Reaping The Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 3) Read online

  “I’m sorry, sir,” a very unapologetic-looking National Guard sergeant told him, casting a wary eye at the crowd of civilians in the street who shouted epithets at the guardsmen. “We’re not allowing anyone inside.”

  “Who’s your officer in charge, sergeant?”

  “That would be Colonel Livingstone, sir. But he’s unavailable at the moment.”

  “Listen, I’ll make this easy on you.” Jack held out the orders from SOCOM. When the sergeant hesitated to take them, Jack’s voice hardened. “Read it, sergeant.”

  Snatching the paper from Jack’s hand, the man read over the few sentences of text that gave Jack carte blanche to do whatever he felt necessary to secure Melissa Wellington.

  “We’re looking for a twelve year old girl,” Jack said as he was reading. “Caucasian, auburn hair, five feet tall, with a serious skin condition. She left the university hospital last night and we believe she came here. It’s vitally important that we find her.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t heard any reports of anyone by that description. She might be somewhere in the crowd, because there’s no way she got over the wall.” Handing the paper back to Jack, the man said, “I’d like to help you, major, but I can’t allow you inside. I’ve got very strict orders. Now if you’d please move along, I’d appreciate it.”

  Jack glared at him. “You realize we’re all on the same team. Right, sergeant?”

  The man licked his lips nervously and glanced at the other men on the guard detail, but said nothing.

  Lowering his voice, Jack leaned toward him. “Sergeant, what the hell is going on?”

  “Sir…”

  He didn’t have a chance to say more before a raspy voice called out, “Why is that vehicle still here?”

  Jack looked up to see an officer coming down from the wall on a metal step ladder. As he strutted closer, Jack could make out the black “squashed turkey” insignia of a full colonel on the rank tab of his uniform.

  Jack narrowed his eyes. Colonel Livingstone, I presume.

  “Were my orders not clear, sergeant? No one is to approach this gate!”

  As the colonel angrily shoved past the man toward the Humvee, Alexander, who up to this point had been quiet in his carrier on the wide hump between the driver and passenger seats, went berserk. With a shrieking growl, the big cat lunged against the front of the carrier, which happened to be facing Jack and the irate Colonel Livingstone. Alexander tore at the mesh of the carrier’s front window with his half-inch long fangs, while his claws speared all the way through the thick nylon fabric.

  The attention of every man in the vehicle turned to the colonel who, with wide, surprised eyes, leapt back a full three paces, amazingly spry for a man who looked to be in his early fifties.

  Jack brought up his rifle from where it had been resting, muzzle down, on the floor. But the weapon moved slowly, so slowly, compared to the colonel, who snatched the rifle from the unsuspecting sergeant before shoving the man so hard he flew into the jersey barriers ten feet away. The other soldiers on the wall looked on in confusion, not understanding what was happening.

  Beside Jack, Terje was helpless, his weapon stowed beside him and his line of fire blocked by Jack, and the men in the back of the Humvee were also unable to bring their weapons to bear in the confines of the vehicle.

  As the thunder of explosions to the southeast became a steady din, the colonel aimed the M4 assault rifle at Jack’s face and squeezed the trigger.

  MELISSA

  The bullets from Livingstone’s weapon, firing on full automatic, missed Jack as his body was blown apart by the incendiary rounds Hathcock fired from the vehicle’s .50 caliber machine gun. The harvester masquerading as the colonel exploded into flaming chunks of malleable flesh that flew in every direction, and the soldiers on the wall and the civilians outside dodged away from the crackling debris.

  Jack got out, grabbed the assault rifle from the harvester’s still-twitching hand, careful not to step into any of the burning flesh, and went to the sergeant, who was stunned but still alive. “Come on!” He hauled the man up and handed him his rifle. Turning to the soldiers on the wall, Jack shouted, “Open the gate. Now!”

  As someone started up the bus blocking the entrance, Jack said to the sergeant, “I can tell you know something. What’s happening?”

  The sergeant looked to the southeast, where the artillery fire and A-10s had been joined by a flight of Apaches. “We got an intel report just before you arrived,” he said in a low voice as the bus pulled forward and Jack waved for Terje to take the Humvee through into the cemetery. “There’s a major attack underway. Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of the things are hitting the wire to our south and trying to swim up along the shoreline.”

  “And why was our buddy Colonel Livingstone keeping this closed up?” He glanced through the entrance. Aside from a squad of soldiers forming a cordon across the entry road, the place was empty.

  “We had orders to secure this place and knock down a bunch of the trees for a secure landing zone and to set up perimeter defenses, but that was all.” He glanced at the civilians, guilt written all over his face. “He said that we weren’t to allow anyone, especially civilians, inside until we were ordered to.”

  “Who’s next in the chain of command?”

  The sergeant shrugged. “I am, sir. The colonel sent the rest of the unit and all the other officers to reinforce the south. I’ve got most of a platoon here, that’s about it.”

  “In that case, I’m assuming command,” Jack told him. The sergeant looked relieved that someone else would be in charge. “Get your men out here and start herding these people inside. Do you have any landing zones cleared yet?”

  “Yes, sir. We cleared one of the sections over there,” he pointed into the cemetery toward the left, past the building at the entrance.

  “Good.” As the sergeant gave his men their new orders, Jack trotted over to where the others waited by the Humvee. Glancing up, he saw his air support slowly circling the cemetery. To one of the soldiers in the Humvee, he said, “Tell our Black Hawk driver that we’ve established a safe landing zone to evacuate civilians, and he’s to get his ass down here and start taking them to the nearest ship while we look for Melissa. See if he can get any more birds in here to help with the airlift.” He looked to the west. He couldn’t see the I-90 barricade from here, but it loomed large in his mind. The southwest corner of the cemetery was a stone’s throw away from the interstate. “Order the Apaches to scout along the barricade from the rail yard to our northwest to the intersection of the rail lines southeast of here. I’m not worried right now about the push the harvesters are making south of us, but if they breach the defenses on I-90, we’re in big trouble.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man snatched up the radio’s handset and tried to raise the helicopters.

  “How are we going to find the girl here?” Terje had been looking around, shaking his head. “This place is huge.”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, almost three quarters of a mile by half a mile, according to the map. That’s the bad news. The good news is that it’s empty.”

  “Not for long.”

  They both turned as the first civilians were ushered through by the National Guardsmen. The haggard men and women came through the entrance and began to mill around, making it difficult for anyone behind them to get in. “We need more men here,” Jack said. Getting up on the hood of the Humvee, he shouted, “Keep moving! There’s plenty of room, but you can’t block the entrance! Just keep moving along any of the roads and don’t stop until you get to the end!”

  “The roads are all connected,” Terje pointed out.

  Jack shrugged. “They don’t know that. They just need to keep their asses moving. You three,” he nodded to the men who’d been riding in the back of the Humvee. “Help out the guardsman here and keep these folks moving. We’ll send back some of the other guys we saw working on the fortifications to help out. Do not let people plug up the entrance here.
Understood?”

  “Hua!” The men waded into the crowd, shouting and gesturing for people to move along.

  “Hathcock,” Jack said to the sniper who was still manning the Humvee’s heavy machine gun. “I’d rather have you with us, but if things get sticky here, they’re going to need you.”

  “Roger that, sir.” He nodded, keeping the muzzle of the machine gun aimed over the heads of the people streaming in, but his eyes never stopped moving, sweeping across the crowd. “What about harvester infiltrators?”

  “I don’t have a good answer for you. I’d leave you Alexander, but he won’t be able to pinpoint a threat in this crowd. If some get through, they get through. Use your best judgement, but I don’t want you guys gunning down civilians.”

  “Got it.”

  Terje came over with Alexander’s carrier and helped Jack shrug into the shoulder straps, putting the big cat on his back before heading toward the welcome center that stood alongside the entrance. “I guess we should start with the obvious,” Jack said.

  He pushed open the door and went inside, with Terje behind him. Aside from cases of MREs, ammunition, C4 explosives, Claymore mines, and bottled water that was piled among the desks and chairs in the various rooms, the building was empty.

  “Jack, look at this.” Terje held a wad of light blue fabric that had been sitting in one of the trash cans in the room near the rear entrance. Shaking it out, they saw that it was a hospital gown that would have been a good size for a teenage girl.

  Jack took the gown in his hand, then tossed it back in the trash. “Son of a bitch.”

  “She must have had something to eat, too.” He held an MRE packet that had been neatly sliced open. “This was wrapped up in the gown.” He eyed the packet. “Asian beef strips. She ate that, the crackers, and the chocolate.”

  “Well, assuming she was the one who ate it.”

  Terje shrugged, throwing the packet on a nearby desk, rather than back in the trash. “Now is probably not a time to waste any food. Those civilians are hungry. We should get someone in here to help feed them.” He went to a window that looked out to the rear of the building. “Look at this!”

  Jack moved up beside him. Beyond a small parking lot was a long building that butted up against the wall along the street. It had over a dozen large garage doors, a few smaller ones, and several regular sized entry doors, plus a few windows. Three heavy duty pickup trucks were parked in the lot, and a backhoe was just visible in one of the garages where the door had been left open. “That must be where the caretakers keep all their equipment. Come on!”

  Yanking the rear door of the welcome building open, the two men headed across the parking lot toward the garage building.

  “Melissa!” Jack called. “Melissa Wellington! We’ve come to help you!”

  “Stop your hollerin’. She ain’t here.”

  The two men stopped at the low voice that had spoken from the shadows to one side of the nearest open garage door. A stoop-shouldered man with skin the color and texture of leather stepped out, a shovel held in one callused hand. He had the look of a man whom time hadn’t treated well, and who expected more of the same for however long he had left.

  “Do you know where she might be?” Jack said, his heart pounding now. “It’s important that we find her. Quickly.”

  The man planted the spade of the shovel on the driveway that ran in front of the garage building and leaned on the handle, his green eyes regarding Jack as if he were a bug. “And what if she don’t wanna be found?”

  Jack stepped closer, his hand tightening on the grip of his rifle. “Listen, mister…”

  “You can call me Dale. I ain’t no mister. I work for a livin’.”

  “Dale, we need your help. I can’t explain the details, but Melissa…we’ve got to find her.”

  The old man threw his head back and laughed. “There’s no fighting the Lord’s judgement, boy,” he said. “Think what you want, but the bill for our sins has just come due, and there’s no getting out of it. That poor, stricken girl came here to pay her last respects to her grandmother who’s restin’ here and find a small bit o’ peace before the Lord takes us all. I don’ reckon I should tell you anything. Just leave the poor thing be.”

  “Don’t you think she should be the one to make that choice?” Terje said.

  Dale squinted at him. “Not from around here, are you?”

  Terje shook his head.

  Dale spat. “Foreigners. Another blight on our land.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Jack told the old man. “You take us to her. And if she doesn’t want to come with us after hearing what I have to say, we’ll leave her be.”

  “You don’ really expect me to believe that, do you, boy?”

  “I give you my word of honor.”

  “Jack, don’t…” Terje whispered.

  Jack raised his hand, waving off his friend’s objection.

  The old man stared at him for a long moment. “God is your witness, son. You go back on your word, and you’ll be damned to Hell.”

  As they followed Dale toward one of the maintenance trucks, Jack said, “I think we’re already there.”

  ***

  Police Sergeant Carla Sheridan stood watch along the stretch of the I-90 barricade where it crossed over East 71st Street, a short walk from the 3rd District Headquarters where, for the last six years, she’d worked as one of Chicago’s finest. But after the collapse of the Chicago metro area under the assault of the harvesters, the police had been pressed into service as soldiers.

  Despite her exhaustion, she grinned, her white teeth gleaming against her dirty, soot-covered face.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She turned to her partner, Lorenzo Menendez, who was the other occupant of the sandbagged defensive position. “Your face, man.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one before. Puta.” Turning to look along the interstate toward the southeast, he said, “The Air Force dudes are really putting the squeeze on the bugs down there. Look at that shit!”

  Sheridan had to admit she hadn’t seen anything quite like the fireworks display that was taking place at the southern end of the zone. Air Force jets and Army attack helicopters were buzzing around like angry hornets and the sky was full of smoke. She’d seen them pounce before on harvesters that had concentrated together, but nothing like this.

  Their radio crackled to life just as a pair of Apache attack helicopters flew overhead, the beat of the rotors drowning out the call. She wasn’t sure what these two were doing here. They’d been flying around, but not shooting at anything. Not that there’d been much to shoot at for the last couple days.

  After throwing the Apaches an annoyed look, Menendez spoke into the radio. “Say again, over?”

  “Interrogative: is there any sign of movement in your sector, over.”

  Menendez looked at Sheridan, who shrugged, then shook her head.

  “That’s a negative. We haven’t…”

  He broke off as Sheridan seized his hand. “Look!” She pointed down East 71st Street. Dark figures were emerging from behind the rubble and the few buildings that remained standing. More poured out of the sewers, the heavy manhole covers flung aside as if they were made of styrofoam. Harvesters boiled out like ants from a hive that was under attack. Sheridan knew that the sewer lines below them had been blown up to try and keep the harvesters from using them to get behind the barricade, and some souls braver than her had been running patrols down there to make sure it stayed that way. But she couldn’t help but wonder how hard — or easy — it would have been for the harvesters to dig their way through if they wanted to.

  “Ahhh…” Menendez broke off, trying to get some idea of how many harvesters were heading their way. It didn’t take him long to give up counting. The entire street was packed with the things like the starting line of a halloween themed marathon. “Yeah, we got movement, all right! There’s a shitload of the bastards coming up out of the sewers and some
of the buildings, heading east on 71st toward the barricade!”

  To their north, near the elbow formed by the intersection of I-90 and I-94, rifles and machine guns began to chatter, accompanied by the whump of mortars firing. To their south, more weapons fire erupted near the intersection of Stony Island Avenue and I-90, and spread along the barricade as harvesters surged toward the human defenses.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Sheridan said. She keyed her own radio, which was tuned to her squad’s frequency. “Open fire!”

  She pulled the M-16A2 rifle into her shoulder, aimed the muzzle at the center of the approaching horde of monsters, and pulled the trigger. Beside her, Menendez put his M-60 machine gun on rock and roll, sending a solid stream of tracers into the lead ranks of the harvesters. On either side, the other defensive positions started doling out their share of pain.

  “Reload!” Menendez shouted.

  Sheridan dropped her rifle and snatched up the end of the belt of 7.62mm rounds hanging from the machine gun’s receiver. In a smooth, well-practiced motion, she clipped on the next belt from the box of ready ammo and slapped her partner’s helmet. “Ready!”

  Menendez opened fire again, barely missing a beat, as Sheridan picked up her rifle and began shooting the proverbial fish in the barrel.

  “We’re not even slowing ‘em down!” There was an edge of panic to Menendez’s voice.

  Despite the flaming casualties that thinned their numbers, the harvesters kept coming, screeching so loud she could hear it over the sound of the guns firing.

  “Just keep shooting, asshole!” She kept firing herself, ejecting magazines and slapping new ones in.

  The things swarmed past the elementary school on Rhodes Avenue, then spread out along St. Lawrence, leaping and climbing over the rubble of the killing ground that made up the last hundred yards before the barricade. Sheridan’s eyes grew wide at the sight before her: the harvesters covered the ground in a solid mass of dark skeletons and bruised-looking malleable flesh.