The Last Harvest

by Kim Liggett

  “Shhh…” She presses her finger to my lips and an entirely different urge rises inside of me.

  Ali pushes the wood panel behind Ian’s desk and the wall pops open.

  “Surprise!” A bunch of people yell from behind the bar—Tammy, Ben, Jimmy, and, unfortunately, Tyler.

  “Welcome to the council.” Tyler holds up a bottle of booze, but it’s not a warm welcome. He glares at Ali and then back at me.

  “Man, it’s good to see you.” Ben lumbers forward to greet me, clamping his enormous hand over my shoulder. “We’ve been waiting for you all year.”

  “Hey, Clay,” Tammy half-whispers as she passes by, never taking her eyes off the ground in front of her. “Welcome to where all the magic happens,” she says completely deadpan.

  I can’t help but laugh. I never knew Tammy was funny. Maybe no one knows because they can never hear her.

  Jimmy lets out a nervous burst of air, kind of a cross between a laugh and a cough, and then hunches back over the bar, almost like he’s trying to disappear back into the oak. He’s always been an odd one.

  “Are you surprised?” Ben nudges me.

  “Yeah, I mean look at this place.” I scan the room, my eyes settling on Tyler. More than anything I want to tell him his own dad brought me in here the other night and told me to take his son down. It’d serve him right, his stupid smug ass, but I hold my tongue. Now’s not the time.

  For a split second I almost forget why I’m here, but as Tyler pours a round of shots—tequila—I see he’s got his sleeves rolled up just enough so everyone can see the brand on his arm. I mean, who rolls their sleeves up like that? He must’ve seen it in some stupid men’s magazine.

  I pretend to adjust my tie, pressing the small button on the top of the cross. I feel skeevy recording all this, but Miss Granger’s right. No one else would be able to get this close to them. And the sooner I get proof, the sooner I can get out of here, and the sooner we can be done with this.

  “So, what kind of mark is that?” I ask as I pick up one of the shot glasses. “Is that the Chinese symbol for asshat or something?”

  Ben starts laughing so hard he spurts tequila everywhere.

  “Yeah, you’re hilarious, Tate,” Tyler says as he refills Ben’s shot glass. “Don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  I look toward the exit, making a mental plan. If they try to brand me, I swear to God, I’ll tear this place to the ground.

  “To us. The sixth generation.” Tyler raises his glass.

  I take the shot—liquid courage.

  Everyone sets their shot glasses back down on the bar. Tyler refills them.

  “What does that even mean … ‘the sixth generation’?” I ask. I pretend to be interested in the photos on the wall, the jukebox, but I’m really just checking everyone out, searching every bit of exposed skin, looking for the mark. I don’t see anything on the others. What if Miss Granger’s wrong? What if Tyler and Ali are the only ones who have it? What if all this is just some weird coincidence? A mistake?

  “The sixth generation will inherit the earth,” Tyler says as he spreads his arms out wide.

  “Or at least this Podunk town.” Tammy winces as she slams another shot.

  “It’s pretty cool our parents are stepping down this early,” Ben says. “Who wants to rule when you’re all old and shriveled up. Might as well get some fun out of it.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask. “And what’s fun about it?” I look at the five of them stationed around the room like barflies. “What do you actually do?”

  “You’re pretty much looking at it,” Tammy says as she leans against the bar.

  “We have meetings every once in a while, but we usually end up getting hammered,” Ben says as he downs another shot. “No one can even remember what we talked about.”

  It’s like this is all one big joke to them. It makes me wonder if they have any idea what’s really happening.

  “But there’s girls,” Tyler says. “Lots of girls who want to be with someone on the council. Even little Jimmy’s getting some of our leftovers.”

  “Don’t listen to them,” Ali says as she slides her shot over to Ben. “It’s for the town. There’s always been a council. Always will be. It’s tradition. Loyalty, family, community.”

  “And don’t forget football.” Ben raises his glass.

  “Amen to that.” Tyler squares his shoulders.

  “And God,” I add.

  The room goes deathly still.

  “Sure.” Tyler closes the distance between us. “None of this would even be possible without God.” He raises his hands as if in fake praise.

  Jimmy snickers, but the rest of them stand perfectly still, staring at me, like I just walked in on some kind of inside joke. It gives me the creeps. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. So far, it’s just a bunch of people getting drunk. Nothing satanic about that or you’d have to give this whole town an exorcism.

  As much as I want to bolt out of there, I’ve got a job to do.

  Strolling over to the card table, I run my hand over the worn green felt. It gives me an idea.

  “We should play.”

  “Poker?” Tyler scoffs. “We don’t play for wheat, Tate. How much money you got?”

  “Let’s raise the stakes,” I say with a casual shrug.

  “I’m liking the sound of that.” Ben takes off his jean jacket and rubs his hands together. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Strip poker.”

  “Hell yeah!” Ben slaps me on the back and takes a seat at the table, shuffling the deck.

  “This won’t be weird at all,” Tammy says as she takes a seat.

  Ali studies me. “I’m game.”

  “Come on, Jimmy.” Tyler pries him away from the bar and pushes him over to the table.

  “What are we … thirteen?” Jimmy mumbles into his shot glass as he slumps down in the chair next to me.

  Tyler’s the last one to sit down. He’s checking me out. He doesn’t trust me yet. “Five card draw. Two fold max,” he says.

  Ben deals the first hand.

  As we all look at our cards, there’s a tension in the room, like the feeling in the air right before lightning strikes.

  Tyler smirks. He’s so easy to read, shows his emotions all over his face, in his body … always has. Obviously, he thinks he’s got a good hand. I learned how to control all that playing ball. I swear, half of it’s a mental game. Especially for the quarterback; it’s all about the fake out. Even though I’ve got a flush, I shift in my chair, lean forward, rub the back of my neck. I need everyone to think they’ve got me nailed.

  Tammy’s got nothing, not even a pair of deuces, but she doesn’t complain about it. Without taking her eyes off the table, she slips out of her dress.

  Tyler and Ben start snickering.

  She pushes her glasses up like she doesn’t care, but I can see the flush spread up her neck. I don’t want to look, but I have to—that’s why I’m here. I spot the mark right above the pink elastic band of her underwear on her left hip. Just the sight of it raises the hair on the back of my neck. It’s really true then. Miss Granger was right. It’s the sixth generation—they’ve all been marked.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Tammy says to me.

  Everybody starts cracking up. Even Jimmy.

  All I want to do is wrap her up in Ben’s jean jacket and tell her I’m sorry, but I bury it behind a fake grin. Two down, two to go.

  While Tyler’s bluffing up to his eyeballs, probably dying to take something off just so he can show us his abs, Ben’s got his hands crossed over his chest, like he’d rather keep his clothes on. As a kid, Ben was on the husky side. People used to tease him, tell him he had bigger tits than his sister. They wouldn’t dare tease him now.

  Tyler’s watching me out of the corner of his eye. And I feel that competitive streak coming back. I thought I’d buried it along with my dad, but I can feel it taking over every cell in my body. I want to beat hi
m at any cost, teach him a lesson. I wouldn’t mind losing a hand, either. I might not be training with the team anymore, but farm work is no joke. I’m cut and I know it. The only thing I can’t take off is my tie.

  I win the next hand. Ben’s got nothing. He opts to drop his khakis, revealing a droopy pair of green plaid boxers. Everyone whistles and hollers at him as he spins around to give us the full view. I spot the mark on the back of his calf.

  Knocking my cards to the ground, I crouch under the table so I can give the camera a good long look. His mark looks fresh and raw, almost like I can still see the heat coming off it.

  Tyler leans under the table, glaring at me. “You all right down there, Tate?”

  “Yeah, fine.” I bump my head against the bottom of the table and then settle back in my seat.

  Ali loses the next hand with a pair of sixes. She stands up and I don’t have to pretend to be interested. She has my full attention, but I don’t want her to take anything off, not in front of everyone. Especially not in front of Tyler. She unbuckles her turquoise belt and my heart starts hammering in my chest. Just the sound of the thick worn leather swishing through the loops sets off something inside of me.

  She coils it on the table.

  “That’s it?” Ben teases.

  She lifts an eyebrow. “Accessories count for girls.”

  “Wuss,” Tammy says under her breath. I can’t help but crack a smile.

  Jimmy’s the only one left. He’s already folded twice. His number’s up and we all know it. As soon as he gets his cards, I can tell how irritated he is. Tiny beads of sweat dot his furry upper lip. He’s going down. He shows his hand and he’s got zilch. I can see him struggling, trying to decide if he should take off his shirt or his pants. He opts for the shirt. He’s always been a weird kid, but I feel sorry for him. His skin’s pale and smooth like a baby’s. I can see every rib poking out along with a half dozen chest hairs spread out in the worst places. He folds his shirt over the back of his chair and I get a glimpse of what I think is the mark on his lower back. He shrinks back into his seat too quickly to be sure. I can tell he just wants to be left alone, but I have to record it. He’s the last one. Just one more and I can get the hell out of here.

  I don’t want to do it, but I start baiting him, razzing him, trying to get him to stand back up. I pretend to shield my eyes. “Jimmy, man, maybe you should put it back on.”

  Tyler and Ben quickly join in.

  “Don’t want to scar the ladies for life.”

  “If you take anything else off, we’re all going to be sterile.”

  Jimmy looks around the table at everyone but me. They’re all trying not to crack up, but the harder they try, the worse it gets, until they’re all cackling like hyenas.

  “Screw you, guys.” Jimmy throws down his cards. “I should’ve known better than to play with you jocks.” Without getting up, he reaches for his shirt.

  He’s not going to stand up. Damn. This could be my only chance.

  “Six,” I yell as I look to my left. “Forty-two,” I yell as I look to the right. “Hut!”

  The three of us tackle Jimmy to the ground.

  Ben and Tyler are laughing their asses off as they roll to the side. I flip Jimmy onto his stomach. He’s kicking, spitting and hollering, trying to get out from under me, but it’s no use. I trap his hands under my knees and jerk down his pants. There it is, on his lower back. I can’t believe they gave him a tramp stamp. I pretend to adjust my tie, making sure the camera has a good view.

  As I get off him, Jimmy grabs his shirt and crawls into the corner like a wounded animal. His cheeks are ruddy and damp. Nobody pays him much mind. Tyler high-fives me and my stomach drops. It reminds me of that last game. Tyler did that after I beat the shit out of that kid. If Tyler high-fives you, you know you’ve probably done something rotten. I feel awful, but it had to be done. Jimmy took one for the team and he doesn’t even know it.

  “Nobody humiliates me like that anymore.” Jimmy staggers to his feet. “Nobody!” he screams and storms out of the room.

  “Jimmy,” Ali calls after him.

  “Leave it,” Tyler says.

  I think about going after him to apologize when Tammy grabs a bottle of bourbon from the bar. “How about a different game?” she whispers, laying the bottle on the card table.

  “How many times do I have to tell you to speak up,” Tyler says. “No one understands a word you’re saying.”

  “I think she wants to play spin the bottle.” Ben grins. “Tammy, I had no idea you cared.”

  Tammy rolls her eyes.

  “I’m in,” Tyler says, as he sinks back down in his chair. “But for the record, I’m not making out with Tate.”

  “You wish.” I tuck in my shirt, trying to regain my composure.

  “Hell, I’m so happy you’re back, I might.” Ben slaps my back as we take our seats.

  Ali spins the bottle, never taking her eyes off me.

  I hold her gaze. I want the bottle to land on me so badly. I don’t think I can bear watching her kiss someone else.

  Please let it land on me. If you’re up there, give me a sign. You owe me this.

  When it lands squarely on me, I can’t help the grin spreading across my face.

  Tyler acts like he’s not bothered by the whole thing, but I can see the rage creeping into his jaw.

  Ali grabs the bottle and walks toward me. The way she moves, the glint in her eyes, stirs something in me.

  A smile eases across her lips as she sits on my lap.

  I try to play it off, but every nerve ending in my body is firing … reaching out for her.

  “Oooh!” Ben’s egging us on.

  Ali takes a swig from the bottle and then laces her fingers through my hair, pulling me toward her. She presses her perfect lips against mine, her tongue pushing warm liquid into my mouth, forcing me to swallow. She gives my hair a final tug before getting up. My body feels liquid now, my lips numb and tingling. My head is spinning; it feels like I’m soaring, like I’m not even touching the ground. I want to pull her back for a real kiss, but I have to admit that was the sexiest kiss I’ve ever had.

  As she walks back to her seat, everyone’s talking, laughing, but I can’t see anyone but her anymore.

  Ali puts the bottle back on the table and slides it over to me. “Your turn, Clay.”

  I take a deep breath and give the bottle a hard spin. I can’t take my eyes off her mouth. And she knows it. She licks a corner of her lip and I find myself getting sucked in to every movement, like I’m disappearing into her, into her skin.

  Everyone groans as the bottle points to Ali.

  “Lucky bastard,” Ben sighs. “You know what that means.”

  “Seven minutes in heaven,” Tammy whispers as she slips her dress back on.

  “This is bullshit.” Tyler snatches the bottle from the table to inspect it.

  Ben’s cracking up as he yanks the bottle from him, taking a deep swig. “Game on. Just like old times.”

  I’m excited and nervous. The last time I played spin the bottle with her—ninth grade—this same thing happened. Seven minutes in heaven. We sat in Jane Rodgers’s closet and I ended up talking to her about turtles or some stupid shit like that. I told her we didn’t have to do anything. I wanted her to tell me that she wanted to, but she never did.

  “It’s not like anything’s going to happen.” Ben slaps Tyler on the back. “It’s Virgin Clay with Virgin Ali.”

  I perk up. Virgin Ali. All this time I thought she and Tyler … but obviously, that’s not the case. I try and play it cool, but I feel a million times lighter. I know it shouldn’t matter, but it does. She’s still … Ali. And I’m still me. I breathe easier. There’s still a chance.

  “You have seven minutes.” Tyler glares at us. “Don’t make me come find you.”

  Ali grabs my hand and we slip out the door.

  22

  ALI AND I run down the front steps, spilling onto the lawn. I want to pull he
r into the hay maze and kiss her like I should’ve done years ago, but she leads me toward the Hell House.

  “They won’t be able to find us in here.”

  “But the line is huge and Tyler said we only have seven minutes—”

  “Forget Tyler. If he wants to try and find us … let him.”

  We head to the front of the line where Ali says something to Mandy Johnson, the girl working the entrance.

  “Official Hell House business,” Mandy announces as she pulls back the rope to let us in.

  The crowd groans behind us.

  The first tent is packed with a group of twenty or so people huddled around a bunch of medical equipment. Laura Ridgefield’s weeping on a gurney with bloody blankets stuffed between her legs. “My baby … my baby … what have I done?” she howls into the spotlight.

  Ali takes my hand, squeezing it tight, like she’s scared.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I wrap my arm around her.

  “I don’t like this,” she says.

  “Do you want to move on?”

  She nods and we sneak into the next tent, full of crazy zombies.

  I know this one—they do the same thing every year. Meth.

  Ali screams as some scrawny guy in a ripped-up flannel, waxy flesh dripping down his chin, darts forward to tickle her.

  “Back off.” I push him away. Ali clings to me a little tighter, nestling her face into my chest.

  “Dude, it’s just me.” Dale laughs. “You’ve really got to lighten up.”

  “Call me” he mouths as we duck into the next tent and find ourselves standing in the middle of a makeshift rave. “Oh, crud, is it time already?” Mr. Brett, our seventh-grade math teacher, yells out over the techno music. “They were supposed to walkie-talkie us before they sent in the next group.”

  “No, we’re just passing through. It’s Ali … and Clay,” she says as she squeezes my hand.

  “Thank the good lord,” Mr. Brett says as he continues oiling up one of the Pine twins. He looks a little too enthusiastic about the whole thing.

  “The next group’s still in abortion. You’ve probably got another four minutes until they catch up,” Ali adds.