Harvest Earth Read online

  But that was it! As Gabriel realizes this, he is suddenly troubled.

  Gabriel had spent the past two years in Philadelphia and had never heard the streets so quiet. There were no sounds of screeching tires, honking horns or the ticking of traffic lights. Looking down to the end of the alley at the sidewalk Gabriel sees no businessmen, vagrants, police officers or students. With a brisk jog, he runs towards the end of the alleyway where it meets up with what Gabriel only ever knew as bustling streets. When he emerges what he finds put him into a sudden delirium. It is as if Gabriel is standing in the midst of an elaborate dream.

  With the exception of a few birds that soar through the air several stories up, the city is still. The sidewalks are nearly empty, with the exception of debris which has accumulated and is bouncing across the cement. The road is congested with cars, many of which have crashed into one another. It is as if everyone had suddenly slammed on their brakes at the same time. The traffic lights are out as well.

  One of the vehicles nearest to Gabriel has veered off the road after being hit from behind and is pushed up onto the sidewalk. Gabriel approaches it cautiously, afraid of what he might find inside as he peers into the passenger’s side window. Empty. The vehicle is empty. Gabriel strolls around the car to get a better look. Where the driver’s side door should be there is just a big hole. It is as if someone has drilled a hole into the vehicle and taken everything out of it. The hole stretches from the middle console to where the door should have been. All that is left of where the driver’s seat had once been is the frame of the vehicle. Gabriel rubs his fingers along the missing part of the vehicle. The edges are smooth, cool and show no sign of grease or flame.

  More carefully surveying the streets, Gabriel finds that all of the vehicles have similar holes that have been carved out of them. Some only have one hole on the driver’s side, but some have others located in the front and back passenger’s sides as well. Walking farther down the sideway Gabriel even finds a bus where nearly every seat has gone missing. In the place of the seats, only perfectly spherical impressions remain. Many of the buildings have these circular holes missing from them as well. All of the holes are the same size, about five feet across, with only a spherical void left where something else should have been.

  It is while examining the bus with the several holes that Gabriel catches a reflection of himself for the first time in the bus’s large sideview mirror. Gabriel rubs his hands across his face to confirm what he sees. His beard has grown in. It appears to be a few days’ worth of stubble.

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Gabriel softly whispers the words and finds the sound of his voice strange. He brushes off a sudden feeling of uneasiness and tries to remain rational.

  Gabriel always shaved, he reminds himself. All of the people who worked in Gabriel’s building shaved, all expect for the most senior executives who somehow earned the right to forgo the arduous task. Perhaps to fit in, or maybe because he thought it was an unwritten rule of the building, some “must do” that existed in some book somewhere that Gabriel didn’t have access to; Gabriel always made sure he was clean-shaven before work. There was no way he had forgotten, and even if he had his face bore several days’ worth of hair, not a single neglectful morning’s worth.

  It was bizarre. Everything was out of place. That same feeling of uneasiness came back but more suddenly this time. Gabriel could feel his body tense as his mind tried to put all the pieces together, but there was still so much missing and the picture wouldn’t fully form. Gabriel stares at his reflection in the bus’s side-view mirror. He turns his head side to side and checks his scalp for any bruising or lacerations. He wants to rule out that he hadn’t hit his head or been knocked unconscious. There is no evidence of injury. A plethora of other possibilities to explore soon come flooding to him, but none of them are pleasant.

  The mirror begins to shake. At first Gabriel isn’t sure if it are tears welling up in his eyes or if it is just another symptom of what had happened to him. Edging towards the mirror he places his palm against the mirror pane. He can feel the subtle vibrations as they course through his hand and up his arm. It is soothing to know that he is not imagining the restrained quakes. Gabriel can trust his hands. His eyes and mind might lie to him but Gabriel could always trust his hands. Whether he was repairing a broken copier or cleaning out a chewed up garbage disposer, Gabriel relied on his sense of touch to tell him when something was right. And now Gabriel’s hands are telling him that something is coming because the vibrations in the mirror are getting stronger.

  6 Madison

  If Madison thought that the control room was frantic it was nothing compared to the pandemonium she witnessed in the base’s server room. She had volunteered to visit the server room in hopes that it would a nice tranquil retreat. What she found were technicians dripping with sweat dashing between rows of tall black server towers. They were tossing both fiber-optic cables and profanities to one another. The moment Madison entered the room she could feel the heat emitting off of the servers. It was like stepping into a sauna, only without the anticipated sense of relaxation that she had so desperately wanted.

  One of the lead technicians spots her as she and Lt. Trevers enter the room. He stands up from where he is working on the opened back of one of the server panels. A flashlight is clutched tightly between his teeth. Beads of sweat roll down the man’s bald scalp, dripping down his nose and accumulate in the hairs of his gray-tinged mustache. His glasses are fogged from heavy and sticky exhalations.

  “What the hell do you want?” He stammers. Obviously protocol and rank have been long ignored in this section of the base. Madison doesn’t let it slide. Normally she doesn’t like to throw her rank in other people’s faces, but it has been a long day.

  “I should be asking you!” She snaps back. She erects her back and puffs up her chest highlighting the markings of her station and rank on her breast. “We’re losing our computers left and right upstairs!”

  The man is either too tired or too frustrated to care about all of Madison’s stars and stripes, “Well known of this would’ve happened if you airheads up there had seen this coming to begin with.”

  Madison’s internal temperature rises, to the same boiling level as everyone else’s in the server room. It has an effect on you, being crammed in a small space with dim-lighting. Everyone is bumping into one another and shouting. Lt. Trevers must have noticed this because he tries to intervene but he is too late.

  Madison grabs hold of the sweaty technician’s lapel with two hands and then shoves him backwards, knocking him into a server cabinet. “That’s airhead, sir, to you!” She snarls through her teeth. The lack of rest, food and answers fuels her agitation. It gives her arms strength as she holds the man pinned in place.

  The entire server room has gone quiet as everyone looks on. Perhaps they are waiting for a fight to break out. They need it to, to give them a release. The only sounds come from the buzzing fans of the servers. The blades on the fans spin rapidly trying to maintain equilibrium and blow off the building heat. Lt. Trevers cautiously surveys the room and vigilantly protects his coworker. The two of them are woefully outnumbered should violence ensue.

  Madison notices the tension in the room as well. She needs to do something to deescalate the situation while still maintaining her position and authority. She loosens her grip on the analyst but keeps the same snarl on her face. “Now how the hell can Lt. Trevers and I help you blockheads get these pieces of junk working again?” She gestures to the servers and speaks with a sternness in her voice that makes the statement sound less like a question and more like an order.

  The analyst straightens his collar, his eyes shifting between Madison, Lt. Trevers and the onlookers. He wipes the beads of sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. Taking a step towards Madison, she stiffens. He then reaches past her and picks up a small technician’s kit. He holds it out to her. “Take this down to the lower levels. Our crew down there needs some extra
supplies to re-route some of our systems.” His voice is soft as he adds, “sir.”

  Without another word Madison takes the bag. She and Lt. Trevers disappear down the back end of the server room and down a flight of stairs. They feel the technicians’ eyes piercing into the backs of their heads as they descend down and out of sight. Once in the lower levels, Madison allows her body to relax as she takes a deep breathe. The tension of the earlier scene escapes from her.

  They find a handful of airmen in overalls working in a narrow service corridor at the bottom of the stairs. They are grateful to see the supplies that Madison has brought them. One of these technicians, a woman covered in grease with her hair tied up in a loose bun, leans up against the wall as she rummages through the bag. Her identification tag reads, “Private Lui”.

  “So, we know anything new?” The Private says as she picks up what looks to Madison like a long-nosed screwdriver out of the bag.

  “Not really.” Madison replies, carefully watching as the Private peels off the faceplate of a fuse box on the wall. “What about down here? Do we know why our systems are losing power?”

  Pvt. Lui tucks a stray hair behind her ear and then steadies her hand. She tips the point of her tool into a narrow space between a jumble of wires. “Well, the shielding that protected our systems from the initial blast, attack, or whatever it was; it protected most of our hardware but not everything. Those components that were affected seem to finally be having an impact on other components further down the line. If it continues like this it won’t be long before the whole base goes dark.” To Madison, Pvt. Liu says this last line as if it is an inevitable certainty. One that the Private has already accepted.

  Lt. Trevers bristles at the thought. “Can you fix it?” He says, trying to hide his uneasiness.

  “Of course I can.” The Private responds just as a spark flies out of the fusebox. It caused the lights overhead to flicker. She gives them a coy smile as if to say, ‘I meant to do that.’ Madison feels briefly encouraged by Pvt. Liu’s calmness and sense of humor. Madison tries to make a note to try to come down to the lower levels more often. To learn more about how these systems that powered her own workstation work. To also learn more about Pvt. Lui and the strange tool that she uses that looks like an elongated screwdriver.

  The lights then flickered again. Pvt. Lui giggles, “That time it wasn’t me.”

  But the Private’s thought is cut off when ceiling above her collapses. The whole corridor shakes with a tremendous force, and the walls on either side of them collapse as well. Lt. Trevers pushes Madison and she falls backwards. She is blinded by dust and becomes disoriented as it fills her lungs. Everything goes dark. The only way she even knows she is alive is from the sounds of tumbling rock and screams nearby.

  7 Gabriel

  When Gabriel finally sees what had been causing the vibrations that had been growing around him, his heart plummet down to his feet. His damn eyes! Gabriel thinks they surely are deceiving him. Madness and fear overcome him as his mind tries to categorize the object as it passes above him. Gabriel wants to run but his feet are like lead. Instead he manages to push his body against the side of the bus and crouches to his knees. He only dares to peak over the roof of the bus with the slimmest part of his head. His eyes remain fixated on the object. They follow the flying shape as it continues down the street. His eyes follow it until it disappears out of view. His body feels paralyzed. Gabriel’s gaze never alters until the vibrations stop.

  In an instant, Gabriel’s body goes from solid steel to liquefied jelly. His stomach joins his heart as it falls to the pavement. He feels his body tremble as his nervous system fights to reactivate after momentarily being paralyzed by fear. Mustering up all the energy he can, Gabriel bolts down the sidewalk as fast as his legs can carry him.

  He runs in the opposite direction than the object had went. He runs until his lungs give out and his legs burn feverishly. Exhausted; panting deep, heavy and painful breathes. Gabriel ducks between two buildings and collapses onto his knees. His mouth and throat are raw from dehydration. His stomach makes him feel hollow inside. The thick stench of urine from his crotch fills his nares where he wet himself. He gags and is grateful when nothing but stomach acid rises up into his throat.

  Gabriel tries not to think of the object. He wants it to be the farthest thing from his mind, as if he had never seen it. But he had. Every time Gabriel closes his eyes he sees it.

  It had been a large black triangular structure. It moved through the air with one of its tips pointing forward. The entire vessel covered all four lanes of Broad Street, perhaps two-hundred feet across. Its black hull was like an eclipse as it passed under the blue sky. Its hull was matted and gave off no shine or reflection. It appeared as if it was untouched by the sun. To Gabriel it had blotted out any semblance of normalcy or reality. As it moved across the sky and over him he could feel the vibration of it in his body. The tremors reached their apex of intensity as the object passed directly overhead. It made no sound, save those caused by the vibrating objects below it. It felt lifeless to Gabriel. As lifeless as the whole city now seemed to be.

  Pulling himself out of his own head Gabriel slaps his face several times with his hands. He closes his eyes and shakes his brain, letting it rattle against his skull. He tries to shake out the image and memory of the object. When Gabriel opens his eyes he stares at his hands. He counts his fingers. He thinks he remembers hearing once that you can’t count in a dream. For surely that is what Gabriel concluded this all must be, a dream. An illusion. Focusing on his fingers is difficult for Gabriel. They are still shaking and his brain is on fire. He is unable to maintain attention on his dancing phalanges.

  Gabriel looks around at his surroundings. He is in a space between two building. He hopes to reorient himself. He hopes to find something that will distract him from his racing thoughts. That is when he sees a shoe sticking out from behind a nearby dumpster.

  Gabriel becomes startled when he sees that the shoe is accompanied by a pant leg. A real leg presumably hold the two objects together. As Gabriel slowly eases himself out of the filth-covered gutter he is filled with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. A leg is usually attached to a person, and a person might have answers to what was happening.

  “Hello.” Gabriel says softly. His voice still sounds strange in what is now a strange place. Beyond just breaking what is now relative silence in the city, Gabriel’s dry tongue and throat also make his voice sound hoarse and foreign. He smacks his lips and tries to swallow the last drop of saliva he has. “Hello.” He says again. This time he speaks a little louder and tries to hide the raspy tone of his voice.

  There is no reply.

  Gabriel begins to feel uneasiness threaten to overwhelm him as he edges toward the dumpster. He dreads what he will find on the other side. When he sees the blood splattered against the brick wall, however, he finds himself strangely calm.

  It had been, or was, a man. Gabriel couldn’t decide which tense to us. The corpse wore jeans and a sweater. Printed on the sweater is the mascot of a local college football team plastered on the front. The man’s head is gone. All that remains is a splatter of blood and clinging bits of flesh. In the man’s right hand is a revolver, blood crusted was on the barrel.

  Oddly Gabriel is not frightened or even disturbed by the sight. Partially because he had mostly expected it when he approached the dumpster, but also because it is strangely comforting to see something that felt so natural. Death, human death. This was not empty sidewalks, cars with holes burrowed into them or strange shapes flying through the sky. The corpse represented something tangible. Something Gabriel’s brain knew how to organize and deal with.

  Without really knowing why, Gabriel reaches down and picks up the revolver. He pries it from the dead man’s grip. The corpse’s fingers are stiff and cold. They resist as Gabriel wrestles the gun’s handle out of the rigid palm. Gabriel tries to wipe the dried blood off with his overalls but it is plastered on. He tur
ns the gun over in his hand. There are eight rounds in the chamber. He pops open the catch just like his father had taught him and eight empty shell casings spill into the gutter. With the bullet casings also spill out a flood of memories.

  Gabriel sees himself, a young boy, having just turned twelve years old. He is in a desolate place, a desert. There are green thorny bushes sprouting up all around him. A few larger juniper trees provide much appreciated shade. Two large mesas create a valley where Gabriel’s father has brought him in the family’s old, red, Ford pick-up truck. They have abandoned the pick-up a few yards back and Gabriel’s father hands his son a gun.

  It is revolver with eight rounds in the cylinder. Gabriel remembers the weight of it. He remembers taking it because his father had told him to hold it. He also remembers wanting to immediately throw the gun away. Gabriel wants to hand it back to his father. To tell his father that he isn’t allowed to play with guns and let that be the end of it. But his father is smiling. His golden skin cracks at the sides of his mouth as he grins. He has a warmth in his eyes that tells Gabriel everything is going to be ok.

  Gabriel’s father kneels beside him and wraps his arms around him. He holds Gabriel’s wrists with his leathery hands. Gabriel lets his body relax as his father pushes his arms together so that he can hold the pistol with both hands. Together they point the revolver out in front of them.

  “Now, don’t be afraid.” His father says. A twinge of his father’s Mexican-accent leaves its fragrance on every word. “This gun is a tool just like any other. The pistol is like a hammer and the bullets are like its nails.”