A gentle wind brushed flakes of dead skin from the Harvester’s carcass. The skull lolled forward.
“I see,” Carrion intoned. The crowd waited to hear what judgment had been passed down.
Mike West waited for the death sentence.
Then, the skull exploded.
Purple-gray fragments of bone flew outward in a dust cloud, and the cannibals screamed, all of them, running in circles and thrashing their limbs. Carrion pulled a spear from the floor of the cart and looked into the trees. “It was an assassin! Assassin!”
Jack DaVinci stepped into view, on a sturdy tree limb overlooking the clearing, and aimed his Colt revolver at Carrion’s head. “It was me.”
The cannibals looked up in horror. “I am an officer of the law!” DaVinci shouted.
“Holy Christ,” West gasped. “They won’t listen, DaVinci! They won’t-”
Carrion hurled his spear. DaVinci pivoted to his right and watched it rocket by.
“I never miss!” Carrion yowled.
“Me neither,” DaVinci said, and fired.
Carrion pitched backward, head over heels, off the cart and into the rock. The cannibals began to scatter, some fleeing, others grabbing at stones and sticks and whatever they could find.
DaVinci picked off a couple at the edge of the pack, and the rest fled screaming bloody murder.
“Stay where you are, dreamers. I’m coming down.”
“What are we now, under arrest?”
“Just stay there. Where are the other two?”
“Down the mountain. God knows what’s happened to them.”
DaVinci put his hands on the ropes binding West. “We don’t have much time before the cannibals come back. I saw your van, it’s still out on the plain. Any idea where they took those other two?”
“Are we under arrest?” West repeated.
“You’re in my custody,” DaVinci said, “and thank God for it.”
“Did you say ‘thank God’?”
“It’s an expression.”
He cut the ropes.
“They said the others were going to justice court,” West told DaVinci, rubbing his bruised wrists. Amanda caught Lucy up in a hug that could’ve squeezed the life from her, but it didn’t.
“We’ll take one of the back trails down the mountain, hopefully we’ll come across your boys - right now I’m just intent on getting you to that van.” DaVinci started off, overcoat billowing, salt-and-pepper hair blown back, looking like a motherfucking messiah atop Mount Tindalos.
Least, that’s how he looked in Bruce’s eyes.
10.
In The Shit
Rigor Mort held the ropes binding Cutter and Hitch’s hands, pushing them right to the edge of the pit, leaning them over the stakes. “Isn’t looking good for ya, lads.”
The sounds of panic came down the mountain, faint screams punctuated by falling rocks. “Hold it!” Head shouted, glaring upward. “Someone go see what’s happening!”
Mort pulled Cutter and Hitch back. The screams grew louder. Then came the reports of gunshots.
“We’re under attack!” Head cried.
Cutter spun and drove his forehead into Mort’s face, crushing his nose and his horrible grin. He hooked his leg around the cannibal’s and tilted him toward the pit.
“No!” Mort cried, spitting teeth.
“Oh hell yes,” Cutter shouted, and toppled the bastard over the edge.
Rigor Mort hit the stakes with a THUCK THUCK THUCK that was followed by dark geysers of blood. Hitch turned away, saw a wall of cannibals at his back. They looked uncertain; the uncertainty wouldn’t last long. It would be taken over by the fight or flight response. It would send Hitch screaming into that pit.
He ran headlong into them, spearing one with his head. Cutter did likewise, then threw his entire body into several of them, cracking their heads together with his thrashing legs. He screamed until his lungs were raw, kicking and butting them like a madman. And they began to retreat.
Head pulled a stone knife from his suit and ran around the pit. “Terrorists!” He shrieked. Hitch looked up and saw the cannibal coming straight at him. He swung one leg out, caught Head’s hand and sent the knife flying.
Cutter threw all his weight into Head, driving him face first into the dirt, and battered him with his torso and knees. “Fuck you, bastard!” Cutter snarled, grabbing Head’s ear between his teeth and ripping cartilage away from flesh. The cannibal cried and begged for mercy, but Cutter was lost in his rage.
The justice court was empty now, save for Hitch and Cutter and the unfortunate Head. Screams could be heard from the trees, followed by more gunshots. “What in hell is going on?” Hitch yelled. “Cutter, c’mon! Let’s get out of here!”
Cutter got up, drove one last knee into Head’s ribs, and turned to Hitch. “Lead the way, mapmaker.”
They ran into the forest. For some reason, they followed the screaming; knowing that whoever was causing the pandemonium had to be on their side. It had to be West, somehow getting back to the van and the guns. Hitch and Cutter barreled through the trees, then came upon-
Jack DaVinci, cramming more rounds into his Colt with a speed loader, and blasting away at the fleeing cannibals. West and Amanda and Lucy were with him. “Holy shit!” Hitch cried.
“You get behind me!” DaVinci hollered. “We’re on our way out of here!”
They followed DaVinci through another range of trees, with cannibals all around, darting past here and there, still screaming for their lives. DaVinci fired more shots into the air until it seemed they had put some distance between themselves and the savages.
They emerged on a level plain that looked familiar to Hitch. This was the plain just off of the freeway. “Van’s up ahead!” Jack yelled.
“Terrorists!” Head howled, streaking out of the trees with a spear in his hands. DaVinci turned and put a bullet through each of his knees. The cannibal pitched forward, snapping the spear in two and sinking into the grass with a resigned yelp.
“You see the van?” DaVinci yelled.
“I see it!” West answered.
“Then go!” DaVinci ordered, and ran back toward Head.
Hitch looked at Cutter, who shrugged. “Let’s get a move on!”
Amanda scooped Lucy up into her arms. Hitch grabbed her upper arm and helped push her along. The van was just ahead, sitting amongst several rock piles.
“I don’t know why, DaVinci, but thank you,” West breathed as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Everyone all right? Everyone here?”
“We’re good to go!” Cutter said, pounding the wall as he got into the back. “Start ‘er up!”
The van rumbled to life, and West swerved around the rock piles, heading back toward the freeway.
“What about puppy?” Lucy cried.
“He’s gone, sweetheart!” Cutter said.
“They said they wouldn’t hurt him,” Amanda said to Lucy. “He’ll be all right. He’ll-”
“Son of a bitch,” Cutter whistled, settling into the passenger seat and looking out the window.
The dog was running alongside the car, tongue hanging down to the ground, tail wagging like it was going to come right off.
“Slow down!” Cutter said, opening his door. He leaned out and beckoned to the animal. “C’mon boy!”
The dog got close enough for Cutter to grab it by the scruff of its neck, and he hauled it into the van and dropped it into the back, right into Lucy’s lap.
“Oh my God!” Amanda exclaimed. Tears streamed down her face. She began to laugh. She grabbed Lucy, then Hitch, and they all laughed and petted the dog in the girl’s arms.
“Thank you,” Amanda mouthed to Cutter. He shrugged.
The freeway was up ahead. Pressing on the gas, West glanced in the rearview mirror to see if any of the cannibals were coming after them. “What in the...?”
There was a taxicab cutting through the grass. It was DaVinci.
“I guess we’re not in the clear
just yet,” West said. Cutter looked in his mirror and pursed his lips. “I don’t know, boss. That guy just cut us loose, saved our necks.”
“He said we’re in his custody.”
“Well, that’s better than being eaten alive, I think.”
“I guess we’ll settle this once we’re back on the road,” West muttered. “You might want to grab yourself another gun, Cutter.”
Cutter looked into the back and sighed. “Cannibals took ‘em all.”
“Then we’ll just wait,” West said, grim doubt in his voice. “Just wait and see.”
***
He’d found old, rotten brains in the man’s suit pockets. He’d smelled the gray matter on the bastard’s breath. He knew they had similar tastes.
“You like the dream-meat, as they say?” Jack DaVinci asked of his companion. Bound and gagged, Head struggled in the backseat of the cab.
“I’ll bet your brain is rich with that sweet elixir,” DaVinci said. “Your cortex must be the size of a nut. God, I can’t wait.”
Head shook his head frantically. DaVinci just smiled. “It’s all rather ironic, isn’t it? Don’t you just hate that?”
Head tossed and turned in the backseat, whimpering. DaVinci sighed contentedly. “This is what I live for, pal. I’m sure you understand.”
In his mind, he walked through the procedure, the nanoplastomy. It would be a mess out here with his simple tools, but he had to get at this boy’s little nugget of inspiration. He owed it to himself. Then, he’d decide how to deal with the dreamers.
“We’re so much alike, you and me,” DaVinci said. “Even down to our respect for the law. Yet you seem to have it bass-ackwards. You see what happens when you go on dreaming? I mean, I dream now and then, but it’s a limited, controlled experience. You’re worshipping a fucking dead Harvester up there and eating human flesh. That’s just insane.”
Head tried to say something through his gag. DaVinci just nodded along. The cab thumped as they pulled back onto the freeway. “Dreams are like a drug. It’s the drug Nightmare craves, it’s the drug you’ve OD’d on. If only these dreamers understood...maybe they will, in time.”
The van was about a quarter-mile ahead. DaVinci leaned on the accelerator. “When we next set up camp, that’s when I’ll cut you. It’ll be painless. Mostly. I promise. Better than you deserve.”
Head let out a muffled scream. “You eat people,” DaVinci snapped. “Shut the fuck up.”
The rest of the ride was pleasant. DaVinci would follow the van until nightfall, then they’d make camp - as he was sure they’d planned to anyway - and he’d get his nugget. They didn’t have to know about that.
***
The cannibals stopped screaming when the van and cab left. They appraised the situation, mourned their losses, and set about repairing the President’s skull.
Then the Others came.
“Clean sweep,” Bruce said as he stepped down from the strike truck. “Don’t bother recording your kills. Just neutralize this place.”
Bruce and his dog set off into the woods. Cinnamon and Delmar went up the mountain. Macendale stood beside the truck, Gyro in either hand, and waited for them to come to him.
They did, with rocks and spears and such, and he mowed them down with surgical precision, one bullet to each target, sometimes less, bringing down a tree or setting off a chemical fire that consumed a few of them. It was easy work. Macendale anticipated the confrontation with DaVinci, the legendary detective. It wasn’t that he took pleasure in any of his kills, but DaVinci presented a challenge that would help Macendale evolve as a hunter.
“On to DaVinci, then,” Bruce said, returning with his dog at his side. “Remember, we want to apprehend him. It appears he’s in a pursuit himself - if the dreamers get in the way, take them out.”
“Didn’t you say you saw him set them free?” Cinnamon asked.
“Yes, but I’m sure it was only to meet his own ends,” Bruce replied. “It’s his way. Let’s make sure we’re done here, then move out.”
***
At twilight, West pulled the van over to the shoulder. He and the others sat quietly and awaited DaVinci’s approach.
The cab settled behind them like a cop pulling someone over. West remembered seeing old videotapes of cops at work, a long time ago, and wondered if DaVinci tried to emulate them.
The cop came up alongside the van, revolver in hand. “West, is it?”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you tell me what your mission is?”
“We’re out to kill the Harvesters, DaVinci. We know a way. We can cripple them. But it’s crucial that we get to the coast as soon as possible.”
“How’re you going to do it?”
“Missiles, torpedoes. When they’re cloistered. The shock to the hive mind will kill the lot of them, I swear it.”
“Hmm.” DaVinci tapped the Colt against his chest and thought it over. “You really believe in this.”
“I’ve seen it work on a smaller scale. I know this is possible.”
“And then, what becomes of all of us? Dreamers and undreamers, do we just join hands and return to the world as it once was?”
“Well, we’ll have the bots to deal with - but I think they’ll stand down once we’ve accomplished this.”
DaVinci leaned against the van and massaged his temples. “By God. By God.”
“There’s that God again.”
“It’s an expression.”
“This will work, DaVinci. If you’ll let us try. We can remain in your custody, fine, but please let us try.”
“I’m going to radio Gotham and let them know about this,” DaVinci said. “Then we’ll move forward. But you are in my custody. Understood?”
“Yes.”
DaVinci walked back to the cab, winked at Head, grabbed the radio mic. “Gotham? You read me? This is DaVinci.”
Static.
“To hell with this,” he muttered. “Haven’t been able to raise Gotham since we crossed the state line. Hear that, Mister Cannibal? Just you and me.”
He walked back to the van. “All right, Gotham knows we’re out here and that I’ve got you. Are you wanting to set up camp for the night?”
“That’d be best,” West replied through the driver’s side window.
“Let’s do that,” DaVinci said.
“Wait,” West leaned out the window and looked past DaVinci. “Is that - is that another car?”
DaVinci turned and narrowed his eyes. “Shit. Whoever it is, they’re not with me.”
“Cannibals!”
“Let’s go. I’m gonna drive alongside you. You got any weapons?”
“They cleaned us out.”“All right then, leave it to me.”
11.
Road Work
Delmar was at the wheel. Bruce and Macendale prepped their weapons.
“I’ll provide cover fire,” Cinnamon said from the back. Bruce nodded. He tucked his dog into a kennel bolted to the wall and shut it. “You rest, boy.”
“Cab and van are running in tandem,” Delmar said. “DaVinci’s in the cab.”
“We can use the van to stop the taxi,” Bruce said. “It’ll take precision - leave it to me.”
A bullet glanced off the windshield. “DaVinci’s firing on us!”
“I’m going to disable the van and make a blockade of it,” Bruce said, opening a panel in the strike vehicle’s ceiling. “I’ll push DaVinci off the road. Don’t respond to his firing - if the dreamers fire, you can counterattack.”
He pulled himself onto the roof of the vehicle.
They were right up against the taxicab and van, both going about 80 MPH in their adjacent lanes. He could see DaVinci’s arm extending out the cab’s window, revolver in hand.
“Here we go,” Bruce said, and threw himself onto the roof of the van.
Inside, chaos erupted. “What are they doing?!” Amanda shrieked.
“Look at that truck!” West shouted. “Jesus, they aren’t cannibals. They
’re-”
Bruce tore a sheaf of metal away from the roof and said, “Agents of mercy.”
“FUCK YOU!” Cutter shouted, leaping up and grabbing Bruce’s ankle. The bot fell onto the roof, nearly going over the edge but catching himself. He pulled out his Gyro. “I will use excessive force!”
Cutter grabbed at the spear that had come through the windshield and knocked Amanda out. He tore it free of the wall and-
Gunfire ripped open the roof. Amanda shoved a screaming Lucy under the nearest cot. Hitch flattened himself against the wall. West was crying out Mandy’s name as he tried to keep their hurtling torture train on course.
Cutter pulled himself up and drove the spear into Bruce’s thigh. “No good!” They both shouted, and Cutter dropped back into the van.
Then Bruce was smacked with a hail of gunshots, big ol’ Colt rounds pounding his skull and sending him reeling. “Robots!” DaVinci cried. “Fucking robots!”
Bruce leapt back onto the strike truck. “Macendale, backup!”
The other bot climbed onto the roof with a Gyro in each hand. “Which target?”
“Take the van out!” Bruce yelled. Macendale broke into a run.
“Son NO-”
Macendale landed on the van’s ragged rooftop and blasted away with both guns.
West jerked the wheel to the left, colliding with the taxi. Macendale flew off into the night, came down between them, grasped at any handhold and found none.
The strike truck ran over him.
Macendale down, Bruce shouted in his head. He climbed down onto the hood of the truck and took aim at the van’s driver. DaVinci popped him in the skull again. “Stop!” Bruce shouted.
“Fuck you!” DaVinci replied, and unloaded the rest of his rounds into Bruce’s chest.
He smashed through the windshield, into Delmar, and they all felt the sickening lurch as the strike truck went over on its side, off the freeway, down into a ditch where it impacted with a sound like Armageddon.
Bruce hit the ceiling, slid through glass and settled somewhere dark and cold. Who’s with me?
The Harvest Cycle Page 8
