Harvest Earth

by J. D. Laird

  Debra laughs. “No, no. We’ve never had power to lose.” She pets some of the remaining dust off of Copper’s coat. “Nobody runs power lines up this far. The only reason we even have water is because we’ve been blessed with a well, an aquifer running down and underground from mountain.” Debra then raises an eyebrow saying, “Which is a good thing seeing how hot everything has gotten lately.” To Madison, Debra speaks in a way as if there is a hidden implication to the comment. If there is though, Madison has missed it.

  Madison does know that there had been a national heat advisory issued across the country for the duration of the whole summer. Due to the isolation of the base, Madison had been able to largely ignore all the news bulletins and government public service announcements reminding people to stay hydrated. The Earth was getting warmer, at least that’s what the scientists had been saying for decades. Now it seemed that there was finally evidence to prove it. Not that any of that seemed real now. Not now as Madison stood on the mesa with the sun finally fading behind a distant rock formation. Stars could be seen in the East and with them came the chill of the desert night.

  “Best get inside.” Debra says, as a gust of evening air brushes past them. The two airmen follow their rescuer toward her home.

  The cracking paint on the white front door flakes off as Debra opens it. The hinges creak, announcing their entrance into the home. “Son, I’m home.” Debra shouts to what appears to be an empty house. “I’ve brought company.”

  As Madison makes her way into the home the bareness of the space is jarring. The entryway leads directly into a living room that has only the barest essentials necessary to even be able to identify the room as such a space. There is a couch, two mismatched chairs and a coffee table. There is artwork on the wall, three pictures, all Southwest landscapes. The frames on the pictures are loose, one is missing it’s top bar, and the prints behind the glass are faded from being exposed too much sun.

  “Please sit.” Debra says, as she moves through the living room. A stale brown floorboard crunches under her feet as she walks. On the coffee table there is an oil lantern, Debra lits it and it fills the room with radiant light.

  “I’m still covered in dirt.” Madison says, gesturing to her officer’s uniform which is torn and weathered.

  Debra smiles coyly. “We both know that won’t make much of a difference.” She says. “You can’t do to mess up my home that hasn’t already been done.”

  Madison obliges her host and takes a seat in one of the lone chairs, a wooden one that creaks as she rests her weight on it. The wood is jagged and someone has taken a knife to one of the armrests and carved an obscenity into it. Pvt. Hillman sits opposite of her in the other chair which is one the other side of the room. It has a cushioned yellow seat and when the Private sits on it a bloom of dust billows up around her. Copper curls up on top of the Private’s muddy boots.

  During this time Debra goes to the kitchen, turns on her tap, and fills two glasses of water that she brings to the two airmen. “Fresh from the Earth.” She says, “Just like it’s intended to taste.” Madison takes a grateful sip, the liquid feels cool as it cleanses the remaining dust out of her throat.

  “We had our own water supply in the base.” Madison says, relishing the relief of freedom once again. “We were pretty self-contained.”

  “I know.” Debra says, seating herself on the couch. She rests her leathery hands on her skinny thighs. “Me too.” She smiles, though still careful to hide her misshapen teeth.

  “Have you heard anything?” Madison asks. “From anywhere else, I mean?”

  “No.” Debra replies. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t have a television, no radio and no phone.”

  “Then how do you-“ Madison cuts herself off. She had spent two years learning more information than she knew she had a right to know. This woman she was the opposite. She lives a life of silence, oblivious to the lives of others.

  “How do I?” Debra attempts to finish Madison’s sentence. “How do I learn about the world? Learn about the latest political scandal? Learn about the latest attack overseas? Learn about which one of my neighbors has been sleeping with who?” She giggles. “The wind tells me what I need to know. The wind, the angels and my son.”

  The mention of Debra’s son seems to jerk Pvt. Hillman awake. Up until that point the Private seemed to be in a fugue state. She was going through the motions but not truly present or aware of what was happening around her. “You told me I needed to meet your son. Where is he?”

  “Around.” Debra says, once again meeting Pvt. Hillman’s gaze eye-to-eye. “I’ll get him for you, if you wish?” The tone of her voice is reminiscent of a commander issuing a call to arms.

  Pvt. Hillman surrenders. “Please.” She says. Madison knows how hard it is for the Private to give even the slightest bit of ground.

  Debra nods. “Very well then.” She makes her way into the kitchen and rounds the corner. She disappears out of sight and into an adjacent room.

  With just the two airmen left in the room, it is the first opportunity the two of them have to talk since the entryway. There is an awkward silence before Madison says, “We’re lucky, you know?”

  At first, Pvt. Hillman doesn’t respond. The Private just bends over and rubs the head of the dog at her feet. She then leans back and sets her rifle beside her, taking it off of her lap. “I know.” She says. The volume of her voice is just above a whisper.

  “I’m sorry I hit you.” Madison says. A small bruise has formed on Pvt. Hillman’s jaw where Madison had slugged her with her fist. “But we couldn’t stay there.”

  “Maybe.” Pvt. Hillman says. The Private’s fingers flicker as she resists the urge to rub the bruise on her face which by now must have been numb with pain. “Maybe not.” The Private continues. She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Now we’ll never know.”

  “You’re right.” Madison says. She counters Pvt. Hillman’s own defensive posture with a more open one. Madison leans back in her own chair and pins her shoulders to the backrest. “Now we’ll never know for certain,” Madison then pauses. The memory of the strange way that Debra had spoken about what had happened at the base strikes with her. “Hillman.” She says, soft and just so the two of them can hear. “I think that this woman knows something about what happened at the base.”

  Pvt. Hillman perks up, her eyelids raised and her face suddenly flush with new life. She leans over and rests her elbows on her knees. “What do you think she knows?”

  “More than she’s telling us.” Madison replies.

  The sound of footsteps interrupts their conversation. Into the kitchen walks Debra. There is a shadow of a person behind her. The two of them step into the doorway.

  Madison sees that the person with Debra is a young man. He is tall, heavyset and has long black hair that is matted to his face. His eyes are cast down at his socked feet. His clothing is dark and dirty. The only thing that seems to be living about him, to have any spark, is the glint of a metallic surface that sparkles as it catches the firelight. Madison squinted and sees a small medallion hanging from the man’s neck.

  Debra puts a hand on the back of the massive shoulders of the young man and frames him in the doorway for the two airmen to see. She is beaming, a mother glowing with pride as she says, “I would like you to meet my son, Tobias.”

  27 Debra

  When her son disappeared Debra did the one thing she had been told never to do, she went to the police. It was the most terrifying thing she could think to do, to walk into the Police Station and talk with an officer. Debra’s boyfriend, for lack of a better title, had warned her that if she went there he would kill her. Debra didn’t care about that now. The two of them had been high the night of Debra’s son’s disappearance. She had been high most of the next day as well. But now Debra didn’t care about dying or being thrown in prison. She just wanted her son found, and she wanted it done while she was still sober.

  As Debra spoke with the officer and he
took her statement. She held herself as she spoke, rocking and soothing her shaking innards. Debra tried to be as honest as possible, but never revealed to the officer the real reason she hadn’t noticed that her son was gone. Instead she told him that she had drank too much and had passed out. Debra feared that her bleeding gums, bloodshot eyes and cachectic arms would give away the truth. If the officer expected anything he kept it to himself.

  The only evidence found at Debra’s son’s last known location was her son’s notebook, which she brought to the police station with her. The notebook had been found discarded in the dirt with a small crater nearby. Debra had read the notebook when she found it and then she had cried. The notebook’s pages were filled with poems and drawings. They told the story of a boy who was troubled, full of anger and sadness. Debra too felt that way. She had felt that way most of her life. She wished she had the opportunity to tell her son as much.

  After the meeting with the officer he took the notebook as evidence, and then the two of them drove out to Debra’s house. The officer examined the area where the notebook had been found. The circular impression in the earth had been mostly covered back in by dirt and was barely visible. The officer asked Debra more questions. He asked her if her son had seemed different lately? If he had seemed depressed?

  Of course he was depressed, Debra had wanted to shout back, but didn’t have the energy. She thought, wasn’t everyone depressed who lived in this world? But then the officer asked her more questions, like if her son was seeing a counselor, if he had ever hurt himself in the past, or if he ever talked about dying? The line of questioning brought Debra to tears. She refused to believe that her son would-

  The police officer watched as Debra curled up in a ball in the dirt, sobbing. In that moment Debra knew that her son was gone. And while he may have been the one to end it, she knew that it was she who was to blame.

  For the next few weeks, Debra oscillated between feelings of disbelief and utter remorse. When her ‘friends’ came to visit her she drove them all away. She had needed to brandish a knife to keep her dealer away, and nearly turned it on herself when he offered her another hit. The pain was deep, it was in her very soul. No amount of drugs could numb it. So instead Debra went into withdrawal. Alone in her house she fell ill. She told herself that she deserved it, that it was the grief making her vomit every time she tried to move.

  Weeks turned into months and still there was no sign of Debra’s son. At the beginning of each month Debra would go into town, collect her social security check and then disappear back to her home. She would drink water from the tap and eat junk food, cursing herself for not taking more pictures of her child as she flipped through a shoebox of his belongings. She would cry herself to sleep.

  Months turned into years and Debra continued to waste away. Her house sat alone on the mesa and Debra sat alone within it. Most of the time she sat in the dark, she had ran out of oil for her lamps. Over time, Debra stopped driving into town as well. Debra was just living on the crumbs of her purchases months before. She still cried but the tears didn’t come with sobbing now. They were silent tears that would just fall down her face when she least expected it.

  Debra tried to keep herself occupied at times. She would clean the house or organize and reorganize the few belongings she had. Sometimes she would go for a drive in her truck. She would just watch the desert fly by outside of her window. That is how she had found Copper. A dog alone in the desert, as anorexic-looking as Debra thought she probably appeared. She took him home with her, not bearing to think what would happen should she leave the pet on its own.

  She nursed the dog him back to health and in doing so saved herself as well. Copper couldn’t live off the same scraps Debra did, so Debra found herself going into town more often. She would bring the dog with her. At night Debra still cried but now she was less alone.

  Debra had been spooning some wet dog food out of a can when there was a knock on her door one evening. It was odd to have visitors. Debra hadn’t seen anyone for years on her lonely mesa. Copper too was surprised, but rather than bark happily like the dog normally did with strangers, instead the dog ran into the bedroom and dove under the bed. Copper’s tail was still as it curled up underneath the dog’s furry belly.

  Before leaving the kitchen Debra grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter. She knew the type of people who used to come visit her. The leeches and the parasites who wanted everything she had. The ones that wanted everything that Debra was. Debra always feared that one day these vermin would come back and claim what they had left behind. Picking up her oil lantern off the coffee table in her offhand, Debra approached the door.

  There were no windows facing the front of the house, one of the many flaws in the structure’s construction.

  “Who is it?” Debra shouted as she set the lantern down on the floor by the door to free up one of her hands, not daring to drop the knife.

  There was no answer, just another knock. A hollow and deep sound echoed off the walls of the empty house.

  Mustering up her courage, Debra twisted the doorknob. It squealed as she did this, heightening the tension that was rising in her chest. She tugged at the knob and the hinges creaked open.

  Debra screamed and dropped her knife. She fell to her knees and buried her head in her hands. She shielded her eyes from what Debra could not believe she was seeing.

  When she finally dared to look up at the figure in the doorway, Debra’s eyes erupted with tears. She cried more deeply and more freely than anytime she had before. A deep knot of emotion was unspooled in her chest and her whole body gave in to the feelings that flowed from it.

  The figure in the doorway didn’t move. Instead, it just stood motionless, not saying a word. It was a male, tall, obese and naked.

  In another time, the man had called Debra his mother.

  28 Madison

  “He hasn’t spoken since he came home.” Debra says. Madison notices that the woman is wringing her hands together as she speaks. Both she and her son are sitting on the couch. He is staring numbly at the floor. “He never spoke much before, mind you. But now I can’t get as much as a peep out of him.”

  Madison studies the young man. He is probably in his early twenties. His hair is oily and his face has patches of unshaven hair. His expression is loose, with his lower lip just hanging loosely. The light in his eyes is distant, as if his mind is far away. From his neck, dangling from a black cord, is a tiny metallic object. It is slender and only about an inch long. Madison can’t make out the details of it from where she was sitting.

  “What is that around his neck?” Madison asks, gesturing to the metallic object.

  “Oh that?” Debra goes to touch the metallic object but her son turns away from her. He blocks his mother’s reach with his shoulder. She just smiles in response. “That is what Tobias came back with. It was their gift to him.”

  The allusion to this unknown ‘them’ leaves Madison with feeling uneasy. “Them? Do you know what happened to your son?” Debra had just finished telling the two airmen of how she had found her son standing on her doorway. It was a strange tale. “Did somebody kidnap him?” To Madison it seems the only logical assumption.

  “Not kidnapped.” Debra shakes her head. “Abducted.”

  Pvt. Hillman shoots Madison a skeptical look and Madison returns the glance. “What do you mean abducted?” Madison questions, trying to hide her disbelief.

  “He was abducted by beings from beyond the stars.” Debra says the statement with conviction and as if it is a matter of fact. Pvt. Hillman and Madison can’t help but readjust themselves uncomfortably in their chairs. “They took him the night he went missing.” Debra continues. “And then they brought my angel back to me. They needed to do it. They needed to do it in order for me to see the error in my ways.”

  “What exactly are you talking about lady?” Pvt. Hillman snaps, visibly uneasy by the direction the conversation was going.

  Debra is unaffected by the Private’s
tone or how uncomfortable Pvt. Hillman has become. “Some call them angels, or aliens. Might be they’re a little of both. All I know is that God sent them to my son to rescue him from me. Then they returned him when I was ready to receive him again.”

  An odd stillness falls over the room. Madison and Pvt. Hillman continue to share sideways glances.

  It is Debra who saves them from the persistent awkwardness, “How about some dinner, huh?” She stands up and walks into the kitchen. “I don’t have much but I’m always willing to share with guests.” She then pauses briefly and gives both airmen a coy smile. “Not that I get many of those anymore.”

  “I can see why.” Pvt. Hillman says under her breath. It is just loud enough for Madison to hear.

  “So the object around Tobias’ neck, what is it exactly?” Madison shouts quickly, hoping that Debra hasn’t heard Pvt. Hillman’s remark.

  “I told you.” Debra says as she rummages through cupboards. She pulls out boxes and sets them on the counter. “It was a gift from the star-beings.”

  “Right.” Madison isn’t satisfied. There has to be more to the story. “But, I mean where did you find it?”

  “Tobias had it on him.” The sound of water filling a metal pot nearly drowns Debra out as she speaks. “Or rather in him.”

  “In him?” Pvt. Hillman is visibly resisting the urge to reach for her rifle. It is her safety blanket is uneasy situations.

  “Yes, in his arm.” The pot with water is placed on a burner on the stove. Debra lits a match and turns a knob on the front of the stove. Holding the flame under the burner a burst of fire erupts. “He dug it out of him,” Debra continues, “Over the Summer, Tobias had a fit like you wouldn’t believe.” Debra turns the knob below the burner slightly and reduces the flame to a low blaze. “I tried to stop him but he was determined. He used his nails and everything. He dug that object out of his forearm.” Debra tosses the match into the sink.