The Harvest (Book 1)

by Ferretti, Anne

  Madison scrolled through the gruesome images. “What about the FBI?”

  “Can’t get through to the local office. Or the national for that matter.” He stared out the window. “And there’s that.” He pointed in the direction of his stare. “Bringing doomsayers out of the damn woodwork.”

  Madison went to the window. In the sky, the triple suns sat on the horizon. “What is that?”

  “No idea. But it’s snowing in Daytona.”

  “So what do you want me to do? Put an APB out for the four horsemen?” Madison quipped.

  “I want you to go to the Mayor’s house, talk to his wife.” The Chief’s shoulders drooped. “Calm her down.”

  “Is the Mayor missing or murdered?”

  “Not sure. Mrs. Sanchez said he was in the shower and then he wasn’t.” Ruiz stood up. “Go talk to her. Keep her away from the press. I don’t need hysteria turning into pandemonium.”

  “What do I tell her?”

  “As little as possible.”

  Madison laughed. “That won’t be a stretch.” She left the Chief’s office and walked back through the hordes of people. When she reached the exit doors, she was shocked to see ice crystals spreading across the glass. She pushed open the door and was immediately blasted by a stiff cold wind. Madison shrugged off the cold, hurrying past the line of people who stood shivering on the steps.

  ***

  In an unmarked police cruiser Madison traveled down the interstate at a turtle’s pace. The snow covered roadway and abandoned vehicles made driving an arduous task. Madison gripped the steering wheel and maneuvered the car around an overturned SUV. There was no one inside. Up ahead a tow truck pulled a Camry off the road onto the shoulder. Madison slowed to a stop next to where the tow truck driver was unhooking the car.

  He strolled over to Madison’s car, raised his face mask up over his mouth. “Can I help you ma’am?” He drawled. His teeth were covered with chewing tobacco.

  “Where are the drivers?”

  “The drivers?”

  “Yes. Where are all the people that were driving these vehicles?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. They told me to come out here and clear a path. So that’s what I’m doin’. Clearin’ a path.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “They is the National Guard. Come into the office this mornin’.” He took a flask from his jacket, offered Madison a swig.

  “I assume that’s only water.” She flashed her badge.

  He flashed a crooked smile. “You know what they say about assumin’ ma’am.”

  “Just put it away. I don’t have time to arrest you.”

  He stared hard at Madison, took a long swig and tucked the flask back in his jacket. “I just might be safer inside a cell than out here.” He leaned closer to her. “Haven’t you figured it out yet Detective?”

  Madison shook her head. “Figured what out?”

  “The fat lady’s finally gonna get to sing her song.” He tilted his head way back, shouted at the sky. “The End is comin’. The final credits are rollin’!” He snorted, spit, pulled his face mask down over his mouth and got back to the task at hand.

  She watched him hook another empty vehicle, but snow quickly covered her windshield and blocked her view. She turned on her wipers, which proved a futile task for the sun rotted blades. Madison may have been everything structured and organized in her career, but she was a mess when it came to vehicle maintenance. The tow truck whizzed by, lights flashing, horn blaring. Madison took a deep breath, shifted into drive and maneuvered around a stalled Chevy pick-up truck.

  The tow truck driver waved the double peace sign, Nixon style, at her as she drove by. Although the general public would say the man had lost his marbles, or at the very least they rattled around some, he might also be more right than Madison cared to admit. She pushed his apocalyptic meanderings away for now. Tangible facts, she reminded herself. Focus on those for as long as possible. For as long as evidence to the contrary did not present itself.

  A few miles down the highway Madison took an exit that led her to the west side of the city. She passed another tow truck sitting idle on the side of the road. The driver was nowhere in sight. Downtown the scene appeared to be straight out of a sci-fi movie with National Guard tanks and humvees at every street corner. The only problem being there weren’t any soldiers with those vehicles and there weren’t any civilians running about in a state of panic.

  When Madison finally reached the gated entrance to the Mayor’s estate she was not surprised to find the gates wide open and the guard house empty. She took mental notes and continued up the drive to the Mayor’s house. Her car slid to a crooked stop at the front steps. Madison stared out the window at the fury of snowflakes that swirled around. Some might find this scenery breathtaking, but not Madison. She moved back from Chicago to escape the very element now holding her hostage.

  A fist pounded on the window from outside. Madison jumped in her seat and turned to see a face peering into her car. “Shit.” She wiped the condensation off the driver’s window. A man, wearing a heavy coat, gloves and a scarf wrapped up to his eyes, waved for her to roll down the window.

  One hand went to her gun, the other hit the button, lowered the window a few inches. “Can I help you?” She asked.

  “Are you Lieutenant Capra?” He shouted through his wool scarf and over the wind.

  “Yes.” She flashed her badge. “Who are you?”

  “Mr. Yates, the Mayor’s assistant. Please come inside.” He turned to go back in the house, not waiting on Madison.

  Madison quickly exited her vehicle, followed Yates up a grand flight of steps and into the Mayor’s home. Once inside, they dusted off snow and the chill. Yates led Madison into the sitting room where logs blazed in a floor to ceiling granite and stone fireplace.

  “Please wait by the fire. I will let Mrs. Sanchez know you are here.” He bowed to her before leaving.

  Madison stood a few feet from the fireplace and stared at the flames. She wondered if this was the first time they’d lit a fire. The thought of what happened if the weather continued for an extended period of time crossed her mind. She knew the city was ill equipped for a few hours of temperatures south of thirty two degrees, let alone a few days. Her mind raced through various scenarios. All ended in a bad way.

  Footsteps approached the sitting room. Madison turned expecting to see the Mayor’s wife, but only Mr. Yates returned. He was visibly shaken, ghostly pale and his shirt was covered in blood.

  Madison rushed to his side. “Mr. Yates what happened? Mrs. Sanchez? Is she ok?”

  He grabbed her arm, but didn’t look at her. “She’s dead.” His hand slid down her arm.

  “Whatta ya mean dead? What happened?”

  Yates offered no answer, or response, other than to grip her hand. Madison winced and pried his fingers from her hand. He took a couple of unsure steps towards the fireplace, his hand reached out to his side pawing the air for something solid to steady himself with. His knees buckled and folded beneath him and he sank to the floor. Madison rushed to him, her hand landed under his head just in time to prevent a certain skull fracture had he continued on his collision course with the granite hearth.

  “Mr. Yates?” She knelt by his side. “Mr. Yates can you hear me?” There was no response from the catatonic Mr. Yates. Madison slipped a pillow under his head. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried from the sitting room and up the steps to the second floor. She quickly navigated the hallways in an effort to find the Mayor’s wife. After opening several doors, but still no luck, she arrived at a set of double doors that stood slightly ajar. A bloody hand print, splat on the right door panel, stopped her short.

  Instinctively her hand went to her weapon, her eyes stayed focused on the gap between the two doors, on what she could see beyond that gap and inside the room. A glimpse of a hand, of a red stain on the carpet, of white gauze blowing about. A sliver of the whole picture. She drew her weapon from its holster and
clicked the safety off. If experience was to be relied upon as a possible given truth, Madison knew the complete picture behind the sliver would be much worse than the sliver. She reached out, pushing the doors open. In her mind’s eye they swung inward in slow motion, revealing inch by inch the whole picture, the horror promised by the glimpse.

  “What in the hell…” In front of her was a massive four poster California king bed that took command of the room. White gauze, draped all around the bed, whipped about in the stiff breeze blowing freely through open French doors leading out to the balcony. Lying on the bed, on her back, was Mrs. Sanchez. Her head and an arm hung over the foot of the bed. Dead eyes stared upside down at the door. A pool of blood had spread out and soaked into the expensive Persian rug beneath her head.

  After clearing the balcony, Madison closed the doors and made a phone call. “Yes this is Lieutenant Capra from the forty third precinct. I need an ambulance at twelve thirty one Liberty Place.” She moved closer to the body. “None available? Are you serious?” The tip of a feather brushed against the nape of her neck. She stopped next to the bed. “Oh shit.” Her jaw dropped open, while her brain scrambled to process what her eyes were seeing. “Never mind.” She muttered and dropped her hand.

  There was nothing paramedics, or anyone for that matter, could do for Mrs. Sanchez. She was very much dead. Madison took in the macabre sight with a detective’s eye. The five gouges, four long, one short that ran the length of her ear to her chin. The bald spot on her head where hair had been ripped out at its roots. The flesh and bones of her upper torso ripped apart from the middle outward.

  The vision of hands, or maybe giant claws, sinking talon sharp nails deep into Mrs. Sanchez’s chest, between her breasts, and tearing her open in one swift powerful strike played out in Madison’s head. The image dissipated, replaced by Mrs. Sanchez’s empty chest cavity, and the real image of her missing heart. Upon further investigation Madison ascertained other organs had been removed as well, and, if the evidence was any measure of how they were removed, it would be safe to assume surgical tools were not used and precision was not required.

  A thunderous noise shook the entire house. Madison ran from the bedroom, leaving the gruesome Mrs. Sanchez behind. She flew down the hallway, pictures and furniture blurring past her. She took the steps two at a time, slid around the doorway into the sitting room and was affronted by a shiny black Cadillac sitting half in and half out of the French doors. Glass and sheetrock decorate the nearby furniture. There was no one inside the Cadillac, no driver behind the wheel.

  A quick glance to fireplace told her Mr. Yates was no longer there, only the pillow remained. He was gone, not in the sense he had vacated the room or the premises, but gone as in vanished like so many others had that morning. The tow truck driver’s voice echoed in her head. “The fat lady’s finally gonna sing her song.”

  She pulled out her cell phone, made a call to the precinct. “Screw the fat lady.” She commented to the Cadillac.

  No one answered at the station. A few more unanswered calls and she didn’t try anymore. A log popped, causing sparks to fly from the fireplace and land close to the rug. Madison flicked the spark back into the fire with the tip of her boot. She stared at the logs. This further complicated matters. If the fire was left unattended one of those hot embers would eventually land on the rug. And with the current emergency response time, the entire neighborhood would burn to the ground before a fire engine left the station.

  This gave her an idea. She found her way to the kitchen, where a brief search yielded exactly what she needed, a fire extinguisher. She returned to the sitting room and promptly extinguished the fire. “Problem solved.” She announced, satisfied. As if a fire extinguisher was all it took to rectify the day’s problems. As far as she was concerned, any action at this moment was preferred to no action at all and Madison was a girl of action, not reaction. She didn’t have the patience for it. A trait, or flaw, her mother berated her for from kindergarten to college graduation and beyond.

  Despite her mother’s constant nagging, Madison remained head strong and impatient. She always read the last pages of a book first, only read movie reviews that included spoilers, finished people’s sentences if they dallied to long, and the list went on. Call it what you like, but her major character flaws saved her life more times than one, plus earned her each and every award tacked to her office wall. Of course on the flip side of all that glory was her recent updated status, or downgraded depending on the perspective, from engaged to single. A thorn she couldn’t extract no matter how her mom or sister justified why it happened.

  Thorns aside, Madison needed a plan, but what in the hell was she supposed to do faced with her current circumstances? Her shoulders sag uncharacteristically, and for the first time in a long, long time she felt lost. She absently wandered over to the French doors and leaned on the Cadillac. As she stared out through the broken doors, the falling snow soon mesmerized and dulled her thoughts. The first evidence to the contrary and supporting the tow truck driver’s dooms day prediction that fell to the ground went unnoticed. When a second and third object came plummeting from the sky, Madison stood up and took notice.

  5 EVE

  Cheyenne, Colorado

  Eve drifted up the road leading to the entrance of Cheyenne Mountain. She didn’t feel the biting wind or the ice as it pelted against her bare skin. Weak and disoriented from the prolonged occupation, her movement was driven by sheer will alone.

  The sweet smell of blood, carried by the wind, drifted past her. She stopped in the middle of the road and titled her head back to catch the tantalizing scent. Dropping her head she gazed up the road at the two armed men guarding the entrance. Behind them she could see many more armed men approaching the gate. They were coming for her.

  Her feet moved on their own accord while her mind fought against the urge to attack, to feed, to strengthen her body. The voice spoke to her, reminding her that these sacrifices were necessary to secure her future. The sacrifices she’d made and the one she was about to make. Stay strong for a while longer; the voice encouraged her onward, soothing her hunger pangs.

  When the guards ordered her to stop, she kept walking. She raised her hands, palms out, and pushed. This motion sent an invisible force wave hurling towards the guards. The impact knocked them to the ground and tore the gates off the hinges. The other guards opened fire. Bullets whizzed by and through Eve, who had stopped walking to wait for the men to realize the futility of shooting at her.

  When the firing ceased, Eve knelt down hands raised in the air. The men approached. When they placed the metal shackles around her wrists she remained compliant. She allowed them to lead her blindfolded into the mountain. When they removed the cloth from her eyes she found herself inside a glass cage.

  She stood in her cell unaffected for them all to stare and gawk at her, to wonder what she was and where she’d come from. That they could sense she was dangerous came as no surprise to her for she thought all species possessed this natural ability. It would surprise her to know how unaware most humans were of their own self preserving mechanism. Something she relied on like air to breathe for it was all she had to rely on, that and the voice.

  For as long as Eve could remember she’d been the only one of her kind. She’d no concept of where she came from or even how long she had existed. She’d walked the Earth observing mankind in all his glory and degradation. As a general rule she avoided humans. Years, sometimes decades, would pass where she had no direct contact with them, other than when necessary for survival.

  If solitude to this extent was not normal it didn’t matter to her nor was it ever considered by her as a state of being. It just was. She’d always accepted everything as so, allowing the presence to be her guide. The voice she thought to be familiar, but unsure if the intimacy was due to repetition or because she truly remembered hearing the voice spoken from the lips of a living being.

  It was the voice that had told her to travel to Deadbe
ar, Alaska, where she’d found a human unlike any other. Although having occurred many years ago, the image of the boy being pulled from the icy waters remained vivid in her mind. She’d watched from her hiding place as the medics worked on him. Their initial attempts to revive him proved futile and he was pronounced dead, but she could hear his blood coursing through his veins. You’re not dead, she remembered thinking.

  His body jerked forward as if obeying her thoughts. He coughed and spit up water for several minutes before the medics wrapped him in blankets and loaded him into the back of the ambulance. They’d conversed amongst themselves how a miracle had saved him. She’d heard this word before, but didn’t know what it meant, other than it had caused humans to live, to which she’d concluded miracles must be like medicine.

  From the start the boy’s blood intrigued her and for all the memories she had, which were few despite her years, she couldn’t recall another human being having that effect on her. The novelty, and the curiosity his scent created, kept her in Deadbear.

  It wasn’t long before she revealed herself to him, feeling compelled to do so even before the voice told her it was safe. To her amazement he introduced himself, displaying none of the usual signs of fear so common place with his species. One of their many weaknesses, which made them easy prey. That Austin was never intended as prey or that he knew her name never struck her as out of the ordinary. It just was. Over the months that followed he became her companion, although she would argue the dynamics of their relationship was not friendship.

  In a blink she’d spent an entire year in Deadbear, keeping company with Austin and out of sight from the small Deadbear population. The lack of food made the logistics of feeding more difficult, but not impossible. For her safety she made an effort to travel away from Deadbear whenever the need or desire grew too strong.

  Making her stay more tolerable and prolonged had been the realization that she could communicate with Austin. At first she entertained him with glimpses of the future, later she used her power to manipulate him into doing her will. That he considered her his friend didn’t matter, guilt and remorse were foreign to her.