The Immortal Harvest

by L. J. Wallace

  Matt heard his scream of pain however, as the weight of Bob’s sled, lashed similarly around his waist, tugged inexorably towards the abyss below him, threatening to drag him along with it. Matt dove for the crack just as Bob’s fingers were slipping from the outcrop.

  * * *

  As Matt wiped the ice from the GPS screen he thought of Bob’s final words again and an overwhelming sense of anguish tormented him as he couldn’t help thinking that he should have saved his friend.

  Through bleary eyes and lashing snow he saw that according to the GPS he should have been standing on this supposed meteorite. He rubbed the ice from his goggles and tapped the GPS screen again. He began to second guess himself.

  Did I input the correct co-ordinates?

  Through frustration, cold and sheer exhaustion he had pushed himself to the extreme to scale Vinson Massif. Now he stared in disbelief at his GPS. He growled as he threw the device.

  He had reached the end of his endurance. He turned and strode back to his sled and slumped himself down on the assorted detritus of geological equipment and trekking gear.

  He looked over and saw the edge of the GPS sticking out of a snow drift and realised that it would be foolish to destroy the only item of equipment he would need to get him back to the safety of Byrd Station. He rose slowly and moved to pick it up.

  The low hum was imperceptible at first. His first thought was that he was imagining it. The noise slowly grew in amplitude and eventually it dominated the prevailing noise of the blizzard.

  Matt tapped the GPS and then froze as he heard the rising crescendo of sound. Confused he looked around in all directions from where he stood. He could see the layer of cloud and fog which surrounded him.

  The noise had increased to the point that he could actually feel the pulsating frequency penetrate his body, churning his gut from inside, intensifying his hunger pangs. He clutched his stomach and bent over in intense pain as the noise continued to grow even louder.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and collapsed in agony and rolled around on the ground. As he rolled onto his back, he opened his eyes and screamed.

  Seemingly only metres above him loomed a massive black object. It was round in shape and seemed to shimmer as if it was appearing and then fading in rapid succession. Matt froze in absolute terror.

  His eyes grew wide and he felt that his heart was about to explode out of his chest. He tried to scream again but nothing but blood bubbled out of his mouth. He suddenly felt as if his skin was on fire.

  An intense heat tore through his entire body. He felt his blood begin to boil as pustules ruptured on his face. Suddenly a horrifying and ultimately final thought dawned on him as his internal organs ruptured and his bowels released.

  Radiation!

  Seconds later, the massive black object disappeared completely.

  From the sled the unmistakable crackling of the radio could be heard as a voice filtered through the blizzard.

  “This is Byrd Station. Matt. Bob are you there? Over!”

  Two

  “You disgusting whore. Get out of my house and take your bastard with you”

  These were the last words spat at Sylvan Peters by her Mother.

  She recalled vividly, the acrid stench of booze, vomit and nicotine. The cold vacant blood shot eyes. The accusatory bony finger pointed like a talon. Her booze ravaged body shaking uncontrollably as she screamed the words.

  In her rage, her Mother completely ignored the vile bloated body of the rapist who lolled on the filthy sweat and urine stained sheets. His now flaccid penis glistened with blood from Sylvan’s defiled body.

  In the eyes of her pathetic alcoholic Mother, her Step-Father could do no wrong.

  He raped me. Can’t you see that?

  Sylvan wanted to scream. The words formed on her lips but dissipated when she realised the futility. She turned her back on her Mother and began to sob uncontrollably.

  Her Mother drained the last dregs from the bottle she was holding and threw it at the wall. The bottle instantly exploded into fragments splattering the grime covered wall in liquor.

  “I said get the fuck out of my house. I never want to see you again and take your bastard with you.”

  She screamed the words and glared at the trembling heap that once was her little girl.

  Doubled over in pain, Sylvan stumbled from the room. She ran the short distance down the hallway and burst into her son’s room.

  He was curled up on his bed in the foetal position. He was clutching tightly to a pillow. His breathing was laboured. His crystal blue eyes darted in panic through a stray strand of light blonde hair. He silently pleaded with his Mother for help.

  Sylvan grabbed his puffer and held it to his lips and watched as he greedily inhaled the drug. She breathed a sigh of relief as the Salbutamol infused into his bloodstream and instantly relaxed his lungs. She waited for him to finish coughing, before clutching him tightly to her chest, helping him to relax.

  “Come on Justen, I have to get you out of here.” Sylvan said as she lifted him from the bed. He coughed violently again as he threw his arms around Sylvan’s neck. She rushed from his room and made her way towards the back door of the slum.

  “What’s wrong Mummy, is Nanna ok?” the muffled words seeped from her neck as she ran.

  Sylvan stifled her sobs and swallowed the lump in her throat. Her protective instincts strangling her need to cry.

  “We’re going away for awhile baby.”

  She threw open the rusty flyscreen door which creaked loudly, as if to announce her leaving as she fled into the dark. The last words of her Mother rang painfully in her ears as she ran blindly into the alleyway. She hugged Justen tightly to her chest, savouring the warmth of his body.

  Finally after running to complete exhaustion she sought refuge in a bus shelter. Sometime during her escape, Justen had fallen asleep. She was relieved to lay the deadweight of her child gently on the bench. She sat next to him and gently stroked his fine blond hair.

  Tears streamed down her face as she recalled the events of the night. Her heart ached as she knew that she would never see her Mother again.

  “How did my life turn to crap so fast?” she said quietly.

  We were all so happy.

  She remembered the earlier days when she was very young, younger than Justen. She vaguely recalled her Father. She remembered coming in from playing with her dolls and her imaginary friend. She vividly recalled her Mother standing in the kitchen doorway, her hand gripping a bottle of wine. The tears ran down her reddened cheeks.

  “Your Father had to go away for awhile.”

  Her Mother whispered the words, spun on her heel and walked away.

  Sylvan had never spoken to her Mother about her Father; she knew that it upset her. She never wanted to upset her Mother.

  After that day, her Mother’s drinking became worse. Every night was a different bottle, a different ‘uncle’. Sylvan lost count of the mornings that she would find herself staring at the crumpled heap of her Mother. She would struggle to light a cigarette or even dress herself.

  She shook herself from the thoughts and looked around her to see if they were safe. The distinctive sound of rhythmic pulsing music and the vulgar buzzing, flashing neon signs alerted her to the fact that she had run into the red light district. She jumped when she heard the voice above her.

  “Listen skank this is my territory. Fuck off and go back where you came from!”

  Sylvan saw the shabby clothes, the plastered makeup on the sad visage of the woman who stood above her. She reminded Sylvan of a caricature, a living cliché.

  The woman slowly dragged on the remains of a discarded cigarette and exhaled the smoke like some transvestite dragon. Her eyes glared like a mad woman, bloodshot and glazed.

  She watched with a feeling of disgust as the woman swiped her arm across her mucus covered nose. It was then that she noticed that the vile woman’s eel-like arms were covered in tattoos and sores. Sylvan felt sickened,
sad and scared at the same time.

  Her voice crackled as she attempted to speak. She cleared her throat and then spoke again, this time with more confidence; as if she knew instinctively that she would need to pretend that she belonged to this hellish world.

  “You fuck off! We have nowhere to go…we…”

  To her ears, the tone of her voice was deadpan. She broke into tears and sobbed violently when the truth of the statement slammed into her subconscious.

  “Well ya can’t stay here; dontcha have a shelter or sumfin’ to go to?”

  The woman moved her face in closer to Sylvan. Her putrid breath and traces of stray spittle threatened to smother her. Sylvan moved her head back to escape the intrusion.

  Something inside her snapped when she realised the proximity that the woman was to her and her sleeping child. She stood and shook her fist in the hooker’s face.

  “Get the fuck out of my face and get away from my son!”

  The woman stepped back abruptly. Her demeanour changing the instant that Sylvan had mentioned a child. Her voice softened along with the brass battered features of her face.

  She threw the remnants of her cigarette onto the ground and stepped on the glowing ash. She exhaled a long lungful of smoke before she spoke.

  “Ooh a child. I didn’t see her lying there. What’s her name?”

  Sylvan watched as the woman moved back in to get a better look at Justen who had now awoken and sat trembling with the blanket pulled up around his neck.

  Sylvan sat back down and put a protective arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer to her body. She used her other hand to gently stroke his hair. She spoke quietly but defensively.

  “His name is Justen. He is my son.”

  The woman crouched down in front of the child. She smiled as she looked into the frightened eyes. She slowly held out her bony hand as an invitation.

  “Ooh a little boy! Hello Justen, my name is Crystal, Crystal Meth. You’re a cutie aint ya?”

  She could feel Justen bury his head into her shoulder as he shielded his eyes from the sight of the scary woman who was trying to touch him with her scabby, filthy hands. She knew how he felt. The sight of Crystal’s dirty and broken nails sent a shudder down her spine. Protectively, she pulled him closer.

  “He doesn’t like strangers,” Sylvan said abruptly and then softened when she saw the distraught look on the woman’s face.

  Oh well, I’m not in a position to make any more enemies, she thought as she extended her hand.

  “My name is Sylvan Peters; it’s nice to meet you Crystal Meth.”

  “Please just call me Crystal.”

  The woman wiped her hand on her filthy skirt and gently shook Sylvan’s hand. She stood and looked around nervously and ran her shattered talons down the length of her arm causing some of the scabs to be dislodged. Sylvan noticed how she self consciously tried to hide the blood smeared arm from her.

  “Well, Sylvan, we had better get you away from here. There’s been some strange shit going on down here lately, you’d better stay with me tonight. I’ve got a crib just up the road it’s not much but at least you’ll be warm and safe.”

  Sylvan was reluctant to accept, but welcomed the thought of having a warm safe place to spend the night, no matter how hellish Crystal’s ‘digs’ might appear. She felt exhausted.

  The pain in her gut was slowly waning. She relished the thought of showering and washing away the filth from her Step-Father. She tried to block the whole experience from her mind.

  Forget about yourself Sylvan, you have Justen’s safety to think about, she thought as she bent down and hoisted Justen up into her arms and followed Crystal out into the night.

  She quickened her pace to catch her. Her mood lightened, she dared to ask the woman she had just met.

  “So Crystal, do you have a shower I could use?”

  She heard Crystal laugh at the question and realised it had taken her by surprise.

  “I might look scary, but I do wash sumtimes,” Crystal said as she scratched at the sores on her arms again. “Now hurry up, my place is just up here a ways.”

  Sylvan struggled with the dead weight of Justen who had fallen back to sleep. She felt relieved when she saw Crystal stop and point to the building ahead of them.

  “That’s my humble abode. Welcome to Paradise Apartments,” Crystal said with a flourish of her arms and a slight chuckle as if she understood the irony of the name.

  Sylvan immediately noticed that she was pointing towards the ‘to be condemned’ sign that hung precariously from the brick work. The building was typical of those in the red light district.

  As well as the condemnation sign, to add to the irony, the front wall of the building was adorned with a ‘no graffiti or bill posters’ sign. It was partially covered by layers of graffiti and pamphlets.

  There was a flickering neon sign that read ‘no vacancy’. The glass in the front door had long ago been shattered by a brick that had lodged itself into the frame.

  Crystal pushed hard against the door and stepped over a body lying in the doorway.

  “Don’t worry about Leroy; he’ll be out for hours. He’s our Concierge,” she said and snorted loudly at the absurdity of her own comment.

  Sylvan tentatively stepped over the body of Leroy. She noticed that even though he appeared unconscious, he protectively hugged a brown paper bag shaped like a bottle. He snored loudly as he rolled over towards the door.

  The acrid stench of smoke and mould spores stung her nose as she followed Crystal into the building.

  Through the gloom she could see that the floor was littered with scraps of paper and used syringes. She stepped slowly through the mess, being extra careful not to tread on a stray syringe.

  She watched as Crystal retrieved her keys from a tattered bag which she had slung around her neck and began to ascend the stairs.

  “I’m on the fourth floor. I gotta great view of the building next door. I’m sorry but the lift is fucked. It’s full of needles and crap anyway. Ya sure you don’t want any help carrying Justen?” she asked with her arms extended as if ready to relieve Sylvan of the burden. “I don’t look strong but I can hold me own.”

  She kept her arms held in front of her as she flexed them. A slight bump formed where biceps should have been.

  Sylvan refrained from smiling at the comical sight and held Justen tighter as she began ascending the stairs. The muscles in her legs burned from the effort.

  “I’ll be fine. He’s not that heavy,” she lied, and then continued the struggle up the stairs.

  The hallway on the fourth floor was almost completely black. There was a faint green light filtering through a window at the end of the corridor from a lit 7 up billboard on the adjacent building.

  Squinting in the dark, Sylvan could barely make out the four doorways that extended up the corridor. The threadbare carpet barely covered the floor and on one part she thought that she may have imagined the distinct outline of a prostrate body on the carpet inscribed by chalk dust. She hugged Justen tighter and hurried to catch up with Crystal.

  The number on Crystal’s room, faded by time and neglect, hung suspended by one screw from the door.

  “Four oh one, that’s me,” Crystal said as she struggled to place the key in the grime covered lock.

  She turned the key twice, twisted the door knob and leant heavily on the door to push it open. It creaked loudly, protesting against the years of neglect.

  “Come in. Ignore the mess; it’s the maid’s day off,” she said as she snorted again.

  Sylvan entered Crystal’s room with apprehension. She was not sure what to expect. She held tightly to Justen. Although her arms ached, she did not want to put him down until she was certain it was safe.

  Scanning the room she could see that it was just that; one room.

  In one corner there was an attempt at a kitchenette. In the other corner was the bed and beside the bed there was a tiny room that housed the toilet and shower.r />
  She knew immediately that Crystal’s comment was an understatement. The whole room was filthy. Used cigarette butts lie scattered on the floor amidst empty food containers and bottles.

  The one couch in the room was buried under several layers of clothing. An old model television set squatted lopsidedly opposite the couch.

  Sylvan tried to ignore the filth and detritus. When she looked up however she found something she couldn’t ignore. Her eyes were drawn to it like a car accident. She gasped at the graphic pornographic depiction which hung above the bed.

  The image was disturbing. It depicted a mythical Centaur, half man, half beast. It was crouching behind a young naked woman who was positioned on all fours, the fires of hell swirled around her as she was held down by demons. Her lustful face obviously relishing the act.

  Crystal saw Sylvan’s horrified reaction to the picture and laughed. “What’s the matter honey, dontcha like art?”

  Sylvan was speechless. She hunched her shoulders and held Justen tightly, ensuring that he could not see the picture. She glared at Crystal and raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take it down, we don’t want Justen asking any embarrassing questions now do we?”

  Sylvan watched as Crystal proceeded to remove the picture from the wall and struggled to slide it under the bed. She nodded towards the couch.

  “I’ll get that shit off the couch so you can put him down.”

  Sylvan waited for Crystal to offload the pile of clothes onto the floor and gently put Justen down. She rubbed her arms and enjoyed the instant relief.

  She gently kissed Justen’s forehead and pulled the tattered blanket that Crystal had left on the couch up over his body.

  She smiled when she saw Justen relax and almost instantly fell back to sleep. She sat quietly listening to his breathing. There was no sign of a wheeze. She relaxed and turned towards Crystal.

  “Would you mind watching him for me so I can take a shower? I feel disgusting,” she said as she self consciously rubbed her hands down the side of her body.