Harvested

Chapter 1 Dakota watched the column of thick, black smoke rising far to the northwest. It stood out from the reddish-brown earth and melded with the grayish-brown clouds. Only the slight tint of color in the soil differentiated between earth and sky. For as far as he could see in any direction, nothing else moved—nothing existed to move—only barren wasteland for miles. The weak daylight filtered through the thick cloud cover, making it difficult to determine what time of day it was. He could only tell that the sun was up. He adjusted the air filter covering his mouth while he studied the distant black column. Every few seconds a flash of orange light appeared at the base of the smoke. A signal fire? Like the one built on top of the remains of Parkland Hospital in Dallas to summon survivors of the Harvesting. Maybe the remains of a Xini machine left behind? No. It had been over three months since the aliens withdrew. More likely it was an act of a scavenger or two. Or more. The thought raised the hair on the back of his neck. He glanced around him again for any sign of attack, but there was nothing as far as he could see and no hiding places, either. Scavengers weren’t sneaky or clever, but that didn’t mean they weren’t deadly. To investigate it would take him out of his way but he decided it was worth the risk and the time. As long as he could find his way back to old Interstate 35. The Xini had little use for the crumbling concrete and asphalt in the freeways, streets, and roads that still zigzagged the earth, and left them undamaged as a whole. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the materials in the rest of the infrastructure. The aliens preferred the cement polymers, powerful magnets, and metal alloys used in the super-highways, maglev rails, and skyscrapers. Parkland Hospital, with only its ground floor and lower levels surviving, was now the tallest structure in Dallas, since the one-hundred and ninety-nine story Bank of Texas building had been destroyed. At one time, the bank’s mega-skyscraper was the highest in the world. It held the title for almost a decade, and it would’ve been usurped by the Marriott Hong Kong, scheduled to complete two hundred and ten floors next year. All that changed with the Harvesting. Dakota shook his head to remove the thoughts of those horrible days. They were over. The Xini were gone, after only four weeks, but in that short time, they’d stripped the earth of all its resources, leaving it a barren rock in space, its oceans and atmosphere polluted, most of its inhabitants dead or mutilated. He tried to block out the memories of the screams, the searing blasts from the Xinian energy siphons, and how everything vanished under those terrible rays. I’d better check out the fire, he decided, shifting the heavy backpack on his shoulders and ensuring his air filter was in place. If there were survivors, they needed to know there were some resources, albeit extremely limited, in Dallas. At least, more than what was out here. After spending the night in the shelter of a ruined overpass spanning the Red River, Dakota had crossed into southern Oklahoma that morning. He hoped to make the Arbuckle Mountains, a range of low rocky hills, and to find safe haven among the nooks and crannies for the night. Dakota increased his pace, reaching the column of smoke in just over an hour. He circled the hilltop where the fire burned, giving it a wide berth and keeping aware of his surroundings. Fortunately, none of the other rises was high enough to conceal any threat. As he had approached the inferno, he couldn’t identify the twisted metal on fire. On closer inspection, he recognized enough components to tell it was a Xinian contraption. A scout ship maybe? It’s too small to be one of those f*****g Harvesters. He could see no indication of what started the fire. It couldn’t have been burning since the aliens left. It would’ve long since burned out by now. Best not stick around to figure it out. I need to keep moving, get to Oklahoma City if it’s still there. And then onto St. Louis to find Grayson, if he’s even alive. He turned and continued on his previous heading. The weight of his backpack slowed his progress and breathing through the filter made his situation worse, but he persevered, pressing through the brown haze that sometimes obstructed his view, limiting it to under a mile. Such conditions were hazardous, not only for the possible poison in the fog, but it could also conceal scavengers. Darkness fell as he reached a ridge on the southern edge of the Arbuckles. In the fading light, he found an outcropping to serve as shelter for the night. With no signs of pursuit, he made himself as comfortable on the ground beneath the rock as he could. He had enough field of vision that he could prepare to defend himself from attack if necessary. With an educated guess and a little bit of luck, he found a small puddle of relatively unpolluted water in a deep crevice and filtered enough to refill his canteens using a purifier fashioned for him by the Dallas colony. They equipped him with all the necessities they imagined he would need on his sojourn to Oklahoma City, including weapons. Adventurers like him were setting off toward other cities like Houston, Austin, El Paso, Shreveport, and Little Rock. A handful of survivors managed to construct small radio transmitters and receivers from the remains of the cities. The radio operators had picked up faint signals through the polluted atmosphere, giving hope that others across the country had survived the Harvesting. However, no definite contact had been made. Conventional methods of communications had been severed, possibly due to the Xini obliterating satellites out of Earth’s skies and the broadcast towers from the surface. What had happened to the colonies on the moon and Mars? It might be years before their fate was discovered. Therefore a few volunteers stepped up to make the perilous journeys to find other survivors. The large cities like Dallas had the best chances of harboring survivors and fugitives. The citizens of Dallas held out hope there were other people who escaped the Harvesting. Grayson had set out with a group from Dallas to St. Louis just after the Xini left. Dakota begged him not to go since there was no telling what was beyond the rubble of the city. St. Louis might not even exist anymore. He and Grayson had followed the signal fire, through what remained of Dallas to Parkland and joined a few dozen more people who had gathered there. Others trickled in over the next few weeks, bringing what few belongings they had left in the world. Once they saw the blank space where their house once stood and the barren field where Irving, Texas had been, Grayson had begged Dakota to leave Dallas and head northeast to see if his family was all right, but Dakota couldn’t imagine striking out across unknown territory on foot. "It will take us days to walk there," he protested to Grayson. "We have no idea what's out there anymore. What if the aliens are still here? We have to stay where we know it's safe." Supposition about what happened to the rest of the world was rife. The few reports that got out when the Xini first arrived were frightening—it was a given the whole world had been attacked and laid waste. With the bits and pieces of signals, some of the survivors became anxious to find friends and families. A dozen, Grayson included, set off to the northeast, throwing caution to the wind. No matter how much he pleaded with Grayson to stay, his partner insisted on going. With or without Dakota. So they left. Then the Xini returned for another quick sweep. If Grayson and his party were caught out in the open… Enough! I won’t dwell on the ‘what ifs’. He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Dakota did his best to find a comfortable position using his backpack as a pillow. Sleep didn’t come easily with the air filter over his mouth, but it was better than breathing the poisoned air. His uncomfortable bed wasn’t helping matters. Sitting up in frustration, he pulled his computer from his pocket, a small device no larger than a playing card. He punched the power button and its screen lit up. He thought about listening to music or watching a movie from the computer’s one million yottabyte memory, but the sound may attract unwanted attention. Another button-push displayed the keyboard, a two-dimensional image that wavered in the air next to it, much larger than the computer. He set it on the ground and pressed several keys on the virtual board, searching for something to occupy his time, since sleep was far away. At least the power supply will last for a few more years, but there won’t be any new music or movies coming out anytime soon. He sighed and turned off the computer, replacing it in his pocket. Although the entertainment might help him relax and get his mind off his situation, he was no longer in the mood. As he adjusted his body, a slight breeze ruffled his scraggly hair. He sat up. No, I wasn’t imagining that. There hasn’t been a movement of air since the Harvesting. Earth must be healing itself! Mother Nature may be beaten but she isn’t down for the count. The wind stirred up foul odors, permeating his air filter with a pungent sulfurous whiff, but it didn’t dampen his mood. He shoved the mask tighter to his face and squeezed his stinging eyes closed. The breeze lasted only a few minutes and Dakota relaxed.