Season of the Harvest

by Michael R. Hicks

  “I hate to ask, but what’s the worst?”

  She looked at him, her brown and blue eyes blazing. “The worst, Jack, is the sort of horror movie stuff you saw on the EDS web site: that we could be transformed into biologically compatible life forms. And you can bet that homo sapiens wouldn’t be at the top of the food chain in a world ruled by them.”

  “How can they be killed?” Jack asked, forcing himself to look at the creature not through the eyes of a shocked and frightened human, but as a veteran soldier striving to learn his enemy’s weaknesses.

  “Their skeletal structure is tougher than Kevlar,” she replied. “Assault rifles will kill them at close range, but you’ll probably use up most of a magazine. That’s why most of us carry them in here. Shotguns are dicey, depending on the ammunition: slugs are best. Any handgun short of a .44 magnum is useless unless you just get lucky. Aim for the center of mass, because you’re almost guaranteed to hit something. If you aim anywhere else, you don’t know if you’ll hit the exoskeleton or their malleable tissue; if you hit the tissue, bullets just pass right through. And you have to be quick, Jack. When they move, they move fast.” She turned to the thing in the cell and leaned closer. “Fire also works nicely.”

  Hissing, the harvester stepped back away from the cell wall. There were obviously speakers inside the cell, carrying their conversation to the thing.

  “They’re very afraid of fire,” she explained, “and with good reason: they burn like wood doused in gasoline. We found that out with the first one we captured: we took samples of the malleable tissue and subjected it to a variety of tests, and it nearly blew up in our faces when it was exposed to an open flame. That’s why Gary Woolsey burned down the lab where one of these things was, because if it even got close to the fire, it would be dead. It’s one of the very few weaknesses they have.”

  “Yeah, but you can’t exactly go wandering around in here or topside with a flamethrower,” Jack said.

  “Exactly,” she said. “We have a well-designed fire suppression system down here, but fire’s never something you want to turn loose in a sealed underground facility. It’s hard to use as a weapon, but we know for certain that it’ll kill them. Quickly.”

  “So what’s the deal with the Taser?” he asked, pointing to the turret in the chamber that had swiveled slightly when the thing moved away from the wall, tracking its movements. “You used a stun baton on Sansone...it...at my house, too, didn’t you?”

  “The shock disrupts their ability to control the malleable tissue,” she explained, “causing them to revert to their natural state. Shocking them also has a similar stun effect on them as it does on us, rendering them helpless for a few moments.” She looked at Jack. “That’s when they’re most vulnerable and is the best time to kill them if you can’t use fire.”

  “When you were at the house, one of the people with you – Tan? – had a syringe of something that he stuck in its chest after it got zapped.”

  “Formaldehyde,” she told him. “Plain old formaldehyde injected into their central neural ganglion acts like an anesthetic. That was an accidental discovery with the second prisoner. It has to be done right after they’ve been shocked, but enough formaldehyde will keep them completely knocked out for hours. Eventually their system breaks it down and they revive.”

  “Christ,” Jack whispered, looking through the wall at the thing. As he watched, a tendril uncoiled from its thorax near where the utility pod was located. “What’s that?”

  “The lance,” she told him, stepping closer to Jack and pointing. “Remember when I told you that Sansone killed Woolsey in prison, that he died of a heart attack just after she interviewed him?” Jack nodded. “They can extend that stinger almost ten feet and stab through almost anything short of metal plate. Sansone must have reached out with it under the interview table, where no one could see it, and pricked his skin. He probably never even noticed, because even the tiniest dose would be fatal.” She looked down at the floor. “The Kempf harvester lanced Sheldon. I’m amazed he made it as far as he did before it caught up to him.”

  As if in demonstration, the creature suddenly whipped the tendril at the wall, aiming right at Jack’s rib cage. It struck with such force that the needle on the end of the lance penetrated nearly an inch into the hard plastic.

  Both Jack and Naomi jumped back, and the guards stepped forward, their weapons raised.

  “Shit!” Jack cursed as the thing yanked the stinger out of the wall.

  “It’s plenty strong enough to kill you just by stabbing,” Naomi shakily explained. “But it’s designed to deliver a witch’s brew of toxins that are among the most lethal poisons on the planet, and death from it is hideously painful. We’ve been working on an antivenin, but we only have a tiny amount in the lab so far, and we haven’t tested it on humans yet.”

  “How the hell did they get here, Naomi?” he asked. “There must be some sort of ship somewhere, right? Or some, I don’t know, communications system. They have to be able to talk somehow with their...” His tongue tripped over the word people. “...with other harvesters.”

  “We don’t know, Jack,” she said, her frustration plain. “Some think there must be a ship hidden away somewhere, like maybe the myth of Area 51 is really true. Others think they were dropped here and left to fend for themselves, maybe with their superiors checking up on them every once in a while. The only thing we’re fairly sure of is that they don’t appear to have any way to replicate or breed, at least the three that we’ve been able to study. But we don’t know if that’s typical of their species, or if these are specialized variants.” She paused. “Even with as much as we’ve been able to find out, there are still so many things we don’t know, and I’m terrified that ignorance is what will kill us.”

  Without thinking, he put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him, wrapping her arm around his waist. Together they stared at the nightmare in the glass chamber, trapped like a monstrous insect in a gigantic glass jar.

  “I think I’ve seen enough,” Jack said.

  Nodding to the guards, Naomi, her arm still around his waist, turned to lead him out of the chamber.

  Just as the inner door was cycling open for them, Jack heard a voice that made his skin crawl.

  “We can help you, Jack.” It was Emily’s voice, the voice of his dead wife.

  His spine rigid with dread, he let go of Naomi and turned around to again look into the chamber of horrors. There, inside the clear-walled prison cell, stood Emily, just as he remembered her from the last time he had seen her alive. She was completely nude. Beautiful. Alien.

  “We know who did it,” the faux Emily said. “We know who killed Emily. We can help you find him, Jack.”

  “Don’t believe–” Naomi began, clutching at Jack’s arm, but he gently placed a hand over hers.

  “You’re full of shit,” Jack said quietly to the creature, a cold rage blowing away the remains of his fear. As Sansone, the thing would have had access to all the files of Emily’s investigation, and it had obviously done some research before coming to visit him the other night. The one thing that made his blood run cold was her voice: how could the harvester have replicated that unless it had heard her speak, or at least listened to a recording? He didn’t want to know. “You already pulled my chain once,” he said, thinking of how he had fallen apart earlier at the sight of Sansone’s beaten body in the cell. “You’re not getting another chance.” Looking over at the female guard, Tamara, he said, “Zap it, please.”

  “Nooo!” the thing shrieked as Tamara hit the control to fire the Taser. Jack watched in satisfaction as the abomination that looked like Emily tensed up and fell rigid to the floor. He didn’t wait to see it transform into its natural state before he joined Naomi and left the antenna silo behind.

  Passing through the gauntlet of hissing cats, Jack retrieved Alexander, who shivered in his arms as they walked in silence through the long, empty tunnel that led back to the main junction, trailed by
a frightened Koshka. Alexander quickly grew tired of being held, and Jack set the squirming cat down so he could limp along beside his feline friend, and the two cats stayed close to their human companions.

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” she said after a while.

  “Why?”

  “You’ve suffered so much,” she told him. “Sheldon told me about what happened to you in Afghanistan, and about Emily. I’m sorry you got drawn into all this. You didn’t deserve it.”

  Jack snorted. “My life was going nowhere, Naomi,” he said after a moment. “When I came back from Afghanistan, there was just...nothing. I felt nothing, wanted nothing, except maybe to kill the fucking bastard who murdered Emily. But even that...” He shook his head. “There wasn’t enough fire left in my soul to spark a match. Sheldon sort of kept me sane, but aside from him and another friend who was killed in the FBI lab explosion, the only other person I’ve felt close to since then is that goofy cat.” He nodded in the direction of Alexander, who limped along beside them. “I don’t know. Maybe falling down the rabbit hole into this crazy world of yours wasn’t such a bad thing. I’ve got a purpose now. I have no idea where it might lead, but for the first time in years I feel like I’ve got a reason to live.”

  As they continued walking, it dawned on him that the harvester’s masquerade, taking Emily’s form in hopes of again manipulating him, ironically had helped Jack to finally put to rest the hold her memory had held over his life. He would always cherish their time together, but she was gone, and nothing he could do would ever bring her back. Emily had haunted his relationships with Jerri and the few others he had dated, and it was time to move on. He felt as if the chain to an emotional anchor had suddenly been severed, finally setting him free.

  When he and Naomi reached the junction, they stopped and turned toward one another. Her room was close by, in the command center dome, while his was farther down the tunnel in Apartment One.

  She looked up at him, her brown and blue eyes fixing him with a gaze that sent a hot flare through his chest. He wanted her, and could tell that she had more than a casual interest in him.

  It’s been so long, he thought, about to ask her if she wanted to go to “his place.”

  But before he could say anything, she told him, “I’ll see you later, Jack. I’ve got some work I’ve got to get done.” She leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then turned and walked toward the entrance to the command dome, Koshka following behind her.

  Jack stood there for a while, feeling foolish. Something brushed against his leg. He looked down to find Alexander sitting on the floor, staring up at him. The cat meowed unhappily.

  “Tell me about it,” Jack sighed as he bundled the big ball of fur into his arms and headed down the tunnel to his apartment.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jack stood off to the side of the swimsuit-clad men and women who crowded the pool deck, gyrating to the dance music pumping from the speakers, loud enough to make the beer vibrate in the bottle he was holding. He wasn’t wearing a swimsuit himself, but had opted instead for some comfortable jeans and a black knit shirt. He got plenty of looks from those around him. Many of them were looks of appraisal, some of scorn for not baring some skin. He didn’t much care either way.

  The music they danced to was Sheldon’s, one of his many compositions, a product of his talent with music and electronic wizardry. Some of his songs had even become very popular on the web. Jack couldn’t tell most of them apart, but was happy that his friend enjoyed himself and was getting some recognition for his talents outside of the rigid environment of the Bureau. He glanced over to where Sheldon stood, surrounded by a bevy of gorgeous women and a few equally handsome men, conversing in shouts and laughing at Sheldon’s outrageous jokes. Tall and broad-shouldered, his golden-tanned face bearing a smile that was bright and quick to appear, he had a striking appearance that never failed to turn the heads of the ladies. But his good looks were more than skin deep: he was a genuine good guy, and an even better friend.

  That was the only reason Jack was here. He hated parties or any other kind of social gathering. He hadn’t always been that way, but since the jarring traumas he’d suffered between nearly being killed in Afghanistan and Emily’s murder, things like this had no appeal for him. He’d much rather have been at home painting, but Sheldon had invited him. And as Jack had in the past when his friend had invited him, he had agreed without protest: Sheldon had always been there for him, the best friend he had ever had, and the least Jack could do was to make an appearance at his shindigs and pretend to enjoy himself.

  In this particular case, Sheldon had told him he was going on a field assignment that might last a while, and he was holding a party to celebrate. It was a tradition he had, of having a bash any time he went out of town for more than a few days, which didn’t happen very often.

  Thank God, Jack thought with a wry smile.

  As he drained his beer, a blond beauty magically appeared with another bottle, taking the empty away and pressing a full one into his hand with an inviting smile. She was a knockout by anyone’s definition, and was clearly interested in more than just dancing. Jack smiled back, but gently shook his head. He was still flying solo and didn’t have any interest in a casual romp. He glanced toward Sheldon, who was watching Jack to see what he would do. Sheldon rolled his eyes and shook his head in clear exasperation.

  “Okay,” the woman mouthed to him over the thunder of the music, then stood up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips to let him know the invitation still stood if he happened to change his mind. Then she disappeared back into the throng of party-goers, her hips swaying to the beat.

  Jack watched her go, then turned his attention back to his beer. This would be the last one he’d drink: he had a limit of two. Even though he was off-duty, he always carried his backup weapon in a holster strapped to his calf, and it wouldn’t do for an armed FBI special agent to wind up drunk. There had been plenty of times in the last several years when he would have liked to get completely shit-faced, but he knew that it wouldn’t make the pain go away or fill the emptiness in his soul.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, sightlessly staring into the crowd, before he noticed that the pounding dance music had stopped. Now there was what sounded like an orchestral piece starting up that seemed totally out of place after the previous song, but it didn’t surprise anyone at the party, including Jack: Sheldon’s taste in music ran the full spectrum, and one of the reasons his parties were so popular was that he was full of surprises. Unlike so many of the other songs Sheldon played, Jack happened to recognize this one: MacArthur Park, the original version recorded by Richard Harris.

  “Did you know,” Sheldon said, having broken away from his groupies to come stand by Jack, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, “that this is my all-time favorite song?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” Jack told him with a smile. “You’ve told me about a billion times, even though I’ve only heard you play it once or twice before. That sucks, because it’s one of the only songs you’ve got in that big library of yours that I actually know.”

  Sheldon laughed, drawing looks and smiles from those around them. It was a soul-deep, infectious laugh that had been one of the things that had originally drawn them together.

  “And you still remember what I want on my tombstone, right?” Sheldon asked with mock severity.

  Jack rolled his eyes. Sheldon had told him a million times. It had become a sort of joke between them, but it was something that Jack knew, deep down, Sheldon was actually serious about. “Yes, I remember,” Jack sighed.

  “Well?” Sheldon prompted.

  Jack looked up at the sky and said, “If you love me only in my dreams, let me be asleep forever.” Turning to Sheldon he asked, “Did I get it right?”

  Sheldon’s smile faltered for a brief moment, and Jack thought he saw a trace of wistful sadness. “Yeah,” he said, giving Jack’s shoulders a squeeze. “Ju
st don’t ever forget those words, Jack. Promise?”

  Puzzled by Sheldon’s sudden seriousness, Jack said, “I promise…”

  ***

  Just don’t ever forget those words, Jack...

  Jack came awake with a gasp, sitting straight up in his bed.

  Fumbling with the intercom, he finally figured out the right buttons to push to call the command center.

  “Jack?” Renee answered. “You okay?”

  “Renee,” Jack told her, “I think I may have the pass phrase you’ve been looking for.”

  “Then get your ass up here,” she said urgently. “I’ll call Naomi.”

  Ten minutes later, the three of them were glaring in frustration at Renee’s computer screen.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Renee sighed, “but that isn’t it. I’ve loaded up every possible permutation of the words in that quote and they all strike out. Breaking it down to random letter combinations will take a lot longer, but...” She shrugged.

  “Dammit,” Jack cursed. “I know that’s it. It has to be. That was the only thing he ever made a big deal over that would fit what we’re looking for. He thought far enough ahead during the time he was in the lab to figure that they would come after me, and that you’d eventually come for me. The data would be safe in the photo frame, but he had to use a key that only the two of us might know, and that I’d eventually remember. And it wouldn’t have been just a simple name or something like that.”

  “Yeah, we’ve already tried all the typical things,” Renee said, leaning back and folding her arms. “Your name every which way, his, the cat’s, birthdays, all that stuff. And in combination. Zip.”

  “Sheldon would never have done anything that obvious,” Naomi murmured, staring at the screen. “I agree, Jack, that he would’ve expected you to know the key, but what if it’s not just a set of alphabetic characters?”