Blood Harvest

by Michael Weinberger

  “No!” Chris said abruptly, “and frankly I am shocked…SHOCKED… that you would say something so cold and callous in relation to these poor people,” Chris blurted with what Steve was almost certain was mock indignation. He then turned his back to Steve and stared at the ceiling in a pose of maximum offense.

  Taking in a deep breath Steve tried to calm himself.

  “Okay! You’re right, I should be more sensitive. I’m sorry.” Steve gave in with a slightly mocking apology.

  “And you should be. Stealing one of my best dead person punch-lines is tantamount to a stoning offense amongst us ghouls.” Turning back to Steve with a smile on his face, Chris continued, “They won’t be seeing me because they are NOT dead.”

  Stunned and wide-eyed, Steve spun to the multiple supine figures, looking again at their apparently lifeless bodies strewn all over the floor of the club.

  “None?” Steve stammered, feeling a little guilty for not being more uplifted by the news of the lack of death in the room.

  “Not a one. As far as I can tell they all seem to be physically fine with strong vitals signs and no apparent trauma.”

  “Then what?”

  “Can’t say as I know, but the Captain and Commissioner are trying to keep a lid on the whole thing. You may have noticed the lack of the press and paparazzi.”

  Steve nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.

  “Anyway, I was pretty much dismissed as soon as I arrived. After all, there’s no need for a coroner when there are no dead bodies. I was on my way home when I ran into a paramedic friend of mine and decided to hang around and help out. I guess curiosity got the better of me.”

  “I can certainly understand why.”

  “No kidding. Well, my friend left me alone with one of the victims long enough for me to do a basic vitals exam.”

  “And?”

  “And if all of the victims here are in the same condition as the one I examined, then we have some rather diabolical happenings going on.”

  Steve’s breathing was getting faster, “Well! Don’t keep me hanging! What….” Steve broke off in mid-sentence, “did the Captain dismiss you?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Then you’d better go. The Captain is making a bee-line right for me and considering the history between you two….”

  “Oh man, I am so gone.” Without another word Chris turned on his heels and walked off in the opposite direction from the on-coming Captain.

  Calling after him, “We’ll talk tomorrow, all right?”

  Chris waved the back of his hand at Steve without turning around.

  “Jacobs.” The Captain addressed everyone by his or her last name.

  “Captain.” Steve returned the greeting.

  “Was that Barnes you were talking to? I sent him home half an hour ago. What’s that weirdo still doing here?”

  “Yes sir, but you know those guys from the basement have to be a bit off in order to do what they do.”

  Steve watched the Captain as he stared off into the direction Chris had gone. The Captain was medium, just medium—medium height, medium weight, medium build. Coming from a Mediterranean background he looked more like an Italian mobster than the good half Greek, half Portuguese boy he was raised. He hunched over slightly when he walked even though he had no physical impairment.

  The rain continued to fall, but subsided into something more like a mist than the previous downpour, but the Captain ignored it completely as he stood seemingly mesmerized by the night. A couple of times Steve averted his eyes from the Captain to scan the area, only to look back at him in confusion.

  “Sir?”

  After a few more awkward moments of silence the Captain finally spoke in a shaky, broken whisper. “Have you ever felt Jacobs, that when you stare into the darkness… I mean… is it possible on any level… that the dark is staring back at you. I don’t mean someone in the dark watching from the shadows. I mean the dark itself.”

  The Captain’s words had an eerie seriousness to them, completely out of character for this hard-edged, tough-as-nails veteran of the homicide division. The Captain had seen more than his share of incomprehensible violence, gore and subsequent death to the point he had become sufficiently numb to such things. He wasn’t being cryptic with his question. Steve knew that something, perhaps something inside the club, had spooked him. He had seen it happen only once before and the Captain had philosophically questioned Nietsze’s aphorisms on that occasion as well.

  “No sir, not really; I always seem to find someone or something tangible when I look for it.” Steve continued, “In all the cases I’ve closed and all of the many more you have closed, haven’t you always found that there tends to be an unremarkable, albeit often disturbing, resolution.”

  The Captain waited a few moments, considering Steve’s words.

  “I used to believe the same as you.” He sighed deeply and shook his head, almost as if in resolution to some forgone conclusion.

  Steve was perplexed. He knew the Captain was a man of facts. Theory had its place in police work, but the reality of the work was the dredging up of tangible evidence against the individuals who committed crimes. No jury could convict on speculation, theory or informed guesses.

  “I’m not…what exactly are we talking about, sir?”

  “I guess what I am trying to say to you Jacobs, is that despite my better judgment and experience, despite everything I have been through…”

  The Captain drifted off as if lost in a daydream. Steve shifted uncomfortably waiting for the Captain to finish his thought. Blinking rapidly the Captain shook himself out of the daydream. Turning quickly he put his arm around Steve’s shoulders as he led him toward the club entrance.

  “Has anyone briefed you on what happened inside?”

  “I have no details other than the fact that everyone is still alive.”

  “They seem to be catatonic, whatever that means. All vital signs are stable and strong, no signs of any injury except for some bumps and bruises in those areas where they hit the floor.”

  “Hit the floor?”

  “Whatever happened here happened so fast that no one had time to react. There are no signs of panic, struggle or violence. It’s as if they were all plugged into a light socket and someone simply turned the switch to off and they fell where they stood.”

  The description the Captain relayed was beginning to weigh on Steve.

  “Who called this in?”

  “A couple waiting outside the club said a fight broke out in line and the bouncers locked the doors to keep the skirmish from filtering into the club. The couple had friends inside and called the police. A black and white responded. Locking the doors of the club is an extreme violation of the fire laws and one that most clubs wouldn’t risk, so the officer decided to check it out. Eventually he forced the doors open and found everyone inside to be in their current state.”

  A long moment passed before Steve spoke.

  “Everyone?” was all he could manage.

  “Not a single person inside isn’t in this condition. Everyone!”

  “Damn,” Steve sighed under his breath.

  “The Feds have got wind of it and want the whole area contained. It seems they are all afraid of something.”

  “Something?” Steve repeated questioningly.

  The Captain looked at Steve with the direst of expressions.

  “Something, maybe, biological.”

  Steve’s breath caught in his throat. There it was, laid out in plain words with more underlying meaning than could ever be spoken out loud. Terrorism. Insanity. Chaos. A hot zone of biological weaponry. All things which were out of his control and that should have been affecting him right now as he inhaled the night air. Like an unbidden thought intruding on his anticipation of impending doom, a wave of doubt entered his mind. He embraced the steadily growing doubt.

  Pressing, the Captain asked, “Could they be right? About the biological stuff?”

  “I’m no scientist or ex
pert so I don’t really know, but…I mean… if it were what they’re supposedly afraid of, wouldn’t we all have dropped by now?”

  Steve smiled to himself as the Captain had eloquently stated the exact doubt having entered his mind a moment ago.

  “Has anyone else who arrived after the initial incident collapsed?”

  “Nope, not even the officer who forced the doors earlier. Honestly, this feels more like some kind of federal spin factor as opposed to any continual danger.”

  The two crossed the threshold of the club. Steve caught his breath as he saw the sheer number of alive but inanimate victims strewn throughout the interior of the nightclub. The smell was worse than the dumpster of rotting Chinese food he had parked next to earlier. More accurately it smelled like a morgue without proper ventilation. Steve had to constantly remind himself that the victims in this situation, despite all appearances to the contrary, were alive.

  “How many?” Steve asked as the two began to step over bodies while crossing the dance floor.

  “Nearly one thousand, well over the capacity set by the Fire Department. About three quarters of them were on this level, the rest are spread out among the second floor, the kitchen, and the basement. Don’t even get me started about the kind of disarray the people in the basement were in—looked like a cross between Sodom and Gomorrah meets the Hefner mansion. Oh, and there were the odd few in the restrooms and offices on the third floor.”

  “Have the owners been notified? Can they shed any light?”

  “One owner, no silent partners and he’s….” The Captain stopped, turned to look down at a group of bodies, spun around to another set across the room, then glanced ahead of where they were walking. “Over there in that group of poor souls, Phillip Devereaux, former concert promoter to the stars turned nefarious nightclub owner.

  “I knew him. He would call me when he wanted some undesirables to stop darkening his doorstep.”

  The Captain seemed taken aback, not only by the revelation, but by the candor with which Steve spoke. He grasped Steve’s arm and halted him in his tracks.

  “You knew him officially or unofficially?” the Captain asked with a seriousness that might have turned anyone to stone who was unfamiliar with his intensity.

  “Officially,” Steve grunted his reply while returning an indignant glare back at his superior. The response was, perhaps, a bit too aggressive; however, Steve knew his record while on the force was beyond reproach. The Captain knew it as well, which was probably the reason the insubordinate tone was overlooked as the Captain released his arm.

  “Of course.” The Captain actually looked abashed. “Of course, it was official. Look who I’m talking to, after all.”

  Anxious to change the subject Steve postulated, “It may be a stupid question, but does this have to be something sinister? I mean, could this have been an accident, like a broken gas pipe or something?”

  “No. Gas, carbon monoxide or toxic fumes have other symptoms, manifestations and ultimately end in death. This bizarre comatose catatonia, or whatever, is just plain weird.”

  The two stood in place and watched as paramedics from all over the city examined the sea of humanity noting each victim’s health status and identification. It was all so repetitive that Steve began to feel overwhelmed.

  Finally, his head seemed to crest the pinnacle of the scene and fell squarely into detective mode.

  “Why isn’t anyone being taken to the hospital?”

  “Rule number one in federal containment: ‘Don’t spread the contamination beyond the hot zone.’ The feds say they’re shipping doctors and equipment here and instructed us to set up triage for when the docs arrive.

  Steve nodded. It would have been a sound strategy if it were some sort of biological outbreak or attack. Steve felt almost certain that it wasn’t.

  “All right, let’s say this was a deliberate act. What is the motive? Why would anyone do this?”

  The Captain’s face turned instantly from melancholy to a challenging grin as he slid comfortably into a professorial mode Steve knew very well.

  “What reason can you think of Detective?”

  This was a type of game they played. Actually, it was a very effective way of sorting through mountains of information in order to come up with working theories, but the two of them had turned it into an exercise long ago. Steve closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of foul air. His mind raced through the possibilities, motives, rationales, until finally he found what he felt to be the most likely answers.

  “Terrorism, revenge, or ransom; I believe the most likely of the three would be ransom.”

  “Ransom??!” Apparently the Captain hadn’t thought of that one. He had nodded along with the first two suggestions and looked eager for an explanation regarding the third.

  “Terrorists would have a new way to affect the well-being of huge groups of people. This technique would eliminate the need for primitive car bombings; however, where there is life there is hope. Terrorist goals involve the taking away of hope to replace it with fear. The otherwise apparent well-being of the victims makes this an ineffective vehicle for terrorists.”

  The Captain nodded absently with the explanation.

  Steve continued, “Revenge kind of makes sense except the act is too general with too many unrelated people involved.”

  “What about revenge against the club or its owners?” The Captain interjected.

  Steve could tell the Captain was testing him.

  “A direct shot at the club through arson or demolition could have been accomplished when the club was empty, thereby, not endangering such a large number of people. This wasn’t an attack against the revenue production of the owners. This was an attack directly on the people who work and frequent the club. In fact, I get the impression that the person or persons responsible for this wanted the club intact, maybe to move in and pick up the pieces now that the owners are incapacitated.”

  “As in a hostile takeover of a sort?” the Captain sounded doubtful.

  “Yeah, I think that sounds a little far fetched too.”

  “Okay, so what about the “ransom” theory?”

  “Well, let’s suppose someone did loose a biological agent in here. It dispersed quickly or broke down into something harmless in seconds after its release, but was in a viable state long enough to knock everyone into a catatonic state.”

  “Go on.” The Captain began to look intrigued.

  “Well, if this is something new, like an anesthetic or something, maybe whoever developed it has some kind of reversal agent.”

  “Reversal agent?”

  “I know that may be an overdramatic term, but you understand what I mean.”

  “So you think the doctors won’t be able to revive these people?”

  “No. I don’t see this case coming to such an easy ending.”

  “But you do think we will ultimately hear from someone who will provide the antidote for a price?”

  A moment passed as Steve seemed to think about his answer.

  “Yes, that is pretty much what I think is going to happen. The thought of over 1,000 people being held hostage inside their own bodies would make a lot of friends and relatives very adamant about the city paying whatever it takes to get the antidote. Whoever did this wants something so they left everyone alive. Why do that? Why go to all the effort of doing this without any benefit to yourself?”

  “Maybe they did it for the thrill?”

  “No, I think there was a method to their madness. Look who was in the club. Celebrities, yuppies and well-to-do people in general are here nightly. Even if there were no direct target, any given night would have delivered famous and affluent patrons. These are people who have the means to buy their way out of a predicament faster than we can figure it out.”

  The look of interest dissolved from the Captain’s face, replaced by a look of concern.

  “Jesus. We have to make sure we keep a lid on this. If word gets out that this whole thing is abo
ut money then whoever did this will probably get privately paid off and be inspired to repeat himself.”

  A whole new weight seemed to drop squarely on the Captain’s shoulders. He forced himself to scan the club. Steve thought he was trying to get a feel for the sheer size of the situation when he saw the Captain’s face turn to intense rage.

  “You!” he screamed as he launched himself forward, vaulting over catatonic club goers.

  As he ran, the Captain pointed at a paramedic across the dance floor from where he and Steve had been standing. Steve erupted into motion as well, although for the moment he wasn’t sure why.

  When the paramedic saw the Captain charging at him his eyes bulged in fright and he began to move quickly toward one of the rear exits.

  “Officers, stop that man! Bring him down now!” the Captain bellowed.

  The few uniformed officers who had been standing near the dance floor hesitated slightly before springing into action. The medic tried to run as the officers closed in around him.

  Steve made a break to the right in order to cut off a potential escape route. He still didn’t know what was going on, but he trusted the Captain’s instincts. It was then that he saw the medic was holding something small and metallic in his closed right hand.

  Steve was about to yell “gun” when an officer dove for the medic, reaching for his ankles, missed by centimeters and came crashing down on the hardwood dance floor. The medic’s face resembled the mask of a trapped animal knowing it was about to get caught. Without warning, and with considerable effort, the medic threw the metallic object against the nearest wall. The object cracked into the wall and broke into a few large pieces.

  “I guess it wasn’t a gun,” Steve thought.

  Two officers tackled the medic with brute force, taking him to the ground. The rest of the uniformed officers swarmed on top of the three men on the ground as Steve slowed to a walk and stopped just outside of the violent dog pile of men. He turned on his heel and walked over to the area where the metallic object had been thrown.