skimmers behind. I had a brief moment to appreciate just how fast I was flying through the air toward the hard pavement. Then I hit the ground and found out in excruciating detail just how unforgiving that pavement was. I rolled as best I could, hoping to disperse the violent deceleration and clear the traffic lane at the same time. It was a sloppy roll, and only partially successful at either goal. But I lived.

  If that had been that, I would’ve lain there on the cool permacrete for hours and allowed myself to wallow. Instead, the sight of my captor’s skimmer pulling out of traffic to slow to a halt ahead had me on my feet and moving before my body even had time to fully process how much pain it was in.

  I plunged into a nearby alley at a limping run, only allowing myself a glance backward as I neared the end of the narrow space. No sign of anyone following me. But I wasn’t about to take that as permission to slow.

  The next street over was bustling with foot traffic—civilians of Divinity, all made up in sleek, flowing garments, on their way to catch a show, or, given that it was Alphasday, probably to attend evening worship. My dark pants and green long sleeve shirt didn’t exactly blend with the fashionable crowd, but at least I wasn’t wearing my crisp gray tyro uniform.

  I threw myself into the stream, weaving through civilians as best I could, trying to refrain from shoving people around and broadcasting my location to anyone who might be trailing me through the crowd. Two blocks later, past the flowing lanes of foot traffic, I ducked left into another alleyway, this one wider than the last and lined with several boxy blue dumpsters.

  I hurried along the dim alleyway, intending to cut through and keep running until I couldn’t anymore. My body had other plans.

  About halfway down the stretch, it all hit without warning—the full blast of every thought and sensation the shock and adrenaline had been holding at bay since I’d stumbled into that bloody living room nightmare. I slumped down against the wall in the small space between two dumpsters, tucked my face against my knees, and tried to catch my breath against the plethora of throbbing aches I’d gained in my hasty skimmer escape.

  Think. I just needed to think. Figure it out. For the moment, I was in the clear. No one would see me here, nestled between the dumpsters just like another one of Divinity’s homeless.

  No.

  I wasn’t like one of Divinity’s homeless right now. I was one.

  That Kublich creature—or demon, or whatever—had wanted me dead. Had it really been Kublich? I couldn’t begin to comprehend how that was possible. Either way, I couldn’t go back right now. Not while that thing was probably looking to finish the job.

  So what did I do next?

  I called my parents. That was the obvious, reflexive answer. I called my parents, and I asked them what to do, how to make it better. Only I couldn’t. I’d never be able to do that again.

  Hot tears spilled over, their wet trails warm down my cheeks one moment and cool the next in the deepening chill of the night air. It was nothing compared to the chill in my chest—the one that had nothing to do with my surroundings.

  “They’re gone,” I whispered. It didn’t sound right—couldn’t be right. “Mom. Dad.”

  Silence pressed in around me, the low din of the distant crowds like a mocking call, only highlighting the hollow ache at my core. A shudder racked through me. I pressed my face to my knees even tighter. “Please,” I whispered. “Please, please.”

  I wasn’t sure who I was talking to—what I was even asking for—but the words came out all the same. Memories looped unbidden through my mind. The gut-wrenching crack of the Kublich demon breaking my dad’s neck. The slack lifelessness of my mom’s body on the living room floor.

  It was too much.

  I clenched my jaw, hands curling into fists, and only barely contained the wordless scream in my throat. I looked up at the building across the alleyway, tall and sturdy. A housing tower, from the look of it. There’d be dozens of families in that building, most of them supping right now, or gathering around to watch the evening worship—all of them content, completely oblivious to the tragedy sitting on their doorstep.

  It was sick. It didn’t feel real. A few sobbing huffs escaped me. I glared up at the high-rise, bitter rage eating at my insides. I wanted to hit something. Needed to release some of whatever it was that was building inside of me. I started pulling myself to my feet. I needed to do something. Anything. Maybe I could find a public node and get a message to Johnny.

  Would that even be safe?

  If by some Alpha-cursed sorcery a demon was somehow parading as the High General of the Legion—with the considerable resources that entailed—was there really anywhere I could go? Anything I could do that wouldn’t be leaving a trail for him to find me?

  I didn’t know. I didn’t know what to do.

  “Gropping scudbucket of a—”

  I froze, boot cocked to kick the dumpster beside me, and listened.

  Voices. Low and serious. Coming closer. They were definitely detached from the din of the crowd, now. But it was probably nothing, right? Just a few civilians on their way to—

  “—ust me when I say he’s nearby,” one of them was saying in a smooth voice as they drew closer. “And gropping be ready.”

  Scud.

  My heart thudded straight into overdrive, fresh adrenaline lacing its electric fingers through my senses as I pressed myself flat to the wall.

  Were they talking about me? Of course they were. But were they really? I didn’t even know who they were. It could still just be a few guys looking for their hound for all I knew.

  Yeah. Right.

  Their boot falls were heavy, precise—uncomfortably reminiscent of those of marching soldiers. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad news. By sheer force of will, I resisted the urge t
o peek around the dumpster. My instincts told me I was in danger, and right now, that was all I had to go by.

  I needed to move. But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere but down the alley, right in plain sight of the five or six men who may or may not be armed and looking for me. I was on the verge of bolting for it anyway when the group halted nearby. The abrupt absence of boot falls was jarring in my tense state.

  I held my breath, waiting. One of them murmured something, too quiet to hear. I crouched there, cowering like a damn cornered animal, not even able to hear what my looming enemies were saying.

  The anger flickered back to life, loosening the tension in my chest, fixing itself at a new target. I was trying to rein in the wild urge to round the corner and do something that would probably only worsen my situation when they finally broke the silence.

  “Come on out, kid,” a voice called—the same smooth voice that’d spoken a few moments earlier. “No need to hide with the garbage anymore.”

  That settled the question of who they were looking for. And whoever they were, something about the guy’s tone told me they weren’t here to give me a warm blanket and a hug.

  5

  False Pretenses

  “Come on, kid. I swear we won’t bite.”

  Somehow, my heart managed to beat faster. They could probably hear the damn thing from twenty feet away.

  Kid. They couldn’t see me yet, but he’d said kid, which meant one of two things. Either some strangers had seen me running and decided to follow me into the alleyway, or these people knew exactly who they were looking for—and, somehow, had known exactly where to find me.

  Either way, it wasn’t good. But there wasn’t really anything to be gained by trying to stay hidden behind the dumpster any longer. So I leaned cautiously out to see what I was up against.

  For a second, I was terrified I’d be greeted by more glowing red eyes. Instead, I saw cream-colored armor and four disconcertingly featureless faceplates of pale gold. Sanctum Guard, I realized with a jolt. But Sanctum Guard didn’t idly stroll the streets unless they were accompanying a cleric.

  And the fifth man was clearly not a cleric.

  He wore plain brown pants and a dull green jacket, his appearance fairly unremarkable but for the odd black circlet around his neck and the haughty smirk hanging across his mouth—a smirk that instantly identified him in my mind as the man who’d spoken.

  I resisted the urge to rush out and start snapping my credentials and crying for help. In theory, the four Sanctum Guard were sworn to uphold the laws of the Sanctum and protect all its citizens. But something wasn’t adding up.

  “Well there he is,” the guy in the green jacket said, still smirking as he splayed his hands entirely too casually. “Alpha be praised, right boys?”

  Something about the guy immediately made me want to punch the smirk off his face. But that wasn’t the only reason my insides were crawling. Why were the Sanctum Guard out looking for me? And, more importantly, why in demons’ depths were they looking to Goodfellow Smirks like he was their commanding officer?

  Could Kublich have sent him? He looked like a civilian.

  Demons below, was there anyone I could trust right now?

  At least none of their rifles were pointed at me. Yet.

  “What do you want?” I said, stepping halfway out from the cover of the dumpster.

  “Sanctuary reported a tyro abducted on base,” Smirks said, taking a few steps forward, hands still held at his sides in a nonthreatening gesture. “One Haldin Raish. Some kind of home invasion.”

  I watched his face, searching for any hint of deception.

  “You know the drill from there,” he continued. “Teams were dispatched to find you and bring you home.”

  “I do know the drill,” I said, nodding slowly. “Which is why I’m wondering who the scud you are to be leading a fireteam of Sanctum Guard.”

  That damn smirk didn’t waver as he tapped a few commands on his palmlight and held it up for my inspection. “Undercover patrol,” he said, explaining the credentials that were too far away for me to actually make out on the small display. “Called for assistance when I spotted you and it looked like you were still running from someone. Wasn’t sure if we’d be needing the backup.”

  He took another step. I tensed to run.

  “Look,” he said slowly, almost gently, “I get why you’d be shaken up after getting nabbed, kid, but you’re safe now.”

  He continued closer, moving slowly, like he was afraid each movement was liable to send me flitting for the countryside. That fear wasn’t too far off the mark. Especially seeing as I didn’t trust a single word coming out of his ever-smirking mouth. All I had left to trust were my own instincts. And right now, they were telling me to get away from these men.

  “You know what?” I held a hand up for space and inched out from cover, away from Smirks and the four soldiers. “You’re right. I’m safe. I got away from them myself, and I appreciate your, uh, concern, but I can get home myself too.”

  “You know we can’t let you do that, kid,” Smirks said. “I have superiors too. I can’t just report that we found you, said all is right, and left you to fend for yourself in the streets.”

  “How about this?” I said, still inching backward, mind turning furiously for a plan. “How about you call my father, Captain Martin Raish, and tell him you’ve found me. He’ll send a skimmer for me.”

  The words burned in my throat.

  Smirks turned that over for a few seconds. If he was putting on an act, it was a good one. I actually started to think that maybe he was telling the truth—that maybe these men were simply out looking for an abducted tyro and had no idea what had really happened.

  Then something shifted in Smirks’ expression, and he rolled his eyes, dropping all pretenses. “Okay, kid. Let’s do it the hard way, then.”

  I turned and ran, angling behind the second dumpster for at least a moment’s cover from the four Sanctum Guard rifles at my back. Would they use them?

  I didn’t make it far enough to find out.

  My legs went rigid as boards without warning. My momentum carried me on, toppling face-first toward the pavement. I reached out to catch myself. Or tried to, only to find my arms were likewise paralyzed. Wild panic gripped at my chest, overruled a second later by lancing pain as I crashed into the pavement like a statue of flesh and nerve endings. My arms and face took the worst of it, but there was plenty of pain to go around.

  “Grab him,” Smirks said somewhere behind me. “Hurry it up.”

  I fought to get my hands under me, to keep moving, but nothing happened. Panic returned, swirling in with the pain and yielding fearful anger as I tried again and again to move limbs that were suddenly beyond my control. Boot steps approached from behind. I tried to thrash, tried to cry out.

  It was maddening.

  “I know, I know,” a voice whispered. But no one was there. “Pretty disconcerting, right?”

  It almost sounded like it was coming from inside my own head.

  I struggled with all my might. Not even a twitch from my cursed body. Strong hands grabbed me and began hauling me up. Was I cracking? Had they hit me with some kind of ultra-powered muscle relaxant when I’d turned to flee?

  “Nothing so pedestrian,” the voice said.

  Again the voice was directionless, internal. And worse, I realized, it almost seemed as if it were aware of what I was thinking. As I was yanked upright, I saw it was two of the Sanctum Guard handling me. The other two were still flanking Smirks, weapons at the ready, and Smirks himself looked… vacant. Like he’d gone into some sort of standing trance.

  “Well I AM a bit occupied,” the voice said.

  Ice crept through my insides as I realized what was happening.

  “There it is,” Smirks’ voice said, though in front of me, his lips didn’t move. Some of the awareness seemed to return to his face, and he said, out loud this time, “I’ve got it from here, boys.”

  The sol
diers slowly released me. Smirks sank back into his trance, and I cried out as I felt my body take a step forward by its own free will. Or tried to cry out, at least. I couldn’t make a sound. Couldn’t do anything but watch as my cursed body plodded drunkenly along toward Smirks, the two Sanctum Guard flanking me all the way.

  I was powerless—utterly helpless against whatever demonic sorcery Smirks was working.

  So I might as well save my energy for if and when circumstances changed. I was trying to draw into myself, hoping to at least protect my thoughts, when a flicker of movement in the darkness above caught my attention. Something falling.

  No. Not something. Someone.

  Smirks noticed it too.

  “Above!” he barked, snapping out of his trance.

  Not fast enough.

  The dark figure plummeted toward the pavement between Smirks and his men, moving fast enough to splatter to gelatin. Only he didn’t splatter. His plunge inexplicably slowed several feet from the ground like he’d sprung a great, invisible glider. Then he hit the ground, and Smirks and the two Sanctum Guard beside him were all blasted away in some kind of explosive shock wave.

  A gust of unnatural wind slapped at my face, and I staggered back, gaping at the newcomer. Something rippled through me. A subdued shock. Some flicker of familiarity. That gray hair. Those pale eyes. A stab of pain straight at my core.

  Where had I seen this man?

  There wasn’t time for it to matter. He was already darting toward Smirks, who was spitting a curse and scrambling back to his feet, when I realized something of much more immediate importance.

  I’d just moved.

  I didn’t wait to see if anyone had noticed. I threw a hard elbow into the right Guard’s neck, drove a sidekick into his hip, and stepped to intercept as his partner turned his rifle on me. I caught the foregrip of the weapon and lunged forward to try to slam it into its owner’s faceless golden mask. He staggered back, and I followed, punching, kneeing, and kicking every weak point I could until he collapsed against the alley wall. I was reaching for his gun when a pair of strong arms wrapped around me from behind and yanked.