The Harvester (5 page)

T
he next day, as part of Naes’s training, we watch a Harvester Hunt taking place via the Harvesters’ head cams that we always wear for training purposes. The location is disclosed due to too many Underworlder Hackers, and we can’t give away their location. We watch them on my wall of forty screens. The Harvesters wear ski masks to hide their identities and voice modulators to disguise their voices.

I peer over at Naes. His eyes are wide open with eager anticipation and glued on the Harvesters.

“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.

L
ater 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.

T
he 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 everything 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.”