The Harvest
Authors: Vicki Pettersson
THE HARVEST
A Short Story
Vicki Pettersson
For my motherâJoanne Johnson.
                             Â
Happy Thanksgiving; Happy Birthday.
Contents
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Z
oe Archer had hated hospitals even before she became mortal, and absolutely loathed them now that she was subject to the same capricious whims of the universe as those she used to protect. The sharp smell of disinfectant, and the even sharper underlying emotions, was a bitter reminder that she, too, was suddenly vulnerable to gun-toting criminals and shifty-eyed rapists.
Vulnerable to the rampant evil of
Shadows
.
For God’s sake, she thought irritably as she strode from the fourth-floor stairwell,
these
days she was bothered by a mere paper cut. She’d had to find new ways to move through this old world; stepping aside, moving around, and shrinking back instead of barreling through, clamoring over, and standing up. She’d had bruises for weeks after her transformation—bruises!—until she’d finally learned the limits of mortal flesh and blood. She was just thankful this learning curve wasn’t being recorded in the manuals. How embarrassing would it be if the agents of Light knew she actually bruised?
How dangerous if the Shadow agents discovered she bled?
Zoe shivered and picked up her pace, her steps echoing through the wide sterile hallway as she settled her briefcase strap more firmly on her shoulder. It was still worth it. She no longer deserved the powers that had once made her extraordinary, and if she’d ever been a heroine worthy of the title, she would’ve passed on her
chi
before her daughter was almost murdered. But so intent had she been on her mission, her own deceitful life, that she hadn’t even considered that possibility. So when it was too late, when all she could do was watch her Jo-baby fight for life—wires and tubes and casts canvassing her young body like she was caught in a web—Zoe knew there was only one title that mattered, and it wasn’t
Superhero
.
It was Mother.
And she was determined to prove herself worthy of that. Tonight she’d tie up this final loose end and in doing so ensure the safety of all the loved ones she’d left behind—both mortal and supernatural. Then she’d spend the rest of her life in this fragile human skin as penance, hiding from both ally and enemy alike.
The nurses’ station on the labor and delivery floor was eerily empty when she arrived. She heard a woman’s cry from down the hall, a sound that had her belly tightening as she remembered the pangs of her own two births, but she needed to stay focused and quickly shook the memory off. Throwing a cursory glance over the rim of her owlish glasses, and spotting no one, she leaned over the admission’s desk to thumb through the charts. Yep, there she was. Joanna Archer. Room 425.
Swallowing hard, Zoe headed that way.
She was three doors from her daughter’s room when she heard the crying. She slowed, but told herself she wasn’t stalling. Just being respectful. Compassionate.
Human
. At least, that was her excuse.
Peering around a doorway, she spotted a young couple dressed in unassuming street clothes, clinging to one another as the world spun heedlessly around them. She couldn’t scent their sorrow as she’d have been able to only months earlier, but she didn’t need to. Bleakness was printed on their faces—carved in the bend of the man’s back as he held his wife, jackhammering her trembling shoulders as she wept.
“Can I help you?”
The voice, sharp and businesslike, came from directly behind her, and Zoe jolted before regaining her composure and turning. The nurse was older than she was, mid-forties probably, and wore her chopped hair in the same red Zoe had favored before being forced to dye it black for this new identity. Her eyes skirted to the nurse’s name tag. Nancy was big-boned, her powder-blue scrubs putting Zoe in mind of a giant canvas of sky, and she wore comfortable soft-soled shoes, which was why Zoe hadn’t heard her sneak up. Something else, she thought wryly, that wouldn’t have happened six months ago.
“I’m Traci Malone,” Zoe said, holding out a hand, palm down so the woman wouldn’t catch sight of the glass-smooth pads where her fingerprints should be. “Case worker for the Archer adoption.”
The nurse’s face cleared, understanding replacing her businesslike wariness. She held up her hands, a warding-off motion, before withdrawing them again. “You’ll excuse me for not shaking. I just came from delivery, and haven’t had a chance to wash up yet.”
Zoe’s eyes wandered to the couple, still oblivious to all but their personal sorrow. Nurse Nancy saw the look and reached around Zoe to pull the door shut before shooting her a small, bittersweet smile. “Dennis and Andie were another of our patients’ adoptees. Their baby didn’t survive the birth.”
“How terrible.”
Nurse Nancy nodded solemnly, then shook it off with a philosophical sigh, just another day on the job. “Well, you certainly got here fast. I just got back from calling your adoptive parents. They’re coming right away.”
“The family called me first,” Zoe lied in a murmur. “They’d like the paperwork and documentation completed as quickly and discreetly as possible.”
“Bet they do,” scoffed the nurse, causing Zoe to stiffen. “A pregnant teen, some fancy family name to protect. Guess money can’t buy you everything, can it?”
Zoe managed a nod. Relatively speaking? Money could buy very little.
“The infant’s very early,” Nancy went on, motioning for Zoe to follow her. “Just caught the twenty-four-week mark, but she’s intubated, and stable enough now that we’ve got her on the oscillator. Awfully small, though.”
“Well, babies tend to come in their own time,” Zoe said, following Nancy back to the front desk.
“Sure,” Nancy said, but scoffed as she glanced at Zoe. “But an early delivery’s more common when the mother has endured such trauma. Raped, you know,” she said in an exaggerated whisper, before continuing in a normal voice. “So the child’s obviously unwanted, another mitigating factor. Add in a flawed support system—the girl’s mother ran off after the pregnancy was disclosed, the father wouldn’t even come down for the birth—and you have a recipe for fetal trauma.”
Nancy tsk-tsked as she rounded the counter, shaking her head in a way that made Zoe want to rip it off. Instead she pulled out her notepad, and with shaking hands pretended to scribble some thoughts. “What time was the child born?”
“Midnight sharp, actually.” Nancy shook her head, flipping through paperwork. “What a novelty, huh?”
Not really, Zoe wanted to say. The Zodiac’s lineage was matriarchal. Everyone who was superhuman was born on their mother’s birthday, exactly midnight, just as their mother before them. That’s how Zoe knew her daughter would be here tonight, even if it was four months too early.
“And the girl … the mother? How is she?”
Nancy glanced up, brows furrowed. “You don’t need to see her, do you?”
“Why? Is she all right?”
Please, God, please
… “Sedated. The labor was complicated and a shock to a still-healing system, but she’s resting easily enough now.”
A sigh spiraled out of Zoe before she could stop it, causing Nancy to glance at her sharply. Zoe immediately checked herself—case workers didn’t get involved with their clients— and shot the nurse a distracted smile. “No, of course I don’t need to see her. She’s already signed the release papers, and she should rest.”
Nancy was still looking at her speculatively when a crisp bell chimed behind Zoe. The nurse’s eyes slid over Zoe’s shoulder and her face cleared.
“There are the McCormicks now.” She waved them over, and Zoe turned warily, inspecting for the first time the people who would take possession of—no, take
care
of— her granddaughter.
The woman was diminutive; a fussy, fluttery thing who kept clutching at her own hands and holding so close to her husband she very nearly tripped him up. He seemed not to notice, though, chest puffed out peacock proud, a wide smile blanketing his ruddy face as he steered his wife with one large hand, and mauled a stuffed bunny with the other.
“Mr. and Mrs. McCormick, this is Traci …”
“Malone,” Zoe provided, when Nancy faltered. “I’m with social services. I have your paperwork right here.”
“Cutting right to the chase, are we?” Mr. McCormick’s voice boomed unnaturally throughout the still hallways. “But I imagine this is old hat for you, huh? You’re probably anxious to get home and to bed.”
Mrs. McCormick clutched his arm. “Oh, yes, it’s late … and so close to Thanksgiving. Everyone’s so busy and …” She faltered, her eyes going wide at a fresh thought. “Oh, honey! Our first holiday with our baby girl! I just can’t believe it! We’ve been waiting, dreaming for so long …”
Mr. McCormick shot Zoe a helpless smile as his wife collapsed into his arms.
“Technically, you won’t be with her for Thanksgiving.” Zoe’s voice came out louder, sharper than she would’ve liked. She checked it, along with her emotions, and plastered a bland expression on her face. “She must remain in the hospital until she’s strong enough to be self-supporting. Another sixteen weeks or so.”
“But maybe by Christmas,” Nancy reassured, smiling as she pushed away from the counter. “I’ll just go make sure the baby’s ready.”
“Ready?” Zoe turned back to the couple, who were trying—unsuccessfully—to temper their giddiness.
“Oh, yes. Didn’t you know?” More fluttering by Mrs. McCormick as her wide eyes searched Zoe’s face. “We’re having the child moved to the Sheep Mountain Medical Facility. They have the best neonatal unit in town and … well, we don’t want to risk the birth mother seeing her and, you know …”
“Changing her mind,” her husband said flatly. “We know she’s young. Probably fickle … or confused. Obviously not of the best moral character.”
“Dave!” his wife slapped ineffectively at his shoulder. “The girl is giving us our darling baby!”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. You’re right.”
Almost nauseated, Zoe fumbled in her briefcase and reminded herself that she’d picked these people out of hundreds of candidates. She’d researched their backgrounds, those of their extended families, and even did a drive-by on their neat, suburban home. She needed them. And the child needed to be in hiding because of who and
what
she was. She’d be safe with the McCormicks. Safe from the judgment of those who’d fault her for the circumstances under which she was conceived. And, most importantly, safe from the Shadows.
“If you could just sign here,” she said, her voice sounding hollow, even to her own ears, as she dropped the paperwork on the counter and moved away. Suddenly all she really wanted to do was get away.
The McCormicks moved in close, chattering excitedly as they each signed the small stack of papers completing the adoption. When they were done, Zoe ripped off the copies and handed them to Mrs. McCormick. She then dropped the rest back in her briefcase, settled her glasses more firmly on her nose, and said, “Congratulations.”
Dave blinked and drew back. “That’s it?”
“Wow, that was fast.”
“The birth mother isn’t contesting anything.” She shot them a smile. It felt brittle on her face. “Enjoy your new family.”
But she’d only taken a few steps before half-turning again. She couldn’t help it … and asking now would save her the trouble and risk of searching later. “What will you name her?”
“Jenna.”
“Samantha.”
They answered at the same time, then looked at one another sheepishly, bursting into giggles again. Dave recovered himself first. “We’re still working that out.”
Zoe nodded shortly and forced an aspect of bored professionalism in her voice before turning. “Good luck.”
And she strode away, closing the last chapter on her old life forever.
Z
oe’s plan was to turn in the paperwork finalizing the McCormick adoption to social services in the morning, quit her job right after that, and lay low until she figured out a new identity to replace Traci Malone. She’d have liked to take a little vacation, get out of town while everyone else was celebrating the holidays, but her finances wouldn’t allow it. Every dime she had, and every safety net, she’d had to leave behind. She was starting over for the third time in her life, and doing it with fewer resources than ever before.
But she had seen her family safe, she thought on a sigh, and had secured her lineage for the next two generations. Joanna possessed everything she needed to heal and eventually she’d be better and stronger for it. And now her granddaughter was hidden deep, if in plain sight, and the Shadows would never know of her existence. Yes, thought Zoe as she exited the hospital into a cool November night, it was all worth it.
Caught up in her thoughts, Zoe hardly noticed the black town car glide up to the curb, or the driver hop out to open the passenger door.
“I’ll pull around to the side and wait for you there, Miss Olivia,” the driver said, holding out a hand.
“Thank you, Brian,” his charge said, and Zoe turned to see a beautiful young girl alighting from the car. She was on the cusp of womanhood, with peaches and cream skin and billowing blond hair that stood out like a beacon against her black sweater set. Zoe stared, unable to take her eyes from the girl. It’d been six long months since she’d seen her youngest daughter.
Olivia Archer beelined for the entrance as the car whisked off, her arms so full of bags and boxes she had to peer around the side to navigate her way. Zoe didn’t question the need to help, to
see
her daughter. She just moved before she knew she’d acted, rushing to hold open one of the giant glass doors.