Liar's Harvest (The Emergent Earth)

by Michael Langlois

We spent the next several hours being questioned individually, a process not unlike the intense debriefings that I had undergone in my youth after being relieved of some arcane trinket brought back from the field. I guess the main difference was that this time there wasn’t a squad of guys with flamethrowers outside ready to torch me if they thought I might have come back contaminated in some way. It’s the little things that you come to appreciate in your old age.

  They eventually brought us into a conference room and gave us coffee. Except for Leon, who we were still waiting for when Owen entered the room. He put two things down on the table before taking a seat. The first was an artist’s sketch of Leon’s face, a little out of proportion, but still a pretty good match. The second was a clear plastic evidence bag with half of a brick in it. The corner of the brick was stained with blood.

  “So,” he said, “I heard Leon had words with KC at Verna’s yesterday.”

  I nodded. “He did. But KC did put his recently deceased cousin in the hospital last week, so I don’t know that I can blame the guy for throwing a few punches.”

  “Let’s not do that. The 911 report shows that there were guns involved, and that your lady friend here drew first. Don’t make it out to be some kinda schoolyard dust-up.”

  I spread my hands. “People were pretty angry. But contrary to your report, Anne drew second. She just drew a lot faster.”

  “And that broke up the party, huh?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So, I guess you could say that Leon had some unfinished business at that point?”

  “I don’t know about that. He seemed pretty done to me.”

  Owen shrugged. “Never can tell when a man feels like he’s gotten all that he feels owed. Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that he wasn’t done. That maybe he went by KC’s place later on that day for a visit.”

  He pushed the sketch into the center of the table. “I’m gonna say that’s pretty likely, considering that one of KC’s neighbors gave us this sketch. They claim that they saw this man leaving KC’s house at dusk. I’d say that’s a pretty good likeness, wouldn’t you?”

  I didn’t say anything, but the artist’s sketch was obviously of Leon.

  Owen continued, pushing the brick forward. “And then there’s this. We found it on the floor under the KC’s kitchen table. Got his prints on it. The blood’s not his, though.”

  He spun the bag around on the table with a thoughtful expression on his face, the plastic hissing as it rubbed against the smooth surface.

  I wasn’t seeing the brick. I was seeing Leon at the lumber yard, blood running out of his hair. Hit by a brick, he’d said when I asked.

  Owen pulled the brick back to his side of the table. “Not going to ask who the blood belongs to? I suppose not. You saw the wound on the side of Leon’s head, same as I did. The doc says it’s about a day old, which isn’t too far off from when KC perished with this same brick in his hand.”

  “You know Leon,” said Henry. “And you know he doesn’t have it in him to pull out a man’s guts like that. If he was going to kill someone, it wouldn’t be that way.”

  Owen nodded. “That’s what I’d think, personally. But this looks bad. The man’s a vet, and that counts with me, but it’s not a plus in court, if you know what I mean. Worse, the first killing happened not a mile from your house, where Leon was staying. And both victims called his cell phone.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a point in his defense?” I asked. “I mean, why would they call the guy killing them? Makes no sense.”

  Owen nodded. “I said the same thing myself. I also told them that if Leon had pulled that guy apart, he’d be covered in blood and worse. The lab is going over him with a fine tooth comb, and some of my men are already at your house looking for discarded clothes and evidence in the drains. But right now that’s seems pretty insignificant compared to finding you all at both crime scenes, plus the rest of it.” He glanced at the brick and the eyewitness sketch.

  Henry looked gray and exhausted. “So what happens now?”

  “Leon stays here while we investigate. They wanted to keep the rest of you, but the only real connections we have to the crime, besides association, is with Leon. That means I get to decide what to do with you, and I’m letting you walk. As for Leon, he’ll have to spend a few nights here until we get him a court date. Then we’ll see. I’m sorry, Henry.”

  “You did more than you needed to for us, and I appreciate it. That’s two I owe you now.”

  Owen stood up and collected the brick and the sketch. “I ain’t counting. You all stick close. If I need to put my hands on you, it’d be best if you were at Henry’s place or in Halfway.”

  I shook his hand. “That won’t be a problem. We’re not going anywhere.”

  23

  “Fucking Prime.” Chuck paced a tight circle in Henry’s kitchen, throwing his hands around for emphasis. “He planned this from the beginning. Right from the beginning.”

  I ignored him, and continued building my sandwich. Nobody else wanted to eat, but these days I didn’t have a lot of say in the matter.

  “We thought Paulie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but no, that shit was on purpose. They say that most murder victims know their killer right? That’s the connection Prime wanted to make. And then deliberately getting seen at that crackhouse because it has Leon’s face? And then the brick? I mean, shit. That’s, like, premeditated or whatever.”

  I coughed into my hand to keep from laughing. Chuck Benning, Attorney at Law. “All of that is true. The question is, why? What does putting Leon in jail do for Prime?”

  Henry sat down at the table with a grunt. “My guess is that Prime and Leon think a lot more alike than Prime is comfortable with. If he’s planning something, then the person most likely to figure it out is Leon.”

  Chuck shook his head. “Then why not just kill him?”

  “Because Leon is also a hostage,” I said. “The last time Prime and I tangled, I proved that I was stronger than he was, or at least strong enough to be a threat. And I’m immune to his thorns. But Leon suffers anything that happens to Prime, so as long as Leon is alive, our hands are tied. Putting Leon in jail keeps him out of harm’s way so that he remains a hostage, plus keeps us from picking his brain about what’s going on.”

  “Well, Leon wasn’t exactly full of ideas before this, but let’s say you’re right. What do we do now?” asked Anne. “We still have no idea what Prime’s real goal is and we can’t exactly wait around for a few days to see if a jury lets Leon go. People are in danger now. We need to do something before there are any more killings.”

  “To be fair,” said Chuck, “most of the people Prime killed were scum.”

  “Chuck!”

  “I’m just saying.”

  I put my empty plate in the sink. “We’ll come up with something. In the meantime, Anne has a point about Prime’s goals. He’s got something planned for the Halloween party in Halfway tonight. Whatever it is, we want to make sure to put a boot in it. And maybe capture Prime while we’re at it.”

  “The party starts at five,” said Henry, “but they won’t light the bonfire until after dark. That’s when he’ll strike. The bonfire is what turns it into a good old fashioned harvest celebration.”

  “We should probably be there for the whole party, just in case. You coming?”

  He shook his head and smiled. “Sounds like it’s likely to get a little rowdy for me. That kind of thing is best left to the young. And you.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Don’t mention it, old man.”

  “I better grab a shotgun before we go,” said Chuck. “Shooting a random spot the size of a golf-ball on a moving target may be fine for Annie Oakley here, but I’m going to need some help to fight those things. If nothing else, maybe I can take off a leg and do some good that way. I’ll just leave it in the car in case things go to shit.”

  “Good idea. Everybody gear up, we leave in ten.”

/>   24

  Laughter, bluegrass music, and the sweet earthiness of smoked pork hung over Main street like a delightful fog. Hundreds of people stood with paper plates and plastic cups in their hands or danced carefree in front of the band’s tiny plywood stage. Both ends of the street were blocked with bright orange traffic cones that marked the edges of the swirling, noisy mass of happy people.

  Kids in face paint or cheap plastic masks pushed up onto their foreheads darted through the crowd shrieking and clutching pillowcases for the candy that would be handed out later. Every few minutes they would collapse into tight groups under the picnic tables that covered the street, have a hurried conference about what to do next at the top of their lungs, and then charge back into the crowd like fun-seeking missiles.

  Watching them made me smile. And wish I had a pillowcase.

  Verna had set up four long tables on the walkway next to the street and covered them with heaping mounds of barbeque in foil pans. A permanent line of people crowded the tables, the queue moving quickly but never getting any shorter.

  My stomach clenched smelling the food, but I doubted that Verna would be glad to see us today. So I sat next to Anne and Chuck on the other side of the street and sipped at a plastic cup full of sweet tea.

  We were close to the traffic cones on this end of the street, which would give us a nice view of the bonfire when it started. Construction was already underway a few yards past the cones, where Main street divided around a twenty-foot-wide raised brick circle. Most of the year, the circle contained a flower bed that was maintained by the local Rotary Club. At Christmas the town used the space to set up an enormous tree covered in lights. And at the annual Halloween party, they built the bonfire in it.

  A handful of men passed long branches brigade-style between the circle and a nearby pickup truck. Other men stacked them vertically into a tall teepee, the branches bound together with baling wire to keep the structure upright while burning. It would be about fifteen feet tall when completed, but once lit the flames would go considerably higher than that.

  “Anne?”

  I looked up to see Nell standing next to our table carrying a plastic cafeteria tray with three plates of barbeque on it.

  Anne smiled at her. “Hi, Nell.”

  Nell set the plates down, one in front of each of us. “Momma sent these over. She said you all looked hungry.” She put a hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Sometimes I think the only way she knows how to apologize is with food.”

  Anne jumped up and hugged her. “Tell her thanks for me.” She looked a little misty-eyed when she said it.

  Nell sat down. “Maybe you should tell her. I’d be a good way to break the ice, you know?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good. Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  Nell looked around and then leaned close. “Are you wearing that gun right now?”

  Anne sighed. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “Not for me. You carry it all the time? Like even at the grocery store?”

  “All the time. I’ve been doing it all my life. It’s kind of a family tradition, I guess you’d say.”

  Nell raised her eyebrows and smiled. “And you never get in trouble?”

  Anne laughed a little. “Define trouble.”

  “I mean with the law.”

  “Not so far. I have a permit to carry. Nell, what’s this about?”

  “Are you any good?”

  “State champion three years running when I was competing, and more quickdraw and trickshot trophies than I can count.”

  Nell glanced across the street at her mother. “Can you teach me?”

  Anne looked up in surprise and delight. “Of course, Nell. I’d love that!” Then her face took on a more serious cast. “This isn’t about hurting someone, is it?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s just, when I saw you yesterday, and you made KC back down, hell made him run, I realized that all this time I’d been letting him make me afraid, and I didn’t have to. The last time he laid hands on me, I couldn’t see out of my left eye for a week. That’s when I packed up and left. But he made a point to come to the diner all the time, just to see me flinch. I guess I never figured out that I was letting him do it.”

  Anne put one hand gently on her arm. “It’s okay, he’s gone now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “I heard. But all that means is that there’s someone even worse out there now.”

  “I learned recently that guns can’t protect you from everything. You’re always going to be vulnerable. You can’t hide behind them.”

  Nell picked up her tray and stood up. “But a little shelter is better than none, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  She walked away, back to Verna’s side.

  I plucked a slice of brisket from Anne’s plate and dropped it onto my now empty one. “You going to give her some lessons?”

  Anne shrugged. “I think I am. You going to try and talk me out of it?”

  “Not a chance. Verna probably won’t like it, though.”

  Anne shrugged as if she didn’t care and went back to scanning the crowd while we ate. Verna’s peace offering of smoked brisket and potato salad was an apology in the same way that a million dollar check is a thank you note. It was glorious. I tried to sneak a slice off of Chuck’s plate after I inhaled mine, but he fended me off with a plastic fork clenched in one fist.

  Dusk fell softly across the party as the sun fell past the horizon. Pools of light reached out from the storefronts lining the street, providing a just the right illumination for a party.

  I caught a sour whiff of lighter fluid as the bonfire builders completed the last of their preparations by soaking the bottom of the pile and the twist of rag sticking out of it.

  Chuck nudged me and pointed at Sheriff Owen, who was pushing his way through the crowd, smiling and waving. He greeted everyone by name and recieved cheers and slaps on the back as he passed.

  He nodded at us when he stepped past our table, then walked through the cones to stand next to the bonfire. One of the men there handed him a lighter. The crowd hushed when he held his hands up.

  “Happy Halloween, folks! You about ready to get this shindig started?” The crowd clapped and whistled and stomped their feet. “Well all right, then!”

  He bent down and lit the rag. Blue and yellow flames curled up the fuel-soaked cloth and then raced around the bottom of the teepee. Thunderous applause greeted the flames.

  The fire grew to a blaze in less than a minute, throwing yellow light across the faces of the crowd. The band started back up.

  Anne stiffened and sat up straight. “Abe ...”

  Prime rolled out from under the pickup truck next to the bonfire and leapt at Owen, catching him from behind.

  Prime looked directly at me as he put one arm around Owen’s chest and one rough wooden hand around his neck. I threw myself out of my seat and ran for the stage, but I was too far away.

  In front of two hundred men, women, and children, Prime tore Owen’s living head from his body.

  25

  Without pause, Prime hurled the head into the bonfire. It crashed through the ashy, brittle sticks and slammed into the cherry-red coal bed at the center in an explosion of sparks.

  The bonfire hissed and spat as flames began to crawl into the night sky. The heat doubled and redoubled, forcing everyone near this end of the street to shield their faces and stumble blindly backwards.

  The gyrating flames congealed into a fat column that continued to rise as the fire became more intense. Burning threads radiated from the top, thickening into branches that reached outward until the tips scorched the buildings on either side of the street. Leaves of flickering light sprouted on the branches until the entire top blazed in an incandescant halo.

  Blinding light and blistering heat washed over me as the tree of flame grew until it threatened to consume everything near it. I lost sight of Prime in the conflagration, see
mingly swallowed up by the expanding trunk.

  Panic filled our end of the street as the crowd surged back against the crush of people in the center who weren’t aware of the sheriff’s death and were now pushing forward to try and see what was happening. Those that managed to satisfy their curiosity immediately joined the terrified pack trying to get away.

  For an instant, the tree wavered and became something else, something lumpen and misshapen and not tree-like in the slightest. Then it gave one last surge of crackling heat and guttered out. The brick circle in the middle of Main street glowed from the heat and the surrounding asphalt was liquid and glossy.

  Standing in the ashes of the now consumed bonfire was Prime, blackened and smoking, but alive. Bright sparks crawled along his body while ashy flakes drifted from his limbs as he stepped out of the circle.

  I shuddered to think what Leon had just gone through in his jail cell across town.

  A few scant yards now separated me from Prime. No distance at all to cover at the speed I was moving. In seconds I had dodged around the last of the frantic people between us and closed the gap, my hands open and grasping.

  He ignored me and jumped towards the mass of panicked people, sailing over my head in a long arc. There was a sickening crunch when he landed in the center of the packed crowd, heedlessly crushing the people standing there. I refused to do the same by leaping after him.

  I pushed into the crowd, careful with how much pressure I used as I tried to head upstream of the fleeing mob. I was making slow progress, still only halfway to Prime, when I heard my name.

  “Abe!” Anne was standing on top of our table next to Chuck, pistol in hand. From the looks of it, she had been shouting for some time, but I could barely hear her over the screaming.

  When our eyes met, she touched her nose with her finger, then waved it around her head in a big circle. Not a good sign.

  I climbed the nearest table so that I could see over the crowd and immediately discovered why they hadn’t dispersed yet. Surrounding us on every side were wooden men, arms outstretched and linked to form a terrifying barrier. There were dozens of them, many sporting identical distorted, leering faces. People trying to run past them were thrown back into the crowd with brutal efficiency.