The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  After a long while, she began to stir against him. Without really thinking about it, Jarek stooped to plant a soft kiss on the crest of her forehead as he loosened his hold on her. She leaned back, her brows knitting together as she looked up at him with puffy eyes. Jarek distantly noted the intriguing flecks of yellow that speckled the pale green of her irises before the closeness of their faces and the warmth of her breath jolted his brain to a dead stop.

  Jarek wasn’t sure whether he covered the last few inches or she did, but by some law of attraction, their lips met, and for a long moment, nothing else really seemed to matter. Jarek had never kissed a girl before, and he marveled at the softness of her lips as she deepened the kiss. He pulled her closer, tasting the salt of spilled tears and, beneath that, the subtle sweetness of her own warm mouth.

  Eventually, she pulled back to look up at him. She bit her lip, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, and said, “I just wanted to say thanks, I guess.”

  Jarek blew out a breath of laughter, not entirely sure why that seemed funny to him right just now.

  They sat for a long while after that—Rose on the bed and Jarek on the floor just beside her—and talked at great length about nothing in particular. He asked her about life at the inn and about what she’d wanted to do before the Catastrophe. She asked him about Fela and about how he’d survived for nearly six years all on his own. The subjects of the attack and the dead man back in the alley, they avoided at all costs. It wasn’t easy, but Rose was good company—at least from what little Jarek knew on the matter.

  At some point, Rose slid down to sit beside Jarek on the floor, her shoulder pressed up to his arm, and Jarek found himself regretting his decision to put the suit back on. Despite everything that had happened that night, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so far removed from the loneliness that had followed him since the Catastrophe.

  He did his best to enjoy it, and eventually, sitting there with Rose at his side, Jarek nodded off into mercifully blank sleep.

  4

  The next morning, Jarek woke on the floor to find Rose gone.

  He lay there for a long few minutes, just thinking. Last night merited more than a few minutes of reflection. He hadn’t expected any part of it—least of all Rose showing up in his bedroom at what must’ve been two or three in the morning.

  She’d only come to talk, but thinking back to the warmth of her lips against his, Jarek was rather glad things had worked out as they had. Glad, at least, until his anatomy began responding to the memories.

  “Is that a flashlight in your briefs or—”

  “I swear to god, Al…” Jarek said, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the intimacy of their shared space in Fela. Sure, Al technically wasn’t a living, breathing person, but that didn’t make it any less awkward. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen their fair share of erections come and go—Jarek was sixteen years old, after all—but this was somehow different, and beneath Al’s joke, Jarek could sense that the AI construct was every bit as uncomfortable as he was.

  “Let’s just, uh,” Jarek said, his face growing hot, “pretend everything’s all normal, dammit.”

  “Right, sir,” Al said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “A flashlight poking against our pelvic plate, it is.”

  Jarek huffed a short laugh. “Jesus, Al, do you have to call it our pelvic plate right now?”

  “Eh, right…” Al said. Then, in a much more urgent tone, “Sir, I think I’m picking up new arrivals downstairs. At least two—maybe more.”

  All traces of pleasant thought promptly evacuated Jarek’s head, leaving behind only the image of Nate lying dead in the alley. He thought about the two men that had scrambled off and left him there. Had they come back to settle the score? He faced the door, struggling to think through a tide of nausea and panic.

  Last night had certainly been a night of firsts—wonderful and terrible in equal parts—and now he was utterly unsure what came next.

  “What do I do?”

  “It might be nothing,” Al said. “Customers or friends. Those men last night didn’t seem keen on being anywhere near you after… Well at any rate, we should be safe enough.”

  “At least we know we’re bullet proof now,” Jarek said.

  “I already knew that, sir. For small arms fire, at least. But that doesn’t mean the armor won’t degrade with abuse. We don’t want to make a habit of getting shot.”

  Jarek didn’t argue with that. “Alright,” he said. “Easy does it then.”

  He made his way quietly down the hall and down the stairs. Frank turned to glance at him as he descended, as did the two men who sat on stools at the bar.

  Both had dark hair—medium length and well-kept on the one and a short buzz on the other—and both sported worn, dark leather coats. They had a hard look to them, and as they turned to face Jarek, he got the impression they wouldn’t have fled from him in a dark alley.

  Jarek paused as the closer of the two assessed him with dark eyes, scratching thoughtfully at his well-trimmed beard. After a moment, his expression warmed. “I take it you must be the man we’re looking for,” he said in a smooth baritone. “That’s a hell of a getup you got there.”

  Jarek glanced at Frank, who gave him an uncertain look before turning back to the food he was busy preparing. The guy with the buzz cut watched Jarek with stony blue eyes as he approached the bar, trying to keep his expression neutral. The guy reminded Jarek of a bulldog. His buddy stroked once at his carefully groomed beard then stood to offer Jarek his hand, his face breaking into an easy smile.

  “Conner Moseley,” he said. Then, flipping a thumb back toward the bulldog of a man, he added, “This is Doug Stetson. Pleased to meet you.”

  Jarek slowly took Conner’s hand. “Uh, Jarek. Nice to meet you too.”

  The last part came out sounding like more of a question than a statement.

  Conner sat back down, still smiling. “You hungry, Jarek? We were hoping to have a little chat if you’ll join us.”

  Just then, Rose appeared from the room behind the bar. Jarek’s heart leapt up at the sight of her. A faint frown settled on her face as she regarded the two men, but then she met Jarek’s eyes, and her features shifted into a smile. Jarek fought to wrestle the mile-wide smile attempting to parade across his face down to something more reasonable. The effort became a lot easier when he noticed how Conner was studying them.

  “Yeah…” Jarek said. “Always happy to eat. But, uh, what do you want with me?”

  Frank set plates of pancakes in front of the two men. Stetson tore into his stack while Frank added a third plate in front of the stool at the end of the bar. Conner’s first bite was much neater than Stetson’s. Rose shot Jarek a faintly concerned look then disappeared into the back room as he sat down to eat.

  Conner watched Jarek, taking his time to finish his bite before he replied. “You killed a man last night.”

  Jarek froze, his first bite halfway to his mouth and his brain suddenly buzzing with adrenaline. He looked at Conner and debated whether to attack or bolt or just sit there and see what happened. He went with option three by default.

  “Easy, sir,” Al said quietly in his ear.

  “No need to look so worried,” Conner said, taking another bite. Next to him, Stetson grunted but didn’t look away from his pancakes.

  “Nathan was under my employ,” Conner continued, wrinkling his nose as if the notion was distasteful, “but he wouldn’t have stayed there after last night, so we can consider the waters cleared as far as I’m concerned.”

  With that, Conner went back to work on his pancakes.

  “I’m not sure I trust this man,” Al said quietly.

  Jarek stared at Conner for a long moment, not disagreeing. “Why’d you want to talk to me then?” he said finally. His face heated up at the look that Stetson shot him between bites. “I mean, if it’s all… okay.”

  Conner took his time finishing a bite and wiping his mouth. “Where did you get that
suit, Jarek?”

  Jarek glanced at Frank, who still hovered nervously behind the bar, then back to Conner. “What does that have to do with—”

  “Jarek,” Conner said, arching a steep eyebrow. “Our guys aren’t some poorly-trained little daffodils, not even the… less promising ones, but you took one down and sent two more running for the hills. I’m assuming this thing”—he reached out and tapped on Fela’s solid forearm—“had something to do with it.”

  Jarek pursed his lips, then finally said, “My dad helped make it. Before the Catastrophe.”

  Conner held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “No shit… Huh.”

  “Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” Conner said, that easy smile returning, “because you faced down three armed men to protect an innocent girl. Those are the kinds of stones we’re looking for.”

  Jarek searched his face. “I didn’t know they were armed.”

  Stetson snorted through his last mouthful of pancakes, and Conner chuckled. “That’s not really the point, Jarek.”

  “The point?”

  Conner set his fork down and turned to fully face him. “Jarek, have you ever given any thought to what you want to do with your life?”

  Jarek looked through the window to the dreary, crumbling street outside. “Surviving seems like a good place to start.”

  Conner gave a short laugh. Behind the bar, Frank leaned back against the counter, seeming to relax a bit.

  “Not bad at all,” Conner agreed, nodding. “But wouldn’t you rather have someplace to hang your helmet at the end of the day? Someplace where you wouldn’t need to worry about scavenging for food every day just to stay alive?”

  Jarek glanced at Frank, wondering how much he’d told Conner. Maybe he shouldn’t have opened his mouth to Frank last night.

  “I’m not interested in hurting people to get what I want,” he said after a moment. Jarek knew how these outfits worked.

  Conner shook his head and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I wouldn’t expect you to—especially after what you did for Rose here last night. More importantly, I wouldn’t ask you to. That’s not what we do.”

  Rose briefly poked her head out from the back at the sound of her name. She must’ve been hovering there, listening to their conversation.

  “And what do you do, exactly?” Jarek said.

  “We protect people who are interested in rebuilding what we’ve lost,” Conner said. “Those people pay us what they can.”

  “You’re mercenaries.”

  Conner smiled. “By the strictest definition, yes. Doesn’t mean we don’t help people.” He held up a demonstrative hand. “Take the homestead projects for example. We offer good protection to the farmers that ask for it, and in return, they give us enough to feed our men. Is that so wrong?” He chuckled to himself. “Hell, we’re probably the closest thing to philanthropists left around here.”

  Jarek thought about that. It didn’t sound wrong at all, but of course that was assuming that Conner wasn’t lying or bending the truth somehow. Al expressed a similar sentiment in Jarek’s ear.

  A thought occurred to him. “The other two men, from last night… did they work for you too?”

  Conner’s expression soured a little. “They did.”

  “They don’t anymore,” Stetson said in a gravelly voice.

  Conner shook his head, still watching Jarek.

  “Right…” Jarek said.

  “Look,” Conner said, standing up from his stool and tossing a few bills down on the bar, “this is probably a lot to process, so we’ll give you some space to try the idea on for size. We’ve got a routine escort job going on tomorrow. If you want to see what we’re about, I’ll send someone over so you can ride along.”

  “I don’t think I—”

  Conner held up a hand. “No strings attached, Jarek. Just have a look and decide for yourself.”

  “You don’t have to do this, sir,” Al reminded him.

  Jarek studied the plate in front of him for a few moments before turning back to Conner. “I’ll think about it.”

  Conner clapped him on the shoulder as he started for the door. “I hope you do, Jarek. It’s good to belong. We’ll see you around.”

  Stetson followed after Conner, giving Jarek little more than a small nod and a grunt. Jarek listened to them go and sat there thinking for several minutes before he decided to finally take the first bite of his pancakes.

  They were cold.

  5

  The next morning, Jarek came downstairs to find a dark SUV waiting outside for him.

  Yesterday, Jarek had been skeptical—and Al even more so. After a day of thinking it through together, they were still far from convinced, but Conner had been right: Jarek didn’t want to be scavenging for food all alone for the rest of his life. If he could actually make a place for himself while fighting to help honest people… the possibility was too good to pass up.

  Jarek waved to Frank—who told him with a fatherly expression to be careful—then headed outside. The man leaning against the driver-side door of the SUV was older than Conner—maybe around forty—and his brown hair was streaked with touches of gray. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Jarek approaching, then he stood straighter and gave a friendly smile that spread easily to his eyes.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said in a rich voice. “They weren’t pulling my leg after all.” He stepped forward, extending a hand. “Mark Adams. People mostly call me Adams.”

  Jarek took his hand. “Jarek Slater.”

  Mark tipped his head. “Nice to meet you, kid.”

  Coming from most people, the word “kid” usually sounded insulting and derogatory, but the way Mark said it made the word sound like a respectful moniker.

  “Yeah, you too,” Jarek said. “So we’re on escort duty today then?”

  He nodded. “That’s the plan. You’re ready to roll? It’s a bit of a drive, but I brought breakfast,”—he held up a finger—“and there’s bacon.”

  A smile tugged at Jarek’s mouth. “I feel like my mom used to tell me something about not taking food from strangers in vans.”

  Mark laughed. “Well, I guess it’s good I went with plan B and brought bacon and an SUV instead of candy and a van.”

  “Smart move,” Jarek agreed, glancing back at the inn one last time. Rose stood watching him at the window, concern evident in her eyes. He gave her a small wave, smiling. No need for her to be worried; he was just having a look. “Let’s do it then,” he said, turning back to Mark.

  Al reminded him for maybe the hundred-thousandth time to keep his eyes peeled as he walked around to climb into the passenger seat, but Jarek could tell he was just as hopeful as Jarek himself.

  “Maybe you should’ve brought the van,” Jarek said as he squeezed Fela’s bulk into the passenger seat. The exosuit wasn’t gigantic, but it was easily larger than the average man and far from car-friendly.

  Mark chuckled and handed him a soft, foil-wrapped bundle, and Jarek’s discomfort was soon forgotten when he uncovered a scrumptious breakfast burrito and dug in to taste eggs and cheese and actual, real, genuine freaking bacon. Mark pulled away from the curb and started off for the turnpike, smiling at the expression on Jarek’s face.

  “I know,” he said. “Bacon, right?”

  “I’d almost forgotten there was such a thing,” Jarek said. “If you’re trying to win me over with cured meats…” Jarek shrugged. “It might work.”

  Mark turned from eyeing a passing car and smiled. “I’m sure the thought wasn’t lost on Conner, but I’d like to think the Iron Eagles stand on their own merits, bacon or no.”

  “The Iron Eagles?”

  “Christ,” Mark said, frowning as he guided the SUV up a ramp to I-90. “They really didn’t explain much to you, did they? The Iron Eagles is what we call our little soldier family—well, maybe not so little these days.”

  “Ah, right. And you chose Iron Eagles because
someone else had already taken the Brass Badgers?”

  “Maybe so,” Mark said, chuckling. “Conner likes to say it has something to do with strength and freedom and the spirit of old ‘Merica the brave.”

  Jarek finished woofing down his glorious burrito and gave a little two-finger salute.

  They rode along for the next hour and a half, passing by only a couple vehicles as their surroundings transitioned slowly from crumbling buildings to abandoned homes and finally to somber-looking countryside—made all the more dreary by the overcast day. They talked about life before and after the Catastrophe. Jarek wasn’t overly used to talking to anyone aside from Al, but Mark was exceptionally easy company. By the time they reached their destination homestead, Jarek had a basic understanding of at least that part of the Iron Eagles’ operations.

  The group defended a network of similar homesteads throughout Massachusetts (and even as far as Connecticut) from marauders and other threats. In return, each homestead regularly shipped back a portion of the meager crops and livestock they’d managed to bring up in the harsh conditions of the long winter.

  From the sound of it, it had been slow going at first. Now, though, the climate was slowly shifting back in the right direction, and the farmers—many of whom hadn’t actually been farmers in their past lives—had had time to hone in on which crops to grow and how to grow them. Each year, the Iron Eagles were pulling in an ever-strengthening stream of potatoes, onions, chard, and more, not to mention eggs, meat, and a small bit of dairy.

  There were setbacks, of course. For one, protecting open land required manpower, especially when that land was scattered across large areas. On top of that, their infrastructure was lacking when it came to transporting and distributing high volumes of food. For these reasons, Conner hadn’t managed to extend the operation any further than Connecticut. As Jarek watched an oversized van being loaded with vegetables, a couple hundred eggs, and what looked like a cows-worth of beef, though, he couldn’t help but think that, with enough men and resources, the operation might eventually feed the entirety of Boston. Maybe even more than that someday.