Harvest Earth (4 page)

7    Gabriel

When Gabriel finally sees what had been causing the vibrations that had been growing around him, his heart plummet down to his feet. His damn eyes! Gabriel thinks they surely are deceiving him. Madness and fear overcome him as his mind tries to categorize the object as it passes above him. Gabriel wants to run but his feet are like lead. Instead he manages to push his body against the side of the bus and crouches to his knees. He only dares to peak over the roof of the bus with the slimmest part of his head. His eyes remain  fixated on the object. They follow the flying shape as it continues down the street. His eyes follow it until it disappears out of view. His body feels paralyzed. Gabriel’s gaze never alters until the vibrations stop.

In an instant, Gabriel’s body goes from solid steel to liquefied jelly. His stomach joins his heart as it falls to the pavement. He feels his body tremble as his nervous system fights to reactivate after momentarily being paralyzed by fear. Mustering up all the energy he can, Gabriel bolts down the sidewalk as fast as his legs can carry him.

He runs in the opposite direction than the object had went. He runs until his lungs give out and his legs burn feverishly. Exhausted; panting deep, heavy and painful breathes. Gabriel ducks between two buildings and collapses onto his knees. His mouth and throat are raw from dehydration. His stomach makes him feel hollow inside. The thick stench of urine from his crotch fills his nares where he wet himself. He gags and is grateful when nothing but stomach acid rises up into his throat.

Gabriel tries not to think of the object. He wants it to be the farthest thing from his mind, as if he had never seen it. But he had. Every time Gabriel closes his eyes he sees it.

It had been a large black triangular structure. It moved through the air with one of its tips pointing forward.  The entire vessel covered all four lanes of Broad Street, perhaps two-hundred feet across. Its black hull was like an eclipse as it passed under the blue sky. Its hull was matted and gave off no shine or reflection. It appeared as if it was untouched by the sun. To Gabriel it had blotted out any semblance of normalcy or reality. As it moved across the sky and over him he could feel the vibration of it in his body. The tremors reached their apex of intensity as the object passed directly overhead. It made no sound, save those caused by the vibrating objects below it. It felt lifeless to Gabriel. As lifeless as the whole city now seemed to be.

Pulling himself out of his own head Gabriel slaps his face several times with his hands. He closes his eyes and shakes his brain, letting it rattle against his skull. He tries to shake out the image and memory of the object. When Gabriel opens his eyes he stares at his hands. He counts his fingers. He thinks he remembers hearing once that you can’t count in a dream. For surely that is what Gabriel concluded this all must be, a dream. An illusion. Focusing on his fingers is difficult for Gabriel. They are still shaking and his brain is on fire. He is unable to maintain attention on his dancing phalanges.

Gabriel looks around at his surroundings. He is in a space between two building. He hopes to reorient himself. He hopes to find something that will distract him from his racing thoughts. That is when he sees a shoe sticking out from behind a nearby dumpster.

Gabriel becomes startled when he sees that the shoe is accompanied by a pant leg. A real leg presumably hold the two objects together. As Gabriel slowly eases himself out of the filth-covered gutter he is filled with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. A leg is usually attached to a person, and a person might have answers to what was happening.

“Hello.” Gabriel says softly. His voice still sounds strange in what is now a strange place. Beyond just breaking what is now relative silence in the city, Gabriel’s dry tongue and throat also make his voice sound hoarse and foreign. He smacks his lips and tries to swallow the last drop of saliva he has. “Hello.” He says again. This time he speaks a little louder and tries to hide the raspy tone of his voice.

There is no reply.

Gabriel begins to feel uneasiness threaten to overwhelm him as he edges toward the dumpster. He dreads what he will find on the other side. When he sees the blood splattered against the brick wall, however, he finds himself strangely calm.

It had been, or was, a man. Gabriel couldn’t decide which tense to us. The corpse wore jeans and a sweater. Printed on the sweater is the mascot of a local college football team plastered on the front. The man’s head is gone. All that remains is a splatter of blood and clinging bits of flesh. In the man’s right hand is a revolver, blood crusted was on the barrel.

Oddly Gabriel is not frightened or even disturbed by the sight. Partially because he had mostly expected it when he approached the dumpster, but also because it is strangely comforting to see something that felt so natural. Death, human death. This was not empty sidewalks, cars with holes burrowed into them or strange shapes flying through the sky. The corpse represented something tangible. Something Gabriel’s brain knew how to organize and deal with.

Without really knowing why, Gabriel reaches down and picks up the revolver. He pries it from the dead man’s grip. The corpse’s fingers are stiff and cold. They resist as Gabriel wrestles the gun’s handle out of the rigid palm. Gabriel tries to wipe the dried blood off with his overalls but it is plastered on. He turns the gun over in his hand. There are eight rounds in the chamber. He pops open the catch just like his father had taught him and eight empty shell casings spill into the gutter. With the bullet casings also spill out a flood of memories.

Gabriel sees himself, a young boy, having just turned twelve years old. He is in a desolate place, a desert. There are green thorny bushes sprouting up all around him. A few larger juniper trees provide much appreciated shade. Two large mesas create a valley where Gabriel’s father has brought him in the family’s old, red, Ford pick-up truck. They have abandoned the pick-up a few yards back and Gabriel’s father hands his son a gun.

It is revolver with eight rounds in the cylinder. Gabriel remembers the weight of it. He remembers taking it because his father had told him to hold it. He also remembers wanting to immediately throw the gun away. Gabriel wants to hand it back to his father. To tell his father that he isn’t allowed to play with guns and let that be the end of it. But his father is smiling. His golden skin cracks at the sides of his mouth as he grins. He has a warmth in his eyes that tells Gabriel everything is going to be ok.

Gabriel’s father kneels beside him and wraps his arms around him. He holds Gabriel’s wrists with his leathery hands. Gabriel lets his body relax as his father pushes his arms together so that he can hold the pistol with both hands. Together they point the revolver out in front of them.

“Now, don’t be afraid.” His father says. A twinge of his father’s Mexican-accent leaves its fragrance on every word.  “This gun is a tool just like any other. The pistol is like a hammer and the bullets are like its nails.”

The leathery hands then let go and Gabriel’s father takes a step back. Gabriel has seen his father fire the revolver before. His father has taken him to this place with his father’s buddies. A juniper tree stands fifty paces away. Dangling from it are an assortment of rusted cans, plates and unrecognizable shapes. Through each hanging object are several bullets holes. Gabriel focuses now on one aluminum can. It is a sienna-painted cylinder that hangs off to the side on an isolated branch. Gabriel feels his small finger touch the trigger. Sweat is accumulating in his palms so he grips the handle tighter.

“Nice and slow.” His father whispers behind him. Something he has told him when he will sometimes let Gabriel practice driving before he put his foot on the accelerator. “Remember to breathe out as you pull the trigger.” Another reminder from his father. Gabrielle exhales as he tightens the muscles in his finger.

Bang
! The sound is deafening and the jerk from the barrel is violent. Gabriel reels backwards as the gun flies up and over his head. He nearly falls on his butt but his father is there to catch him. The older man then rests his son against his knee and grabs Gabriel’s arms pushing them down so the gun points at the ground. Gabriel’s father is laughing.

For a moment Gabriel’s heart feels like it has stopped, but when he looks up at his father’s face and hears the roar of his laughter he can feel it start up again. His father is pointing at something now. Gabriel follows his father’s finger with his eyes. He sees a lone can on the end of a branch dancing back and forward on a string. Peering more intently Gabriel thinks he sees a hole in the can that hadn’t been there before. He too begins laughing and his father holds him to his chest.

Back in the gutter between the two city buildings, Gabriel flips the ammo cylinder of the revolver closed. He reflects on one final thing he father had said when he had fired his first weapon, “Never point a gun at something you don’t intend to kill”. This revolver had no ammo.

The man without a head had wanted to kill something. He had emptied seven rounds before saving the last bullet for himself. Gabriel hopes he doesn’t have to find out for who or for what those other rounds had been meant for. Just in case he tucks the empty revolver into his overalls pocket.

Then, as if a lightning bolt had strikes Gabriel’s brain, Gabriel is immediately reminded of something. The thoughts of his father have jarred something loose. It is something important. Something that had been pushed aside by all the mysteries that had been so overwhelming. Gabriel feels sick to his stomach. A sickness not just because of the hunger, the smell of urine or the dried blood. He feels sick for not thinking of those special somethings earlier. For being distracted.

Gabriel hates himself for not thinking immediately of his children.

8    Madison

With each cough Madison can feel her lungs releasing the dense collection of dust that clogs them. As oxygen exchanges places with molecules of dirt Madison can feel her head getting clearer. The screams that she had heard earlier are now distant moans. All except one.

Something grabs her leg.

The darkness is nearly pitch black. Madison frantically kicks blinded at what has grabbed at her. She scurries away across the ground while still being careful to keep her head low should a precarious boulder be overhead. She kicks with her opposite leg at whatever is holding onto her ankle. A scream follows and the something lets go.

“Damn it! It’s me!” A familiar voice says. The sound is muffled by pain.

It is Dale.
Lt. Trevers
, Madison corrects herself. “Sorry.” She says. She spins herself around in the dark mindful of the sounds of shifting rock all around her. “Are you alright?”

“Not really.” He is grimacing. Madison can’t see his face but she can tell by the timber of his voice.

“Oh, come on.” She coughs up a cloud of dust from her lungs. “I didn’t kick you that hard.”

“Not that.” He snickers. “It’s my leg. Here.” Out of the dark a light flicks on and Madison can see Lt. Trever’s face. It is covered in dirt. His glasses have been thrown off by the cave-in. There are trails of tears on his cheeks where the water from his eyes have washed away the dust. In his hand he holds a small flashlight. “I got this out of that electrician’s bag we brought down.” He hands the light to Madison.

Madison spins the flashlight around to look at Lt. Trevers with the beam. He covers his eyes as the light shines on his face. “Easy now.” He says, covering his eyes with one hand. Madison can see past him now. There is a large collection of boulders that have come down on top of one of his legs. Beyond him there is nothing but rock. Everyone else in the corridor has been buried. Only the two of them survived.

“Stay right there.” Madison says reassuringly. She checks over her own body with the light. She feels a wave of relief when she finds only a few superficial scrapes and bruises. “I’ll be right back. I’ll get help.”

Using the small cone of light Madison assesses the scene. The majority of the cave-in is behind her. Back down the corridor where most of the technicians had been working there are only large boulders. Near the stairs where Madison had been the structure is still mostly intact. Where Madison sits she has a clearance of at least four feet overhead where the boulders have gotten jammed together. The rocks create an uneasy ceiling above her. Madison rises to her knees. She tests them to make sure there are no unseen injuries. Again she is grateful that she has managed to survive the collapse unscathed.

Crawling on her hands and knees, Madison nears closer to the stairs. What she finds is that access to the upper levels has been blocked by a wall of rock. Madison shouts for help. Her voice is met only by her own echo. She is trapped and with no means of communication.

As she passes her light over the stairs she catches the reflection of something under the stairwell. Edging closer she notices the grating covering the tunnel of a narrow ventilation shaft. Crawling closer she waves her hand over it and smells the air coming from the vents. It smells fresh and there is a slight breeze. At the very least Madison won’t suffocate.

Making her way back to Lt. Trevers, Madison catches him with his head cradled in his elbow. “Wake up!” She shouts and he immediately shifts. He pulls his head up and looks back at her with wide-eyes. He looks like a deer paralyzed by headlights.

“Did you find anything?” He says, waking from his momentarily daze.

“A ventilation shaft. There’s air still flowing through it.” Madison rests her back against the crumbling wall of rock and curls her legs into a ball to conserve space.

“Good. So we won’t suffocate. That just leaves starving, dehydration, or-” He pauses, wincing in pain. “Me going into shock.”

Madison rises up off the ground slightly surveying the area where the boulders have smashed Lt. Trever’s leg again. There is a heavy pile of boulders covering up his left leg just below the knee. She can’t tell how extensive the damage is. She makes a move to shift some of the rocks to get a better look but Lt. Trever’s grabs her wrist. “Don’t.” He says.

“Maybe I can move them.” Madison snaps, pulling her wrist free. “Maybe just enough to pull you out.”

“No.” He is glaring at her, his face as stern as the stone all around them. “If you move them it might bring the rest of the mountain down on top of us.” He pauses, looking away at some distant corner of the corridor. “I won’t let that happen.”

Madison seems to know what he is implying: That
he
won’t let it happen to
her!
It was just like all of those times that she had caught him staring at her and she knew what he was really thinking then too.  That he was hoping once their assignment was over, maybe once both of them no longer wore their uniforms, they could meet up for a drink. Maybe they could become friends and then maybe something more.

Ever since Madison hit puberty she had put up with this crap. She had what some would call an attractive and athletic build. Her body had become even more fit since joining the armed services. But as far back as Madison could remember she had tried to hide her features. She cut her hair short just below her ears and never wore makeup or jewelry. These small measures hadn’t helped Madison to avoid attention as much as she would have liked. Her grandmother had called her a “natural beauty”. Her pale skin and freckles were all the adornments she needed.

If she had it her way Madison would have none of it. Whenever fellow service members looked at her all they saw was a pretty face. She was a billboard for what every airman wished his fellow officer looked like. This poor boy, this Lt. Trevers must have thought he hit the Air Force jackpot when he was paired up with her. Lt. Trevers had been nice enough. His face was even fair to look at it if Madison had ever given it as much as half a thought. Madison was assigned to perform a job, not pick up dates, and that is what she did.

What was Madison to do now? What was her role buried under a mountain?

Lost in thought, Madison’s eye glance over to Lt. Trevers again. He is pinned beneath rock, covered in soot and lit only by the small beam of a tiny utility flashlight. Madison feels a small twinge of regret. Not for never having gone out for a drink. Not for never taking an interest. In that moment Madison realizes she has never even done as much as returned a smile. She had gone out of her way to be both distant and disinterested in her fellow Lieutenant. It was her only defense. Madison had never learned how to keep a safe professional distance in a relationship. Despite being an expert of linguistics in six different languages Madison never had any friends. Maybe that was why she did her best work removed from those doing the communicating. She did her best work located thousands of miles away from any real intimacy. Instead she preferred to be buried and hidden deep in the earth, reading and listening to messages and translating them, but never having the opportunity to respond back.

Lt. Trevers is grimacing. Though he hides it from her, Madison knows that her coworker is scared. He is likely even more scared than Madison could ever be. It is in that moment that Madison knew her role. She knew the job that she must do.

So, Madison does something completely outside of herself. Flicking off the light to conserve its batteries she shifts her body. Madison takes Dale’s head in her lap and cradles it. He is whimpering and so she tells him, “Everything is going to be all right.”