The Harvest

by N. W. Harris

  The passengers were quiet, eating their food and likely reflecting on the hell that lay ahead. Adrenaline stole Shane’s appetite, but he forced down two sandwiches while thinking about Rebecca and the others who must’ve made the meal. It was one more reminder—the fate of the entire world depended on the people on this plane. Thank goodness they made simple ham and cheese. Anything fancier and he wouldn’t have been able to touch it.

  “Fasten your seatbelts,” Jones announced. “The airport runway is obstructed by abandoned aircraft. We’ve found a narrow strip where we can land, but it’s going to be rough.”

  Seatbelts clicked, and murmurs passed through the plane. Shane took a gulp of his water, trying to keep his food down. He felt a bit of motion sickness coming on. Mixed with the excitement, it tore at his insides.

  A loud mechanical whir startled him, and Shane glanced at Kelly.

  “It’s normal,” she replied softly.

  He’d never flown before, and he was embarrassed and a bit shocked that the descent made him nervous, especially after all he’d been through.

  Out of the window, he could see the sun rising in the east, lighting the tan desert landscape below. The city of Cairo was visible. Much of it looked poor and ancient. Some of the buildings were black, scarred by fire. Bent columns of smoke rose from others. Off in the distance, geometrical splotches of green represented the farmlands that surrounded the city and were used to feed its inhabitants. Although inhospitable desert surrounded the rural area, it looked far more inviting to him than the city below. He guessed the rest of the kids from Leeville would agree.

  “Looks rough down there,” Steve observed, sounding glum but not overly agitated by the fact that they’d soon be on those streets. He made a good linebacker, calm and powerful. Shane just had to point him in the right direction and say go, and Steve would crush anything in his path.

  Always the quarterback, Shane’s mind started coming up with every possible nightmarish scenario they might run into in Cairo. It might be better to allow his friends to be jaded and more relaxed—the result of all the hard training and the neural upload—but Shane intended to obsess over each second of the mission. He’d make sure he was ready to lead his team through whatever this city, and Giza beyond, could throw at them.

  The plane made a slow, sweeping turn around the airport, listing right so Shane had a clear view of where Jones intended to land. Aircraft were scattered randomly across the tarmac, blocking runways, mangled from colliding with others, and buried in the side of the terminal, which was mostly burned. They had been away from the death and destruction for only a short while, yet it felt like a lifetime ago when he and his friends were stepping over the corpses back home. He could see random bodies sprawled on the tarmac, dreading getting down closer to them. They’d be rotten by now.

  “Everyone, hang on,” Jones ordered, his voice calm and fitting for the old pro at crash landing that he was.

  The plane flew away from the airport and came back around with a hard bank. Shane’s stomach wasn’t happy about it at all. He gritted his teeth, his seatbelt the only thing preventing him from falling on top of Kelly in the turn.

  They leveled off, and the nose of the aircraft tilted up. Shane could see the city drawing closer as they descended. Then hangars and wrecked planes flashed by his window. The landing gear hit the runway hard, with a loud yelp from the tires. The shock of the impact jarred his teeth. Jones immediately got on the brakes, the engines screaming as he reversed thrust.

  Shane pressed his legs into the seat in front of him to keep from falling forward. Kelly hugged his arm, which he’d streched in front of her. Even over the roar, the sound of screeching tires permeated the cargo bay. The plane shook, rattled, and twisted back and forth. He held his breath, waiting to be slammed out of his seat when they collided with another aircraft stranded on the runway.

  As suddenly as the violence of the landing started, it stopped. Jones brought the plane to a halt, and the engines whined down. Shane was stunned. There was no way they’d made it to the ground in one piece. The other passengers shared the shaken expression he expected he wore, then Petrov let out a whoot, and they all started clapping.

  “I’d say that’s about all the proof anyone needs,” Maurice proclaimed, unbuckling his seatbelt and standing. “Luck is with us,” he hesitated, “because there ain’t no way we’d be alive if it wasn’t.”

  Nervous chuckles passed through the others. Shane guessed the preacher’s son was about to make a religious comment, but he’d pulled back at the last second because some of the others tended to get uncomfortable when he had in the past.

  “Okay people,” Jones said, stepping through the cockpit door. “We need to get you equipped and on your way ASAP.”

  Jones removed the lids of the crates, revealing a variety of guns, as Shane suspected. Dr. Blain opened the side doors of the military aircraft and was swinging guns mounted to the fuselage out of the openings.

  “These are AK-47s,” he said, lifting a distressed rifle with a wooden stalk and grip on it. “They are very reliable and somewhat common in these areas, so they won’t raise suspicion.”

  “I’ll take one of those,” Steve said, relieving Jones of the gun with gleaming eyes. “And one of these.” He retrieved a short-barreled shotgun with a pistol grip out of the crate. “And, oh yeah, what’s that?”

  “It’s a grenade launcher,” Tracy said, sticking an elbow out to prevent him from setting the shotgun down. “And it’s mine.”

  She squeezed between Steve and the crate, taking advantage of both his hands being full. After grabbing the gun, which had an oversized barrel to fire its thick projectiles, she scooped up a chain of the short, fat, bullet-shaped grenades.

  “Each of you should take a vest. Be careful—the pockets have hand-thrown grenades in them,” Jones said.

  Talking in his drill-sergeant voice, he reviewed nuances about each of the weapons; what to do if they misfired or jammed, the delay time on the grenades, and their effective kill range. His sweeping gazes studied the teens as he spoke, perhaps assessing if they were ready. Otherwise, the lecture seemed like a waste of time. Shane already knew everything about the weapons from the neural upload.

  He was the last to pick out a gun, and he wasn’t the least bit enthusiastic about having one in his hands again. His experience with the M-16s in Atlanta made him go for the AK. He’d seen the Russian-made weapons in the movies, but never in real life. The guns were old, or at least made to look old—their barrels spotted with rust and the wooden parts missing most of the original varnish—he supposed so that they’d blend better on the streets of Cairo.

  “Never mind the patina—she’s the finest weapon ever made,” Petrov announced, petting the stalk of his AK affectionately. “You’ll find she is reliable no matter what the conditions. Russian ingenuity at its finest.”

  “Thank you, Mikhail Kalashnikov,” Anfisa added, kissing her AK.

  “So hot.” Steve watched her with lascivious eyes.

  Shane could only offer a polite smile. He couldn’t wait until all this was over. He’d never touch another gun again if he had his choice. He put on a black mesh vest with four pockets running on either side of the zipper, each one holding a grenade. Then he took the backpack Jones gave him, filling it with extra clips for his gun and the dried food Jones handed out. Touching the bullets caused bile to rise in his throat, the images of the kids he’d killed resurfacing in his mind.

  “Your teams will take different routes through the city,” Jones instructed, handing out maps. “It may draw too much attention if you travel together.”

  The doctor gave them paper cups filled with vitamins that she said would give them energy and keep them alert even if they couldn’t eat or sleep for several days. Having grown accustomed to swallowing the massive tablets, the kids ingested her prescription without hesitation.

  “Once the Anunnaki vessels land, it’s critical you act like the other kids around you. It must ap
pear you are under the control of the enemy. And do not attempt to take your weapons into the ship. Cast them aside when you see the others do it. You need to attract the least attention to yourselves as possible.”

  “Where will you be?” Tracy asked.

  “We’ll be hiding nearby. Once you destroy the reactors, we will fly in helicopters with reinforcements.”

  “If we destroy the reactors,” Laura murmured.

  “No time for that,” Tracy scolded.

  Laura glared at her. Tracy didn’t acknowledge it, focused on strapping on her new toys. They’d been getting along better since their fight in the barracks, but there was still constant tension between them.

  The last thing Shane donned was a green belt with two canteens hanging from it. He felt weighed down by all the gear, but he didn’t dare leave any behind. Jones opened the rear hatch, a ramp that was wide enough to drive a car on. Gunshots sounded in the distance, and Shane’s hand reflexively went to the strap of his rifle.

  “The teams will leave at fifteen-minute intervals. Move quickly and quietly through the city. Get to the pyramids as fast as possible. The first team out is the Australians,” Jones said. “Liam and Jake, you’re going with the Americans. Jules and Kelly, you’ll be on the Australian team.”

  “Wait,” Shane stammered. “What? I don’t think so!”

  “Your affections could affect your judgment at a critical moment,” Jones replied curtly. “If your attention is on protecting her, it cannot be on the mission.”

  “We’ve done some pretty crazy shit together already,” Shane replied, trying to keep his anger in check. “We shut down that stupid weapon in Atlanta, didn’t we?”

  “I’m not disputing your abilities.” Jones sighed, a rare glimmer of empathy in his eyes. “Shane, you were born a leader. Think about it. Step out of yourself for a minute. Shouldn’t you be separated from Kelly for this mission?”

  He searched for an argument to counter, something to prove that Kelly and he should stay together. Deep down inside, Shane knew Jones’ logic was sound, and he would do the same if their roles were reversed.

  “We’re different,” he said, refusing to give in. “We work too well together to be separated.”

  He looked at Tracy, expecting she’d join in the argument to prevent having Jules taken from her. But the tough girl with a blond crew cut, who he’d grown to respect more than just about anyone, wore a pained expression showing she reluctantly agreed with Jones. Jules looked offended, but she didn’t turn away when Tracy walked over to her and talked in a hushed voice.

  “He’s right, Shane,” Kelly said, barely speaking louder than a whisper. “I know you’ll do whatever it takes to protect me. We have to be on different teams if this is going to work.”

  “No, Kelly.” Sweat beaded on Shane’s forehead. He couldn’t stand the idea of her being in danger when he wasn’t near to help.

  “You know he’s right,” she repeated. “This mission has to succeed. I don’t want to be a distraction for you, and you can’t be one for me. We have to do it for Nat and everyone else.”

  Shane looked into her sapphire eyes, tears glistening in them. There was no way he’d change her mind, and he knew his reasons for wanting to were selfish. His vest and weapon suddenly seemed a hundred pounds heavier. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, struggling to keep the tears out of his eyes.

  “Promise me you’ll look after Nat and the other kids if I don’t make it,” she whispered.

  “You’ll make it,” he replied, his voice cracking.

  “Just promise me, damn it.”

  “Okay,” he said, defeated. “I promise.”

  She smiled, melting his heart. He’d die a thousand torturous ways to keep her safe. His brain raced, desperate to find a reason for her to stay on the plane, some way of stopping her from going on the mission. She didn’t give him another chance to object, turning away and stepping toward the back of the airplane with Jules and the Australians. He caught one last glimpse of her face just after she walked onto the runway. The kind smile she’d shown him was gone, replaced by the steely expression of a warrior—cold, hard, and ready to kill if that was what it took to get the job done.

  “Don’t worry, mate,” Liam said quietly, putting a comforting hand on Shane’s shoulder. “My boys will keep them safe.”

  “Thanks, Liam,” Shane muttered.

  Tracy stood on the ramp next to him, a glum expression on her face. Her lip twitched like she struggled to keep from calling out to Jules. Shane’s eyes locked onto Kelly, his sour guts twisting into knots. The hot desert wind shifted and blew the smell of rotting flesh and fire into his face. He blinked his eyes and stopped breathing through his nose. The Australians—Jules and Kelly with them—slipped between the hangars and out of sight. Shane looked at Tracy.

  “We’ll see them soon,” he said, his voice weak.

  She returned his gaze, her eyes damp. He didn’t imagine Tracy had ever really cried, and to him, the wetness in her eyes now was essentially her version of bawling. He was beginning to think the foul odor and smoke probably caused her eyes to water when Tracy stepped closer to him. She looked up at his face, and then she hugged him. He was shocked, not having expected her to ever show such sensitivity. For a second, he just stood there, her arms around his torso. Then he remembered his manners and hugged her back.

  When she released him and stepped away, she looked down and straightened her gear. Then she flashed an embarrassed glance at him before studying her watch and clearing her throat.

  “Looks like we have ten minutes,” she observed gruffly. “Hurry up and wait.”

  “Yeah,” Shane replied. He wanted to give her a playful punch in the shoulder, something to show he was cool with her display of emotion. Expecting it might make her more uncomfortable, he held back.

  “Let’s have a look at our map,” Steve suggested, making an obvious effort to distract them.

  Needing the diversion, Shane unfolded the map on a table that extended off the curved fuselage of the aircraft. Maurice, Laura, Steve, Tracy, Liam, and Jake crowded around. Steve’s strategy worked, at least for Tracy. She immersed herself in analyzing their route, pointing out areas where she thought they’d need to be extra vigilant. Pretending to look at the map, he glanced around at their faces. They each had their strengths and weaknesses, Shane included. Were they good enough to win this deadly game? At this point, it didn’t matter. This was his team, and he had to believe in them now as much as they’d believed in him all along.

  Each squad was assigned a different way through the city. His attention was drawn to the blue line, the path Kelly and the Aussie team were on. Biting the inside of his cheek, he focused on the red line that belonged to his squad. He hated to admit it, but she was a distraction. Apparently, she was not only the greatest source of his strength, but she was also his weakness. Even now, he was having trouble keeping his attention on the task at hand.

  “Okay, team one, you’re up next,” Jones growled. He sat near the side door just forward of the wings, manning the mini-gun that swung off the fuselage and through the opening.

  Dr. Blain sat opposite him, the same weapon pointed out of the door on her side. She looked more nervous than Jones, who was focused and calm like this was business as usual. Shane reckoned she’d never been in combat. Glancing toward him, her lips rose into a smile. The maternal glimmer that made him inexplicably uncomfortable ignited in her eyes. He smiled back and then turned away.

  “Let’s do this,” Steve said, sounding ready to charge out of the locker room and onto the football field.

  They gathered their stuff, and Shane was the first at the door. Far off in the distance, he could hear the pop of a gun. Otherwise, all was quiet.

  He glanced back at the captain, wanting to say thanks. As gruff and unfriendly as Jones always tried to act, Shane knew he cared. Although he didn’t like or trust him during those first days of training, he’d come to respect the rebel like he respecte
d Coach Rice, the man he wished his own father had been more like. He looked at Tracy and Maurice, hoping they’d say something meaningful. Their faces expressed the same sentiments, but all kept quiet.

  “Good luck,” Jones said, nodding at them in a way that showed he acknowledged their gratefulness. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  “Thanks,” Shane replied, wondering how many times the captain had trained soldiers and then sent them off to die.

  “I’m shooting that thing when we get back,” Tracy said, pointing at the mini-gun.

  Jones chuckled, a coarse sound he seemed unaccustomed to making. He gazed through the sights of his weapon out of the open door.

  “Stick to the mission, and you’ll do fine.” Looking at them again, he touched his head. “Your uploads gave you everything you need to know to succeed. But you were born with what will defeat the enemy,” he added, pointing at his heart.

  After nodding to the captain one last time, Shane swung the AK off his shoulder. He held it ready and walked down the ramp off the air-conditioned plane. The dry heat of Egypt stung his nose and eyes. It felt like he’d stuck his face in an oven. He glanced left and right, searching for threats.

  At the bottom of the steps, he waited for the rest of his team. Tracy pulled her weapon off her shoulder and held it ready, and the rest did the same.

  “Let’s go,” Shane said, walking briskly across the tarmac.

  “Everyone, keep your eyes peeled,” Tracy added. “We don’t want to be surprised.”

  “Oh,” Laura said abhorrently, retreating behind him. “That is so gross.”