The Harvesting (3 page)

I woke near noon the next day to the
sound of men hammering on the roof. Grandma was in the kitchen
storing a massive tray of beef jerky.

“
That looks like a whole
cow,” I said with a yawn as I sat down at the table.

“
Two,” she answered
absently as she stopped her work to pour me a cup of
coffee.

“
Why two?” I asked as I
stirred in the cream.

“
The spirits said two, so
I made two,” she replied.

I stopped and looked at her.
“Grandma?”

“
Tu-tu-tu-tu,” she jabbed
at me with a wave of the hand. “I made you piroshky,” she said,
pulling the warm pastry from the oven. All other thoughts left my
mind. “I love you, Grandma,” I said with a laugh.

She chuckled. “My darling.”

After I ate, Grandma put me to work.
We boarded up the barn windows, secured loose hinges, stored food,
and sharpened axes. We were adjusting the last items in the kitchen
when Grandma asked: “Where is the flour?”

I pretended not to hear.

“
Layla?”

“
I couldn’t do
it.”

“
Oh, my Layla, that boy,
he is so stupid. He had a beautiful Russian girl like you, and he
married that stupid fat girl with a face like a donkey. And for
what? She did not even carry that baby to term. You see, she just
got that baby to steal that boy from you, and now he is stuck with
her. He is too stupid, Layla. And thanks to him, now you have that
ugly tattoo on your arm and shoulder. What about some nice rich
man? Didn’t you find a nice man at the Smithsonian? So many nice
looking men in suits in Washington, so many soldiers . .
.”

She continued, but I’d tuned her out.
She was right. Ian was stupid. After one fight, Ian had slept with
someone else. His dumb, rash decision resulted in the conception of
an innocent child who, sadly, had not lived. Ian had done right by
Kristie and married her; but he had not done right by
me.

“
. . . and anyway, it no
matter. Come tomorrow, no one will care anymore anyway. You see,
all things happen for a reason. Now, we are done here. I will go
pay the men for the roof, then I will show you the guns, then we’ll
drink tea.”

“
Guns?”

“
Ehh, peel some potatoes,”
she said and then wandered outside, still muttering.

Chapter 3

“
This is a Glock 17
semi-automatic pistol. Most policemen use this gun. Comes with 17
rounds. You pop in the cartridge like this and . . .” Grandma
squeezed the trigger, blasting a decorative plate with a picture of
fruit on it. It used to hang in the dining room. Ignoring my
astonished impression, she handed the gun to me. “Didn’t you go
hunting with the Campbells?”

“
Yes. I can shoot a gun,
Grandma,” I said bewildered. Why in the hell did my grandmother
have a semi-automatic pistol? We were standing behind the barn. She
had guns laid out on the lid of an old feed barrel. I set the gun
down.

“
Good, good, then you’ll
have no problem. Now, this is .44 Magnum, like the
Dirty Harry
movie. It
has good stopping power. Lift up the safety and boom,” Grandma said
pulling the trigger. The gun barrel let out a resounding noise,
shattering Grandma’s old mantle-piece vase. “The man told Grandma
this is a kill-shot gun, very powerful,” she said and set the gun
down.

I picked it up, took aim at an old
porcelain figurine, and fired. The smiling cherub exploded into a
puff of dust.

“
Very good! Ahh, here we
are,” she said picking up what looked like a machine gun. “This is
Colt 9mm sub-machine gun. Grandma had a hard time getting this one,
but a nice man on the phone, of course he was Russian, helped
Grandma get this one ordered for you. This gun can shoot almost
1000 rounds per minute. Very fast, no?” Grandma said and launched a
spray of bullets toward the remaining china pieces she had set up
on the fence-post. “Here, you try. Watch for kick back,” she said
and handed the gun to me.

I set the gun down and took Grandma by
the hands. “Grandma, what in the hell is going on? You’re scaring
me.”

“
Shoot first,” she said,
picking the Colt back up and handing it to me.

I sighed. The gun, surprisingly,
didn’t feel heavy in my hands. I held it as I had observed Grandma
doing, and as every drug smuggler on T.V. had done, and let off an
easy rattle of ammo.

“
You see, very
easy.”

I set the gun back down. “That is
enough, Grandma. Please. What is happening?”

Grandma inhaled deeply and took me by
the chin. She looked into my eyes and then kissed me on both
cheeks. “First, we’ll put guns away,” she said, picking up the
weapons. “Oh, I also bought grenades. Just like on T.V.: pull the
pin, throw, it explodes.”

“
Grenades?”

After we had restocked Grandma’s
personal arsenal, we went back inside.

“
Sit down in living room.
Watch T.V. I’ll make tea,” she said and wandered into the
kitchen.

“
But Grandma—“

“
Tu-tu-tu,” she said to
shush me. “You watch T.V. I’ll come in a minute.”

I flipped on the T.V. to find it
turned on the news channel. At once I saw what appeared to be a
riot taking place. At first it looked like just another scene of
violence, but then I started reading the crawling banners:
wide-spread outbreak and rioting in major US cities in the south
and on the west coast. Police had instituted martial law in LA,
Miami, and Atlanta. Outbreak reports were cropping up in all major
US and foreign cities. Airlines had closed all international
travel. The United States President has been moved to a protected
location.

The T.V. buzzed with three loud
chimes: the Emergency Broadcast System had been activated. The
screen went blue and after a few minutes, an official looking White
House spokesman appeared at a podium, the emblem of the CDC hanging
behind him.

“
Grandma? You should come
see this,” I called to her. I felt like someone had poured cold
water down my back. Every hair on the back of my neck was standing
on its end. Is this what Grandma had foreseen? Is this why I was
here? Did the spirits tell her something?

“
At this point it appears
to be a highly contagious flu-like pandemic,” the Director of the
CDC was saying.

“
Citizens are urged to
stay inside their homes. Military personnel have been dispatched to
major US cities,” the White House spokesman added.

A reporter asked why the pandemic
seemed to happen almost overnight. I noticed then that the press
were all wearing surgical masks.

“
Incidents of flu have
been steadily on the rise for the last one week which has
exacerbated accurate diagnosis. The symptoms of this particular
strain resemble seasonal flu at the onset—body pain, fever, and
vomiting—but gradually worsen with additional non-normative
symptoms,” the Director of the CDC explained.

“
Non-normative? What does
that mean, and how is it being spread?” a female reporter asked. I
recognized her from the President’s regular Press Club. I’d seen
her in person once at a downtown café. She’d been eating a massive
plate of fries.

The Director of the CDC gave a
side-long look toward the White House spokesman. “Citizens should
avoid direct physical contact with the sick until we can pin-point
the cause,” the CDC Director said at last.

“
Is there a vaccine or
immunization?” another reporter asked.

“
Until the cause is
identified, it is difficult to develop a vaccine, but we are
working around the clock analyzing possible contaminants,” the
Director replied.

“
What is the mortality
rate?” someone asked.

The Director of the CDC looked
uncomfortable. “It is difficult to ascertain. At this point the
mortality rate appears to be 100%, but post-mortem there appears to
be brain activity-”

“
No further questions at
this time,” the White House spokesperson said with a scowl and
ushered the Director of the CDC out of the room.

Grandma sat down beside me, setting a
serving tray on the coffee table. She picked up the remote and
muted the T.V.

In the far off distance, we heard the
alarm on the town fire hall wail. It was used to call in emergency
volunteer fighter-fighters and medical personnel or to warn of
tornado. Three rings to call for help. Seven rings for tornado
warning. The alarm wailed and did not stop.

“
When I was 12 years old,
my grandma knew I had the sight,” my grandmother began. “My mother
only had the gift a little. She had, what you call, good instincts,
but she never heard the spirits. I was lucky. I was born with the
mark of the bear,” she said, showing me the small birthmark on her
knee shaped like a bear’s paw, “so everyone knew I would have the
gift. But when I was 12, my grandmother sat me down in her living
room and poured me a cup of tea,” she said as she poured me a cup.
I noticed that she had placed two slices of a strange looking
mushroom in the water. “My grandmother told me, while I was lucky
to hear the spirits, there are other things in this world, some
good, some evil. There exists spirits, demons, creatures who are
not like us. She wanted me to see them. She wanted me to be safe
from them. She said that until the great eye inside is awake, we do
not see them. She said, you must awaken and see. That is what my
grandmother told me as she handed me a cup of tea,” my grandma said
and then handed the mushroom laden tea to me.

I took the cup. I looked back to the
T.V. and saw strange images of people in hospital gowns being shot
by armored military service.

“
Drink,” Grandma
encouraged.

I did as she asked, polishing off the
cup.

“
My grandma loved me. She
tried to protect me by making me see the otherworld. She was right.
Afterward, I saw and heard spirits and those other things in this
world. This has kept me away from evil and has helped me see good.
Did you know there are forest spirits living right behind our
house? Ehh, anyway, my grandma loved me, so she made me see. I
drank the tea then slept for almost two days. When I woke, I could
see.”

My head felt woozy. Images on the
screen melted into a strange haze. I reached out for my
grandmother.

“
You sleep now. I’ll go
close the fence and bar up the doors. It has already begun,” she
said.

“
What has begun?” I asked
drunkenly. The room spun, and I felt like I might be
sick.

“
The harvest,” she said. I
heard the front door open and close, and then everything went
black.

Chapter 4

When I woke, the
zong, zong, zong
throbbing in my head felt like it would never stop. I’d once
dragged Ian on a winery trail tour. I’d drunk my weight in Merlot
and woke the next morning with a similar mix of sour mouth, blaring
headache, and nauseous stomach. I could not believe my grandma had
drugged me—oh wait, yes, I could.

The alarm on the fire hall had stopped
blaring, but the bell on the Catholic Church was now clanging,
making my head ache even worse. To top it off, I had just awoken
from the strangest nightmare. In my dream, a robed figure invited
me to join him at the harvest. Excited, I picked up a vegetable
basket and went with him. Much to my confusion, he led me to a
graveyard. I asked him, “Why are we here?” The hooded figure turned
toward me, showing me his skeletal face. He extended his boney arm,
brandishing his sickle across the tombstone vista. “Why, we are
here for the harvest,” he said in reply. I shuddered as I
remembered his words.

“
Grandma?” I called as my
feet hit the hard-wood floor. There was no reply.

I went to the living room to find the
T.V. on, but the screen was buzzing static. I clicked it off. The
smell of burning bacon assailed my nose. I went into the kitchen,
which was full of smoke, and turned the heat off. I threw the pan,
the bacon burned black, into the sink. It hit the water with a
sizzle. I cracked the window to let the smoke out.

“
Grandma?” I called
again.

I poured myself a glass of water and
checked the rest of the house. Grandma was nowhere to be found, but
the radio in her room was on. The announcer was listing names of
cities now under quarantine. He might as well have said the entire
United States.

I went back to the living room. The
front door was unlocked and unbarred; apparently, Grandma had gone
outside. My head aching, I slipped on a pair of jeans and t-shirt.
There was a chill in the air, so I grabbed my vest, pulled on my
hiking boots, and headed outside.

The driveway gate was closed but not
locked. The church bell continued to ring. Its sound was shrill. I
couldn’t find Grandma anywhere. Knowing her, she was in the woods
digging up more mushrooms—we needed to have a serious talk about
that. Strange she’d forgotten about the bacon.

I checked the barn. She wasn’t there,
but I spotted the binoculars I’d picked up at the hardware store. I
grabbed them and headed to the back of the property. I scaled the
fence and walked into the woods. A trail behind the cabin led in
two directions; one direction led into the National Forest, and the
other, if you scaled the mountain, led to the Point. The Point was
the old Native American look-out on the mountain top. It looked
over the town and across the lake.