The Harvesting

by Melanie Karsak

  Chapter 18

  For the next two months I watched for any sign of the strange shadowy figures I had seen on New Year’s Eve. I never saw them again. I also did not see the forest lord and lady again though I had repeatedly gone looking for them.

  Ian did not come around either. When I saw him in town, he paid me little attention. In fact, he seemed to avoid me. Jamie said he rarely came out unless he was on rotation. When Ian appeared in the school gym one day in March when he knew I would be there, I was surprised. I was even more surprised at his appearance. He was a shadow of his former self: his eyes were sunken, his clothes were hanging loose, his cheeks were hollow.

  “Jesus Christ, Ian, when was the last time you ate something,” I asked as I crossed the room to join him. My stomach knotted.

  A pained look crossed his face. I realized then he was having trouble standing. “Is Mrs. Finch here?”

  I put my arm around his waist, steadying him, and led him to Mrs. Finch’s office. “Come on, Ian, why didn’t you say something? Just because things are complicated doesn’t mean no one cares about you,” I scolded.

  Just as we reached Mrs. Finch, the fire alarm at the community center went off. We all stopped and counted: 1—2—3—4—5—6.

  “Oh my god,” Mrs. Finch whispered.

  My heart leapt into my throat. “Stay here,” I said as I lowered Ian into a chair. “I’ll bar the door on my way out.”

  “Layla--” Ian began.

  “We got it. Just stay here, and, for the love of god, let Mrs. Finch look you over. I’ll come back,” I said and tore down the hallway.

  Frenchie and the girls stood, flabbergasted and afraid, in the middle of the gym. “Into Mrs. Finch’s office and stay put,” I told them but then paused. “Here,” I said, taking the Magnum from the holster and pressing it into Frenchie’s hands. “Aim for the head. Snap off the safety and fire,” I said, showing her the gun. She nodded wordlessly and rushed her girls down the hallway.

  Outside, I slammed the gymnasium door shut and dropped a bar over it.

  I jumped on my bike and gunned it. The edges of the road were still covered in mounds of melting snow. While early spring vegetation was popping up, the weather was still cold and unpredictable.

  I saw Will running toward the fire hall; he was carrying a rifle in each hand. I slowed, and he slid on behind me. Anyone who was armed had come running.

  Jensen was in the middle of the parking lot looking frantic. “West barricade,” he shouted at us. “There must be 50 of them!”

  We set off at once. As we neared the west end of Main Street you could hear the sound of gunfire. The sight was horrifying. At least 50 undead were pressing against the street barricade. In some spots, they had nearly broken through. Some of the undead had started to trail down the barricade line, and soon they would find the weaknesses between the buildings.

  Dusty and Fred were standing in the back of one pick-up. About five men stood in the back of another and were shooting into the oncoming horde.

  “Holy shit,” Will exclaimed.

  When we pulled up, Will jumped off and climbed into the back of one of the trucks. I set off on the dirt bike to get to the undead trailing down the barricade lines.

  I recognized the undead form of Brian Hoolihan. His farm was just on the edge of town. He used to bring turnips to my grandmother. She would make soup out of them for him. He always liked my grandma; she was the only person he knew who like turnips or so he said. He lunged at the bike as I neared him. The barbed wire barricade kept us separated. With a heavy sigh, I shot him between his eyes.

  Another undead, a fast moving young male, was nearing a weakness in the line where the barricade passed the charred structure of the flower shop. I was amazed at how quickly he moved. I spun the bike toward him, but it was slow in the soggy grass, grinding in the turf. I gave it some gas, and finally it lunged forward just as the young man bolted out of the ruins. He moved, quickly, directly at me.

  I hit the gas to dodge him. When I did, the bike leapt forward but the snowy ground caused the bike to slide sideways. I found myself choosing between being caught and pulled to the ground by the bike or dealing with the undead youth bent on killing me. I jumped off. The bike fell sideways and slid across the mud. I tried to pull out the automatic, but it snagged on my winter jacket. In a heartbeat, the undead youth jumped at me.

  My shashka, the scabbard strapped across my back, was out in a flash. I ducked and bolted sideways. I clambered onto the fence railing in the flower shop parking lot.

  Having missed, the youth turned and lunged at me again. I jumped and as I turned sideways, the sword slashed outward.

  It had connected. I kept myself upright, slid to a stop, and then turned.

  The youth had stopped. For a moment, he stood facing away from me. When he turned, I noticed I had sliced off his hand. I stared at him; he stared back at me. Those milk-white eyes looked something other than dead. Was he thinking? Had he felt pain? Was he considering his next move?

  He snarled, the saliva and bloody foam dripping from his mouth, and lunged once more at me.

  This time I faced him head on. I held my on-guard fencing stance and let him approach. Reel him in. Patience. Anticipate. He was quick, and his plan was simple: maul me. When he was within striking distance, I lunged. A split second later, he was hanging by his head from my sword, the shashka poking out of the back of his skull.

  It took a moment for that strange light in his eyes to go out, and as I stared him down, a strange voice rasped inside my head. Help us.

  My stomach shook. I couldn’t tell if the voice had come from the people behind me or the boy hanging off the end of my sword.

  “Layla!” Dusty screamed. They had broken through the barricade.

  I shook the dead body loose. Taking a moment to rip off my jacket, I freed the automatic and ran back down the line to Main Street. Will and the others had climbed onto the roofs of the trucks and were shooting into the oncoming horde. Another truck pulled up; they shot out the window.

  I eyed my options. At the back of Figgy’s Old Vine Tavern was a stairwell leading to an upstairs apartment. It had a perfect line of fire on the street. I bolted up the steps and seconds later was raining bullets down on the oncoming horde. Careful to watch for civilians, I shelled the undead. Accuracy was a problem at this range, but their injured bodies fell and were more easily plucked off by the shooters below.

  Moments later I heard a loud BOOM. My ears rung. A cloud of heavy smoke occluded the view for a moment; I then realized what had happened. Jeff was standing a few feet away from the old cannon that once sat outside of the VFW. The cannon had been parked in the center of the street just opposite the barricade. In front of the cannon, several undead lay on the ground, their bodies pierced with kitchen knives and other pieces of scrap metal. Jeff clambered away from the cannon and up onto one of the trucks.

  I kept my eye on the barricade and blasted until the clip was empty. Like a complacent fool, I had not brought another.

  I heard Jensen scream and watched him being pulled off the roof of the truck into the horde. I raised my gun, but if I shot, I could hit the living.

  I pulled out the Glock and headed back down the stairs. Two of the undead who had spotted me met me at the bottom. They were easy marks.

  I moved toward the dozen or so undead still straining at the townspeople. I jumped on top of a car and emptied the gun. It was not enough. The undead continued to make their assault.

  Having left the Magnum with Frenchie, I was alone with my sword. I then saw Tom swinging axes in both hands and chopping his way through the undead horde. I bounded down and worked the other side of the crowd. Two arrows whooshed past my ear as Buddie Fowley appeared. Buddie had been found alive during the initial sweep. We all knew Buddie for his archery; he was the town’s big game hunter. I turned to see the arrows hit their mark. With our Medieval weapons in hand, the three of us made the last stand for the town. We cut, slashed, and pier
ced our way through the remaining undead. The war was over shortly after; we had won the day.

  Exhausted, I crawled into the back of one of the pick-ups and sat looking at the broken barricade. Main Street trailed off in the distance. The cannon pointed down the long road. A moment later, I heard a single gunshot. Jensen. I heard someone cry. I pulled a cloth out of my pocket and cleaned the bloody goo from the blade of my sword. I stared down the street beyond the broken barricade. Part of me was keeping an eye out for any stragglers. Another part of me was wondering about that voice I’d heard. I wanted to run, but I knew there was nowhere to go.

  About ten minutes after it was over, two cars pulled up. I could hear Jamie’s voice in the crowd. He found me a few minutes later.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I didn’t know how to answer.

  He stepped in front of me, blocking my vision of the road. It broke the trance. “Layla,” he whispered, tipping my chin up toward him. “You okay?” he asked again.

  “Yeah, it is what it is, right?” I replied, kissing his hand. I slid the sword back into the scabbard then climbed onto the roof of the truck. People were sitting around looking hopeless.

  I whistled sharply, getting everyone’s attention. “Town meeting in two hours. Between now and then we need to get this barricade refortified and these bodies moved. Who can help?” I asked.

  There was a silence for a moment and then a flood of volunteers. Within five minutes the arrangements had been made and everyone went to work.

  I bounced off the truck and grabbed Jamie by the hand. “Ditched the bike. Wanna help me see if she still runs? We need to head back to the school.”

  “Why?” he asked as we walked toward my bike.

  “I left Frenchie there,” I replied, not wanting to get into Ian’s issue yet.

  As we passed the body of the boy I had killed, Jamie stopped. “Hey, that was the Klienstivers’ son. He was some kind of piano virtuoso. I guess they used to home-school him so he could spend time practicing the piano. He played at the church sometimes. Nice kid.”

  Guilt wracked me as I looked down on him. He had tried to kill me. I wondered then—why? Why were they trying to kill us? Consume us? I then realized that the boy looked practically intact save a nasty scratch across his still-fleshy, though pale and somewhat saggy, chest.

  “Hey, didn’t you say they should just be bones by now?” I asked Jamie.

  He shrugged. “Guess I was wrong,” he said as he picked the bike up. “Looks like you just broke a mirror.” He climbed on the bike and started it. “All good. I get to drive this time,” he said, and we headed off.

  I could not help but look back at the boy’s body once more and think of how he had paused when I’d taken his hand. The implications made me shudder.

  Chapter 19

  “Cancer,” Mrs. Finch whispered to Jamie and me.

  Ian sat looking at the floor, his chin propped in the palm of his hand.

  “Are you sure?” Jamie asked aghast.

  I stared at Ian.

  “There is only so much I can tell. I did a quick blood and urine analysis and a physical. From the symptoms described, test results, and the condition he is in, it is most likely cancer. I can’t even say for sure what kind, but based on his pain could be liver, stomach, or pancreas. I just can’t know.”

  Jamie went silent, and Ian still had not looked up.

  “What about treatment?” I asked.

  Mrs. Finch shook her head. “Chemo and that sort of thing are just not feasible. There might be some meds in the pharmacy, but we’re shooting in the dark without a proper physician.”

  “And what if you’re wrong?” I asked.

  “Layla,” Jamie said with a frown.

  Ian looked up. “She’s right, Layla.”

  “So we do nothing? We just wait for him to get sicker and—“

  “—and die” Ian finished.

  Frenchie tapped the glass of the office window. The alarm on the community center had rung more than two hours past. By now, everyone was waiting, and it was already dark. Nerves were running high. I waved to her that we were coming.

  “Let’s go,” Ian said and rose to leave.

  Jamie took him gently by the arm, but Ian shrugged his brother off. “I’m good,” was all he said.

  Ian sat at the back while the rest of us went to the front of the gym.

  I sat down on the stage.

  “The barricade is back in place. Tomorrow we’re going to kick on enough juice to weld. We bulldozed steel and scrap in and will do more tomorrow. For tonight, it is good enough,” Tom informed the crowd.

  As he spoke, I thought about how much fuel was left in town. Already reserves were getting low.

  “What happened today? Who were those people?” Ethel asked.

  “Mostly farm folks,” Fred Johnson replied.

  “All at once?” Ethel asked.

  It was a question that had been burning in everyone’s mind.

  “Looks like pack mentality,” Buddie added.

  “Mentality? Like they are thinking?” Summer asked.

  “Something like that, you know, like animals . . . maybe,” Buddie answered.

  “There could be more attacks like this. There are at least four dozen more farms and vineyards out there, and those are just the ones near us,” Mr. Jones added.

  “Well, we lived, didn’t we,” Jeff commented.

  “Barely,” Dusty added, “and we lost Jensen.”

  The room was silent. Suddenly I saw Will and Kiki who had been keeping watch by the door stiffen and pull their weapons.

  “Movement,” Will called.

  A dozen armed citizens raced across the room, but something in me froze. My whole body felt stiff. Jamie headed toward the door, turning to look inquisitively at me as to why I had not followed. I neither moved nor said a word. Confused, he went ahead. My hands shook. My ears were ringing, and the strange feeling of electricity filled the air.

  At the door, people were talking and moments later the crowd broke into smiles. They then ushered two strangers into the room: two men soon stood in the center of a circle of the townspeople.

  I watched them from afar. I knew without a doubt that something about them was not right. They smiled in a very pleasing manner, but it was a false smile. Physically, they were both very attractive. One was tall, muscular, and had shoulder length sandy hair. The second was shorter and darker in complexion. His head was shaved, and he had heavy eyebrows and wore a hawkish expression. They were both dressed rather oddly. Their dark clothing looked too tight, buttons closed too close to the neck, and the fashion seemed outdated. My hands trembled.

  Jamie was standing a bit back from the crowd, and I could see from the expression on his face that he was not sold either. Regardless, Tom led the men to the front of the room. Everyone had risen from their seats to get a closer look.

  “Layla, these men have come to speak to us,” Tom said excitedly. Tom’s jubilant nature overcame him, and he didn’t wait for my reaction but pressed the two men forward.

  They paused and looked at me, but I said nothing. I slid off the stage.

  The two men looked around the room. I noticed the tall one pause when he saw Kira and Susan. He stared at them as the other began to speak.

  “My name is Corbin,” the dark haired one began.

  I stepped between the girls and the fair-haired man’s gaze and pulled the shashka from its scabbard.

  Startled, the stranger looked at me. His eyes were icy blue. He tried to feign a smile.

  I lifted the sword and set it on my shoulder.

  He looked away.

  “This is Finn,” Corbin said, referring to the fair one. I noticed that Corbin’s eyes were also ice blue. “We have just arrived by boat. As you know, the lake has thawed, and we are going around looking for survivors.”

  “Where are you based?” Pastor Frank asked.

  Corbin looked the pastor over in great detail before he answered. There
was something odd in Corbin’s movements, a sort of strange control. “There is a very large group of us on Enita Island at the HarpWind Grand Hotel. The island is isolated. The disease never came there. We have been able to keep the hotel running using much of its Victorian era equipment. We’re trying to collect as many survivors there as possible.”

  “Why?” Jamie asked.

  Enita Island was famed for its seclusion and opulent Grand Hotel. I’d once seen a documentary about it but had never been there myself. Unreachable by land, one had to take a ferry to get there. The story was plausible. The storytellers were not.

  Corbin considered Jamie. “There is survival in numbers. We are well armed and have considerable supplies. We also have three doctors.”

  I looked back at Ian who was still sitting. He’d heard.

  “The island is completely sheltered. These creatures cannot reach the place. It is a place of safety, a place to begin again. Our goal is to find people to join us there,” Corbin added.

  “What about help from the outside, the government?” Kiki asked.

  Corbin shrugged. “There is no government. Everything has fallen.”

  “How did you find us?” I asked them.

  They both turned and looked at me and then exchanged a glance between them. In that moment, I heard a strange murmuring sound in my head.

  “We were cruising the shoreline and heard the sound of gunfire. Was there an incident?” Corbin asked.

  “Yeah, man, but we whooped ass,” Jeff replied.

  Corbin smiled at Jeff as one might smile at a small, stupid pet. “We can keep you safe from such onslaughts. Last I knew, these creatures cannot swim.”

  Several people laughed.

  Ian had risen and was standing at the back of the crowd. He was listening intently as the townspeople began shooting a barrage of questions at the strangers: how many already there, kinds of supplies, space available, plan for the future, etc., etc. Corbin and Finn had ready answers. Too many ready answers. And all of the answers they had were good ones. In that moment, I remembered something my grandma used to say: “I ran from the wolf only to run into the bear.” Whatever they were selling, I wasn’t buying.