Reaping The Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 3) (42 page)

Kurnow reached over and touched his arm. “It’s okay, Mr. Ferris.”

He snapped his head around to look at her. In his mind he heard,
It’s okay, Daddy
. Those were the last words his daughter had spoken to him when he’d told her he had to deploy again. There had been tears in her eyes. He’d told her he loved her and that he would try to be home soon, but he hadn’t come home soon enough. Biting his lip, he looked away, fighting to keep the hot tears that welled up in his eyes from pouring down his face.
 

“Get a grip, Ferris,” Boisson snapped. “We’ve got a job to do and not much time to do it. You’re the big airplane expert. Figure it out.”

“Fine,” he growled, pretending to rub something out of his eyes. Turning back to Kurnow, he said, “Fuel first. All things being equal, I’d just taxi us over to the main apron and plug into one of the hydrants there, assuming we could find a pumper truck. But that’s not going to work because of all the debris from the KC-135 that our friend Boisson here blasted to pieces.” He glanced at Boisson, who put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Now we’ve got about a hundred thousand pound of metal just waiting to be sucked into the engines.”

“I should’ve just let all those harvesters eat your ass,” Boisson told him.

“We’ll have to bring fuel to the plane,” Kurnow interjected. “We need a tanker truck, like the R-11 refueler. I know you said you didn’t want just a fuel truck, but we don’t have any choice. The only thing is, I don’t know if the 155
^th
has…had any R-11s here. They may only have had the R-12, which just pumps fuel from the hydrants into the planes.”

“We’re not going to have time to look around and come up empty,” Boisson said, still scowling at Ferris.

“I know where we should be able to find a tanker or two ,” he said, “but you’re not going to like this.”

“No doubt.”

“The general aviation terminal back that way,” he hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the northeast, behind the plane, “should have some. The closest ones are normally sitting toward the south end of the apron near the taxiway that leads to their main runway, assuming nobody ran off with them.”

“How far?”

“Call it half a mile as the crow flies.”

“I hate crows,” Boisson muttered. “All right. So we go and bring back a fuel truck. While we’re doing that, you should be moving this beast to where it needs to be so we can get out of here.”

“I know, but that’s going to be a bitch, too.” He pointed out his window toward the wreckage of the KC-135. “We’d normally taxi that way onto the apron, then turn onto the main taxiway to reach either end of the runway.”

“But you said we can’t go that way without sucking stuff up into the engines.”

“Right. That leaves going straight ahead.” He pointed out the windscreen. Between the plane and the main taxiway was a short but wide taxi area with a huge yellow X painted in the middle, about where the plane would normally turn left to head back to the main apron. Beyond the section with the X was a strip of asphalt about as wide as a two lane road that joined up with the taxiway. On either side of that narrow strip was nothing but bare ground. “In case you didn’t realize it, that big-ass X means
don’t go this way
. The concrete and asphalt might not be able to handle our weight, and that narrow strip up there sure wasn’t meant to take anything bigger than trucks. Plus we have to clear the larvae out of the way of the tires.”

Boisson clapped him on the shoulder. “Al, that’s your problem. Mine is to get the damn gas truck over here.”

The urge to punch her returned with a vengeance, but he managed to restrain himself. “So what’s
your
plan?”

“I’m going to take Kurnow with me.” Before Kurnow could object, Boisson told her, “Just stow it. I don’t know shit about any of this stuff. You might think you don’t know much, but it’s a lot more than me. I’ll take one of my men and leave you with the other three, Al. They should be able to clear any of the little bugs out of the way of your precious tires and hopefully keep anything bigger off your back until Richards gets here with the circus.” To Kurnow, she said, “Come on. The clock’s ticking.”

Al nodded at Kurnow. “Go on. And for God’s sake, be careful.” After a moment’s reflection, he unstrapped the rig holding his Desert Eagle and handed it to her. “Put this on and give me that useless pea shooter.”

“Thanks.” She handed him her weapon and took his hand cannon. After strapping it on, she put on a brave face and followed Boisson down the ladder.

He could hear Boisson giving the three agents who’d be staying with him some instructions, and a moment later they started moving ahead of the plane in line with the three landing gear struts, frying any larvae they found with cans of hairspray and lighters.

Someone down below slammed the forward hatch shut, and he felt very much alone.

Looking again out the windscreen, Ferris guessed the taxiway was around eight hundred feet away across the
verboten
section of the old apron and the asphalt road.
 

“This should be just a barrel of monkeys,” he muttered.
 

Returning his attention to the KC-135’s instrument panel, he found a well-worn pre-flight checklist and began to bring the big plane to life.

***

“Vijay” no longer wore a human face or human clothes, but moved through the gathering dawn as he had when consciousness had first touched him. He loped along, low to the ground, his powerful body propelling him in smooth strides, his dark exoskeleton gleaming in the morning light, the malleable tissue gathered around his thorax. It rippled, waves and puckers flowing across the surface, as if anticipating the next facade required by its master.

He had originally planned to escape with the others in the lab, but the hunt for the unknown hitchhiker had presented an unforeseen opportunity to both escape and kill Jack Dawson. Unfortunately, the hitchhiker’s attack in the tunnels had ruined that part of Vijay’s plan. While Vijay had managed to kill the two Marines, he had decided to leave Jack to the hitchhiker. Vijay did not wish to risk a confrontation with his unknown kin, for fear it might hold the same views as those that attacked SEAL-2. Vijay could not afford to be killed. Not yet.

From LRU, he had made his way north toward the airport, avoiding the larger groups of non-sentients and the areas most heavily infested with larvae. His objective was the airport and the humans Carl Richards had sent there. None would be allowed to escape.
 

At last, he reached the grandly named Platte River, which was little more than a canal bounding the airport’s southern and western sides. He crossed a bridge to the airport side, then ran east through the trees along the bank of the river.
 

He had nearly given up on finding a covered approach to the airport buildings when he came upon a small tributary just before the river passed under I-80. The tributary led him straight into the heart of the military portion of the airport. On the left side of the drainage culvert through which he made his way, dodging more and more larvae, was an Army garrison, judging by the number of destroyed vehicles. Many dead soldiers and far more dead harvesters were strewn about, a feast for the larvae.

On his right was the Air Force facility. The wreck of a plane smoldered on the huge expanse of concrete, a tremendous pall of smoke trailing into the sky.
 

My kin may have already completed my work for me
, he thought as he surveyed the scene. But he was not one to leave things to chance.
 

Moving carefully along the side of a building at the south end of the facility, he spied the wreckage of a second plane inside an enormous hangar. Seeing no signs of movement other than more larvae, he dashed across the concrete to the burned out hangar and crept along the wall, moving north.

A second, smaller hangar stood across more concrete to the north. Seeing no humans about, he sprinted across the gap.

Turning the corner of the hangar, he stopped. A Humvee, mere yards away, lay burning.
The humans from the lab probably came here in this
, he thought as he crept closer. Peering into the smoking hulk of the vehicle, he found no trace of human bodies.
 

Moving to the northern end of the hangar, he saw another large jet sitting by itself on an apron about a thousand feet to the north.
 

Humans were guarding it. Lowering himself to the ground, he watched. Four humans that he recognized as the FBI agents brought by the one called Boisson stood at the compass points, watching for threats.
 

After a few minutes, two more humans emerged from the nose door of the aircraft. One of them was easily recognizable as Boisson. The other, also female, was unfamiliar to him and wore an Air Force uniform.
 

Boisson called the other agents together for a moment to speak with them. Then, when finished, she, the second female, and one of the agents turned and began jogging across the ground to the north, following the fence line that separated the airport’s runways and operations areas from the passenger terminal and public access zones that ran behind the big plane.
 

One of the three remaining agents closed the hatch before they all took up positions near the plane’s landing gear, then began to slowly walk forward.
 

Vijay could not understand what they were doing until one of them took out a small can. Leaning over, he aimed it at the ground and held something just in front of it. A cone of fire burst forth, and what must have been a larvae exploded into bright flames.

At the same moment, one of the plane’s engines began to start, the low growl quickly becoming a high-pitched whine.

They are clearing the way for the plane
. But why would they have sent Boisson and the others away?
 

That, he did not know. What he did know was that his chances of successfully attacking the three agents and inflicting irreparable damage on the plane were poor. There was nothing but open ground for nearly a thousand feet between him and his prey, and the FBI agents, while focusing on the runway, remained vigilant to nearby threats. All three periodically looked up and around, checking the approaches to the plane.

Vijay would never make it before they cut him down.

Boisson, then
, he thought. She and the others would not have left the plane unless their mission had been of great urgency. If they were killed and their mission failed, it might be enough to doom the other humans to staying in this place long enough for the swarms to arrive.

He could not follow Boisson directly, for that would take him over the same open terrain between him and the aircraft, where he would risk being seen. But the fence line they were following bent to the right, looping around the northern end of the passenger terminal.
 

Making his decision, he scuttled across the concrete to the parking lot east of the hangar where he’d been making his observations. Then, keeping low, he made his way to a section of fence that he could climb without the agents being able to spot him.

Once on the other side, he ran across the street south of the main parking lot to a large warehouse-like building. From there, he vaulted over another section of fence into the civilian part of the airport.

Looking around, he could see nothing that would be of value to the humans. The main passenger terminal was empty of aircraft and vehicles. Only luggage carts and a few other odd items of ground support equipment remained.

To the northeast, across the airport’s secondary runway, was a collection of hangars and other buildings, in front of which stood a handful of corporate jets and some even smaller planes.
 

He also spotted something else: three fuel trucks, parked in a neat row in front of one of the hangars.
 

Of course
, he thought.
The fuel.
 

Leaving caution behind, he sprinted across the intervening ground to reach the building behind the fuel trucks before Boisson and the others had a chance to spot him.

GO FASTER

“God, I thought I was in better shape,” Kurnow panted as she jogged along behind Boisson, with the other agent bringing up the rear.

“Running from harvesters is great cardio,” Boisson told her. “And we’ve had lots of practice.”

“Have you killed a lot of them?”

Boisson grinned. “Not nearly as many as I’d like.”
 

“The only ones I’ve seen for real were the ones that came poking around at night.” She paused to draw in some air. “Even then, I couldn’t see them very well. I just knew what they were.”

“Consider yourself lucky. I hope you never have to see any up close and personal.”

They fell silent as they crossed the passenger terminal apron, which, aside from the four jetways extending from the terminal building, was completely empty. Then they crossed the bare ground between the apron and runway 32, and the taxiway that led to the general aviation terminal.
 

“Ferris and his damned crows,” Boisson growled. “This isn’t half a mile, seems more like ten miles.”

“Better than trying to climb over the barb wire fence,” Kurnow huffed.

“If you say so.” Boisson pointed. “Are those our trucks?”

“Yeah. God, yeah.”

The taxiway led directly to where three fuel trucks were parked between yellow cross-hatched rectangles painted on the apron. Half a dozen corporate jets were still parked outside the hangars and service buildings that lined the apron, with a handful of prop planes farther to the north.
 

Boisson took a closer look. “Well, if we strike out here, it looks like some more trucks are up there.”

“Let’s hope these’ll do,” Kurnow said. They slowed to a fast walk as they reached the trucks. “This so gives me the creeps. It’s just like everyone suddenly died. You’d think people would have tried to fly out of here.”

“I’m sure some did. But most probably got caught somewhere in town. A harvester infestation doesn’t develop gradually. It starts with a few, but the next thing you know, thousands are swarming all over the place.”