The Harvesting Page 8

  Jamie took a bag and kissed Ethel on the cheek. “You’re an angel,” he said.

  Ethel pinched his cheek. “Honey, that’s you. How come you never got married? Summer, why don’t you go with Jamie?”

  Summer looked like she wanted to sink into the ground. “Good lord, mother, the apocalypse is here and you’re still trying to fix me up.”

  Everyone chuckled.

  “Oh, there’s Frenchie and her girls. I have something special for them. Let’s go,” Ethel said, pulling Summer behind her. Summer shook her head and rolled her eyes as she passed me.

  “Tom’s got people working the vines and the pumpkins. A few people are in the back cherry orchard. We still need people to pick apples. I thought we could work up here,” Ian told Jamie, April, and me.

  We all picked up some baskets and headed into the orchard. Ian, his gun slung over his shoulder, kept watch. It was a beautiful morning. The sky was clear. The hardwood trees had lost most of their leaves. The remaining foliage, now drab brown, rust, and deep red in color, was about to drop. The apple trees were thick with fruit. The fallen apples filled the air with the tangy smell of decayed fruit. Yellow jackets buzzed the apples.

  April was working in the tree next to mine. I could hear her and Ian chatting. I wondered what kind of relationship they’d developed over the last four years. April and Kristie had always been very close.

  I filled the first basket of apples and headed back to the wagon with my load. The bushel was surprisingly heavy. Jamie was on his way back to the orchard when he intercepted me.

  “Here, let me take that for you,” he said, taking the bushel from my hands.

  “Got to help the little lady, huh?”

  He laughed, “I’m sure you can handle it. I’m just being gentlemanly. Didn’t you hear Ethel? I’m a great catch.”

  I looked up at Jamie. I’d never noticed before how different his eyes were from Ian’s. I knew they both had blue eyes, but Jamie’s eyes were a deeper shade, the blue intermixed with flecks of green and gold. I smiled at him. “I thought you were dating that girl from Sparkstown.”

  Jamie shrugged. “That ended a couple of years ago. She was nothing special.”

  “Well, you’ll be hard-pressed now,” I said.

  “Hard-pressed for what?”

  “To find something special.”

  Jamie lowered the apple bushel into the wagon. He looked at me and gave me a very awkward smile. “I don’t know about that.”

  Just then a truck pulled into the farm, music blaring loudly. Jeff.

  “Hey man, you want every undead asshole left in the county following you here? Turn it down,” Jamie told him as he approached Jeff’s truck window.

  Jeff got out of the truck carrying an oversized CD player. He put it on his shoulder; “Just like the 80s, right?” he said and danced his way to the back of his truck. He dropped the tailgate. There he had stashed three large coolers. Within, bottles of beer swam in cold lake water. “Want one?” he asked.

  Jamie shook his head.

  “It’s a bit early,” I said.

  “Well, considering I might die tomorrow, I’m not really watching the clock,” he replied as he cracked open a bottle.

  “But you can get to work,” I said, handing an empty basket to him, “if you want to eat.”

  “Thought I might try a liquid diet,” he said, lifting the bottle and looking at it in the sunlight. “Just kidding, Layla. I’ll get going in a minute,” he said and took the basket from me.

  I’d gone back to the wagon to grab another basket when Tom returned.

  “Jamie, can you take the tractor back to the field? They are ready to load the gourds and pumpkins.”

  Ian joined us.

  “Sure,” Jamie said with a nod. The old tractor kicked on with a lurch. With a wave, Jamie pulled away.

  I grabbed a ladder and headed back to finish the top of the tree I was working on. I waved to April. She was hoisting the long fruit picker, a kind of clawed basket at the end of a long pole, into the top of a tree near mine. She smiled, half-tolerantly, at me.

  I popped open the ladder and climbed up. As I got half-way up, two things became apparent. I needed to use the shoulder sling to collect the apples and my sword and holster were in the way. I climbed back down, hung my scabbard strap on the top of the ladder and swung the holster from a bottom limb. Donning the shoulder sling, I climbed back up the ladder and started loading apples into the satchel. I paused to eat a perfect looking fruit. Its skin was mostly green but was blushed at the edges with red. The sweet and tart juices filled my mouth.

  In the distance I could see Jeff and Ian sitting on Jeff’s tail-gate. They were both drinking. Jeff had turned the music back on. It wasn’t loud, but I could hear the beat of the rock music from where I was perched.

  I had half-filled the satchel when I could no longer reach the apples from my ladder. Grabbing a thick branch, I pulled myself up into the tree. Once I was perched near the top, I took a break to stretch my back. The sun was high in the sky now; I was starting to sweat. The bugs were becoming particularly annoying. I stopped, pulled the small canteen off my belt, and took a long drink. I looked for April to offer her some water when I saw someone standing very near my tree. I could not make out the person well through the leaves, but every hair on the back of my neck rose. The person stood there saying nothing. They just stood. I knew then who—or what—it was.

  It had not yet seen me. I cursed myself in every language I knew. My guns and my sword were all out of reach. I slowly pulled my feet up and slid the poyasni from my boots.

  “Ouch. Dammit. God-damned yellow jackets,” April cursed.

  The figure under me moved. Then I saw three others. They all closed in on her.

  “April, watch out!” I screamed.

  The one who had stood under my tree turned then and came back. He jogged around the bottom of my tree trying to catch sight of me. He was joined a moment later by another undead man. They both swung at me, trying to pull me from the tree.

  April screamed and tried to run, swinging the apple picker at the undead men who tried to grab her.

  “Ian!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Ian, help!”

  Larry and Jensen had just got back to the truck. They were setting their bushels down.

  “Ian!” I screamed louder. “Larry!”

  The undead men bumped against the ladder knocking it and my weapons on the ground.

  “Layla, help,” April screamed. She was trying to climb into the tree but they were grabbing at her.

  I swung down, trying to strike one of the undead with a dagger. They were out of range, and my position was too awkward. I could neither throw nor strike. I considered jumping out of the tree but landing would be clumsy and slow. I was about to try anyway when April let out a blood curdling cry.

  The men looked up. “Ian, help!!” I screamed again, waving at him. He saw me then. Dropping everything, the men took off in a sprint, weapons drawn.

  Through the leaves I saw April had been pulled to the ground. She was screaming but still kicking and fighting.

  Moments later there was gunfire. The undead figures hovering over April fell to the ground. I heard April crying and moaning.

  They shot the two undead under my tree. As soon as they hit the ground I clambered out of the tree, grabbed my weapons, and ran to April.

  We were too late. One of her sneakers had been torn off and her foot was badly wounded. She had been bitten. Her leg was bleeding profusely.

  “Someone get Jamie,” I said as I pulled on a pair of medical gloves.

  Jensen took off in a sprint.

  I cursed myself for my carelessness, cursed myself because April had no hope. I slid the gloves on and taking my knife, cut away April’s jeans. A nasty bite wound was revealed.

  “Oh no, no, no,” April moaned.

  Ian took April’s hand.

  My hands shook. Larry pulled off his belt and handed it to me. I wrapped the belt ar
ound April’s leg and pulled it tight. She moaned.

  Jensen and Jamie came running up. “God dammit, Ian. I told you to keep an eye on . . . them,” he cursed and dropped to his knees. “Go get everyone rounded up and sweep this place again,” he told his brother angrily as he pulled on his gloves.

  Ian rose and walked off.

  “Music probably attracted them,” I said quietly as Jamie looked April over.

  He nodded, but I could see he was angry. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Ohh, oh God, oh no,” April groaned.

  I handed Jamie my canteen, and he poured water over April’s foot and leg. It washed the blood away. We could see then that the blood around the bite marks on her skin had already started to coagulate. The veins in her legs seemed to turn dark blue and color started to fade from the skin and travel up her leg. We watched, horrified. From the bite on her foot up her leg, the skin slowly lost its pigment. Her skin faded pale white as the diseased blood traveled up her body. Moments later she went silent. She stiffened for a moment and then jerked spasmodically as the infection climbed across her face. Her skin bleached white, the veins in her forehead darkening. She jerked several more times and then became still. She was moon white. Her veins, evident under her flesh, were dark blue. Her eyes had fluttered closed.

  How different. I heard April’s voice in my head. Again she repeated: how different.

  I looked around. Clearly, no one else had heard her. Jensen, Jeff, and Larry were looking down at April. Jamie and I rose. We all stared down at April’s body. She lay in tall green grass. Purple violets made a halo around her. No one breathed.

  We heard a gunshot in the distance followed by two more.

  A moment later, April sat up. She opened her eyes and looked at us. Her eyes had gone pale white with the now-familiar streaks of red. Frothy saliva began to drop from the corner of her mouth.

  Jensen raised his gun.

  April turned to look at him.

  No, I heard like a whisper in the wind.

  Jensen pulled the trigger. April fell back, a spray of blood and brains covered the grass.

  Ian ran back up to us. “There were two more out there. It was the Tanders and their boys. Maybe two farm workers. Looks like the place is clear now,” he said. He looked down at April.

  I watched the expression on his face change. It was as if he’d just realized what had happened. It occurred to me then how careless Ian was with other people’s lives. I looked away from him.

  “Let’s get the bodies cleared, get April buried, and finish the job,” I said.

  Solemnly, everyone nodded. Clouds rolled in, occluding the sun. The wind whipped hard. There was a bitter chill in the air. Ian knelt beside April. Jamie turned and headed back to the tractor; he pulled off his gloves and dashed them to the ground. The men moved off behind him. I looked up at the sky. A hawk passed overhead. I turned and followed Jamie.

  Chapter 14

  By the end of October, the first snow began to fall. Though apple picking had ended in tragedy, the bounty harvested lasted a long time. Ethel had us all cranking out apple sauce and canning vegetables. In addition, Grandma’s house yielded a treasure trove of supplies from the mundane, like rice and sugar, to the more exotic, like Kevlar vests and a stash of board games for children. We were ready to begin our hibernation.

  Mother Nature determined she would not make things any easier on us. When winter arrived, it was clear it meant to stay. The Farmer’s Almanac predicted a harsh winter. Lake effect weather dropped feet of snow on us. It was good on the one hand because it seemed unlikely the undead could get far in the deep snow. On the other hand, we were going through wood at such an alarming rate that we had to adjust our habits. There would be no more comfortable nights roaming about the cozy cabin. Frenchie, the girls, and I had taken to wearing at least three layers at all times and lived most of our life in the living room in front of the fireplace. We spent the next several weeks in quiet hibernation.

  On Thanksgiving morning, however, Jamie came by. He decided we needed turkey. That meant, of course, a hunting trip was in order. Ian, who planned to come by later, was due for a rotation in town so that left Jamie and me with the task of hunting down a Thanksgiving feast. We left at the crack of dawn.

  “How long does it take for a human body to decompose?” I asked Jamie as we hiked through the shin-deep snow into the forest behind Grandma’s house.

  There was a fresh snowfall that morning leaving a powdery, almost sand-like layer of snow on top of already accumulated inches. In the early morning sunlight, the snow picked up a prism of rainbow colors. It was peaceful and quiet in the woods save for the swishing sounds of our feet in the snow and our chatter.

  “Now what makes you think I would know that?” he replied.

  “Seems like something a medic should know.”

  He chuckled. “I think it takes a year if the body is exposed to the elements. If it’s in a grave or a house or something like that, it will take longer. Depends on the environment.”

  “Then, theoretically, by spring there could just be a bunch of rattling skeletons walking around.”

  “That’s a pretty gruesome image,” Jamie replied.

  “No worse than a rotting corpse walking around.”

  “True,” he replied and then motioned me to be silent. “There,” he whispered, pointing to some fresh turkey tracks in the snow. He looked around. “I bet they are in the field picking at the wheat,” he whispered.

  The tracks on the ground seemed to lead two directions—toward the field and toward a thicket of mountain laurel.

  “I’ll check there if you want to check the field,” I offered, pointing to the thicket.

  “Sure, just watch your ass—which looks cute in those Carharts by the way—and yell if you see anything—anything.”

  Flashing him a smile, I rolled my eyes, and we went off in different directions.

  Jamie passed over a rise toward the field, and I followed the turkey tracks toward the thicket. After I’d gone a short ways, the tracks disappeared. I looked up into the pines to see if they had roosted, but I couldn’t see them anywhere, and I was not much of a tracker. I turned to go when movement coming from the thicket caught my attention.

  I snapped the safety off the hunting rifle and knelt in the snow.

  A moment later, an albino doe appeared from the thicket. It was munching on the small tufts of grass that stuck up through the drifts. It moved peacefully. It was an amazingly beautiful creature. Its white pelt melted into the surroundings, the pink around its crystal blue eyes, nose, and inner-ear looking almost cheerful in the snowy landscape. It started to move off. Intrigued, I followed.

  The doe moved away from the path we’d been following and deeper into the woods. I looked behind me to ensure I could follow my tracks; they were easy to see. The deer occasionally stopped and looked at me. It did not seem to fear me and, in fact, looked rather inquisitively toward me. Something about the creature made all the hair on the back of my neck rise. She led and I followed. She trotted deeper into the woods, into an area I did not know well. Here the trees grew very tall and thick. Once we entered, I had a hard time following her. She began to disappear behind the wide trunks of the oak trees. I made turn after turn, catching glimpses of her as she wound deeper into the forest. The snow seemed even more luminescent here. The hemlock trees were covered in crystal-like snow and glowed iridescently. The limbs of the large oaks were hung with glittering icicles.

  At last I saw her again. She stood in a small space between two hemlocks, the trees bending toward her like an arching doorway. She turned and entered the space.

  My heart raced. I followed.

  Passing through the hemlocks, I found myself standing in a small circular clearing. The entire space was ringed with massive oak trees. The place was incredibly pristine white and everything shimmered. Standing in the middle of this space were a very tall and elegant looking man and woman. They
both wore white robes trimmed with fox-fur and moonstones. The man had long, ebony colored hair and wore a crown that looked like the horns of a stag. The woman had flowing blonde hair that was almost off-white in color. She had large, doe-shaped eyes that twinkled.

  The man beckoned kindly toward me.

  I was frozen in place.

  He turned and smiled at the woman. She extended one hand toward me. In that hand she held a crown of holly. She smiled invitingly.

  I took a step forward.

  “Layla!” a voice screamed in the far off distance.

  A look passed between the magisterial man and woman.

  “Layla!” I recognized Jamie’s voice then and the urgency and fear in it. Stunned, I realized he might be under attack.

  I turned then, not looking back, and headed out of the woods away from the pair. I stamped back over my footsteps, cursing myself for foolishness when another person’s life depended on me. I ran, my heart bursting in my chest, to get to Jamie. If anything happened to him, if I lost him, I could not forgive myself. The weight of the idea, of the thought that Jamie could be hurt, hit me hard.

  Moments later I found myself back at the thicket where the doe had appeared.

  Jamie looked frantic and was calling my name.

  “Here, here!” I yelled, relieved to see that he was alright.

  “Thank god,” he said, dropping the birds he had been holding. I had not even heard the gun-shots. He grabbed me tightly, squeezing against his chest. “Where the hell did you go? I couldn’t find your tracks anywhere. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  I shook my head. “No, I was just--” I began and then stopped. I was just what? What would I say? It was one thing for Grandma Petrovich to have her eccentricities. It was quite another for me to go around seeing things. “I got lost.”

  Jamie kissed the top of my head. “Oh, Layla, please never do that to me again,” he whispered.

  I looked up at him. Our eyes met and something inside me saw Jamie in a much different light. I realized then it was a feeling that had been growing all this time. With Ian in the picture, my feelings were confused. Now, staring up at Jamie, I was clear. One thing was very certain; I wanted to kiss him.