The Harvester Read online

  Vega and I knew what we had to do to figure out where these skilled snipers’ locations are. And then we will take ’em out. We entered the small town terrorized by the two snipers. The citizens were forced to stay indoors twenty-four-seven. I made my way into a partially damaged ten-story building and take a position by a well fortified blown out window. Obviously, someone had used this spot.

  Hopefully, it pans out for me. I signal to Vega, who then limps to the middle of the road riddled by burnt out vehicles. I scan the area for any clues as to where they might be. I see none. Suddenly, Vega draws sniper fire, a single shot, and Vega is hit in the stomach. But now I have a fix on one of ’em. I caught a glimpse of the sniper pulling his gun back in the window to a building about 150 yards down the road. Not a hard shot for me.

  I signal to Vega, and he continues to limp, and now holds his stomach wound, which doesn’t bother him as much as one would think due to being unique, a Harvester. Now I dope my sniper scope for distance and for the slight wind that has picked up. I aim in the sniper’s direction and get ready for him to fire again. He slowly and stealthily comes out the window a bit. I immediately fire and through my scope I see that I connect with a headshot. His brains splatter on the wall, and he falls out of my scope’s view.

  Now the second sniper will be more difficult. From the profile we have on him, we knew he has many more years experience than the first and a lot more kills under his belt. His nickname is The Ghost and for obvious reasons. We will have to use a different tactic.

  We begin a structure to structure search which takes quite a while and find nothing. We thought that maybe he fled due to his partner being taken out so easily and him thinking we’re that good. So we find ourselves on top of the tallest structure in the town scanning the surrounding roaming hillsides and prairies through our sniper scopes.

  Vega taps me on the shoulder right as a bullet rings out.

  We dive for cover and the bullet whizzes maybe a foot or less over us. We quickly hop up and point our rifles in the direction of the bullet’s trajectory. Now we see the sniper, making a mad dash for the forest, a thousand yards away. A difficult shot, but manageable. We fire at him damn near at the same time. We see the sniper take one bullet to the head and the second through his back. He drops dead just before the forest. We radio it in to the boys, and they enter the town in a celebratory manner.

  Another derailment for Hitler, and we’re ecstatic about that.

  Vega and I were also in the Korean War and then the war that tore a country apart and us as partners, the Vietnam War. This is when Vega became jaded and decided to create a more powerful, new Underworld due to what he saw in ‘Nam. He truly felt the Living Government was a travesty, and he wanted to implement his own consisting of Dead Ones.

  To add to the horror of his idea, he thought it was crucial to implement Underworld spies in every major facets of society: politics, law, stock exchange, United Nations, drug trafficking, entertainment, and especially the military. Now, presently, the Agency has weeded out most of his spies in most of these areas, but there’s still several of them across the world. We must find them. Especially, which of the Heads is the traitor. But the problem at hand is Vega’s hands on the Agency’s list and him having his very own Master Hole. We use the Holes to send the recently deceased to where they deserve to go. Vega uses his Hole to recruit new Underworlders for his army.

  Naes, Charon, and myself find we are in a deadly game of cat and mouse with Vega and his army, a kind of game of hide-and-seek from both sides. Truth be told, humans have known of our existence for many years. Due to the war between the Agency and the Underworld, well, we were the ones who spawned the idea for comic books and graphic novels. All of our abilities and strengths that they knew we had were put into the term superheroes and villains. Did we see any of that money or given any credit? Hell no.

  Many decades ago, this one Harvester, during his natural life, was a real, bona fide World War II hero. His real name, Dorian, age twenty-seven. Ironically, he survived nine major battles, but when he got home to his idyllic town of Monterey, California, he walked across the street and was hit and killed by a public bus that loss its brakes. Four years in the war and he survives. One week as a civilian and—bam!—he’s dead.

  Now, when someone dies, this is how it works and has always been for over three millennia. Once your soul leaves your body, like in Dorian’s case, it travels to whatever Agency is closest to you, basically whatever continent you’re on at the time of death. Dorian’s, North America, under Mr. Herald’s control. There, you’re scrutinized and judged for the bad deeds in your human life and honored for your good. The six Heads have been given permission by a Higher Power to judge you and decide where you deserve to go: Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory.

  In Dorian’s case, even though he had taken lives in the name of war, it was decided that he would go to Heaven. With the decision of Heaven, at that point, especially with his amazing combat abilities, is when the Agency steps in with a proposal. Either you can be escorted to the gates of Heaven for admittance, or you can join the Academy to be trained to be a Harvester for a mandatory century of service. More times than not, you’d be surprised just how many want to be Harvesters. At that point, they are taken to the Academy for a very demanding, stringent Harvester Agent training. And what I mean by demanding and stringent is that 97 percent washout in the first month. Washout, meaning they can’t handle it and are cut from the Academy and sent to the After for good. In my friend Charon Espy’s case, the Agency banned him from Harvesting due to being too sanguinary and was given a pass to be allowed to stay in the Here. Very rare. Once someone washes out, a Harvester Agent personally escorts them through a Hole to Heaven straight to Saint Peter where they are admitted at once. Overall, it’s a win-win for them.

  Sometimes, the ones who deserve to go to Purgatory or Hell will fight to get away back to the Here. If they do, that’s when Vega attempts to step in, gives them the offer to train ’em and take ’em under the flag of the Underworld Army. They must vow an allegiance to the Underworld’s cause or be terminated. Vega’s success rate with recruiting is 98 percent. Very impressive, I must admit. On top of this, none of the Agencies know where the Underworld’s headquarters is located. They have safe houses all over the world, but their headquarters have never been found. Even when we have captured Underworlders and put them through a session with our Halo of Truth to extract info, there was nothing. I have my theory though. If you wanted to be in the most secretive, almost impossible place to get to type of location, where would you place your headquarters? There’s a place on this planet that has only been visited to once, and it was by two US Navy Midshipmen on January 23, 1960, and for some reason, nobody has been allowed to go back.

  The location: Mariana Trench. It’s the deepest place on this planet and for reasons unknown, nobody has been given the green light to go back. Why? I have a theory for that too. The Underworld has people in all facets of life and would be able to make sure no more further expeditions would ever take place there again. Being Underworlders, they would be able to handle the compression that deep in the ocean where humans in the open would literally explode under the pressure of the water’s weight. Someday, I’ll investigate my theory myself.

  Today’s Sunday and for some reason, I’m in a particularly good mood. Unusual for me, especially with all the unfortunate events going on at this time. I sit across from Naes at a booth at a mom-and-pop-style diner, and I eat a bloody rare steak and fully loaded baked potato. Naes eats a Caesar’s salad. Yes, not too manly for a main meal. And he’s making us Harvesters look bad.

  “A salad? Really?”

  “I’m on a diet, man.”

  “A diet? You’re dead. Hence, the reason you don’t need to worry about losing or gaining any weight.”

  A little kid turns around in the next booth, and it’s obvious he overheard me because he stares at me with a suspicious glare. I give him an evil expression. “Boo.”
r />   The kid gets frightened and quickly turns back around.

  “And being dead, you don’t even need to eat.”

  “So why then do we do it, Harvey?”

  “For me, it makes me feel as if I’m still alive. And we fit in better to not be spotted out as Harvesters.”

  Suddenly, the TV on the counter beside us has a late breaking news report. A female reporter has her cameraman film everything at 1600 Pennsylvania Boulevard—yes, the White House. As it happens, she reports that a bright, large White Door appears out of nowhere and several men rocket out of it and control everyone around it. Then, the next part shocks the hell out of all of us.

  The men kidnap the president of the United States and force him back into the White Door, and they vanish as quickly as they arrived.

  “Shit. This isn’t good,” I say to Naes.

  “Of course it’s not. It’s the damn president,” Naes remarks.

  “I’m talking about for us Harvesters. The Living will think we had something to do with this, and it’ll be the Salem witch trials, the Spanish Inquisition all over again. We can always get another president again, but the world needs the Agency.”

  “Good point. I like the way you think, Harv.”

  Everyone in the diner murmurs amongst themselves and appear very worried and concerned.

  “I wonder what Vega’s up to now,” I comment to Naes.

  He looks at me. “You know him best, Harv. What do you think?”

  I go into deep thought and tune out all sounds. My thought process is interrupted by my cell ringing. Without looking at my caller ID, I know who it is. I answer. “Yeah?” I listen for a few seconds, and I notice Naes curiously staring at me for some sort confirmation. “Okay, you got it.”

  I hang up, and I’m immediately assaulted by Naes’s curiosity. “Who was that? What are we going to do? What the hell?”

  “Calm down, kid. That was Mr. Herald. We have some work to do now. Pay the tab and make sure to tip at least 20 percent.”

  I stand as Naes pulls out money to pay.

  “Are you ever going to pay a tab?”

  “I pay by training you. Let’s go.”

  The boy who stared at me earlier now glares at me as if I’m responsible for the president’s kidnapping. If I’m already getting that from a child, I can only imagine how it’s going to be soon from others. And it won’t be good. As soon as we approach the door, a small mob of diners forms around us. So it begins. The ringleader of the mob vigorously points his finger at us.

  “That’s them. They’re Harvesters and their people kidnapped the president!”

  I glance over to Naes. “Told ya’.”

  “We had nothing—”

  A few of them attack Naes. I shake my head at this nonsense. I know how to end this bullshit. I swiftly draw my sword and one handgun. “Stop! We are Harvesters, but we are not Underworlders. They’re the ones who kidnapped the president!”

  They stop their violent actions on Naes and watch me help Naes to his feet. The ringleader shakes his head with anger.

  “We will personally make sure your organization will crumble and all you freaks will be sent to where you deserve to go. You’re all freaks of nature!” the ringleader shouts.

  This type of behavior is going to make our job even more difficult. As we get to the door, I look back at the ringleader. “Yeah, good luck with that, tough guy.”

  Maybe this was one of Vega’s goals: to discredit the Agency and bring it down beyond its knees. I have a feeling there’s more to come. I know Vega too well, and he’s damn creative and very driven. I have to find out two crucially important facts. One, which Head is in bed with Vega? And two, where’s the Underworlder headquarters because that’s most likely where they took the president.

  Naes and I step out of the diner and right into an onslaught of bullets. We dive in opposite directions and take cover behind vehicles, which get riddled by the fire power. Glass shatters all around us. Civilians yell in horror at whatever is attacking us and scramble to safety.

  A few don’t make it and drop injured and dead.

  I hand signal to Naes which means, “Do you have a fix on our shooters?”

  He shakes his head no. A hand grenade rolls to my feet, but I’m quick to react, and I snatch it and hurl it over the vehicle. It explodes a second later, making a car explode as well. The explosion is so intense the ground quakes.

  I rip off the side view mirror from the vehicle I’m hiding behind. I raise it a bit to see who and where our attackers might be. I’m not happy when I see what I see. It wasn’t just the gunplay that terrified the civilians. I’m rather sure they saw who was doing all the gun firing: Section 520 creatures, four of them. And I don’t blame anyone for running for their lives when they saw four people genetically altered to be crossbred with the deadliest scorpion in the world. If I was a civilian and saw a half Dead One, half scorpion, scurrying down the side of a building with guns in their claws, I’d run as well.

  Their stingers alone look about eight feet long. Normally, in the animal world, the smaller the scorpion, the deadlier. But not in this case. These ones are incredibly large. Vega must have some genius of a mad scientist working for him, and I already loathe him with intensity. Naes pokes his head over the trunk and sees what we are up against.

  “Oh shit! Quick! Use Djinn’s new eye burner out device!”

  I don’t want to tell him because it may rattle Naes, but I have a bad feeling Vega improved on his experiments, and it won’t work. But what the hell, right? I pull out the same device as the four Section 520 creatures crawl down the building. I aim it at them and let the device blare away. The area is engulfed by the severe white light that emanates from it. I can still hear the scurrying sounds of their claws moving across the street towards us.

  “It didn’t work! They’re coming! I can hear ’em!” I yell at Naes.

  I turn off the device to reveal all four of them halfway across the street. For only the second time in my career as being a Harvester, I’m not sure what I should do.

  The first time was when I was at the halfway point of my career as a Harvester. I already had quite the reputation as one to not be trifled with, and I must admit, I enjoyed it. Harvesters looked up to me, and Underworlders feared me. I thought I could accomplish whatever I set my mind to, and I believed it. The year was 1717 AD and I was on a Spanish trading ship with mostly humans and a crew of my Harvesters in the Caribbean Sea.

  Our job was to hunt down and harvest one of the most, if not the most, notorious pirates in the history of piracy—Blackbeard and his crew. They all were code breakers for refusing to not cross over to the After. And let me explain, nobody in literature nor in the film industry got it right when it came to describing Blackbeard. In reality, he was much more heinous, sanguinary, and downright evil. He was so wicked, all thought of him as the devil incarnate. And I can attest to that.

  The ocean was crystal blue beauty and eerily calm. The Spaniards were on their way to Port Royal, Jamaica, to trade, and they have no clue what our Harvesters’ true mission was. If they knew, they wouldn’t even allow us aboard.

  Unfortunately, during this era of Harvesting, the Agency’s rule on using advanced weaponry was forbidden due to not wanting humans to know of our existence. So we could only use weapons of the time. Which was fine with me because I prefer the blade. I must admit, I don’t like being on the ocean. Too many things can go wrong, and you’re screwed because you’re out in the middle of an unforgiving ocean.

  Where do you go to escape? Nowhere, I tell you. However, with that said, back to Blackbeard and his crew. There had been too many times when people thought they had got the upper hand on him and his crew and thought they injured and or killed them. But they survived? How? Like I stated before, only Dead Ones can kill Dead Ones, and with them being Underworlders, well, there’s the answer. That’s where my crew and I come in. When the Hunt papers came into the Agency and they wanted to know who’d take the mission, I
jumped at the chance. The Harvester who brings in or kills Blackbeard, hell yeah, I want to be the one! What a name to add to my list of harvested ones.

  The last I heard, Blackbeard was in Port Royal, dubbed the wickedest place in the world where brutality, thievery, rape, and murder were everyday occurrences and debauchery, sex for sale, and excessive drinking were expected. This was a pirate’s paradise and has been for many decades since the beginning of piracy. Even being a Harvester sent to apprehend the most feared person in the world would prove to be an intimidating hardship with all of our “lives” on the line. They knew we’re coming for them, and obviously, they knew we’re Harvesters who know they’re trespassing Dead Ones breaking the Agency’s law.

  At the time, I wished Vega could be on this Hunt with me. It would make this Harvest not as difficult. But he was on the battlefield front in the siege of Belgrade for Prince Eugene of Savoy. He and several other Harvesters had some Harvesting of souls who were on the wrong side. It’s considered an Austro-Venetian-Ottoman War in which the Prince must win in order to restore the Balance. What most don’t know is Harvesters are personally responsible for reshaping world history for the good of Mankind.

  For example, Sir Isaac Newton actually died from mercury poisoning years before his brilliant works and discoveries. But the Agency determined he should be allowed to stay in the Here for him to achieve all that he achieved. Louis Pasteur is another example. He was on the verge of discovering penicillin when he really died. We felt obligated to allow him to stay and do this. Hitler begged and pleaded to the six Heads to allow him to go back to the Here and retry world domination. I think you know their answer. And I have numerous more examples. Point is, Harvesters have always been necessary.

  Suddenly, the Spanish ship took a cannonball blast across her stern. I looked across the way and saw a skull and bones black flag of Blackbeard’s ship. The Spanish captain raced for Port Royal, but with the size of his ship and weight of her cargo, Blackbeard’s fast, lighter weight warship gained on us. The Spanish crew weren’t fighters; they were just traders, and that’s the usual target for pirates. So obviously, the crew was terrified. Us Harvesters gripped our sword hilts and prepped for battle when they will eventually board us. Even though it is Blackbeard, I was excited to battle him. I haven’t had a challenging sword battle since I Harvested Genghis Khan in the thirteenth century. Now that was challenging, and when I lopped off his head, it was quite an adrenaline rush.