The Harvesters

Earth time 2015, October 12th, a Friday.

Kerry awoke with a blinding headache.

“What the hell was I drinking last night, sheesh, where am I, a hospital? Hello?”

“Oh, good, you’re awake”, said the voice. The accent she didn’t quite get, Australian maybe? Slowly, the room swirled into place.

It was light, but there were no lights, or at least none that Kerry could see. Over her stood a guy in a suit. Well not a suit, more like a coverall, it was pale blue with white at the front. The white was stained, it looked like vomit.

“At the risk of being called melodramatic, where am I exactly?” she said.

“Ooh, sorry, not really my place to say anything at the moment. Some people will be along to talk to you soon, they’ll tell you all you need to know for now. Meanwhile, I suggest that you just shut your eyes and recover, it can be quite a shock, the first time”.

“The first time? What do you mean, the first…?”

Kerry awoke with a blinding headache

‘Right’, she thought, ‘last time I woke up I felt just as shit. Then I went back to sleep and it wasn’t of my doing, so I was drugged, or whatever, so what is going on?’

“Oh, good, you’re awake”, said the voice, same odd accent, not Australian though. Was it what they called an ‘Atlantic’ accent, like that dick of a chef on the TV?

She lay very still for a while. Observe, assess, act.

Kerry had once seen a spy movie that had the goody tied to a bed with a laser, or something similar, about to lop bits off, but his training had him calmly reciting the mantra, ‘observe, assess, act’. From memory she was pretty sure that he got cut in two.

“Don’t worry, I’m not sending you to sleep again”, said Atlantic Chef, “they are sending someone now, you’ll get some answers soon. Nice to have met you, I don’t think we’ll bump into each other again”.

“Why not exactly?”

“This is my area, where we at my level work. Those higher up only come down to collect the Harvested when they are already fit, otherwise we have to help them along, clean them up and sort out any embarrassing little issues. Your chlamydia is all cleared up by the way, you’re welcome”.

“What are you talking about, isn’t this a hospital? I assumed I passed out through the booze, or something in it, it wouldn’t be the first time. And the pox, what pox? I’ve always been very careful, except with my boyfriend, Gary… oh”.

“I shouldn’t worry about it, I’ve treated worse I can tell you. Still, mustn’t gossip, they don’t like it, if they find out they might shout at me”.

Kerry sensed that she was now alone and the man who’d cleared up her sexually-transmitted disease didn’t appear to be nearby any longer. Which, in the circumstances, was something of a relief.

She tried to sit up, but couldn’t, although there was nothing that she could see, or feel, that was holding her down.

Come to think of it, apart from the headache, she couldn’t really feel anything.

She flexed her neck a few times, perhaps she could just look? Oh, no clothes then. Crap, what is going on? Her mom always said that she’d end up being raped and murdered, looks like she might have been right. Way to go, Mom!

Kerry heard a stern-sounding voice, female, British. “Is this her?”

“Yes, it is”.

“Get on with it then, man”.

He was still there, then.

“Who was that?” asked Kerry.

“That’s Maggie, she thinks she still runs things. Nothing for you to worry about, dear, we all have our own, personal, crosses to bear”.

Before Kerry could answer, she got the impression that whoever she’d been talking to was no longer there, this time.

Nothing happened for a while, but Kerry had no idea for how long, she seemed to have lost some important perspective.

Whatever Kerry was lying on started to move, locomote, but she had no idea how it moved or even in which direction it was travelling. It was just the sensation of movement that she was experiencing.

‘Perhaps now is the time to panic?’ she thought. It was always a good fallback, panicking, it made other people nervous and it buys time. I can then observe, assess and then act, later.

The movement of whatever she was currently lying on wasn’t silent. Instead, there was a slight, tuneful hum, almost as if someone was singing in a strange tongue, somewhere nearby.

The motion stopped as she passed through a wall, or at least what she would call a wall under normal circumstances. It looked solid but she’d slipped straight through it-so not a wall at all, then.

It became gradually darker, and she could feel herself slipping away again.

No, mustn’t, naked, kidnapped, bad things might happen. If they haven’t already, the numbness prevented her from telling.