Hell to Pay: Book Two of the Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

“So what do you say, Zar? You wanna come play with my Big Whacker?” He drew a deep breath and pushed through the adrenaline-tinged fear. “High noon tomorrow. Port Newark, round two. Let’s go, you son of a bitch.” Then he allowed the fear to spill over and mix with the anger into something manic as he cried, “Toodles!”

  Al cut the line.

  “What the hell did you just do?” Rachel asked.

  Jarek blew out a long breath, tension bleeding out of his body and leaving him feeling drained in more ways than one. “Saved the day, with any luck.” He tried to conjure a grin with the words, but couldn’t seem to find one lying around.

  Rachel held him on the point of her stare until he felt like he’d shrivel. Then she whirled and stalked out of the room, cracking her staff forcefully into the floor with each step.

  When she’d gone, Haldin clapped him on an armored shoulder. “That was well done.” He cocked his head. “I think.”

  There were a few murmured assents. Pryce finally closed his gaping mouth.

  “Yeah,” Jarek said quietly, feeling a lot less confident than he had a minute ago. “Go me.”

  Twenty-One

  After she’d had a few minutes to cool down in the hallway, Rachel decided Jarek’s stunt wasn’t the worst solution to their otherwise untenable problem. Taking Zar’Golga on directly was far better than trying to meet his forces in the field, and especially better than doing so without crippling either side of the engagement and leaving them worthless to fight the coming rakul. And if anyone was certified for a one-on-one deathmatch with the world’s most dangerous space vampire, it was probably Jarek.

  Or her.

  No. On paper, her abilities might qualify her for the job. She could smack a raknoth around with the best of them. But stepping into the arena for a fight to the death with the Overlord? She wasn’t built for that like Jarek was.

  She couldn’t help but wish someone else—maybe Haldin, but anybody really—could have stepped up. But she understood why Jarek had taken the hot seat, why he’d decided to take the weight of the world on his shoulders. It didn’t make her any less pissed he hadn’t thought to at least stop and talk about it, but she got it.

  Because deep down, underneath the layers of devil-may-care showmanship and general wise-assery, beyond his distrust of all organized establishment, Jarek Slater was the guy who’d fight to his last breath to protect the people who needed protecting.

  It was probably why she … what? Liked him? Did she like Jarek? She leaned her head against the cool cinder block wall and sighed.

  Of course she liked him. She was a master of sticking head in sand, but she wasn’t quite good enough to deny that one. He was a child, and he drove her more than a little crazy at times, but he also made her smile—consistently. That was no small feat. She’d never felt safer knowing someone had her back, and sometimes, when he was looking at her, she even thought …

  Jesus, what was the world coming to? And why was she lurking in the hallway like an angsty teen when there were people dying out there?

  She needed to do something.

  Jarek had played his hand, there was no stopping that now, but she’d be damned if she was going to let him waltz into that stadium and die alone tomorrow. The chances of Zar’Golga showing up seemed decent enough. The chances of him doing it in good faith and giving Jarek a fair fight seemed drastically slimmer.

  So she’d go. She’d make sure Jarek’s back was clear while he cut down that savage monster, and then, with any luck, they could breathe long enough to turn their attention to other things—like the second coming of the apocalypse.

  By the time Jarek and Haldin emerged from medical into the hallway, Rachel was actually feeling half okay about the plan.

  Jarek eyed her as if she were an armed explosive device. “We’re gonna see if Stumpy has any useful input if you wanna come.”

  His wariness only grew when she nodded wordlessly and gestured for him to lead on.

  Approaching the Red King’s cell felt less intimidating this time around. After everything they’d learned, the raknoth were no longer the mystery-shrouded monstrosities they’d seemed just days ago. Still monstrosities, maybe, but it made a difference, understanding some of the hows and whys that had brought them to Earth and led them to do what they’d done to the planet.

  Twisted and barbaric as their actions had been, on some level, the raknoth of Earth were still people—or beings, at least— that just wanted to be free.

  Or maybe that was only Alton Parker.

  Zar’Golga certainly didn’t seem to have any qualms about indiscriminately killing humans. Understanding that the raknoth were operating on more than pure evil was one thing, but it didn’t change the fact that humans were basically a resource to them and that most of them seemed intent on keeping it that way. That was unforgivable.

  And then there was the other tiny ember burning her straight in the eye: the matter of what the raknoth had done to her family.

  From what awful scraps her mind hadn’t wiped blank, the home invasion had always seemed like just that: a brutal but ultimately run-of-the-mill crime. People had been doing that since forever. She’d always wanted to believe it had been something more—meant something more—but John had eventually convinced her that if the answers had ever been out there, they’d been wiped clean when the bombs had fallen.

  Slowly, she’d started to come to terms with it. Only to find now that there was more to it, that all the horrible events of her life really were connected, and that the raknoth were sitting at the center of it all.

  She wasn’t ready to forgive that either—probably never would be. At some point, her and Alton were going to have a long, potentially painful talk about it. But for now …

  She’d seen what was coming for them—in far more detail than she’d needed.

  When the rakul arrived, they’d be needing all the help they could get, no matter how bitter the pill she’d have to swallow. So she kept her mouth shut and paraded after Jarek, thinking neutral thoughts.

  As usual, three Resistance troops were standing guard outside the Red King’s cell.

  Jarek nodded to them. “Gents.” Then, toward the cell door, “Stumpy. I know you can hear me in there, buddy. Didja miss me?”

  The guards traded is this guy nuts? glances as they unlocked the door and parted to let them through. Jarek winked at the one with the key, pushed the door open, and led the way into the cell.

  Inside, the Red King’s cell was exactly as they’d left it, with the one exception of the raknoth himself, who’d regenerated an alarming amount of tissue. His marred hand was now whole again, and the arm that had been removed from near the elbow wasn’t so far behind.

  “Looks like you’re gonna have to rethink your brilliant nickname,” she muttered toward Jarek.

  “Maybe so,” he said, “but he’ll always be Stumpy in my heart.”

  The Red King’s limb lengths weren’t the only things that had changed. Inky black lines had appeared, crawling their way up along his neck from underneath his shirt collar and down along the length of his fresh limbs in patterns that reminded her of spiderwebs.

  He looked ill.

  “He needs to feed,” Haldin said quietly.

  The Red King looked at Haldin, took a few curious sniffs, then went back to staring at the ceiling.

  “That’s what those lines mean?” Rachel asked.

  Haldin nodded. “He needs blood. The same thing happened to Alton when we, uh, first took him prisoner a while back.”

  “Alton?”

  Rachel nearly jumped at the sound of the Red King’s voice. He was watching them again with a feeble crimson glow in his eyes.

  “His true name is Braka,” Haldin said.

  The King gave a growl-hiss of laughter. “Al’Braka? Was he not one of the fools who ran off to die with Zar’Faenor?”

  “The only one who didn’t die,” Haldin said. He looked at her and Jarek as if asking permission to continue.

 
She shrugged. He could knock himself out. If it got them anywhere, she didn’t really give a crap.

  “He came back here to try to cure the sickness so your people can move on,” Haldin said. He reached inside his jacket and produced a small plastic blood bag he must’ve nabbed from medical. “But now it looks like we’ve got a rakul problem to worry about first.”

  The King licked his lips at the sight of the blood and eyed Haldin with renewed interest. “What do you know about the harvesters, human?”

  Haldin telekinetically slit the top of the bag with a wave of his finger and shrugged. “Enough to know we’re all screwed if we don’t pull our heads out of our asses and start getting ready for them.”

  Another growl-hiss of laughter. “There is no ‘getting ready’ for the rakul, human. There is submitting, and there is dying. In our case, they are one and the same.”

  “Well aren’t you just a chatty ray of sunshine today?” Jarek said. He looked at Haldin. “He must like you.”

  The King looked like he might reply, but Haldin lowered the blood bag close to his mouth and began pouring, and for several seconds, the raknoth did nothing but slurp down mouthfuls of the dark, viscous fluid with a series of appreciative grunts.

  “Well now you’re just cheating,” Jarek said. “Also, gross.”

  Rachel couldn’t argue with the second part, even if the King did deserve a point or two for how tidy he managed to be in downing what must’ve been a pint of blood.

  “What’s your real name?” Haldin asked when the bag was nearly empty. “I’m Haldin Raish.”

  The King finished his thick drink and licked his lips clean before answering. “I am Al’Drogan,” he finally said. “Thank you, Haldin Raish.”

  “Drogan,” Haldin repeated. “You’re welcome.”

  “Doesn’t have the same ring as Stumpy,” Jarek said, “but hey, maybe it’ll grow on me. What if we told you that we know what’s coming, Drogan? And that we’re ready to consider setting everything else aside for the time being so we can all fight for our lives and live to kill each other another day?”

  The King—Al’Drogan—considered Jarek. “If you plan to stand and fight,” he finally said, “then I would wager you do not truly understand what is coming.” He inclined his head toward Jarek. “You are a passable warrior—”

  “Coming from the guy who lost his arms to me,” Jarek said.

  “—but the weakest of the rakul would crush you like a petty insect—”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

  “—and even if you wish to make this foolish stand,” Drogan continued, an irritated growl slipping into his words, “the Overlord will never think to stand with you. He would sooner see this world burn than align himself against the masters alongside your kind. He may even think to burn it himself if he believes it will return him to their favor.”

  “Yeah,” Jarek said. “That’s actually why we came to talk to you, buddy. You might have already heard in here with those creepy little ears of yours, but Golga’s out there wrecking any shot we have at making this whole Earth alliance dream team happen. We need to stop him.”

  Drogan took in each of them anew, scrutinizing, measuring. “You are serious about this.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Jarek said.

  “You do not know what you speak of. The rakul—”

  “I do know,” Rachel said. “I’ve seen them.”

  Drogan’s eyes widened, pulsing brighter.

  “In memories,” she added, more quickly than she needed to.

  Why did she care if she gave the bastard a literal or figurative heart attack?

  “We both have,” Haldin said.

  Drogan’s eyes dimmed. “Then you both understand how hopelessly doomed this planet is.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Stumpy,” Jarek said. “You guys could learn a thing or two from humans if that’s all it takes for you to lay down and take it. Where’s the raknoth fight, man?”

  “It died with the last raknoth clan that thought to shirk the masters’ rule.”

  Jarek looked a shade less certain. “There have been revolts before?”

  Drogan gave a growl-hiss of laughter. “Of course there have, you imbecile. Do you truly think my people would willingly go on like this for millennia without attempting to break free?”

  Rachel resisted the urge to ask about the details of how and why the revolutions had failed. “It doesn’t matter now. We don’t have a choice here. The rakul are coming. You must’ve felt their message, even through that cloak.” She looked at Haldin. “I know we did.”

  Drogan drew a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth. “Cursed void, I prayed I had only imagined it.”

  “My brother was affected when the nest went off. He had some kind of seizure when the message came.”

  For the first time, Drogan wriggled against his chains. “You must release me! It may only be a matter of days now.”

  “Michael’s okay now, by the way,” Jarek said. “Thanks for asking.”

  “What concern is the life of one human when the entire world sits on the precipice? Fools! We must move now.”

  Jarek traded a surprised look with Rachel. “Just like that, huh? One hint that these guys are on their way and suddenly you’re on board with this thing you say can’t be done?”

  Drogan ceased his wriggling and gave an indignant sniff. “I do not shirk from the thought of an honorable warrior’s death. But that does not mean I wish to die. I am still young, and I do not relish being a servant of the rakul any more than the rest of my people.”

  “So help us,” Jarek said. “Help us hand them back their own asses when they get here. Help us get the rest of your pals on board to do the same.”

  Rachel expected the raknoth to laugh or scoff, but he didn’t. He just laid there in silent thought.

  “The Overlord must be removed first,” he finally said. “Zar’Golga likely would have ascended to Kul in the next millennium had our mission here went as planned. He will destroy any who think to resist the rakul in the hope of securing his future.”

  “Ten steps ahead of you on that one,” Jarek said. “I challenged the a-hole to a duel.”

  Drogan looked at Jarek like he’d just confessed he thought the Earth was flat. “That was exceptionally foolish, even for a human.”

  Jarek raised his hands. “Hey, don’t hold back, Stumpy. Tell me how you really feel.”

  Drogan blinked. “I was not being facetious, Jarek Slater. You nearly fell to me. Zar’Golga is far stronger, faster, and more experienced in combat. Much as it shames me to say, better you attempt to catch him unaware or in the chaos of a larger engagement. Face him one-on-one, and he will kill you. An honorable death, to be sure, but not one that promotes our survival.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it almost sounds like you’re worried about me, Stumpy.”

  Drogan scowled. “Ridiculous. I merely recognize you as one of the few humans who may be of any use if we are to attempt this madness.”

  Jarek grinned. “You’re gonna go and make me blush now.”

  He could play it off all he wanted. Rachel didn’t miss the traces of uncertainty hiding beneath that grin.

  Drogan let out a hissing sigh and fixed Jarek with a level stare. “You came here for my counsel, yes?”

  Jarek tilted his head in acknowledgment.

  “Now you have it,” Drogan said. “Do not go through with this plan if you wish to live.”

  Jarek frowned, thought about saying something, and turned for the door instead. “Helpful, Stumpy. Real helpful.”

  “Zar’Golga does not have a weakness to exploit,” Drogan said.

  Jarek paused, hand halfway to the door.

  “If you do this,” Drogan continued, “you must not underestimate him. And do not dare show him mercy. Zar’Golga may not be as old and powerful as the rakul, but he is the most cunning warrior I have ever known.”

  Jarek held the raknoth’s gaze
for a length, then he pulled the door open. “See you tomorrow, Stumpy. Maybe I’ll bring you back a souvenir.”

  Drogan might have actually cracked the faint beginnings of a smile. “Fight well, Jarek Slater.”

  Rachel glanced between Drogan and the open doorway Jarek had disappeared through, her earlier confidence in the plan crumbling.

  Zar’Golga wasn’t easy prey, or prey at all, really—they’d seen that clearly enough this morning. If it hadn’t been for their interference, Golga would have killed Alton half a dozen times during the fight. But to hear Drogan talk about Golga now …

  Jarek was tough, but they were talking about a creature who’d probably conquered more planets than Jarek had scars.

  And while he clearly wasn’t oblivious to the fact, Jarek didn’t seem nearly rattled enough about it.

  “I need a drink,” he said when they joined him down the hallway outside medical. He glanced at Haldin. “Is that a thing with you guys, or—”

  “I need to talk to you.” Rachel was caught off guard by her own tone, and a part of her burned with satisfaction at the look it put on Jarek’s face, like a part of him had just shriveled up. “Alone,” she added.

  Haldin shot Jarek a slightly pitying look, nodded to Rachel, and shuffled off to rejoin the others in medical.

  Rachel grabbed Jarek by the arm and tugged him around to an isolated corner in the next hallway. Even before counting Fela, Rachel probably weighed about half of Jarek. With the exosuit, he could have lifted a dozen Rachels and held them all at arm’s length. Despite all that, he didn’t resist.

  “You’re angry,” he said.

  “You’re an asshole.” He held up a finger and started to say something, but Rachel silenced him with a look. “You just get to decide you’re gonna waltz off on your big suicide cock fight, and fuck whatever the rest of us have to say about it?”

  “It’s not right, I know.” For a second, he actually looked apologetic. Then his big stupid mouth won out. “I mean, a suicide cock fight—what does that even mean? Are the cocks suicidal, or—”

  She thrust a hand toward him and let her frustration flood out in a wave of telekinetic force.

  He staggered back a few steps and raised a hand. “Okay, okay! Jesus, Goldilocks …”