The Harvest Cycle (16 page)

    “Let me go, Richard,” Amanda said, “it’s okay.”

    “Like hell it is.” But he relinquished his hold, and stormed away from the others, into the rows of graves.

    “Probably ought not to do any more of this dream shit,” Cutter said.

    “Thanks for your input,” West said. He reached for Amanda, but she flinched away from him.

    “Hitch is right. No more. It’s too dangerous. Nightmare can’t find out anything else.”

    “Okay, okay.” West put his hands up in surrender. “I agree, all right?”

    “Is everything okay?” Lucy asked, leaning out of the van. Everyone nodded.

    “I don’t believe you,” the girl said, and withdrew her head with a pout.

    “Children are quite perceptive, aren’t they?” Said Bruce.

    “Anyone could smell this bullshit,” Cutter said, lying down beside the fire. “I’m going to bed.”

***

    Carson City, Nevada. Near the California border.

    The streets were quiet. Grass had come up through the asphalt, and ivy covered the buildings. Trees butted through the concrete and formed a canopy obscuring the night sky.

    All was dark and silent, and then came the sound of footfalls, of claws whispering through grass, breathing and snapping of teeth and then the wave of Harvesters erupted from the shadows, shadows themselves, leaping through windows and tearing down doors and searching for any sign of life and sweet dream-meat.

    There were a few scattered cries as dreamers were unearthed and harvested. It was a ghost town, for the most part, and the Harvesters continued on, urged forth by their terrible masters to a place called Utah.

***

    In the morning, the entire group headed toward the Mormon temple. A nearby building was identified by a half-rotted sign as a “food bank”, and Bruce designated a team to accompany him inside: DaVinci, West, Amanda and Lucy, like the day before.

    Cutter stepped onto the lawn of the temple. “Look at it,” he said, whistling softly. “What do you think we’ll find?”

    “Not much,” answered Hitch. “Bruce says it was used for ceremonies: baptisms, weddings, anointings. Nothing in there of any worth to us.”

    “I still want to see,” Cutter said. He grabbed the iron-wrought fence surrounding the temple and pulled himself up.

    The crack of a rifle sent him sprawling. The others struck the dirt immediately. “Are you hit?” Cinnamon called.

    “No,” Cutter hissed. “Son of a bitch! Hitch, you wanna try saying something to these people?”

    “How about Cinnamon or Delmar? They’re bulletproof.”

    “To a point,” Delmar said, but he began crawling toward the fence. “Anyone out there? We come in peace!”

    “Go away!” Came a male voice.

    “We don’t mean any harm! We’re just looking for food and shelter. The Harvesters are coming.”

    “How do you know?” The voice shouted back.

    “We’ve got dreamers among us. We know.”

    “We’re dreamers too,” the voice replied. “But how can we trust you? One of you, come forward! Over the fence!”

    “I’ll go,” Hitch said. He approached the iron bars and stood up. “I’m coming over! I’m unarmed!”

    He scaled the fence and dropped down on the other side.

    From the bushes surrounding the temple, a bearded man carrying a rifle slowly approached. “What’s your name?”

    “Richard Haledjian. We’re from Indiana.”

    “What’re you doing out here?”

    “We’re on our way to California. We have a plan to stop the Harvesters.”

    The man trained his rifle on Hitch. “We don’t have enough food for you. I’m sorry. You need to move on.”

    “The Harvesters are on their way. They’ll be here any day now.”

    “We simply can’t take care of you. Take up shelter in one of the other buildings around here. The temple is ours.”

    “Are you Mormons?”

    “We’re Latter-Day Saints, yes.”

    “What’s your name?”

    “Williams,” the man said.

    “There isn’t anything you can share with us? Weapons, maybe? Can you spare a few guns?”

    “No. We’re running low on supplies as it is, and if the Harvesters are coming, we need all we have.”

    “I understand,” Hitch replied. “How many of you are there?”

    “Forty,” Williams replied. He lowered his rifle. “The other man said there were dreamers ‘among you’ - some of you aren’t dreamers?”

    “We have bots with us,” Hitch said. “Before you say anything - we’ve made them understand that we have a chance against the Harvesters. They’re on our side now.”

    “How can that be?” Williams said. The rifle came back up. “How do I know you aren’t a bot?”

    “I bleed,” Hitch said.

    Williams pulled a knife from his belt and tossed it across the lawn. “Don’t try throwing it back at me or I’ll fill you with lead.”

    Hitch opened the knife, laid the blade across his arm, and shut his eyes. He quickly drew the blade through his flesh.

    Blood trickled down his arm. He held it up for Williams to see.

    “It could still be a trick,” Williams said.

    “What else can I do?” Hitch asked.

    “Just go,” Williams said. “Be on your way and don’t came back, or we’ll have to shoot you. Understand?”

    “All right.” Hitch backed toward the fence. “We’ll go. But we mean it, the Harvesters are coming. Prepare yourselves.”

    “We’ll be ready.”

    Hitch climbed back over the fence. “Hell of a welcome,” Cutter said.

    “Can’t blame them for being suspicious,” Hitch replied. “I say we seal ourselves up in that food bank, unless we find a better place before nightfall.”

    “We need to bring the vehicles down here.”

    “Let’s go get ‘em now. The van at least, I guess DaVinci has the keys to his cab.”

    “West gave you a key to the van?” Cutter asked.

    Hitch nodded.

    “You two get along pretty swell for romantic rivals, you know that?”

    “Don’t start anything,” Hitch said.

***

    A rusty old sedan, falling apart as it rolled along, coasted down the off-ramp of an Ogden freeway exit and came to a stop.

    Macendale got out, the door falling to the ground, and surveyed the city. He could sense the others here, even if he couldn’t open communications with them.

    Kicking in the window of a hardware store, he walked the empty aisles, humming a little tune to himself. There were a few scant items left. An axe. A few buckets of paint, still sealed. Some sheet metal, like that was of any use. Macendale sat on the floor and used the blunt end of the axe head to open the paint cans.

    “What colors do we have here?...White, white and off-white. Whee. Hmm.” He began spreading paint over his face. “This’ll do better than mud. That’s the look of a proper clown. Hell, why not paint the whole body.”

    He stripped off what was left of his one-piece uniform and coated his body in white. He had no genitals, but made sure to give the area a generous application anyway.

    “House paint. Won’t hold up for very long...that’s okay. Can’t be perfect, can we.”

    He plucked the false irises from his eyes, leaving only his pupils, and flicked the lenses away. “What’ll DaVinci make of this? It’ll be like looking at a nightmare. Yes, I’m a nightmare. To hell with your gods.”

    He broke into the offices in the back of the store and ransacked them for items. Not much there. Some clothes in a closet, a jacket and slacks. He pulled them on over the still-wet paint and, placing the axe jauntily on his shoulder, Gyros secured to his sides, walked out of the store.

    “Ready or not, here I come!”

16.

Home

    “We found some stuff in the food bank,” Bruce reported. “Some rice and grains. It was all sealed, and still seems to be good. So I suggest we fetch some more water, then pull down some doors from the nearby houses and use them to barricade ourselves inside the food bank.”

    “And we’ll be in there for the next month. Can’t wait,” Cutter sighed.

    “Would you rather be out here?” DaVinci asked.

    “All right, let’s get the cab moved over there, then get that water,” West said.

    “I just hope we don’t find any Mormons holed up in the food bank,” Hitch said.

    Bruce shook his head. “We swept the entire building.”

    DaVinci crossed the cemetery clearing and got into the taxicab. “See you down there,” he called.

    Then, a nearby tombstone exploded.

    Chemical fire and bits of flaming stone flew into the air. The robots dove to the ground, taking the humans down with them.

    Bruce rolled on his back and pulled out his Gyro. Taking cover behind the nearest tombstone, he scanned the horizon.

    “Mormons,” Hitch breathed.

    “That was Gyro fire,” Bruce said. “Synths.”

    “We’re bots!” Delmar yelled. There was no response from the trees, the graves. No movement.

    DaVinci opened the door of the cab and took cover behind it. “Throw me my gun!” He hissed at Cutter.

    “Forget it,” Cutter said. “I need it more than you do.”

    “The hell you do!”

    “Be quiet!” Cinnamon whispered.

    There was a sick, tittering laugh from the trees.

    “Macendale...?” Bruce gasped.

    A chunk of earth was torn away by Gyro fire. Bruce ducked down to avoid the chemical spray, dirt showering over him. “What are you doing, Macendale?” he shouted.

    “I’m scared!” Lucy cried. Amanda cradled the girl’s head in her arms. “It’s gonna be all right, honey. Just be quiet.”

    Bruce’s tombstone was shattered by another Gyro round. He rolled away, his back covered in flames. Smothering them with his body, Bruce got up and ran at the taxicab, throwing himself over it.

    Cutter sat up and fired into the trees. A bullet streaked past him and blasted a tree into flaming splinters.

    “Everyone into the cab!” DaVinci shouted.

    “There’s not enough room for all of us!” West said.

    “The bots will stay behind. The rest of you, into the cab!” Bruce ordered.

    The humans ran for the car, DaVinci throwing the back door open. Another bullet tore past his head, ruffling his hair. He swore and got behind the wheel, staring the engine.

    The cab lurched forward, all the humans inside, and swerved onto the street, heading down toward the food bank. Craters were blown in the asphalt at the vehicle’s rear.

    “Stop it, Macendale!” Bruce barked. “What is wrong with you?”

    Macendale dropped down from a tree, grinning madly. Bruce, Delmar and Cinnamon trained their guns on him.

    “Surprised?” Macendale asked.

    “What’s happened to you?” Bruce snapped. “Are you damaged?”

    “Oh, far from it,” Macendale replied. “I see the light now. I see the truth.” He aimed his Gyro at Bruce. “If you even think about firing at me, I’ll blast you to smithereens.”

    Bruce knew Macendale had the advantage. His targeting matrix was off. He couldn’t guarantee a hit. Delmar and Cinnamon had a better shot, but not before Bruce was taken out.

    “Hold your fire,” he told the other bots.

    “That’s more like it,” Macendale said. “So, you’ve teamed up with the warmbodies. DaVinci included! Things have gotten interesting.”

    “We can help you. Repair you,” Bruce said.

    “I don’t need fixing. You’re the ones who are broken.”

    
I have the shot,
Cinnamon thought.

    
No,
Bruce replied.
Just wait.

    Macendale began to back away, into the trees. “We’ll continue this later,” he called. “I’m having fun. Aren’t you? It’s only gonna get better.”

    Then, he was gone.

    “I had the shot!” Cinnamon protested. “Why couldn’t I take it?”

    “He had me,” Bruce said. “He would’ve destroyed me.”

    “So it was about protecting you,” Cinnamon said. “Because you’re essential to the mission?”

    “You don’t value my existence?” Bruce asked.

    “I should’ve taken him out,” was all Cinnamon said in reply. She headed down the street. “Stay alert. He might still be watching us.”

***

    Macendale didn’t see where they went. He didn’t want to know, not just yet; instead, he skipped down to Washington Boulevard and busied himself kicking in those windows that weren’t already broken in the storefronts flanking the street.

    He stopped in one store, a medieval curiosity shop, and drummed his knuckles against his chin. “Look at
this.
”