Harvested

Chapter 1-2

He jerked back from semi-consciousness. How long did I sleep? He wasn’t sure but something must’ve disturbed his slumber. He could see nothing in the complete darkness.

A scavenger?

He heard a soft scuffle, a scattering of pebbles in the distance. He realized the location of the clean water source might not be a secret. For once, he was glad that he listened to his instincts and sought out a hiding place instead of camping nearer to the water.

He dug into his gear and retrieved a set of night vision goggles. Scanning the immediate vicinity revealed nothing, yet every few seconds, the sound repeated, closer each time.

Dakota pressed himself as far underneath the outcropping as he could, moving only his head slowly to scan the area.

Scavengers were usually solitary, but it wasn’t unknown for them to attack in groups of two or three. The poor bastards were one of the horrible legacies of the Xini—people who had been stripped of their humanity by the rape and pillage of the planet, experimented on or harvested for organs, limbs or bodily fluids, or punished for attacking the Xini ships or the aliens themselves and left alive. The dead were the lucky ones. Now reduced to the basest instincts and robbed of coherent thought, these sad souls survived in the wastelands, foraging for whatever food and water they could find. They were vicious and dangerous and had no respect for the sanctity of lives other than their own.

Survivors seeking refuge in Dallas told gruesome stories, relating tales of making it through the Xini invasion only to suffer at the hands of their own species.

The noise repeated again.

Whoever is out there isn’t aware of my presence. They’re not worried about stealth or secrecy.

A few seconds later a silhouette appeared in his night-vision goggles, glowing green.

Dakota’s heart skipped a beat in excitement.

A dog? No, maybe it’s a wolf? Recognition took hold. A coyote! How the hell did it survive the Harvesting and endured all this time?

The scrawny creature took awkward steps with its head down as if defeated in spirit. It sniffed the water before taking a few laps.

He’s probably on his last leg, and might not last much longer. Maybe they still have cloning capabilities in Oklahoma City, because I can’t turn back to Dallas now.

Some survivors managed to rescue their dogs, cats, and other pets and brought them to Parkland, but how many were necessary to propagate their species again? Cloning may be the only way.

Now how am I supposed to get him there?

Dakota dug into his food rations. The people in Dallas found a cache of Meals-Ready-to-Eat or MRE’s at the destroyed naval air station near Fort Worth. He balked at using his meager portions allotted to him for this trek, especially since he wasn’t sure what he’d find in Oklahoma City. Would there be survivors? Would there be food?

I suppose I can live on dried fruits and vegetables for a few days.

He ripped open the package. The noise of the wrapper tearing and wrinkling pierced the silence. Through his night-vision goggles, Dakota saw the coyote’s head snap up, staring in his direction. He threw the strips of meat so they would land a short distance from the coyote, hoping he wouldn’t spook it into running away.

The food landed with a soft splat and the coyote jumped and retreated a few steps. Dakota watched as it turned to face the meat. It stretched to sniff and looked back in his direction as if deciding what to do.

Are coyotes normally dangerous to humans?

Praying he hadn’t made a mistake, he froze, wondering how well it could see in the pitch black. After a few minutes the coyote approached the dried meat, ears up and forward, nose to the ground. It gobbled the meat in one swallow and looked back at Dakota.

He unwrapped a second package and tossed it to the animal. The food was gone in seconds again and the coyote stared up at Dakota, as if expecting more.

“That’s all I can spare for you, friend,” he called out softly. “I should try to get some clean water for you.”

The coyote’s head snapped around and Dakota froze again, listening for whatever caught the animal’s attention. He heard nothing, but the coyote ran off in the opposite direction he approached. Dakota remained motionless.

Uneven footsteps shuffled into earshot. He strained his hearing to determine the direction. So far he could only discern one set of feet, and they were very close now.

Dakota pressed back under the outcropping. A man in tattered pants with no shirt or shoes lumbered into view. Even through his night-vision goggles, Dakota could see the ravages of the Xini weapons and energy siphons on his body, huge scars where he had been hit by the alien machinery and yet survived.

He was one of the unlucky ones. Slashes along his limbs and across his face where Xini with laser scalpels had had removed organs or other bodily fluids crisscrossed his torso.

Dakota could only imagine how he escaped, or more likely the Xini turned him loose after he had served their purposes, a shell of the human he once was, a husk who existed on the basic needs: food, water, carnal desires. This one carried a long broken piece of wood.

He stumbled past Dakota’s hiding place, walking straight to the water hole.

How can he see the oasis in pitch darkness? And if he can see it, can he see me?

Although he had an energy weapon as a sidearm, he had no desire to engage a scavenger in any kind of combat, even if he had the advantage. Scavengers were unpredictable and dangerous since they had little to lose and nothing of their mind left.

This one continued to the water hole and, getting on his hands and knees, pressed his lips to the surface. He took several long draughts before rising, grunting as he struggled to his feet, and leaving, heading in his original direction. Dakota heard him making other guttural noises as he walked away. The stories from other survivors mentioned the scavengers didn't talk or communicate in any way other than the grunts and strange noises.

Only when he was out of sight beyond a low ridge did Dakota begin to breathe easier. He realized he’d been sweating and uptight, he felt exhausted. But he didn’t want to try sleep. The fact that a scavenger was close by robbed him of the ability to doze off. Neither the scavenger nor the coyote returned for the remainder of the night.