The Harvester (11 page)

I
t was a time of great stress for the United States, the world for that matter. World domination by Hitler placed Vega and I in another crucial war.

It was World War II, and he and I were in the same platoon in the marines. Obviously, this was purposely arranged by the Agency. Nobody knew what we really were and when our fellow marines asked us why we weren’t afraid to die, only Vega and myself laughed on the inside. The true answer: the Living can’t kill Dead Ones like us. We were damn good soldiers for obvious reasons. We volunteered whenever we could for the most dangerous missions to not have the chance to get the Living dead and to make sure the missions were accomplished.

Our platoon was pinned down in a small town outside of Paris by two highly skilled snipers. Vega and I were the first to suggest to our commanding officer that we would be the ones to sprint out and across a square to draw gunfire to figure out where the Nazis were. Nobody, for obvious reasons, disagreed with us. Number one, rightfully so, they were scared. Number two, they knew we had already proved ourselves, and so far, we had a 100 percent success rate. Of course, they were fine with our idea. The objective: Draw out the two snipers who have killed eighteen of our soldiers. Next, don’t do it with any further casualties. Vega and I, at this point, have already worked as partners for over several hundreds of years, so we practically could think each other’s thoughts without speaking.

We thought for a while that Hitler was an Underworlder, so joining the war effort was a no-brainer.

Someone throwing off the balance of good and evil? Vega and I thought, “Hell no! Not on our shift.” Because the Allies were so determined to defeat such a heinous, evil ruler like Hitler, nobody ever noticed that from one war to the next that Vega and I haven’t even aged. They were just happy that we were back and ready for action.

Vega and I knew what we had to do to figure out where these skilled snipers’ locations are. And then we will take ’em out. We entered the small town terrorized by the two snipers. The citizens were forced to stay indoors twenty-four-seven. I made my way into a partially damaged ten-story building and take a position by a well fortified blown out window. Obviously, someone had used this spot.

Hopefully, it pans out for me. I signal to Vega, who then limps to the middle of the road riddled by burnt out vehicles. I scan the area for any clues as to where they might be. I see none. Suddenly, Vega draws sniper fire, a single shot, and Vega is hit in the stomach. But now I have a fix on one of ’em. I caught a glimpse of the sniper pulling his gun back in the window to a building about 150 yards down the road. Not a hard shot for me.

I signal to Vega, and he continues to limp, and now holds his stomach wound, which doesn’t bother him as much as one would think due to being unique, a Harvester. Now I dope my sniper scope for distance and for the slight wind that has picked up. I aim in the sniper’s direction and get ready for him to fire again. He slowly and stealthily comes out the window a bit. I immediately fire and through my scope I see that I connect with a headshot. His brains splatter on the wall, and he falls out of my scope’s view.

Now the second sniper will be more difficult. From the profile we have on him, we knew he has many more years experience than the first and a lot more kills under his belt. His nickname is The Ghost and for obvious reasons. We will have to use a different tactic.

We begin a structure to structure search which takes quite a while and find nothing. We thought that maybe he fled due to his partner being taken out so easily and him thinking we’re that good. So we find ourselves on top of the tallest structure in the town scanning the surrounding roaming hillsides and prairies through our sniper scopes.

Vega taps me on the shoulder right as a bullet rings out.

We dive for cover and the bullet whizzes maybe a foot or less over us. We quickly hop up and point our rifles in the direction of the bullet’s trajectory. Now we see the sniper, making a mad dash for the forest, a thousand yards away. A difficult shot, but manageable. We fire at him damn near at the same time. We see the sniper take one bullet to the head and the second through his back. He drops dead just before the forest. We radio it in to the boys, and they enter the town in a celebratory manner.

Another derailment for Hitler, and we’re ecstatic about that.

Vega and I were also in the Korean War and then the war that tore a country apart and us as partners, the Vietnam War. This is when Vega became jaded and decided to create a more powerful, new Underworld due to what he saw in ‘Nam. He truly felt the Living Government was a travesty, and he wanted to implement his own consisting of Dead Ones.

To add to the horror of his idea, he thought it was crucial to implement Underworld spies in every major facets of society: politics, law, stock exchange, United Nations, drug trafficking, entertainment, and especially the military. Now, presently, the Agency has weeded out most of his spies in most of these areas, but there’s still several of them across the world. We must find them. Especially, which of the Heads is the traitor. But the problem at hand is Vega’s hands on the Agency’s list and him having his very own Master Hole. We use the Holes to send the recently deceased to where they deserve to go. Vega uses his Hole to recruit new Underworlders for his army.

N
aes, Charon, and myself find we are in a deadly game of cat and mouse with Vega and his army, a kind of game of hide-and-seek from both sides. Truth be told, humans have known of our existence for many years. Due to the war between the Agency and the Underworld, well, we were the ones who spawned the idea for comic books and graphic novels. All of our abilities and strengths that they knew we had were put into the term superheroes and villains. Did we see any of that money or given any credit? Hell no.

Many decades ago, this one Harvester, during his natural life, was a real, bona fide World War II hero. His real name, Dorian, age twenty-seven. Ironically, he survived nine major battles, but when he got home to his idyllic town of Monterey, California, he walked across the street and was hit and killed by a public bus that loss its brakes. Four years in the war and he survives. One week as a civilian and—bam!—he’s dead.

Now, when someone dies, this is how it works and has always been for over three millennia. Once your soul leaves your body, like in Dorian’s case, it travels to whatever Agency is closest to you, basically whatever continent you’re on at the time of death. Dorian’s, North America, under Mr. Herald’s control. There, you’re scrutinized and judged for the bad deeds in your human life and honored for your good. The six Heads have been given permission by a Higher Power to judge you and decide where you deserve to go: Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory.

In Dorian’s case, even though he had taken lives in the name of war, it was decided that he would go to Heaven. With the decision of Heaven, at that point, especially with his amazing combat abilities, is when the Agency steps in with a proposal. Either you can be escorted to the gates of Heaven for admittance, or you can join the Academy to be trained to be a Harvester for a mandatory century of service. More times than not, you’d be surprised just how many want to be Harvesters. At that point, they are taken to the Academy for a very demanding, stringent Harvester Agent training. And what I mean by demanding and stringent is that 97 percent washout in the first month. Washout, meaning they can’t handle it and are cut from the Academy and sent to the After for good. In my friend Charon Espy’s case, the Agency banned him from Harvesting due to being too sanguinary and was given a pass to be allowed to stay in the Here. Very rare. Once someone washes out, a Harvester Agent personally escorts them through a Hole to Heaven straight to Saint Peter where they are admitted at once. Overall, it’s a win-win for them.

Sometimes, the ones who deserve to go to Purgatory or Hell will fight to get away back to the Here. If they do, that’s when Vega attempts to step in, gives them the offer to train ’em and take ’em under the flag of the Underworld Army. They must vow an allegiance to the Underworld’s cause or be terminated. Vega’s success rate with recruiting is 98 percent. Very impressive, I must admit. On top of this, none of the Agencies know where the Underworld’s headquarters is located. They have safe houses all over the world, but their headquarters have never been found. Even when we have captured Underworlders and put them through a session with our Halo of Truth to extract info, there was nothing. I have my theory though. If you wanted to be in the most secretive, almost impossible place to get to type of location, where would you place your headquarters? There’s a place on this planet that has only been visited to once, and it was by two US Navy Midshipmen on January 23, 1960, and for some reason, nobody has been allowed to go back.

The location: Mariana Trench. It’s the deepest place on this planet and for reasons unknown, nobody has been given the green light to go back. Why? I have a theory for that too. The Underworld has people in all facets of life and would be able to make sure no more further expeditions would ever take place there again. Being Underworlders, they would be able to handle the compression that deep in the ocean where humans in the open would literally explode under the pressure of the water’s weight. Someday, I’ll investigate my theory myself.

T
oday’s Sunday and for some reason, I’m in a particularly good mood. Unusual for me, especially with all the unfortunate events going on at this time. I sit across from Naes at a booth at a mom-and-pop-style diner, and I eat a bloody rare steak and fully loaded baked potato. Naes eats a Caesar’s salad. Yes, not too manly for a main meal. And he’s making us Harvesters look bad.

“A salad? Really?”

“I’m on a diet, man.”

“A diet? You’re dead. Hence, the reason you don’t need to worry about losing or gaining any weight.”

A little kid turns around in the next booth, and it’s obvious he overheard me because he stares at me with a suspicious glare. I give him an evil expression. “Boo.”

The kid gets frightened and quickly turns back around.

“And being dead, you don’t even need to eat.”

“So why then do we do it, Harvey?”

“For me, it makes me feel as if I’m still alive. And we fit in better to not be spotted out as Harvesters.”

Suddenly, the TV on the counter beside us has a late breaking news report. A female reporter has her cameraman film everything at 1600 Pennsylvania Boulevard—yes, the White House. As it happens, she reports that a bright, large White Door appears out of nowhere and several men rocket out of it and control everyone around it. Then, the next part shocks the hell out of all of us.

The men kidnap the president of the United States and force him back into the White Door, and they vanish as quickly as they arrived.

“Shit. This isn’t good,” I say to Naes.

“Of course it’s not. It’s the damn president,” Naes remarks.

“I’m talking about for us Harvesters. The Living will think we had something to do with this, and it’ll be the Salem witch trials, the Spanish Inquisition all over again. We can always get another president again, but the world needs the Agency.”

“Good point. I like the way you think, Harv.”

Everyone in the diner murmurs amongst themselves and appear very worried and concerned.

“I wonder what Vega’s up to now,” I comment to Naes.

He looks at me. “You know him best, Harv. What do you think?”

I go into deep thought and tune out all sounds. My thought process is interrupted by my cell ringing. Without looking at my caller ID, I know who it is. I answer. “Yeah?” I listen for a few seconds, and I notice Naes curiously staring at me for some sort confirmation. “Okay, you got it.”

I hang up, and I’m immediately assaulted by Naes’s curiosity. “Who was that? What are we going to do? What the hell?”

“Calm down, kid. That was Mr. Herald. We have some work to do now. Pay the tab and make sure to tip at least 20 percent.”

I stand as Naes pulls out money to pay.

“Are you ever going to pay a tab?”

“I pay by training you. Let’s go.”

The boy who stared at me earlier now glares at me as if I’m responsible for the president’s kidnapping. If I’m already getting that from a child, I can only imagine how it’s going to be soon from others. And it won’t be good. As soon as we approach the door, a small mob of diners forms around us. So it begins. The ringleader of the mob vigorously points his finger at us.

“That’s them. They’re Harvesters and their people kidnapped the president!”

I glance over to Naes. “Told ya’.”

“We had nothing—”

A few of them attack Naes. I shake my head at this nonsense. I know how to end this bullshit. I swiftly draw my sword and one handgun. “Stop! We are Harvesters, but we are not Underworlders. They’re the ones who kidnapped the president!”

They stop their violent actions on Naes and watch me help Naes to his feet. The ringleader shakes his head with anger.

“We will personally make sure your organization will crumble and all you freaks will be sent to where you deserve to go. You’re all freaks of nature!” the ringleader shouts.

This type of behavior is going to make our job even more difficult. As we get to the door, I look back at the ringleader. “Yeah, good luck with that, tough guy.”

Maybe this was one of Vega’s goals: to discredit the Agency and bring it down beyond its knees. I have a feeling there’s more to come. I know Vega too well, and he’s damn creative and very driven. I have to find out two crucially important facts. One, which Head is in bed with Vega? And two, where’s the Underworlder headquarters because that’s most likely where they took the president.

Naes and I step out of the diner and right into an onslaught of bullets. We dive in opposite directions and take cover behind vehicles, which get riddled by the fire power. Glass shatters all around us. Civilians yell in horror at whatever is attacking us and scramble to safety.

A few don’t make it and drop injured and dead.

I hand signal to Naes which means, “Do you have a fix on our shooters?”

He shakes his head no. A hand grenade rolls to my feet, but I’m quick to react, and I snatch it and hurl it over the vehicle. It explodes a second later, making a car explode as well. The explosion is so intense the ground quakes.

I rip off the side view mirror from the vehicle I’m hiding behind. I raise it a bit to see who and where our attackers might be. I’m not happy when I see what I see. It wasn’t just the gunplay that terrified the civilians. I’m rather sure they saw who was doing all the gun firing: Section 520 creatures, four of them. And I don’t blame anyone for running for their lives when they saw four people genetically altered to be crossbred with the deadliest scorpion in the world. If I was a civilian and saw a half Dead One, half scorpion, scurrying down the side of a building with guns in their claws, I’d run as well.

Their stingers alone look about eight feet long. Normally, in the animal world, the smaller the scorpion, the deadlier. But not in this case. These ones are incredibly large. Vega must have some genius of a mad scientist working for him, and I already loathe him with intensity. Naes pokes his head over the trunk and sees what we are up against.

“Oh shit! Quick! Use Djinn’s new eye burner out device!”

I don’t want to tell him because it may rattle Naes, but I have a bad feeling Vega improved on his experiments, and it won’t work. But what the hell, right? I pull out the same device as the four Section 520 creatures crawl down the building. I aim it at them and let the device blare away. The area is engulfed by the severe white light that emanates from it. I can still hear the scurrying sounds of their claws moving across the street towards us.

“It didn’t work! They’re coming! I can hear ’em!” I yell at Naes.

I turn off the device to reveal all four of them halfway across the street. For only the second time in my career as being a Harvester, I’m not sure what I should do.