The Harvesting

by Melanie Karsak

  When we entered, Ian spotted us. A strange look of shame and jealousy washed over his face. All the eyes in the gym turned toward me.

  Jamie smiled down at me. “Go ahead,” he said, urging me toward the front of the crowd.

  “Me? You’re the one with all the military experience.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t blow up the community center yesterday nor am I a historian who knows everything about warfare.”

  “Ancient warfare.”

  “Well, clearly, the medieval period is back in style.”

  “Me?”

  “It has to be you.”

  I balked for a moment and then, taking a deep breathe, went to the front. I jumped up on the stage. I then remembered my third grade Christmas play. We’d been a living Christmas tree. I’d played the tinsel. Grandma had sewn me a shiny gold and silver costume. Ian had played a snowflake.

  “Hello, everyone. You all probably heard the announcements we made this morning. Hopefully our neighbors have hung their houses with white, red, or black flags. We need to get the living accounted for and brought up to speed on the plan to keep the town safe. Jamie and Mrs. Finch should go in teams to attend to the red flags. Please be careful. We have no idea if those injuries are a broken arm or the bite from an undead. Black, we need an armed team to handle. If there is no flag, that likely means the house is either empty or there are undead inside. Look for survivors. Kill the undead. We’ll divide into groups. Any questions?”

  “Sounds good, Layla,” Pastor Frank said, “but the other problem is that the power is out now. I don’t have a fireplace in the rectory. What should I do?”

  I spotted a rolling whiteboard and pulled it onto the stage. I grabbed a marker and drew a grid on the board. “If you’re armed, put your name here. If you have a fireplace, a way to heat your home, put your name here. If you have need, put your name and your need here. We need to open our homes and our hearts if we want to make it through the winter.”

  “Layla,” a voice called from the back.

  I scanned around until I spotted an older gentleman in a marigold colored CAT ball-cap. A lit cigarette hung from his mouth. It was Larry. Now we had someone to handle dynamite. Relief washed over me.

  “The boys found me yesterday and told me the plan to blow up the bridge. I can have it rigged by tomorrow. I just need a careful hand or two to help,” he said.

  “Volunteers?” I called.

  Mr. Jones and another young man I did not know raised their hands.

  “There you go, Larry. Thanks guys.”

  “Layla, we need more weapons. We’ve cleared out the Lewis’ shop and the Sheriff’s Office, but it’s still not enough. And we really need more ammo,” Will said.

  “What about the VFW? They got anything there?” I asked.

  Will shook his head. “Just antiques.”

  “They’ve got a working cannon. We could use that,” Jeff said.

  “Dude, what are you gonna do with a cannon? We’re not fighting the British armada,” Will replied.

  Jeff gave Will the finger.

  “What about the Mara Hunting Club?” Summer asked. “Mom and I cater out there. I think they leave guns locked up there all year round.”

  “There we go. Tomorrow morning we need to get to work on barricades and some of us can head up out to Mara. Those who can help should meet back here just after dawn.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Let’s get everyone into groups for the town sweep,” Jamie called out. “Keep track of who or what you find and at what addresses,” he added, then began putting people into teams.

  As Jamie moved through the crowd, I counted. Forty-seven. That was all that was left. Granted, it was not a large town and there were many out-lying farms, but out of nearly 600 or so, forty-seven was not much. I jumped off the stage.

  I noticed then that Frenchie was there with her children. It was hard to miss her fiery red hair which fell, disheveled, to her waist. She was filling tote bags with canned goods.

  “Hey Frenchie,” I called as I came over to her. I barely remembered her from high school. She’d always been the quiet type. She’d gone off to college but came home a year later pregnant—no dad in the picture. Her older child, who also had red hair, looked to be about six, the younger about four. She seemed really alone. Last I knew she was living in a trailer near Griswold Cemetery.

  “Hey, Layla. Thanks for everything you’re doing,” she said, trying to sound confident when her voice and every line on her face told me otherwise. I eyed her over. She already looked gaunt. I could not imagine what she must have endured to keep her children safe. “These are my girls, Kira and Susan,” she introduced.

  I knelt down to look at them. “Who is Kira and who is Susan?” I asked.

  “I’m Kira,” the older child with red hair said. “She is Susan.”

  “You’re pretty,” Susan, the younger girl with pixie-like features, told me.

  I smiled at them. “Not as pretty as the two of you,” I said, tapping them each on the nose. I rose. “Frenchie, I was thinking, why don’t you and the girls stay with me? The place is locked down. I’m remote so there is less potential for traffic. And I’m well-stocked. You’ll be safe there.”

  The girls looked up at her with eager anticipation.

  “You sure?” she asked.

  “Of course. We’ll get you moved in today.”

  She set down her tote bags and wrapped her arms around me. Her body was shaking. “Thank god. My girls . . .” she whispered in my ear.

  “It’s okay. I’ll keep them safe,” I whispered in reply. I hoped it was a promise I could keep.

  Chapter 10

  Outside the gymnasium five armed men stood smoking cigarettes, shot-guns hanging over their shoulders. I recognized them but didn’t know their names. “We’re on watch here,” one explained, and I nodded affirmatively.

  I knew that my stunt at the community center had earned me respect, but I was not quite comfortable with the idea of being the leader of Hamletville. Not sure what to do with myself, I decided to head out to join one of the sweep teams. I found a team outside the Franklin house. By chance, Ian was there. Ian, Jensen, Dusty, and Gary were staring up at the black shirt hanging from an upstairs window of the run-down Victorian mansion.

  Shame-faced, Ian looked away from me.

  “Hey Layla,” Jensen said as I joined them. “We’re just thinking of a plan of attack.”

  “If someone goes around back and makes a lot of noise, whatever is inside will be drawn that direction. The rest of us can go in from the front and get the jump on them,” Ian suggested.

  “Is the door locked?” I asked.

  “Not sure,” Dusty answered.

  “I’ll go around back. I can haul ass if needed,” Gary said and then left. We waited. A few moments later we heard Gary in the back banging garbage can lids. “Come and get it! Fresh meat on blue-light special in the back yard,” he called.

  I had to laugh. Gary was seemingly one of the least funny men I’d ever met. I guess he was full of surprises too.

  The others laughed as well.

  “Got some action in the window back here,” Gary yelled after a minute.

  Dusty, Jensen, Ian, and I stepped cautiously onto the porch. Dusty tried the door. “Locked,” he whispered.

  Ian pulled his shot-gun to blast the lock, but I stopped him. I then lifted the lady bug print welcome mat. The key was underneath.

  “This is why we put you in charge,” Dusty said with a smile.

  I handed Ian the key.

  In the back, Gary was still slamming garage lids, and I started to worry about anyone else who might be lurking about in ear-shot.

  We went in. The old Victorian had seen better days. Plaster crumbled off the filigree trim around the ceiling. The rose pattern wallpaper looked faded. It looked like there had been a tussle in the living room. We could hear groaning and the sound of a body slamming against the door in the back.

  “Th
ere might be more than one,” I whispered, my memory of the incident in the Sheriff’s Office still fresh.

  Jensen nodded and waved us toward the left side of the house into the dining room. I bent one ear toward the upstairs but heard nothing. The dining room was beautifully bedecked with dark navy brocade wallpaper. A slightly tarnished tea service sat on a cherry server. The formal dining room had a small serving window that looked into the kitchen. In the back was an old woman who clawed at the back door.

  “Got her,” Jensen whispered and then took aim.

  “Watch out for Gary,” Ian cautioned.

  I turned away, unsheathing my sword, and kept one eye on the dining room entryway.

  Bam. The hunting rifle discharged a loud boom that made the chandelier rattle.

  A moment later I heard a flurry of feet from the other side of the house. Surprisingly fast for being undead, a young woman, Jenna, caretaker for many of the town’s elderly, emerged from a side room and lunged at me.

  “Layla!” Ian called out.

  Jumping onto a dining room chair, then onto the table, I spun, the sword slicing through the air. I severed Jenna’s skull in half. Her momentum caused her body to fling forward. It hit the table and buckled. The severed head spilled a mush of brains and blood onto the table.

  “Gross,” Jensen said.

  “Dammit, she was fast,” Dusty cursed.

  “Who?” Ian remarked sarcastically.

  We all paused and waited, listening. My heart was pounding.

  “Let’s check upstairs,” Ian whispered.

  When we got back to the foyer, Gary joined us.

  “Better keep guard,” I told him. “You might have gotten someone’s attention.”

  “I’m on it,” he said and took a post on the porch.

  When we got upstairs, Ian called out. “Anyone alive up here?”

  We waited.

  A moment later we heard slow foot-steps. Everyone raised a weapon. One of the bedroom doors opened, and an elderly man stood clutching the door frame. It was Mr. Franklin. Clearly, he was not in good health, and he looked frightened out of his mind.

  “My wife,” he whispered, rasping.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Franklin, she’s dead,” Dusty told him.

  He nodded sadly and took a puff on his inhaler.

  “Come sit down,” I said, sheathing my sword. I guided the old man back into the room and to a chair. The room smelled like body odor, urine, and moldy food. He must have been locked in there for several days.

  “Mr. Franklin, we need to move you. You’re not safe all alone in the house. Let us take you to stay with someone,” Dusty encouraged.

  “Mrs. Finch is going to move in with Fred Johnson. That might be a good place for him,” Ian suggested.

  “My medicines,” the old man said, motioning toward the table.

  My stomach hurt. There was no way this man would survive. Just like Frenchie’s children, he was so vulnerable. The enormity of keeping such people safe overwhelmed me.

  “I got them,” I said and rose. I unzipped a pillowcase and put all the medicines inside.

  Dusty and Jensen led Mr. Franklin down the stairs. Outside, Gary shot twice at an approaching undead man. I could only see the shadow of their figures through the beveled glass windows. Mr. Franklin stopped.

  “What is happening?” he asked.

  “It’s the end of days,” Dusty replied. “Come on, Mr. Franklin. The good Lord hasn’t called you just yet.”

  The old man muttered in reply.

  When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I noticed Mr. Franklin’s and his wife’s wedding portrait hanging on the wall. They looked so young and happy.

  Ian came up behind me. He stopped and looked at the photo as well. “I want to talk about last night,” he whispered, but I raised my hand to cut him short.

  “Not now,” I said and went outside. Who would have thought that the end of the world would bring me the one thing I thought I wanted most. I did still want him, didn’t I?

  Chapter 11

  The sun had just peaked over the mountains when we collected in the elementary school parking lot. The sunrise was a mix of pink and orange. The air was cool. Mist was rising off the lake and river. Half the streets were shrouded in fog. It was amazingly quiet: no cars, no hum of electricity, no nothing, just birds and the sound of the wind.

  About two dozen people had assembled.

  I rubbed my gloved hands together. “We need to get some barricades in place at both ends of Main Street. Is Fred here?” I asked, looking around.

  “Here, Layla,” he called.

  “You’re our man, Fred. What have we got? What can we roll in?”

  “I need about ten bodies to help. We can drive in the old school buses and fill the gaps with scrap, dumpsters, barrels and the like,” he replied.

  “I think I saw that in a movie once,” Jeff muttered.

  “The Williams folks just had a ton of chain link fencing delivered to expand their kennels. It’s still rolled up on their property. We could try to fence the barricade as well,” Jensen offered.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Layla, this is Kiki Jones. She’s Lil’s and Orlando’s daughter—they didn’t make it. She had an idea,” Tom said.

  Kiki’s eyes were red and swollen from crying. Dark rings made half-moons under her brown eyes. “Well,” Kiki started, “I did a project at college with short wave radios. I might be able to get a radio up and running. Maybe we can see if there are other survivors out there. But I need to see if there is some equipment in the school.”

  “Great idea,” I said, smiling encouragingly at her, “take whatever you need.” She reminded me of my fencing students. I choked down the wave of despair that bubbled up as I realized they were probably all dead.

  “I can give a hand with that,” Gary told Tom and Kiki. “I used to play around with the CB. I have some stuff that might help.”

  “Alright then. Let’s split up. This group can go with Fred,” I said, portioning off the crowd. “The rest of you will keep patrol. We need to set up a schedule, get on rotating shifts. Jensen, can you put that together and let people know when they are on patrol?”

  He nodded affirmatively.

  Summer waved at me. “I’ll come with you to Mara Hunting Club. They have bulk food stored up there, and I have a key,” she said, dangling a key chain in front of her.

  “Great, let’s go,” I called and everyone moved out.

  Jamie, Summer, and I packed into my SUV. Ian, Will, and Dusty headed out in Ian’s pick-up. We crossed town and turned up Morrigon Hill. I sat in the back while Jamie drove. Summer tried the radio stations. There was nothing but static.

  “How is it that everything just stops?” Summer asked. “It all just stopped.” She snapped off the radio.

  “I haven’t seen an airplane in days. Sky is completely empty,” I added as I looked out the window. We passed a dense pine forest, the green leaves making a thick canopy, the ground covered in pink needles.

  “Makes you wonder, right? How many man-made things out there are dependent on electricity, oil, fuel? With no one around to push a button, what prevents missiles from going off or dams from collapsing?” Jamie questioned.

  “I guess we’re screwed either way,” I said, popping a cartridge into my gun. I rolled down the window. “Slow up” I called to Jamie.

  An undead man plodded out of the woods and into the ditch that led downhill toward town. As we rolled up on him, he stopped and looked at the SUV. I leaned out the window and took a shot. His neck snapped back as the bullet hit him between the eyes, and he fell into the ditch.

  “Christ, that water runs downhill and into the stream,” Jamie said, putting the SUV into park.

  I grabbed some medical gloves and jumped out, handing a pair to Jamie. We pulled the gloves on and went over to the body.

  “Recognize him?” I asked as we stood over the body.

  Jamie shook his head.

  We lifted
the heavy man, carried him to the bank, and dropped him into the forest. We climbed back into the SUV.

  Summer was staring out the window at the dead body.

  “We need to tell people to boil their water,” Jamie said as he put the SUV back in gear.

  Summer rolled the window back up. “Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth,” she recited absently, “the beatitudes, Matthew 5.5. Yeah, right.”

  Neither I nor Jamie knew what to say. We rode in silence the rest of the way to Mara Hunting Club.

  When we got there, Ian’s truck was parked at the very end of the long driveway. The club sat in the middle of a large field. The shooting range was set down in a pit with an earthen retaining wall. From the end of the driveway you could see the roof above the shooting stand. The club itself was a large log-cabin with arching windows that looked out onto the field.

  What caught us all off guard was the fact that there were cars in the parking lot. There was not another town within an hour’s driving distance.

  “Was there an event or something?” I asked Summer.

  She looked surprised. “Not that I know of.”

  We got out of the SUV and joined Ian’s group. I had brought my binoculars with me. I crawled into the back of Ian’s truck and leaned on the roof. I focused the binoculars to get a better look.

  “See anything?” Ian asked.

  I scanned the place. There seemed to be no movement anywhere. Nothing moved at the shooting range nor could I see anything through the windows. “No movement in the building.” I looked toward the parking lot. “Nothing is moving, but there are two vans and six cars in that parking lot.” I jumped out of the back of the truck and stared at the building. My hands were shaking. Something felt off. Something felt wrong.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Ian said.

  Jamie read the expression on my face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Something.”

  Ian started pulling guns out of the back of his truck. “It’s clear. Let’s move.”

  “Naa, no, Ian, not like that,” Jamie said, taking one look at me and then back at the building. Jamie turned and gave Will a knowing look.