The Harvesting

by Melanie Karsak

  A few moments later, a strikingly beautiful woman in a silver sequin gown entered the room. She had waist length black hair which curled over her shoulders and down her back. Her face, though perhaps a bit past its prime, was amazingly beautiful. She had twinkling blue eyes.

  She moved slowly through the crowd, her entourage circling her. Clearly, she was in charge. She smiled sweetly, welcoming the other Hamletville residents who rose when she drew near. I could tell the entire room was captivated by the woman. I did not blame them; she was beautiful.

  When she came near, I heard the accent in her voice as well. It was Slavic, perhaps Ukrainian or Belarusian. The lilt was like the same Russian accent I’d grown up with.

  “Ah, here we have more newcomers. Welcome,” she said as she greeted us.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Jeff whispered as Pastor Frank introduced himself.

  I noticed that the pastor had extended his hand to the woman, but she had not taken it. Instead, she simply nodded.

  Ethel, Summer, and then Jeff rose to introduce themselves. I could feel the eyes of the people of Hamletville on me. They knew my concerns, and they wondered about my next move.

  “Ahh, look at this,” she said when she approached me. She looked me over.

  Jamie and I had risen to meet her.

  “It must have been so hard for you out there, eh? So many weapons.”

  I had gone to the party fully equipped. The guns had become so familiar a part of my wardrobe I had not thought to exclude them—especially in light of the fact that I expected, well, anything at any moment.

  “What is your name?” she asked me.

  “Layla,” I replied.

  She turned then and looked at Finn. They exchanged a glance. Again, I heard a sort of strange murmuring in my head just as I had the night Finn and Corbin had arrived in Hamletville.

  “Layla,” she said, considering, “Layla what?”

  Lie, my instincts screamed. Lie.

  “Layla Campbell.”

  I saw Jamie tense a little and prayed Jeff would keep his mouth shut. No one said anything.

  “Well, Layla, you are safe in my house. Leave your guns in your room. I don’t like them. There is nothing to fear in this place. I’ll not see those guns again,” she said. Then she spotted the shashka. “Now, I have not seen one of those for many years. This is yours?”

  “Yeah, I found it in an antique store. I think it’s a katana,” I replied.

  I could feel Jamie’s eyes on me.

  She gave me a smug look. “That is called shashka,” she said and then turned her attention to Jamie. “And this must be your lover.”

  “I’m Jamie,” he told her.

  “Ah, James,” she said and looked him over. “Handsome,” she added.

  She nodded to us and then headed to the chairs set out in the front of the room. She took the tall, ornately designed seat at the center.

  “Welcome, all of you, to the HarpWind. I am called Rumor. This is my hotel. It is my wish that you have all been brought here. We continue, every day, to seek for more survivors of this terrible disease that has killed so many. But here we are safe. We shall build a new future here. Everyone please welcome the newcomers from—where was it,” she asked, turning to Finn.

  He whispered in her ear.

  “Ah, yes, from Hamletville. So many survived there; they must be extraordinary people. We welcome them and shall make them part of our family. Tonight, I want you to eat your fill and feel relief. You are safe now. You are home,” she said.

  The crowd broke out into polite applause.

  With that, someone started playing a cheerful tune on the grand piano.

  “When did we get married?” Jamie whispered in my ear.

  “You don’t remember?” I teased.

  “Well, I think I would remember my wedding night at least,” he said and gave my knee a squeeze. “A katana. Seriously?”

  “I liked Kill Bill, didn’t you?”

  Jamie laughed.

  The crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves. Everyone was eating and drinking wine. Many of the Hamletville citizens looked relaxed, yet I noted some eyes were carefully taking in the scene. Buddie leaned against the bar watching every move our hosts made. I noticed that he had not eaten or drunk either. Will had come to sit near Ethel and Summer, and something in his posture seemed protective. Kiki’s dark eyes roved the room suspiciously. On the other hand, Jeff had approached Matilda. He was already half drunk. He was trying to offer her a drink; he had a glass of some honey colored liquor in his hand he tried to press at her. She looked at him like she was starting at road-kill.

  After awhile, Rumor and her blonde companion rose and crossed the room. They were chatting in a Slavic language when they passed us. I heard Rumor call the girl Katya.

  “Have you taken out the garbage?” Rumor asked.

  “No, not yet. There was only one load, but Madala was there all night,” Katya, the blonde woman, replied in the same language.

  “Ahh, well, I shall see about it myself and decide. But get rid of the extra cloth,” Rumor ordered.

  Nodding affirmatively, the girl followed behind. “And the bogatyrka?” Katya asked with a laugh as she shot a glance back at me.

  I pretended not to see.

  Rumor joined her laughter. They turned then and exited the room.

  I did not hear her answer.

  “What is it?” Jamie whispered.

  I shook my head, uncertain.

  “Were they speaking Russian?” he asked.

  “Some Slavic language,” I replied.

  “That’s why you lied. What were they talking about? She looked at you and said something, bogat--?”

  “They said, ‘bogatyrka.’ It’s a very old term for a kind of female warrior.”

  “Layla Campbell, the bogatyrka,” Jamie whispered.

  I smiled wryly and wondered what Rumor had answered. I noticed then that Jamie looked pensive.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Ian.”

  I nodded. “Let’s make one round then go.”

  As we circled the room, we found almost everyone talking about one thing: Rumor. Her beauty was remarkable and everyone seemed entranced. Jamie was checking in with Mrs. Finch and Fred. I approached Buddie who was still propped against the bar.

  I stood beside him. His drink was still untouched.

  “Not drinking?”

  Buddie inhaled deeply then turned and looked at me. “I brought my bow. I also brought several handguns and as much ammo as I could fit into a gym bag.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  Buddie nodded his chin toward the far side of the room where the piano sat.

  I scanned the room. Jeff was still working on Matilda. Ambrosio had joined them. After exchanging a few words, Ambrosio and Matilda walked away from Jeff who now looked angry. Jeff tossed back his drink and sauntered over to the piano player. The piano was perched in the corner of the room near the wall. When he neared the wall, I noticed Jeff’s reflection; the wall on the far end of the room was mirrored. I could also see mine and Buddie’s reflections at a distance. As well, I spotted Jamie and the others. Then I saw it. Matilda and Ambrosio were crossing the room toward the door. When I looked at the mirror, however, I saw only shadows reflected there—dark, wispy shapes. I had seen those shadows before.

  I looked back at Buddie.

  “Now we wait,” he said.

  I nodded. “Now we wait.”

  Jamie led me down a twisting hallway of narrow corridors until we reached room 195. To our surprise, Rumor, Katya, and an unknown man were leaning over Ian. They all turned when we entered.

  “Ah, here is Ms. Katana,” Rumor said with a condescending smile.

  The man leaning over Ian stood up. He turned and looked piercingly at us. His pale blue eyes were bulging behind thick glasses; a stethoscope hung from his neck. The three of them looked at us inquisitively.

  “He’s my brother,”
Jamie explained, motioning to Ian.

  At the sound of Jamie’s voice, Ian woke. “Jamie?” he called.

  Jamie passed the others and took Ian’s hand. Rumor sat down on the bed beside Ian. So close to her, I could smell Rumor’s heavy perfume. She smelled as nice as she looked.

  “How are you feeling?” Jamie asked.

  Ian looked confused. “Where is Dr. Madala?”

  “It’s very late, Ian. He’s gone to bed. I’m Dr. Rostov,” the man answered.

  Ian looked at Katya and then at Rumor. I could see his eyes widen as he took her in.

  “These are our hosts,” I explained to Ian. I was leaning against the door frame.

  “Layla? Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “You are Ian, eh?” Rumor said, taking his hand. “Oh, so strong,” she added, stroking his hand. “What is the matter here?” Rumor asked Dr. Rostov.

  “Cancer,” he replied.

  Rumor then caught sight of Ian’s tattoo. “This is very unique. What does it mean?” she asked.

  Ian looked toward me.

  I looked at the ground, tapping the toe of my boot on the floor.

  “Ian?” Rumor asked again.

  He pulled his hand out from under his blanket and traced the lines of the tattoo for her. “This symbol represents a wolf,” he said, tracing the shape near his shoulder. “And this shape is a doe,” he then explained, tracing the shape on the lower part of the upper arm. “You see, they are entwined together. And this,” he said, motioning toward the middle, “is a symbol for eternity.”

  “Very romantic,” Rumor said thoughtfully, “the wolf and the doe.”

  Jamie looked at me. I could not meet his gaze.

  “You will feel better soon,” she told Ian and then rose.

  I stepped aside, clearing the door for her. She paused as she exited.

  “Sergi, how does it look?” she asked the doctor in dialect. Her eyes were on Ian.

  “Bad,” he replied in the same.

  “Fix it. I want this one,” she said again in dialect.

  “Da,” he replied, nodding affirmatively.

  She turned and looked at me. Her eyes held mine. She smiled softly, one corner of her mouth pulling into a sardonic little grin, then walked away, Katya following her. Her perfume hung in the air long after she had gone.

  Chapter 26

  On the way back to our room, we stopped to check in on Frenchie.

  “You were right, Layla,” she whispered once we were inside.

  “What happened?” I scanned the room. The girls were lying in bed, but they were not yet sleeping. They looked exhausted and scared.

  She shook her head. “Nothing, but every eye here is on my children. There are no other kids here. We’ve made a terrible mistake. We need to go back.”

  “Something tells me they won’t be inclined to allow that,” Jamie told her.

  Frenchie looked horrified.

  I hugged her tightly and then sat down on the bed beside the little girls. “Not sleeping?” I asked, tucking them in.

  They shook their heads.

  “Tell us a story, Layla,” Kira said.

  “Layla is busy, honey,” Frenchie said.

  “It’s okay,” I said, “I know a good story. It is a very old story. My grandmother used to tell it to me. Far, far away there is a city called Kiev. Once, long ago, a Prince lived there; his name was Vladimir. The Prince put a man named Stvar in jail. Stvar was a rash man who made hasty decisions and talked too much. When his wife, a strong and wise woman, a bogatyrka, named Vasilisa Nikulichna heard about it, she knew she had to save the one she loved. She dressed like a man and put on all of her weapons. Once she got to court, she told Prince Vladimir she was a foreign prince, Vasily. She demanded his dearest object, his daughter. The Prince did not realize Vasilisa was a woman. He devised tests for her. He asked her to best his warriors in strength. She fought hand-to-hand against the soldiers, defeating them in turn. He tested her precision. She shot her small bow longer and farther than the others. The Prince’s daughter suspected Vasilisa was a woman so asked the Prince to invite Vasilisa to steam in the bathhouse. Vasilisa, however, had wit. She rushed inside the bathhouse, wet her head, and finished the bath before the Prince arrived so he never saw her body. Thereafter the Prince agreed to give his daughter in marriage. Later, at the celebration, Vasilisa asked the Prince for a harp player, but the only harp player he had was Stvar. The Prince released Stvar from prison. Once Vasilisa’s husband was free, she revealed the true identity. Ashamed, the Prince let the couple go free.”

  By the time I had finished the tale, the girls had gone to sleep. I scanned the room, finding the mini-fridge. I rose from the side of the bed. As quietly as possible, not wanting to wake the girls, I raided the fridge.

  “That stuff is long dead,” Frenchie whispered as I dug around inside.

  I found what I was searching for: salt. There was a small travel shaker hidden on the door. I popped it open and dumped a line of salt in front of the door leading to the hallway. Frenchie’s room also had a sliding glass door that led to a balcony. I poured salt all along the entrance.

  “Salt?” Jamie asked.

  “Grandma Petrovich always said it keeps evil spirits away, that they can’t pass salt. We can at least try,” I replied.

  “Thank you, Layla,” Frenchie said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “Get some sleep. I’ll be back in the morning,” I told her. Then, almost as an after-thought, I pulled a vial of holy water from my vest. “Here,” I said, handing it to her. “Just keep this on you. It’s holy water.”

  “Holy water?”

  I nodded.

  Frenchie looked at me in amazement. “What have we done?”

  I hugged her again and then Jamie and I headed to our room.

  Back in the honeymoon suite, I blocked the door then sat on the side of the bed and uunholstered my weapons. I pulled off my boots and clothes, leaving on a t-shirt and panties, and slid under the covers. I was exhausted.

  Jamie slid into the bed beside me, and I curled up into his arms. He lay there for a long time stroking my arms, but I could tell his mind was preoccupied.

  “What is it?” I finally asked him.

  He stroked my upper arm where I had been tattooed. The tattoo of the shashka was intermixed with a variety of other symbols and images, things that once were important to me.

  “Ian never told us what the tattoo meant. I didn’t know it was so personal to the two of you,” he whispered.

  “Jamie--”

  “I feel like I have stolen my brother’s life from him just as he is dying,” Jamie said, despair filling his voice.

  I rolled over and looked at him. How handsome but pained he looked in the candle-light. “I love my shashka ink, but otherwise the tattoos are just romantic nonsense. I want you to remember something. Ian abandoned me. Ian chose another life over a life with me. I moved on and changed. I can’t help Ian never did, that he clung to the past. It was his doing that the dream ended. It was his choice. I’m not the same girl he loved.”

  “No,” he said, stroking my hair away from my face, “you’re better than that girl, Ms. Katana.”

  I laughed wryly. “I almost thought she was going to call me apocalypse girl.”

  Jamie smiled but then turned serious. “What did she say to that doctor? You understood her?”

  I nodded. “She told him to fix Ian.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “I’m not sure. She said, ‘I want this one.’ That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

  Jamie looked at me. “There was something else?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. In the ballroom she said something. I’m not sure what I heard.”

  “So far all we know for sure is she hates your guns but likes Ian,” Jamie said.

  “They don’t cast a reflection. Buddie noticed it in the ballroom. They have no reflection—there is only a
shadow,” I replied.

  Jamie wrapped his arms around me. “Even if they are not what they seem that doesn’t necessarily mean they want to do us harm.”

  “We’ll see,” I replied. “We’ll see.”

  Chapter 27

  To say it had been a long day would be an understatement. Jamie fell asleep right away, but I could not rest. I gazed down on Jamie. He was beautiful. My eyes roved over every inch and curve of his body. Desire swelled in me. I also noticed how little he resembled Ian in either personality or looks. Jamie’s sweetness lived on the surface. Ian’s sweet side was buried deep under layers of darker elements I used to find so dangerously attractive.

  As the night wore on, I lay staring at the ceiling. Heavy spring rain had begun to fall. It pounded against the windows. I felt like we were sleeping in a bear’s den. I was just waiting for the bear to wake up. The moon had traveled most of the night’s sky when I started to hear strange noises coming from the floor above ours. I could hear heavy footsteps, thudding sounds, and a sound like windows opening and closing.

  I rose quietly so not to wake Jamie. Snubbing the candle, I looked out the window. I saw someone walking on the roof of the porch that ran along the front of the hotel. It was a man; his movements and appearance told me it was one of them. He seemed to be looking at the upper floors. Then, crouching low at first, he jumped. He landed on one of the third floor balconies.

  I felt like my heart stopped. I unbolted the window and looked out. The rain came splashing in. Apparently he heard the noise. Catching sight of me, he smiled as he leapt from one balcony to another, peeking in the windows. I knew at once who he was looking for. He grinned at me.

  “Dammit,” I whispered.