The Fate of Nations Book II The Harvest (14 page)

Leslie picked up her journal from the nightstand where she had kept it to write down her thoughts or any story ideas that she thought of as she lay awake at night.

She traced the embossed lettering on the cover with her fingertip. The soft brown leather was coming loose from the binding at the corners, showing small patches of off white through the fraying material. She used to love to write.

Leslie was a fiction writer, and a good one if she had to say so herself. Her work at The Journal was regularly praised by her editor. “Keep this up, Leslie, and you'll get a raise,” he always joked as one of her stories gained recognition. The Journal's patrons loved the creative twists on her stories and articles. Writing earned Leslie a modestly nice paycheck, but she would have written for the sheer pleasure of it.

In the words of a story, Leslie could pour out emotions she normally kept reserved. In a story, anything could happen. In real life, it wasn't always the case. There were actual limits to the real life, limits that she'd had to discover, sometimes painfully, over the years.

In a story, a novel or even an article, Leslie could push beyond the confines of reality. She could transport herself to other places, other times, even other worlds, with the mere flick of a pen, or by tapping out a few words on the keyboard of her laptop.

She turned the pages of her journal, waiting for that flash of inspiration, that jolt of anticipation that she always felt when she sat down to write. She snapped the journal closed. Nothing.

Fuck,
she thought,
I don't even know where to
start anyway.
She was living in the wildest true story of all time. She doubted that any fiction she could write would top this. Writing, for her, was now as useless as her cell phone, her television and her laptop. Useless.

She tossed the once beloved journal, carelessly, in her nightstand drawer and picked up her Bible.

It was growing quieter outside. Days were

passing by without any sounds at all and then suddenly the air would erupt with terrible screams and shouts, the scraping of metal on metal and then, quiet again.

Someone went outside.

She tried to read one of the novels she had on her bookshelf, but she couldn't focus on it. Her favorite stories, by those famous authors, held no interest to her now, not with the knowledge that some of those same authors were probably on one of those overhead ships.

Leslie hadn't spoken a word for two months. Her cats looked at her quizzically, but quickly learned the hand signals she made. They sensed that they too had to be quiet. They didn't make their normal mewing sounds anymore. They had stopped rough housing and scampering all over the house. They existed in silence.

Mystery, or The Mystery Cat, Leslie had nick named her, because of the strange location she had found her in when she was a kitten, (a parking garage, of all places) didn't even make her chattering sounds to the birds and squirrels that ran and fluttered around in the yard like she used to, venting her frustration and showing her indignation at the little trespassers on her turf. Mystery watched them now as silently and as solemnly as she watched the comings and goings of the Grays.

Kevin walked down the frozen escalator to the ground level of the mall. A drug store ensconced the left side of the intersection as he reached the bottom of the escalator.

“That's just the thing,” he said aloud as he headed for the door. It had been propped open by a stand of paperback novels. He entered the store, and saw that it had been ransacked.

The shelves had been turned over and items lay scattered all over the floor. The hanging signs that listed the aisle contents were all in place, however, and by using them, he was able to find most of the items that he needed.

Kevin walked out an hour later with shampoo, soap, deodorant and toothpaste tucked neatly into the large KB Kable bag, along with a package of wax candles and a variety pack of lighters he had lucked up on. He had also found a lone bottle of water.

It must have slipped out of one of those jumbo packs they sold. He had found it stuck between two shelves on the floor. He gulped the water down thirstily when he found it, and now carried the empty bottle in case he might need it. He headed out in search of the water fountain.

The water fountain was only a short walk from the Drug Store where Kevin had found his additional supplies. He looked into the round fountain. He had seen this fountain before.

It sat quietly now, undisturbed by the constant arc of water that had been forced to perform it's gravity defying act when the power had been on. It looked peaceful now, Kevin thought, still and quiet and at peace.

He peeled off his clothes, shyly looking around to make sure no one saw him, even though he was sure that he was the only living soul in there. He stuck his toe in the water. Cool delicious water. He pulled his toe out and dipped the water bottle in, filling it to the top and closing it tightly, he sat it aside and stepped into the water.

Kevin almost wept. The water was so damned, wonderful.
Yes, that's the word I want
, he thought, wonderful. Not even the first time he had made love felt anything close to the pleasure that cool refreshing bath gave him.

He lay in it, glorying in the cool silky way the water caressed his tired skin. He ducked his head under the water, feeling the accumulated crud of the last three weeks dissolving into the blessedly cool depths.

Kevin lay in the fountain, oblivious to everything except the sheer joy of being alive, of feeling, of enjoying something as ordinary as a bath, but, these were no longer ordinary times.

The night was steadily approaching, throwing long, somehow
creepy
, Kevin thought, shadows on the walls and floor of the mall. Hating to get out of the water, Kevin reluctantly shampooed his hair and soaped himself down with the Drug Store items. He brushed his teeth using some of the water from the bottle and spit it into a nearby trashcan after he had dripped dry.

The new clothes he had taken from KB Kable felt foreign and stiff on his freshly scrubbed body. They fit well enough. The pants were just a little baggy in the seat, but he hadn't been eating well lately. He planned to make up for that very soon.

Kevin lit one of the candles from the five pack he had found and started off in the direction of the third floor restaurant. He had seen it on his walk down the escalator earlier. He hoped it wouldn't be too hard to get the door open. The adrenaline charge he'd been running on ever since the Gray had started chasing him had long since worn off and he was beginning to feel tired and weak. The bath he had just taken seemed to have magnified his weariness and all he really wanted to do right now was curl up somewhere warm and safe,
if
there is such a place, anymore,
he wondered, and sleep.

The restaurant door had been pried open and hung on one hinge. Kevin stepped inside, his candle held out in front of him.

He walked straight back into the kitchen area, bypassing the display cases with the rotted salads and entrees still adorning them.

In the back, he found an industrial can opener fastened onto a wide counter. Assorted canned foods decorated the pantry shelves, their labels all turned forward by the former chefs that had worked there for easier access.

Kevin's stomach growled painfully as he looked at the rows and rows of canned beans, fruit, meat and dressings. He pulled a large can of beef down from the shelf and lugged it over to the counter where the can opener sat.

Turning the crank on the can opener took every bit of strength that Kevin had left, and he stood there on shaky legs, breathing hard from the exertion. He pulled the lid off of the can carefully, and laid it aside.

He looked around on the counter for anything he could use to eat with. He didn't have the energy left to go rummaging through the kitchen after turning that crank on the can opener. The counter was clean except for the layer of dust on it.

Kevin stuck his fingers in the can and fished out a large chunk of beef. It was the most glorious taste that he had ever had in his mouth, he thought. It's rich meaty, hearty flavor flowing down his throat. He could feel his body absorbing the nutrients in it as it hit his stomach, followed by another and then another.

Kevin ate his fill, feeling the strength slowly return to his weakened body. He placed the lid back on the can, hoping that it wouldn't spoil before he could eat some more of it.

Holding his candle out in front of him, Kevin walked to the storeroom of the restaurant and placed his bag of supplies on the floor beside of the door. Closing the door, he lay with his back against it, and fell into the soundest sleep that he'd had in weeks.

Day 70—

Leslie marked off the 70th day of her hiding on her old wildlife calendar. It was a mild, bright day. The sunlight streamed in around the edges of the window blinds, creating perfect frames of light on the hardwood floor of her bedroom. She listened for any sounds of the aliens. She heard only the squabbling, screeching voices of two birds outside in a nearby tree.

She crept silently, her sock clad feet tiptoeing through the small house from her bedroom to the living room. Peering out of the front door peephole, she saw a tire lying in her front yard. She hated it when people threw crap in her yard. Before all of this had happened, Leslie constantly picked up the litter of papers, cans, soda bottles, and everything else some careless slob felt like throwing out of their window as they drove by.

Muttering to herself as she did,“Fucking people can't use a damn trash can? Really? She would pick it up and put in in the trashcan she kept beside of the house, a large round rock on the top of it to keep the raccoons out.

Leslie hated that tire. She knew it was a stupid thing to think about now, but that fucking tire was driving her nuts.
What the fuck was it doing there? Who
put it there? Why did somebody throw a fucking tire in
her yard?

Leslie grit her teeth as she fought the urge to run outside and throw it over the fence into the road.

Fucking stupid fucking tire
, she thought. God she just wanted to move that fucking thing. It didn't make any sense why she felt such an intense
urge
to open the front door and just sling that fucking tire over the fence.

Leslie took a deep breath and counted to ten, and then twenty, and then thirty. Finally, when her mind cleared and the urge to bolt outside had passed, she wondered why she even fucking cared about a fucking tire in the yard anyway.
God, she was going in
s
ane!

That tire was making her nuts, she had to stop looking at it. She pulled herself away from the door and sat down with her back to it. She couldn't go outside to move it. She couldn't.

The days stretched out long and dreadfully silent.

No power, no television, no radio, no computer, no internet. Leslie looked longingly at her solar powered weather band radio. She hadn't tried using for over a month now. It wasn't safe to turn it on. The batteries in everything else were dead. She wanted to listen to music, the television, the news. Even the fucking weather would sound like a heavenly choir right about now. Anything was better than all of this silence.

She sat and she listened, straining her ears for the faintest sound coming from the outside world. A world that she was no longer part of. She thought and she prayed. She had her Bible, the old King James version that she had been given when she lived in New Orleans, beside of her. It was an old hotel copy, clearly stamped on the inside cover “Placed here by The Gideons.” She didn't exactly know what the Gideons did, but she was grateful they had placed it in that hotel so long ago, where it had managed to find its' way to her. It was now the only book she could focus on. It was keeping her from losing her sanity. Less than two more months now.

Day 85—

On day 85, Leslie marked off yet another day on her calendar and then crept, as silent as one of her cats, to the front door for a glimpse of the world outside. She pressed her face against the cool metal door and peered out of the peep hole.

The grass was getting so high out in the front yard. The slender green stalks swayed slightly in the soft summer breeze. She sighed softly, longing for that warm caressing breeze on her face and started to pull away from the door. She froze. Something moved out there. It was something she saw from the corner of her eye.

Silently, two Grays glided into her field of view.

They were passing through her front yard, approaching from the right. Their feet hovered inches over the ground, fanning the grass as they slid into view.

Leslie's heart almost stopped beating, it lurched and thumped painfully in her chest. She stood frozen at the peep hole at her front door as the Grays came into full view. They glided to a stop and hovered beside of that fucking tire.

They studied the tire closely. “
Take a picture
assholes, it'll last longer,”
a cold voice in Leslie's mind whispered.

Where the hell did that come from?
Leslie wondered to herself,
Why would she even think that?

Where had she heard that strange gravelly voice
before?
God, she really was going insane. She watched them as they looked at it, then look at her house, and then look back at the tire.

She broke out into a cold sweat and thought she might pass out. The room started to tilt and her vision grayed. She bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed and her heart pounded in her chest so loudly that she was sure they would hear it.

“You big, ugly ass, bird looking, freaks.”
the cold voice in her mind shouted.
“Get out of my fucking
yard!”
Leslie clamped her hand over her mouth, afraid that she had said that out loud.

She was terrified, and not just of the hovering Grays outside. She didn't recognize this cold entity that had emerged from the recesses of her mind.