The Harvester Read online

  “Watch and learn, kid. Only Harvesters with years of experience go on Harvester Hunts. One day, you’ll be on one of these Hunts.”

  The Harvesters strategically move out of an alley and to a side entrance to a hotel.

  “This is a great way to learn. We’ll watch these four Harvesters who have earpieces and mouth devices to quietly communicate with one another.”

  We watch the Harvesters enter the hotel and quickly advance to the lobby’s elevators where two more Harvesters are already present. One of them conducts hand signals to the group of four to take the nearby stairs. They nod and enter the stairwell. They make their way to the third level door. The first Harvester slowly and quietly opens the door and peers out and down each side of the hallway. All is clear. The Harvester motions with a hand gesture to exit the stairwell. They exit in a militaristic stacked formation and move pass room after room.

  “This is Agent Alpha. We’re almost at the destination mark.”

  Our eyes dart to the screen covering the two lobby elevator Harvesters.

  “Copy that. Proceed with caution. We got word from a captured Underworld spy that there might be two more than we thought in there. You shouldn’t have a problem. They’re just Underworld spies. Repeat, two more Underworlders.”

  Now we watch the four Harvesters stopping at a hotel room door.

  “Copy that,” the Harvester whispers. “We’re at our mark. About to breach.”

  “That Harvester whispering is obviously the leader,” I tell Naes. He nods in agreement with his eyes still glued to the screen.

  Two Harvesters each position themselves on either side of the door. The leader draws a sword. The other three raise their assault rifles, ready for action. The leader gives a finger count starting at five, and when the leader gets to one, two of them kick open the door and they rush in. Their head cams go to static and we lose visual. Both Naes and myself move closer to the screen with worry and concern. Their audio is still active and we can hear a fierce firefight, screams and yells of battle, and people being killed.

  “Underworld Bounty Hunters! Underworld Bounty Hunters! It was a trap!” The leader frantically reports.

  The sounds of rapid gunfire, flesh ripping, and screams of absolute horror are all that we can hear. Our eyes dart to the two elevator Harvesters.

  “We need backup now! Backup now!” One of them exclaims.

  They hop into the elevator and rise to the proper floor. The doors open and they swiftly yet cautiously maneuver out and toward the room in question. They stop at the room and the door is slightly ajar. They peer in the dark room and the first Harvester finds a light switch and turns it on. They see blood dripping from the ceiling, body parts strewn about, flesh on the walls, and streams of blood that now flow out the door.

  “Recovery Team needed immediately. We’re ending transmission.”

  They cut their transmission and the screens go black and silent. Naes and I stare at each other in silence. Our facial expressions tell it all. I grab a bottle of whisky on the table next to me, spin off the lid, and gulp down half of it. I offer the bottle to Naes and he snatches it without a second thought or pause and downs the rest.

  Later that night, as I sleep in my comfortable bed, the phone resting on the end table beside me rings once and I quickly answer it without even opening my eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  I listen closely due to the recent Harvester Hunt events.

  “Yeah. Of course. Come on up.”

  I hang the phone up and head into the kitchen. I make coffee while letting out a wide, loud yawn. There’s a knock at my front door.

  “It’s open! I unlocked it for you.”

  The door opens. I hear footsteps and Mr. Herald enters the kitchen. He sits at the table and I bring him a cup of Joe.

  “Thanks, Harv. I’ve always loved your coffee.”

  I sit across from him and sip my cup of coffee. I’ve known him for quite a while and the expression on his face tells me there’s something stirring within him that is very difficult to release in verbal form. But I act casual, obviously to get some sort of info out of him.

  “So, Gerald, why the late-night visit? You haven’t made a personal visit to my home in a long time. And if I recollect correctly, the last time was a bad situation.”

  He shifts his position in his chair and I pickup on yet another poker tell.

  “I wish I didn’t have to be here. I really do.”

  “Bad news with the trial or what?” I interrupt him.

  He clears his throat. “Worse.”

  Mr. Herald releases a distressed sigh and now I know it must be really bad news. I rack my brains as to what the news is.

  “Shit. Is it Vega?”

  He nods. “In one night, he set traps all over the States for Harvesters on the Hunt and—” His thought process is derailed due to the horrific news he has yet to divulge.

  “And?” I ask him with a concerned tone.

  “We lost two-hundred and forty-two Harvesters in one night, including ninety-six you personally trained.”

  “So let me guess. The Heads, including you, want to reinstate me to take care of business, right?”

  “You can read us like a book. Exactly. But also I wanted to come over here to personally tell you before you hear it from somebody else.”

  Now my patience is wearing thin. “Spit it out, Gerald.”

  Mr. Herald rocks in his spot and runs a hand through his balding hair. “One of the Harvesters . . . well . . . killed out of San Francisco”—my eyes grow wide with fearful anticipation—“was Harvester Agent number 2759.”

  I drop my cup of coffee and it breaks on the floor. He lowers his head. I fall back into my chair with tears in my eyes. This news hits me like a speeding locomotive smashing into a small car. Mr. Herald tries to console me, but his words, I cannot hear. I am now in a complete and total daze.

  The next morning, I march down one of the Agency’s many hallways like a man on a mission who has no other alternative except to accomplish it. Due to my superior, keen hearing, I can hear people talking about me. Like these two desk reps I’m heading toward.

  “I feel sorry for the Underworld now, man.”

  “I wonder if they even knew his daughter was one of the Harvesters killed in San Francisco?”

  “I wouldn’t put it pass them. But I don’t think it was a wise move to piss off Harvey.”

  I stop and look at them. “It wasn’t a wise move.”

  They stare at me in shock, and I continue down the hallway.

  Naes runs up to me with tears in his eyes.

  “Harvey, I’m so sorry that—”

  “Get all your gear. Your hands-on training begins now.” I leave Naes in his place and head toward the Heads’ meeting room.

  “Yes, sir,” Naes replies.

  Once again, I find myself standing in front of the six Heads with the same bright, white light shining down on me, but no stenographer this time. This will be off the record and for good reason. If they want my services, especially with my daughter being murdered, I will dictate how the show will go down.

  “I will have complete control of this job. Whatever I need, you’ll supply. I decide who my crew will be. Everything I want—guess what?—I get. If not, well, I won’t go through with this and thousands of Harvesters will die daily. This is only the beginning, I assure you. Like the Ancient prophecy says, the rise of the Necropolis is going to begin soon, and Vega is responsible for ushering it in earlier than expected. And I’m your only resort, period. And the six of you know it,” I tell them with conviction and determination in my voice.

  I catch Mr. Herald smiling, and the others appear to know I’m right. Mr. Chan is upset with having to reinstate me. He has always disliked me for some reason. Maybe someday, I’ll beat it out of him, literally.

  Four of the Heads—Mr. Laveaux, Ms. Hernandez, Ms. Smith, and Mr. Zundu—always finish each other’s sentences. It’s strange.

  “You’ll get everyt
hing you need. But keep in mind—”

  “What you’re doing for us now—”

  “Will have no bearing whatsoever—”

  “On your upcoming trial.”

  Mr. Herald, as usual, defends me the best he can. “Although the law should consider a lighter sentence for his active enlistment in this war if found guilty. Right?”

  He looks at the other Heads with a stern expression, and with the exception of Mr. Chan, of course, they nod in agreement.

  I continue with, “I will need everything on the list I have given to Mr. Herald within an hour.”

  Without being excused, I turn and head toward the exit. I look back while walking and see Ms. Hernandez stand. “We expect daily reports, Harvester Agent number 2748.”

  I keep my back to the Heads and keep walking.

  “The name is Harvey, and I only report to Mr. Herald.” I glance back to see their priceless reactions.

  They look at Mr. Herald, and he shrugs his shoulders. “Hey, don’t blame me.”

  Outside, on the Agency’s beautiful, vibrant, sprawling grass field, I pace back and forth in front of the six Harvesters, including Naes, whom I have personally chosen. They stand at attention as if in the military. All eyes are on me, as they should be.

  “The six of you are directly working for me on this job, and you will only take orders from me for now on. I have chosen you six because after me you’re the best of the best. I’m not going to lie to you and say all of us will survive this job at hand because we will not. This will be your hardest, most demanding harvest job of your careers, period, end of frickin’ story. You will see things only researched on at the Academy and had nightmares about in your deep slumber. You will do things you thought you’d never have to. Now, with all that said, do all of you still want to volunteer to attack the nucleus of the Underworld fighting side by side with me? If you don’t, don’t be ashamed and leave now for reassignment.”

  I scan over everyone and spot a bit of fear and intimidation, but nobody leaves. I nod at them because I am proud of them all.

  “Good. Now, I have a list of top Underworlders that we’re going to take out, and we’re going to do them by the numbers, one by one. We’re going to hit ’em hard and strong and get out quick and fast. Let’s get down to business, Harvesters.”

  I walk off and as expected they follow me in unison.

  “Let me inform you now. The next few days will be filled with actions on Underworlders on my list. The first case: Odin.

  As a crew, we track down Odin one late night. His car stopped at a red light on Grant Street. His windows are down as he places a cigarette between his lips. I oblige the lighting of his smoke by quickly presenting my lighter to him. He’s a bit surprised but accepts the fire from my lighter.

  “Thanks,” he says as he looks up and realizes who I am.

  His cigarette drops from his lips and lands in his lap. He motions to slam the gas pedal, but Naes is fast to react by swiping his sword through the passenger’s side window and completely through Odin’s neck. Blood squirts everywhere. He chokes on his own blood.

  “I love that sound,” Naes states right before he slices his sword forward, then backward. Odin’s head plops onto the floor mat. I nod my head a few times at Naes.

  “Effective, Naes. One down, many more to go.”

  Later, outside of a bar, a man and a woman exit and stroll down the sidewalk. I watch from my car as two of my crew members dump gasoline on them from atop the bar’s roof. They look up at them, and I can tell they realize they’re Harvesters. I’ve seen that look a million times.

  The woman smells the gasoline on her. “Oh shit. It’s gas!”

  The Underworlders turn to escape, but Naes and the third member both toss a box of lit matches onto them. They ignite instantly. They scream in pain as they scramble about the area. I can’t help but smile as my crew lops off their heads. I rev up my Barracuda, slam it into gear, rip a U-turn, and stop curbside. The two on the roof leap off and perfectly land without a problem. The four of them hop into my car, and I speed off. I look in the rearview mirror and see the two balls of flame drop and don’t move at all.

  Two more on the list extinguished.

  “Great job, team,” I tell my crew, and I mean it.

  It’s about the Witching Hour, and we continue without rest.

  The next eight Underworlders go to the After in the exact same fashion: their heads go sailing through the air with a grimace on their faces and blood spurting out of their necks. But the next on my list combines the two things I love the most: killing Underworlders and driving really frickin’ fast. I know what kind of car he drives.

  Naes and I, on foot, chase after Rex, a repeat offender for fifty-two years and once a stunt driver for Hollywood. This is going to be fun because I know where most likely this is going to end up. He escapes, temporarily, into his tricked out ’68 Camaro, and Naes and I hop into my Barracuda. Chevy versus Plymouth. Hollywood couldn’t have picked two better cars for a chase scene! Rex takes off, and the car chase is on. Naes is already holding on for dear life. The streets are perfect for a car chase. Nearly no traffic or pedestrians, and there is a full moon. I love full moons. Full moons light up the earth better and aid your vision, especially for a high-speed chase that exceeds one hundred miles per hour. We are already approaching that speed as we rip down Broadway Boulevard.

  I ram Rex’s bumper, and it causes him to lose a bit of control and forces him to turn haphazardly left onto Country Club Avenue. He inadvertently drives up the curb, runs over a mailbox, and continues down the street.

  “You’re enjoying this way too much, Harvey.”

  “I can enjoy it more.” I shift gears, and my ’Cuda’s RPMs skyrocket.

  “How can you enjoy it more?” Naes asks with a slight hint of concern in his voice.

  “Easy,” I say. I open the center console, and with my eyes, I motion to Naes to look down, and he sees my nitrous oxide speed enhancement system. He shakes his head with closed eyes.

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes,” I remark with a childish grin of excitement.

  I push my ’Cuda more, and I know she has more to give. When I drive like this, I feel like Steve McQueen and Kurt Russel’s character Stuntman Mike. I love it!

  Rex makes a high-speed driving mistake. He doesn’t downshift on time when making a turn onto First Street. It gives me the advantage when he loses control of his Camaro due to too much speed and has to slam on the brakes. Now I’m able to pull up alongside of him. Naes hangs out the window with his .223 Buschmaster automatic assault rifle.

  He riddles the side of the Camaro with bullets, but it doesn’t stop Rex’s plight. He shifts properly and I can hear his horsepower revving up. He speeds ahead of us and I keep perfectly in tow.

  “Damn, I love this!” I shout out loud.

  We rocket toward a busy intersection, and our light is red.

  I really don’t think we’re going to stop. Rex is about to run the red light when a city bus crosses at the same time.

  Rex’s back end is smashed by the bus, sending the Camaro into a liquor store window. I come to an abrupt stop and wait for the traffic to clear. We realize that Rex’s car has stalled out.

  “We got him!” Naes exclaims.

  “Not yet,” I retort in order to keep him alert and on guard.

  The traffic clears and I drive toward Rex. Rex’s engine starts and he rips it into reverse and pulls out of the damaged liquor store. I smile at Naes.

  “See? The chase continues, Naes.”

  Rex peels out and speeds off. I pursue and gain on him. He heads for the railroad tracks, and due to the rise in the road, he launches a few feet into the air when he crosses them. I hope his landing is rough to the point of damaging his suspension or alignment or his axles or all of the above. I downshift and smoothly drive over the railroad tracks. When Rex lands, sparks shoot out from his under carriage. I know where he’s going, and when it comes to an open, wide road l
ike a freeway, nobody tops me. I look over at Naes for a split second and he appears worried as we approach the freeway.

  “No. Not the freeway again,” Naes worriedly says.

  The last time I was on the freeway with Naes as my copilot, I admit, I made a big mistake. I ran my ’Cuda too long and hard, and two of my tires popped, and well, we kind of flipped numerous times. I don’t blame him for not wanting to go on the freeway. Especially since then, I added the nitrous oxide system. Now I can go even faster than before our accident, and this must make Naes a bit concerned.

  We fly onto the freeway doing 115. Traffic is semicongested, so my weaving in and out skills will definitely be tested. I look forward to it. I engage my last gear and race up alongside Rex’s tough Camaro.

  “You’re up, Naes.”

  Naes repeatedly fires at Rex. He blows out his driver’s side window and penetrates his left shoulder. He veers to the right and sideswipes a van, which sends the van skidding off the freeway and crashing into a concrete embankment. I feel bad for them but not that bad to stop the pursuit. Rex is our goal and the only thing on our minds. He’s a crucial element to Vega’s army, and he must be harvested. Rex gathers his composure and speeds up. Two big eighteen-wheeler rigs are ahead of us, and I know this is the time to make the move.

  Rex hangs a gun out his window and fires upon my car.

  My baby! I think to myself as my beauty gets riddled with bullets. The only good thing to come out of this is that the chase is still on. I look in my rearview mirror and see something I don’t particularly want to see now—two police cars with their sirens on are now a part of the chase.

  “This should be interesting,” I say with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I don’t think I like your idea of interesting, Harvey.”

  I know Rex sees the police too because he pulls a move that the police do when chasing a criminal. He bumps the vehicle ahead of him with his bumper, making the vehicle spinout. I avoid the crash with textbook stuntman-style driving, but one of the cops isn’t quick enough and collides with the vehicle. They both crash and the cop’s engine block catches fire. The chase continues, but now there’s a severe traffic jam behind us due to Rex’s move. I must give him some credit, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that his head is mine.