The Harvester (6 page)

O
utside, 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.

A
s 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 like 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.

“Speed up, man,” Naes exclaims.

“No backseat driving allowed in my ride.”

But he’s right. This chase takes too long then the odds swing to Rex’s advantage. Rex is furthering the gap, so I flip up the center console, and Naes’s eyes grow wide with anxiety.

“Ready to rock and roll?” I ask Naes.

“Rock and roll. Just don’t kill us . . . Well, you know what I mean.”

I let out a little laugh. I push a button on the nitrous oxide speed system, and just like that, we jump from 115 to 155. We’re going so fast that everything around us is an absolute blur. Naes and I are thrown back into our seats from the force of the speed. Within seconds, we’re beside a surprised Rex. Naes sarcastically waves at him with a smirk. Rex attempts to speed ahead of us, but at the speed we’re doing, your reaction time better be spot on. And I see a sixteen-wheeler ahead of him, and I know what’s going to happen. I slam on my brakes, and he zooms ahead with a smirk. However, he doesn’t react in time and rams into the back end of the sixteen-wheeler. The chase has definitely ended.

Naes and I hop out of my injured ’Cuda and sprint over to the wreck. Rex’s car is demolished and rests halfway into the sixteen-wheeler. We look into the Camaro, but Rex is nowhere to be found. Naes taps me and points to a thick trail of black blood leading away from the wreck and toward the nearby woods. We follow the trail only a short ways into the woods and find Rex crawling on his belly with one of his arms chopped off from the accident. I kick him onto his back.

“And here I thought you were one of the best Hollywood stunt drivers,” I tell him with a sarcastic tone.

“I was and I never had to use nitrous oxide, you freak.”

Naes kicks him across the face and shuts him up. I point at Rex. “You know what we’re here for.”

Rex lifts his chin up without fear. “Then take it and send me to the After, Harvester.”

I look at Naes. “Would you like to do the honors, Naes?”

“My pleasure.”

At this point, I don’t think I have to tell you what happens next, but it does happen, and Naes executes a clean, quick cut, and Rex’s head rolls. Exciting chase. Thrilling crash. And an end to another Underworlder. What a perfect, pleasant day. We are on to the next one on the list and this one should be interesting.

Very late at night on the worst side of this wicked city, seven Black Doors emanate from out of the ground. Me and my six crew members each step out of one. Standing several feet away from us, shocked, are the next four on my list. Two of them are Underworld spies, and the third is some sort of Hybrid, incredibly fast, strong, and without conscience. And the fourth is a Section 408 creature, strong and big like a gorilla, but quick, agile, and nimble like a spider-monkey. The Black Doors vanish into the ground, and now it looks like a scene straight out of a Spaghetti Western.

“Shit. It’s Harvey and his crew of hitmen,” one of the Underworld spies says.

I step forward. “You know why we’re here. Are you going to make this hard or easy?” I stare them down without fear or intimidation.

The Underworld spies each pull out medium-sized swords. The Hybrid and Section 408 creature each pull out a gun and a long knife.

Naes peers over at me. “I guess it’s the hard way, Harvey.”

Simultaneously, we draw our swords from our backsides. A few humans see what’s transpiring and scatter behind vehicles for cover. Yet their morbid curiosity makes them stay to observe. The wind starts to howl, and nearby chimes hanging by a window sound off. Without saying a word or giving the slightest of gestures, both parties charge each other. Hybrid and the 408 fire upon us. Two of my crew are hit in the chest, but their bulletproof vests protect them, and they continue with the onslaught. I stand back on purpose to take notes on my crew to review their performance. The first Harvester makes three quick slash movements down one of the spy’s front side, then through his neck, killing him instantly. The Hybrid grabs the second Harvester and breaks his back over his knee. He hurls him through the air with ease, and he crashes through a car window. Naes slices the second spy across his neck.

He drops to his knees and desperately clutches his wound.

Naes smirks, and now, I know he’s really enjoying his job.

I think to myself,
Take that bastard’s head
.