Harvest Read online

  Rolling onto his back again, Dave thought about the pretty red-head from the bar last night. She sure was something; long, curly hair and nice legs. Petite was okay with him since he barely topped six foot. He liked the idea of being the big protector to a tiny little lady. She had big green eyes and pouty lips. Right about now those pouty lips would really be appreciated as Dave realized that the thought of her had elicited quite a response out of him. Reaching down he grasped his erection and began stroking it while imagining all the ways in which he would like to see miss red-head’s head bobbing up and down over his shaft. Closing his eyes, he smiled. Panting and moaning, Dave thrust into his hand, faster and faster, spilling his release all over the sheets. He sighed. Good thing it was Sunday and he could spend the morning washing the bedding before starting a day of doing absolutely nothing.

  Rising from bed, he headed into the bathroom to take a piss. He stood there, one hand on his hip, watching the yellow stream hit the water. He felt a little cold and wondered if he was coming down with something. Reaching down to flush, he stopped. “If it’s yellow, let it mellow…” He then pushed the shower curtain aside, and turned on the water. When the shower began to steam, he climbed in. The heat from the hot water seeped into his stiff muscles, working out the kinks from last night’s weird accident. He sang in the shower, badly, but still he sang. “Really love your peaches, wanna shake your tree.”

  Dave finished his shower, brushed his teeth, and got dressed. After he put on his t-shirt and his faded Levis, he pulled the sheets from the bed and walked to the laundry room located off the kitchen. Throwing the laundry into the washer and starting the cycle, he walked back to the kitchen to cook up a little Sunday morning breakfast. He pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge along with some bacon. Slapping two frying pans onto the stove’s burners, he heated them up. He went back into the fridge for some orange juice and filled his glass. Dave looked out of the kitchen window at the steady fall of rain.

  That’s just damn depressing, he thought. Can’t even hang out outside today. Shit.

  He cracked two brown, farm-fresh eggs into the first pan and laid four strips of organic bacon into the second pan. After a moment, he added two more strips of bacon. He liked bacon, and tried not to feel guilty about that. Dave always bought organic meats after a high school fieldtrip to a farm northeast of Farley in his senior year. His FFA teacher thought the kids should see how farms are run, but his primary goal was to teach them how to properly raise farm animals. After that trip, Dave just couldn’t stomach the idea of eating an animal that have lived a tortured life being mistreated by people who didn’t care if they hurt an animal or not. Red had laughed at him when he saw how upset his friend got over the cow with the broken leg. Dave often pointed out to Red that he’d be raging if someone mistreated his little dog, Elvis. Red agreed, but said “A cow isn’t a dog, man. Dogs are smart.” Dave had pushed his teenaged emotions down, trying not to seem weak in front of the guys, but after that day, he’s insisted that his mom buy only organically grown, grass fed or free-range meats and eggs.

  While the eggs cooked sunny side up, and the bacon sizzled, he put two slices of bread into the toaster. When they popped back up, he buttered them and set them aside on a paper towel. The eggs were done so he slid them out of the pan and onto a plate. Drinking his juice in between tasks, he flipped the bacon over one last time to make it extra crispy. He set out a couple of layers of paper towels so he could lay the bacon on ‘em to soak up the excess grease. He turned off the stove, took his plate and his toast to the little dinette table. Dave returned to the kitchen to get his bacon and grab the grape Bama jelly out of the fridge. Palming some silverware, he went back to the table, sat down and began to eat his breakfast. It was quiet except for the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof of the house. Dave chewed his food and wished for the thousandth time that he wasn’t so damn lonely.

  After washing his breakfast dishes, he decided to see what was on the boob tube since there was nothing else he could do in this rain. Sitting down in his recliner, Dave flipped on the remote and was greeted by static. He changed the channel; more static. He flipped through all his channels and found nothing but static. Goddammit, the rain’s killed the signal to my satellite dish! Dave threw the remote down on the floor, pissed that the rain had managed to take away the only form of entertainment he might have today. Well, not his only entertainment but he couldn’t very well spend the day masturbating!

  Damn. Deciding to brave the rain and head into town for a little grocery shopping and maybe pick up a couple of movies, Dave got up to put on his boots. He grabbed his ball cap, pulling the old blue Angels cap over his brown curls. Dressed, he grabbed his truck keys and headed for the door.

  A cold gust of wind greeted him when he opened the front door. Holy crap, he thought, what the hell is going on? Here it was the middle of July and it was as cold as a witch’s titty outside. It felt like it was around forty degrees. Dave was dumbfounded, but he opened the hall closet and pulled out his jean jacket that he normally wore in the winter months.

  He ran to his truck trying not to get soaked. Once in, he put the key in the ignition and cranked the engine. The sound of his old Chevy roaring to life made him feel a little better. He turned on the radio, and static fizzled and popped from the speakers. He wondered if the weird thing that happened last night might have blown out his radio. He’d have to have Red check it out when he got into town. Red was his longtime friend from all the way back to grade school, and also the town mechanic.

  When they were in high school together, Dave and Red were always getting into some kind of trouble on account of the fact that they couldn’t resist daring each other to do stupid things. Like the time Red dared Dave to climb into the window of the girl’s basketball team’s shower and take a picture of the bathing beauties. Dave had been caught red-handed by the team coach, Ms. Schakowsky, and she had dragged Dave by the ear all the way to the principle’s office where he had received three Saturday detentions.

  Red had laughed his ass off and had gotten away Scott free, the rotten bastard. Dave had to get up at the crack of dawn three Saturdays in a row, and sit in a near empty classroom for eight hours doing homework and other assorted assigned tasks, but he at least had the memory of all those luscious naked gals to keep him inspired. He had grinned like an idiot every time he passed one of them in the halls and each one had glared at him with their meanest face. Dave didn’t care. He’d seen everything that they had to offer and no one could take that away from him.

  He didn’t get the picture, much to Red’s dismay, but that just made it better for Dave since he felt like he’d done all the work so deserved all the reward. He had a mental picture of titties and tights asses and both smooth and bushy bushes. He could whack off to that image for years! If Red wanted to know what he saw, well dammit, he could just climb up into that window and see for himself. In fact, that was the very next dare that got them both into trouble again.

  Hell, to this day, when he saw Charlotte Evans or Cindy Roberts, he got a huge boner just remembering them soaping themselves up in the girls’ shower. Charlotte had the prettiest ass and Cindy’s knockers were like ripe peaches. No matter the years that have passed since high school, those two gals will forever be young, hot, and ripe for the picking in his memory.

  Dave came out of his reverie and realized he was approaching the edge of town. It was early Sunday morning yet and he didn’t see any cars out and about. He drove to the corner grocer and pulled up to the side of the curb. Getting out he ran to the front doors and came to a dead stop. The automatic doors didn’t open. He looked through the glass and didn’t see anyone inside. That’s strange. The sign on the window read the store hours on Sunday were 9:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. but no one was around. Dave knocked on the glass several times but no one answered.

  He stayed under the overhang and turned around, surveying the other businesses across the street. He didn’t see anyone coming or going. In fact, t
here were absolutely no cars on the road. What the hell? Where is everyone? Dave walked over to the newspaper dispenser and pulled some change out of his pocket. He dropped in seventy-five cents and opened the door. He reached inside and pulled out a paper. Flipping it open he looked at the front page, anticipating the Sunday news, then realized it was yesterday’s paper. Goddammit. Wasn’t anyone working today?

  Dave stood with the paper in his hands, surveying the street. It was quiet, except for the rain. There weren’t any cars, people, or voices to break the steady fall of the rain. Dave wondered if maybe something had happened that made everyone stay indoors or at home today. Did he miss something important on the radio? The TV? Hell, he wouldn’t know since his satellite signal was out and his car radio seemed to be blown. He blinked twice and rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble he hadn’t shaved off that morning.

  Maybe someone was at the video store, he thought. Dave put the old newspaper above his head and made a mad dash across the street. He was pelted with fat raindrops, but at least he managed to keep his hat dry. On the other side of the street, store windows were dark. Loose pamphlets and other debris blew down the street past Dave’s feet as he walked into the cold wind towards the far corner. He tried to keep close to the shops and under their overhangs. In all his years growing up in Farley, Oklahoma, he’d never seen anything like this. Never had he seen this thriving little town so deserted. It was just plain spooky, and he hoped he ran into someone soon because it was really starting to freak him out.

  Dave reached the corner and headed for the door to the Hollywood Video. He grasped the door handle and pulled. It opened. Thank you Jesus! Someone’s open! Feeling a smile start to spread across his lips, he put the wet paper down on the floor inside the door and shook himself like a dog shaking off a bath. No “hello” greeted him but hey, it was early and maybe the kid working this morning was in the back or putting returned movies back on the shelves. Dave walked in and checked the board to see what new movies were out that he could rent. He looked for action flicks. Action flicks were the best, especially old-fashioned sword fights. No new sword fight movies, but Bruce Willis had his umpteenth Die Hard out. That would work. He located the movie and then picked up a coke and some popcorn on the way to the register. He waited

  No one came to the checkout. Dave looked around the store and saw no one. “Hey!” He shouted, “anyone working today or what?” No answer. This is getting annoying, he thought.

  “Hey!” his voice echoed around the empty store. Dave leaned over the counter and looked around. He didn’t see much until his eyes lit upon the far corner near the drop box. On the floor was a pair of khaki pants, a blue Hollywood Video shirt, a pair of shoes and what looked like a watch next to some boxers. Was that a sock poking out from beneath the pant legs? Geez, did the guy working strip off his clothes? Oh! Dave thought, maybe the punk kid was getting some in the back room and he had walked in at an inopportune moment. Inopportune my ass! He’s on the clock and I’m the damn customer! I’m all for a young guy getting some but this is just too much!

  “HEY! There’s a CUSTOMER out here. Ahem!” Dave cleared his throat loudly. He was all ready to forgive and forget, especially if the fool turned out to be a real dorky kid. He understood what it was like to be a dorky kid with raging hormones. No dorky kid came running out of the back. No embarrassed teens presented themselves at all. Feeling truly pissed now, he walked to the back room. The door was slightly ajar and he pushed it open with a bang. “Hey kid, I don’t care what you’re doing but could ya please just check me and then you can get back to it!”

  The room was empty. It was a small room with one desk and one chair and a four-line phone sitting on one side. Dave stared in confusion. He walked a little further in, noticed a small employee bathroom to the right, behind the office door. The light was on, but there was no one inside.

  This is too much. Where is everyone? he thought. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, knocking his hat off. He caught the hat with his other hand and replaced it. Dave set the movie he was holding down on the desk and turned and walked out back into the store. He kept on walking to the front doors and stepped outside. What he saw stopped him cold. The rain had stopped. It was still quiet as hell but nearly an inch of snow covered the ground before him. Icicles hung from the store front overhangs. The temperature had dropped well below freezing and Dave felt it start to seep into his bones. He could see his own breath as he shouted “What the hell is going on?”

  His words echoed off into the distance and faded away. No answer came. No one looked outside their windows or shouted back at him to shut up. No sound, no wind, no birds, no engines, no voices; nothing moved. Dave felt panic start to set in. He felt cold invading through the thin threads of his jean jacket. He felt scared for the first time since he was a child afraid of what might be under his bed, in the dark. He felt his nose start to run and wiped it on the back of sleeve. Setting off towards his truck, he slipped once on the icy road, before making it safely inside. He sat there looking out at the snow falling and ice forming on his windshield. What should I do? What’s going on? Where is everyone?

  The answer lay frozen in the July air; unable to find its voice.

  Chapter 4

  Across town in a run-down room at the Motel 6, Maggie stirred to life by kicking the covers up off her feet. She lay there; face down with one hand under the pillow and the other covering her eyes. Wild red hair spread out in every direction like a crazy, curly stain. She sniffed.

  Stale cigarette stench greeted her senses. It was a remnant of last night's little drunk-fest at that local bar around the corner. She had been so plastered when she got in that showering seemed like a dangerous game to play. At least she hadn't been so steeped that she didn't think about the possibility of drowning in the tub. Instead, she had stripped off her ashtray smelling clothing, stumbled down onto the toilet and peed for what seemed like days before weaving her way to the double bed. To say she had passed out when her head hit the pillow would be an understatement. It was more like she passed out as she fell onto the pillow.

  Something tasted like poop in her mouth. Her teeth felt fuzzy and Maggie was certain she had at least three more gallons of pee waiting impatiently to be let out again.

  "Ugh" she moaned. Then she sat up slowly.

  "Ow!" Holding her head, Maggie struggled not to cry in pain.

  Carefully, she put one foot on the floor. It was cold! That's weird, she thought. And it's carpeted too. Granted, it's really thin, cheap carpeting, but still. The other foot joined the first and she hauled herself up and trudged to the toilet. The seat was cold also which made her pee more. Goosebumps formed on her naked skin while last night's case of beer left her bladder.

  Finally, she flushed. Reaching inside the plastic shower curtain, Maggie turned on the hot water, letting it run for a moment while she brushed her teeth. With the dog poop taste gone and the fuzzy sweaters on her teeth removed, she felt a little better. She stepped into the shower and under the spray, letting the hot water cascade over her head and warm her body.

  A little shampoo, conditioner, and lavender soap helped scrub away the smoky smell and it livened her up some more. She felt better. She smelled better, too.

  Maggie wrapped herself in two towels, one on her head, and the other around her body, and sat cross-legged on the end of the bed. She grabbed the remote from the bed and clicked the power button. Static greeted her. She tried to change channels, but each channel held nothing but static. Cheap-assed motel.

  She finished getting dressed and blow-dried her tangle of red curls. “I look like shit”, she said as she looked at herself in the mirror. Throwing the brush down on the counter, Maggie turned to grab her Sketchers. She glanced one more time in the mirror and figured that her jeans and t-shirt were good enough to go get some breakfast. She didn't care how she looked beyond being clean at this point. She was hung-over, dehydrated, and grieving. She just didn't care right now.

  There was
a time not long ago that she cared a lot. Brad had been the love of her life, and they were going to get married next month. The engagement had lasted about a year, just long enough to plan a wedding. His family loved her. Her family loved him. Everything was perfect. They were going to be Mr. and Mrs. Travers and would live happily ever after.

  Three weeks ago, happily ever after turned into never happy again when a semi-truck plowed into Brad's Alero while he was on his way home from work. The driver of the semi had fallen asleep at the wheel, and then veered into on-coming traffic. They say Brad never felt any pain. It was instantaneous. But what do they know? How could they know that in those few split seconds right before the collision, when Brad knew that truck was going to smack right into him, that he didn't feel sheer terror, and then one half second of pain on impact, before life left him? How could they know? How could anyone know?