A gentle tone sounded as the monorail car slid to a stop at the platform. The sound helped Lyndon to focus and pull his attention away from the myriad distractions surrounding him. He was vaguely aware that he was tired. His newfound singlemindedness made it easy for him to forget when his workday ended and he regularly found himself working several hours longer than he should.
No one seemed too concerned about it.
He fell in with the small crowd of commuters exiting the car. A comparably sized group waited on the platform to replace them. They exchanged places smoothly, their bodies scarcely brushing against one another as they moved towards their respective destinations.
A woman’s large purse bumped against Lyndon’s arm.
“Sorry,” she said.
He looked back and stared at her. She was about his age and height. Her curly brown hair dangled just above her narrow shoulders, framing a friendly but forgettably ordinary face.
She smiled and shrugged.
“It’s a bit of a wide load.”
Lyndon said nothing. Her smile quickly faded, replaced by an uncomfortable, confused expression.
She turned around and boarded the car.
Lyndon ate a small-portioned dinner and took a quick shower after returning to his flat. He watched a news report on the state of the enclave’s market performance and then got dressed for bed.
His alarm was set to wake him up early enough to exercise before going to work. Vemel said that physical activity was an important part of his treatment. Lyndon was not sure if it had any real effect, but he was being more productive at work, so it seemed worthwhile to keep up the regimen.
As he settled into bed, his mind turned back to the work that would be waiting for him in the morning. There would be a new list of client requests and he had resolved to get his average time under five minutes.
It did not take Lyndon long to fall asleep once he set his mind to the task.
He did not dream.
The Harvester
Originally published in Bad Neighborhood (Spooky Words Press, 2015)
Because every aspiring horror writer has to do a vampire story at some point, well, here you go. I tried to do my best to reimagine vampires as inhuman, predatory creatures forced to lurk on the margins of society. It was a fun thought experiment, but I think the story still wound up being a bit conventional. Originally written way back in 2003, “The Harvester” got a pretty thorough revision after sitting around collecting dust for about ten years. The gore didn’t get toned down very much, though. Consider that a warning: this is definitely not a story for the squeamish.
Nolan rolled over in his makeshift bed, disturbing the large rat next to him. When he climbed into the dumpster the previous morning, he noticed the rodent sitting in a corner nibbling on a pile of rotten vegetables. On most days, he would have taken pity on the defenseless creature and tossed it back into the alley, but the previous night’s hunt had yielded him little and he knew he would be hungry when he awoke.
The rat looked at Nolan with its large black eyes, its small animal brain perhaps realizing it had spent the entire day next to its killer. Before it could react, Nolan’s clawed hand shot out and snatched the rodent in a powerful grip. It would taste foul, he knew, but he was far too hungry to care.
The blood of the rat far from satisfied him, but it did ease the hunger pangs slightly. Once his head cleared, he pushed the lid of the dumpster open to peek outside. The cold air stung his eyes, but the sun had long since set. There was no one around to see him as he pulled himself out of the dumpster. It had snowed while he slept and his bare, clawed feet sank into the newly fallen snow. Nolan pulled his tattered coat tighter around him and shivered. Although he didn’t have to worry about frostbite, the cold winter weather was still uncomfortable. The long nights were the only positive part of the season.
A grim silence draped the alleyway. He had hoped that some vagrant would have wondered down there and fallen asleep during the day, but it appeared he would not be so lucky. Grumbling, Nolan brushed the small bits of trash off his coat, stuffed his clawed hands into its pockets and made his way to the end of the alley. As he expected, the street beyond was quiet as well. A few dilapidated cars sat parked next to the sidewalk, but they were all empty. Carefully avoiding the light from the streetlamps, Nolan pulled his coat’s hood over his head and started down the deserted street.
As he approached the entrance to another back alley, a scent caught his attention and he stopped in his tracks. Though he could sense the people inside the run down apartment buildings, this scent was very distinct and clear. It was someone outside. Slowly, he crept up to the street corner and peered down the alleyway. Two shoddily dressed men stood warming their hands over a small fire they had made on the sidewalk, no doubt fueled by combustible bits of trash they had gathered up.
Nolan cursed to himself.
Things were always more difficult when there was more than one.
Cautiously, he stepped into the alleyway and moved towards the two men. They didn’t see him immediately, partially due to the brightness of the fire and also because they were engrossed in their own conversation.
He overheard them saying something about baseball. When he was young, Nolan developed a healthy dislike for the sport playing little league ball. Since his condition overtook him, that dislike had turned into hatred as it reminded him what he had lost.
Hearing the men talk about baseball so enthusiastically made it easier to hate them. That was the way Nolan dealt with killing. He found it was much easier to kill someone if he hated them for some reason, for any reason. It helped him to forget the horrible things he did to people.
As he neared the two men, he caught a familiar scent in the air. He almost paused to investigate it, but he was too committed to the men before him to break off now. There was no time for distraction.
“Hey, there, fella,” one of the men said.
Nolan stopped a few feet short of the firelight’s reach. If the men saw his face, they would cause more trouble than he wanted to deal with.
“Evening,” he said. His mouth and teeth made it difficult to speak intelligibly.
“Hey, uh, you ain’t a cop or something, are you?” the other man asked.
“No.”
“Well, then, why don’t you come over here and warm yourself? It’s too damn cold to be without any heat.”
“Thank you.”
Nolan lowered his head, hoping the hood would hide most of his face. His sized the men up, trying to decide which man would put up more of a struggle. Both were at least in their fifties and neither appeared particularly formidable. Still, the second man looked a bit skittish, as if ready for some kind of trouble. Nolan guessed he probably carried a gun or a knife. Best to dispose of him first and then go for the other one if he had a chance.
He stepped into the firelight, but neither man reacted to the sight of him. Their carelessness bought him the precious time he needed to close the distance between them.
“So, fella, what’s—”
Nolan knew then that the man had seen his face, seen the wide, fanged mouth, narrow nose, and bulging hourglass eyes that comprised his horrifying visage.
Without hesitation, he leapt at the man he regarded as a greater threat. The hood that partially masked his face fell away, fully exposing him for the feral thing he was. His claws and fangs tore into soft flesh and the man’s eyes widened when he tried to scream only to find that his throat was already slashed open. Nolan fell on top of the man and sucked down the blood surging from the wounds, driven forth by a still beating heart. It was rare that he fed on someone untainted by drugs or disease, and the taste of pure, clean blood was euphoric. His senses were drowned out by the pure ravishment of the experience.
When the man was drained, Nolan relinquished his grip and turned to the other vagrant. To Nolan’s surprise, the man was no longer standing. His body lay dead in a broken heap of splintered bones upon the snow-covered pavement. Th
e cooling blood that seeped from his wounds smelled foul, polluted by an abundance of drugs and alcohol. A few feet from his body, a handgun had fallen into the snow.
“You’re lucky I was nearby,” a familiar voice said from behind him with slightly garbled words. The scent he had noticed was much stronger now. Nolan looked down at the gun next to the vagrant.
“Nothing I couldn’t have handled,” he said, allowing his large fangs and misshapen mouth to distort his speech.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, Nolan. I’m sure a bullet in your back wouldn’t have been a problem at all for a big, strong man like you.” A clawed hand touched his shoulder and Nolan felt hot breath upon the back of his neck.
“What do you want, Celia?” Nolan asked.
“Is that the thanks I get for saving you the agony of being shot?”
Celia’s voice sounded sweet in his ears despite her broken speech. Nolan surrendered a smile, or at least what passed for one among their kind.
“Thank you.” He looked down at the broken body and sighed. The junkie’s blood was rapidly cooling after being exposed to the cold air. For a moment, he considered partaking of it, but after feeding on one so clean, he was reluctant to distort the blissful aftertaste in his mouth with cold, dirty blood.
“Too bad this one’s pumped up with shit. I was awfully hungry.”
Nolan turned around to face Celia and his narrow pupils widened as he took in the sight of her. She retained much of her human beauty and the few occasions he saw her made his predatory existence almost bearable.
“I figured as much. You hear that a lot this time of year, especially above ground.”
Celia was one of the fortunate ones who lived beneath the streets in the sewers. Her gang protected the underground tunnels fiercely as they were shielded from the weather and allowed access to better hunting grounds, not to mention a place to dispose of troublesome bodies. Nolan had met Celia when he first came to the streets, hungry and lost. She taught him how to survive and sometimes kept an eye on him. But she never let him forget that she was an undergrounder and he was a streeter. It was one of the only distinctions that existed among their kind in the city. Life was easier for the undergrounders because they could stick together, but streeters were loners by necessity. There was nowhere for them to hide or feed if they stayed in groups.
“You haven’t told me what you wanted yet,” Nolan said. He knew Celia rarely ventured above ground during winter. The only time undergrounders bothered themselves with streeters like him was when they wanted something.
“You’re always so direct, Nolan,” Celia said. “I like that in a man.”
“Well? I’ve got a lot of hunting to do tonight so make it quick.”
The last few nights had not satisfied his needs and he was beginning to feel the effects of gradual malnourishment.
Winters were always difficult.
“I need your help, Nolan. We have a serious problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“It’s about Reiner.”
If Nolan had been annoyed by the conversation before, the mention of his old friend’s name now drew his full attention.
“What about him?” he asked, almost afraid of her answer.
“Have you seen him recently?”
“Not lately, no. We haven’t run together for almost a year now.”
Celia sighed.
“Wait a minute, what’s this about? Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“Yeah, you could say that. He’s taken to harvesting.”
“Oh, shit,” Nolan said. “How long?”
“I don’t know, a month, maybe more? He’s been pretty good about staying out of sight, but a harvester can’t stay hidden forever. Eventually he’ll get too bold and get caught.”
“What happens then?”
“Hopefully, we won’t have to find out. Not with your help.”
Nolan suddenly understood what Celia was preparing to ask of him.
“You want me to bring him in, don’t you?”
“He has to be stopped, Nolan.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do, Celia,” Nolan said, turning away from her.
“All I’m asking is for you to talk to him! Just—”
“It’s not that simple,” Nolan said. “Even if I could find him, he’d never listen to anything I said. He spent so much time feeding on junkies that he was too fucked up from all the drugged blood to understand a word I said. He’s dangerous, Celia, violently dangerous.”
“Well, then,” Celia said, “I guess you’re just going to have to kill him.”
“What?”
“Nolan, he’s endangering all of us. We can’t let the humans get their hands on him or they’ll start putting everything together. What do you think will happen when they make the connection between him and the unexplained deaths down here? They’ll start looking closer and then they’ll find out about us, about all of us.”
Nolan sighed.
“Where do you think he’s hiding?”
“The last time anyone saw him he was prowling around Mercy Hospital. I’ve been checking around and there’ve been quite a few disappearances there over the last month.”
“So you think he’s nesting inside the hospital somewhere?”
“Most likely, but I’ve also heard about unexplained disappearances in other places in the city lately.”
“Do you think Reiner’s responsible for that too? I thought harvesters didn’t move around much.”
“I don’t know, Nolan, they usually don’t. Maybe he’s feeling around for a new hunting ground. Even if he is, I’d check Mercy first.”
Frustrated, Nolan kicked the lifeless junkie on the ground next to him and cursed.
“So why do you expect me to risk my life to run one of your little errands anyway? Maybe you and your friends below have plenty of time to worry about shit like this, but I’m a lot more concerned about how I’m going to survive the rest of the winter.”
Celia said nothing, instead reaching out to touch his still bloody cheek. Despite his anger, the touch of her smooth skin made Nolan’s entire body feel warm.
“Please, Nolan, I need your help. I put in a good word for you with the chiefs. You do this for me and I can get you a place with us underground.”
Underground. The promise of a warm, dry bed and a steady supply of food.
It was a tempting offer.
“Why me, Celia? I’m not the only one up here that ever ran with Reiner.”
She smiled and leaned in so close to him that her lips nearly touched his.
“I have my own reasons.”
Nolan sighed.
“Alright, I’ll do what I can.”
Nolan crouched in the shadows behind a large truck in the garage of Mercy Hospital, his senses stabbing out in all directions for potential danger. Careful to avoid the surveillance cameras that scanned the area, he crept from shadow to shadow across the large room and slipped through a door marked “Authorized Maintenance Personnel Only.” He found himself in a dimly lit stairwell with stairs leading both up and down. With the grace of a cat, he leapt over the handrail and descended the stairs swiftly, jumping from level to level. When he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he opened the heavy door labeled “Subfloor 5: Sewage and Waste Disposal.”
The large room he entered was dimly lit by weak, yellow-tinged lightbulbs, but Nolan’s hourglass pupils widened to take in additional light, allowing him to see perfectly. A tangled network of pipes snaked down from the ceiling and along the walls. At the far end of the room, a set of metal double doors caught his attention. The small sign affixed to them identified them as the entrance to the sewage system. Nolan picked up the familiar scent of his old companion in the air, but it was weak. He wasn’t nearby at the moment, but he had been recently. Very recently.
Other odors hung in the stagnant air. There was a time when the smell of rotting flesh would have made him sick, but his condition gave him considerably grea
ter intestinal fortitude and now he merely winced in reaction to it. The foul odor seemed to be emanating from beyond the double doors. Nolan stepped forward slowly and pulled one of them open. Inside it was completely dark, but his inhuman eyes cut through the inky blackness easily.
A set of metal steps led down to a narrow stone walkway and on either side of the walkway there was a collection pool of sewage that drained into the main city sewer system. Nolan hesitantly made his way down the steps, his eyes fixed on the center of the stone walkway. A pile of bloodstained hospital blankets were arranged there as a poor makeshift bed. Nolan managed not to look too closely at the pools of sewage at first, but his curiosity finally got the better of his sense and his gaze drifted to them.
Several rotting corpses floated in the dark liquid, drifting aimlessly like restless ghosts. Nolan barely kept his revulsion in check as he tried to count the bodies. He gave up when he reached twenty and spotted a small newborn baby amidst the bodies. That was more than he could stand to see. Besides, he realized, there was no way of knowing how many bloodless corpses had sunk to the bottom of the sewage pool.
Now Nolan understood why Reiner posed such a threat. Harvesters were vampires that lived in buildings where defenseless humans could be found in great numbers. In modern times, large hospitals were their most common lairs, although Celia had told him of harvesters that lived in orphanages, asylums, and prisons. They kept to the shadows and basements, slinking out to feed on sleeping humans in the night. The trick was to feed just a little at a time, never killing anyone lest they rouse suspicion.
But the hunger wasn’t so easy a thing to control. The temptation to gorge on the helpless hospital patients was simply too great. Eventually, harvesters took to hauling people away in the night. That was why harvesters couldn’t keep going for long; they would always grow bolder and bolder. And, just when they began to think they’d never get caught, they were discovered. Once the disappearances begin, it didn’t take the humans long to figure out that something strange was going on. That was the reason harvesting was one of the greatest offenses among Nolan’s kind. If one of them were to be captured, dead or alive, it could endanger the entire species.
Distant Worlds Volume 2 Page 6