The Harvest Cycle

by David Dunwoody

  “Well, how am I supposed to know what’s wrong under here, if anything?” West backed out. “Cutter, did you kill the engine or did it die?”

  “I killed it,” Cutter answered from the other side of the van. “Didn’t want to take any chances.”

  “We might be all right,” said West. “Just a little bump is all.”

  “I’ve never seen the night sky so clear as this,” Ira said, perched in his seat with the door open. “Trillions of stars up there. Anyone know constellations?”

  “Let’s see if I can find the North Star,” Hitch said. “I like mapping the sky too.”

  “Beautiful,” Amanda breathed, suddenly beside him. She held Lucy’s hand and pointed upward. “Have you ever seen the stars like this?”

  “Never,” Lucy said. She smiled and turned in a circle, head leaning as far back as it could go. “It’s so perfect up here.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  It was a perfect moment. One of those when a cynic would be expecting the other shoe to drop, the next thing to go wrong. And it did.

  Ira suddenly doubled over, fell out of the van, something long and thick protruding from his torso. He rolled onto his back and Hitch saw it was a spear.

  “Cutter!”

  The man ran around the front of the van and took cover behind the passenger door. He looked at Ira’s wound, then out into the night. “Fuck! Get back inside, all of you!”

  Hitch hustled Amanda and Lucy back into the car, the puppy once again in the girl’s arms. West was slow to follow. “Let’s grab a couple of guns, Hitch. C’mon!”

  “We can’t see shit out there!”

  “Cutter needs help! C’mon!”

  West snatched a couple of pistols from the weapons shelf and stepped outside, protected by the back door. “Cutter! Me and Hitch are back here!”

  “Get inside!”

  “You can’t go this alone and you know it!”

  West crouched, peered beneath the door and across the dark field. Didn’t see a damn thing. Just those tall, wavering blades of grass, and the occasional rock pile.

  “Is Ira all right?”

  “He’s not gonna make it,” Cutter hissed. Ira cried out at hearing it. “Please! Pull it out! Help me!”

  “Be quiet!” Cutter snapped. “It’s gone right through your heart, man! You don’t have long. I’m sorry.”

  It was a solid, heavy spear, carved from good wood and made smooth as paper. It had gone deep into Ira, and Cutter knew the bastards were close. Cannibals, they had to be, relying on shit like this. Hunters.

  Ira’s voice faltered. He grabbed at Cutter’s leg, whimpering. “I’m sorry...I couldn’t help...”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Cutter whispered. “Go to sleep. Just go to sleep.”

  Ira closed his eyes and lay still.

  “We have you surrounded!” Came the call.

  “What do you want?” West shouted back.

  “Flesh.”

  “I knew it!” Cutter yelled, and started firing at the rock piles he could see.

  “Don’t waste ammo!” West cried.

  “Jesus,” Hitch was whispering. He looked into the van and saw Amanda clutching Lucy. “What’s happening?” Amanda cried.

  Laughter echoed across the plain.

  “Let’s just drive out of here!” Rasped West.

  Cutter shook his head. “They’ve got more traps out there. We’re done in, fellas.”

  “Is this what I can count on?” Hitch snapped.

  Cutter glared at him. “Look, I’m ready to use every last bullet on these bastards. If you want a mercy bullet for yourself or those girls, tell me now.”

  “Why can’t we just get back in the van-”

  “They’ve got us boxed in, boss. We can try shooting our way out, but we’ll hit the traps - or we can cooperate to a point and see just how many of these fuckers there are.”

  They weren’t given a choice.

  The cannibals swarmed in, heaving spears and knives and rocks and screaming curses, from all directions; out of the night they suddenly appeared, like the stars, not quite a trillion but enough to envelope the van and drive the men into it and now they were sitting in a rocking and thrashing nightmare.

  “What do we do?” West cried. “Cutter!”

  “I’ll run ‘em down,” Cutter growled, starting the engine. The headlamps illuminated a sea of filthy screaming faces.

  A spear crashed through the windshield, slicing open Cutter’s cheek, rocketing into the back and planting itself in a shelf wall - but not before the shaft smacked against Amanda’s head and sent her reeling to the floor.

  ***

  Back so soon.

  All was dark, and cold; Amanda hugged her arms to her breasts and tried to orient herself, but there was no point of reference. Nothing.

  Do you know Carroll? Do you know of the Jabberwock?

  “No.”

  A shame, it’s my favorite glamour, what the hell we’ll do it anyway.

  And out of the nothing manifested something like living stone, a cold gray scaly thing that lowered its barbed and fanged head to her and stared hard with churning, white, pupil-less eyes. A lizard...dinosaur...dragon?

  Jabberwock.

  Nightmare.

  I won’t hurt you, lass, you’ve got too much precious dream-meat with such potential. No, we’re only here to talk. It’s one of few things I can do outside of my piping, my piping and dancing with the rest of this accursed tier, my Legion.

  “What are you?”

  The Magnum Innominandum. It that shall not be named, or something, that was what earlier men called me. I prefer Nightmare.

  Why are you back? Not your choice? What are men and women doing to each other down there, I wonder. Such chaos. All pointless.

  But it breeds such wonderful dreams. Oh, the dreams we’ve had! The things I’ve seen thanks to your imaginations, your souls, it’s magic you know? Keeps me sane.

  “Don’t you have enough? Can’t you stop?”

  No, no, no, you can never have too much of a good thing. I don’t do reruns anyway. That’s another path to insanity. I don’t want to end up like Azathoth, the All-Father, trapped in his mad sleep.

  So what are you doing outside? What’s going on?

  “Nothing important. Just moving about. Looking for new resources.”

  You’re lying.

  That’s all right. I like games. Any bit of amusement, really. You play games too, love games. I see your suitors circling you like twin moons. Who will you choose?

  “I’ve chosen.”

  No, dear, it’s never over, I’ve seen enough to know that. Whose dreams do you share? Who do you want to be harvested with?

  “I don’t want to do this.”

  Oh, don’t go, I’ll back off the hard questions then. I just like to know you. Makes the dreams that much sweeter, understanding what’s behind them. Sometimes a dream is just a hodgepodge of sensations but other times there’s such a strong narrative and I always wonder what brought it on.

  “Couldn’t you ask them? Haven’t you said that the minds of men stay with you?”

  They’re not in the mood for talking once they’ve seen the court of chaos. It’s different after that. I like you, Mandy.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  What’s the Plan?

  “That - it’s what I was talking about earlier. About resources.”

  No, it seems to be a grand plan in your mind sweetie. Gonna change the world, are you? What’s it about?

  “Fuck off.”

  I WON’T FUCK OFF!

  Before her, the Jabberwock had been still. Now its nostrils gave off tendrils of gray flame, its teeth revealed to be jagged and bloody and broken in a yawning maw.

  “It’s nothing about you!”

  It’s all about me and I know it! Think you can keep me out? I’ve already seen your first bleed and your first fuck and if you don’t tell me about the master Plan I’m going to tear your mind apart!


  “Do it then! Do it!”

  The Jabberwock recoiled. There was silence in the nothingness.

  Well.

  Well then.

  Call my bluff.

  All right, fuck it.

  You just bought yourself a Harvest.

  9.

  Tindalos

  She awoke to see herself at the foot of Mount Rushmore.

  “Mount Tindalos,” said a rough, throaty voice. Amanda realized she was on her back and tried to move. Couldn’t. Bound. Arms and legs.

  She heard a pained grunt and recognized it as Mike. Turning her head to the left, she saw him trussed up in the grass, only he was facedown and had been hog-tied.

  To her left was Lucy, tied the same way she was. The girl stared back at her like she was in a state of shock. The puppy was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where are the others? What’s happening?” She whispered to Mike.

  Gritting his teeth, rolling his face in the dirt, he muttered, “Ira’s dead. Cutter and Hitch...I don’t know.”

  “Welcome to the Mount,” said that throaty voice, and a disheveled man wrapped in sewn-up scraps of fabric, with long, ratty hair and a toothless smile, appeared overhead. “You’re looking up at the faces of the old guard. There’s a new President now, and he’ll judge ya.”

  “Why are we tied up?” Amanda gasped. West grunted, wanting her to stay silent.

  “Well, we don’t know just yet if we can trust ya. Do you dream? Or have you been cut down?”

  “We’re dreamers,” Amanda answered. The man smiled his gaping wet smile and walked around the lot of them. He had glassy, wandering eyes and pockmarked skin.

  “My name’s Carrion,” he said. “That’s because I only like the old meat, rotten meat. I’m not like the others. That’s why they trust me to welcome you here.”

  “We mean no harm,” West said. “If we could speak with your President-”

  “In due time,” Carrion said. “Right now we need to deal with the others, them buggers who shot at us.”

  “You mean Cutter and Hitch?” West tried to prop himself up by his forehead. “Listen, they’re good men, they just didn’t know what they were getting into. They were scared.”

  “Well, you should be scared,” Carrion said, slowly, “but you should have respect.”

  “Okay, all right, well, we didn’t know all these things when we drove up here.”

  “Tindalos is diff’rnt from other places. President has passed down a code of laws ‘n’ ethics, and we swear by it. We’ll be takin’ you up the mountain to see him, and be judged, but as for your friends with the guns - that’s another matter.”

  “Why?”

  “Law says that violent offenders oughta be dealt with upfront. Now I understand you said they was scared and all, but to start shootin’-”

  “You threw a fucking spear into Ira!”

  “I never miss.” Carrion just smiled that wet, empty smile. “Our territory. You were warned. You saw the barricade on the in’erstate there, didn’t ya.”

  “Where are they?” Amanda cried.

  “Goin’ to justice court,” Carrion replied.

  ***

  Jack DaVinci had stopped at the freeway barricade and watched the van’s progress as much as he could. He was pretty sure they’d been taken in by cannibals, by the gunshots.

  What was he to do? Save them? So they could continue whatever godforsaken mission they were on?

  He was a cop. The decision was easy.

  ***

  Arms bound, Cutter and Hitch were pushed along a forest trail by a mob of stinking cannibals. The lead one, his face scarred nearly beyond recognition, split by a terrible rictus of a smile, turned to wipe a bit of blood from Cutter’s cheek. He sucked it from his fingers with relish.

  “What’s with the fucking grin, ugly?” Cutter snarled.

  “Harvester gave it to me. Slashed me up good, killed my nerves, so they say - but ol’ Rigor Mort likes it.” Leaning in, blasting Cutter with his foul breath, the man said, “Rigor Mort. Get it?”

  Cutter spit blood in his face. The cannibal laughed and slapped him hard.

  “Where are you taking us?” Hitch asked.

  “Justice court,” Rigor Mort replied.

  “You shouldn’t have shot at them,” Cutter said.

  “They hurt Amanda. They were going to kill us.”

  “They’re gonna kill us anyway, mapmaker.” Cutter gave him a bitter smile. “Least I know now I can count on ya.”

  They entered a clearing with a huge hole dug in its center - as they passed by, it only took Hitch half a glance to see the carved stakes lining the bottom of the pit. They were stained ruddy brown, littered with bones.

  “What sort of court is this? Kangaroo court?” Cutter snapped. Rigor Mort turned to him. “What’s a fuckin’ kangaroo, then?”

  “All right,” one of the other cannibals shouted, raising his arms to calm the mob. He was dressed in a tattered suit, complete with ragged tie draped around his neck.

  “Yes, Head,” Rigor Mort said reluctantly, and pushed the two prisoners forward, to the edge of the pit.

  Head pulled a slimy gray mass from his pocket and chewed on its stringy bits. “What is that?” Hitch whispered.

  “Goddamn brains,” Cutter replied.

  “Your friends are gonna be taken up the mountain, to see the President,” Head announced. “But for you, it’s court. Here and now we decide your fate. What say you?”

  “Get it over with,” said Cutter. Hitch kicked him. “Wait! They’re giving us a say in this!”

  “It doesn’t fucking matter.”

  “The law is fair,” Head said with an edge of offense in his voice. “You have a chance to present your case.”

  “You attacked us!” Cutter yelled. “You’re fucking cannibals! You expect us to just sit on our fucking hands? Hell no!”

  “You trespassed,” Head said. Surrounding the pit, the other cannibals nodded and muttered amongst themselves.

  “We only seek passage to the Pacific Coast. We didn’t know we were treading on anyone’s property.” Hitch looked for a glimmer of reason in Head’s eyes; all he saw in those glassy bloodshot orbs was madness.

  “We gave you plenty of warning.” Head placed his hands behind his back and paced around the pit’s circumference. Rigor Mort bounced excitedly, like a kid on his fucking birthday, waiting for the kill and the flesh.

  “What makes this your land?” Cutter asked.

  “The President’s decree,” Head answered, proudly, pointing through the trees at the mountain. “We still have order here, you see, like in the old days. Constitution never expired, no sir, laws are still intact.”

  “What gave you the right to murder our friend?” Hitch yelled.

  “Look,” Head snarled, “just because you outlanders aren’t aware of the law doesn’t mean it doesn’t apply! We’re all Americans here, yes? And this is American law!”

  “I never heard of any law that sanctioned murder just for driving on a fucking interstate!” Hitch barked.

  “Laws evolve, son! The President decreed it. It’s for the good of our people. Can’t just have you outlanders running amok without consequence.”

  “Why can’t we see the President?”

  “You’re violent offenders.”

  “Fuck this,” Cutter spat. “You don’t want to give us our due, just finish it! Fuck you all!”

  Hitch wanted to speak up, to protest; but what was the point? Cutter was really right, wasn’t he?

  Maybe the others would have better luck with the President. Maybe they’d be okay. Hitch lowered his head and began to pray.

  Head saw this, and lowered his head as well, motioning for those around him to do the same. Hitch blinked tears from his eyes and whispered platitudes, knowing this was the end, for him at least, and begging that it be quick.

  ***

  Carrion’s crew led Amanda, Lucy and West up a narrow mountain trail. “Where’s my puppy?” The
girl cried. Amanda shushed her, but Carrion shook his head. “It’s all right. The dog’s fine, we don’t eat dog. Dogs are nice creatures.”

  “And what about people?” West asked.

  “That’s up to the President.”

  They’d been hiking all day, it seemed, without rest, and Carrion said they were nearing the top of the mountain and the President’s House.

  “Mike,” Amanda whispered, “I have to tell you something. About Nightmare.”

  “What is it?”

  “He - it said there’s going to be another Harvest soon.”

  “Like how soon?”

  “I don’t know. Like now, maybe.”

  “Jesus. Does it know about the Plan?”

  “No, but it’s scared and pissed off and it’s going to send the Harvesters after us. What do we do?”

  “It might be out of our hands,” West said as they pushed through a wall of trees and came out on a wide, sun-bleached outcropping of rock, upon which sat what was once a museum or visitors’ center or something - now a decrepit building covered in ivy and surrounded by stakes. Skulls, everywhere. Tiny ones too. Amanda dropped her head.

  “I’ll go get the President,” Carrion said, “and you just stand here and remember to be respectful. He’ll be fair with ya.”

  Carrion navigated the stakes and walked into the old building. West leaned against Amanda. “Let me do the talking.”

  The doors opened, and out came something on a push-cart, something erected on a great tower of wood - no, a crucifix - nailed there and staring out over the cannibals and their captives.

  It was a Harvester. A shriveled, dead Harvester. Pinned up like Christ on the cross with its gaping jaw hanging down to its sternum, empty eye sockets teeming with flies. Desiccated legs twisted around one another and nailed down, gut rotted to near-nothing, a skeletal husk of a being.

  “The President of the United States!” Carrion bellowed. All around the captives, hands flew to hearts and heads in salute to the great leader.

  “We’re gonna die,” West breathed. Lucy began to cry.

  “What say you, Mister President?” Carrion called, climbing onto the cart and looking up at his idol. “These three are charged with trespassing. They say they were ignorant of the law. They say they mean no harm. What say you?”