Read Online The Harvest Cycle by David Dunwoody - Free Book Online
Authors: David Dunwoody
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nightmare.
Nightmare...the word stirred an uneasy feeling in Rafe’s gut. But he couldn’t remember why.
Peter lowered a bottle of tequila from his lips long enough to whisper, “I haven’t heard anything out there in a few hours.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re gone,” Abe replied. “They might be prowling around looking for us. For anyone, I mean. What I mean is...” He lowered his voice even more, glancing at Gayle. “I mean, I think everyone out there is dead.”
“Oh, God,” Rafe breathed. “What if this isn’t just happening here? What if it’s everywhere?”
“Then we’re dead already,” Peter said. He took a long pull off the bottle. “Might as well just drink ourselves to death.”
“Stop drinking,” hissed Abe. “Your voice is getting louder. You need to get a hold of yourself.”
“Wow, Abe,” Peter slurred. His voice was increasing in volume, and it made Rafe squirm as he continued. “You want a fucking medal, Abe? Maybe another of mine?”
“Don’t start.” Abe got up and crept over to Gayle’s corner. Peter scowled, obviously itching for a fight. He looked toward Rafe, who stared into his lap.
“How’s Emma?” Abe asked Gayle. The woman smiled. “She’s sleeping.”
The infant’s face was pale. She hadn’t eaten - none of them had - in nearly two days. They were all beginning to feel the effects. Rafe’s head ached as much as his stomach did, and he could only keep his mind off the pain by having another drink. The empty bottles were beginning to pile up. Their cache wouldn’t last much longer.
And after that, then what? Wait and starve? Pull down the barricade and run into the claws of the creatures?
Erika Thorn had seen one of them close-up. She said their claws looked like knives of glass, catching slivers of light as they swiped across the faces of their victims. The lobby had become a slaughterhouse as fleeing guests found the creatures waiting for them. Erika had barely managed to escape, slipping and sliding through thick pools of gore. But she’d made it - they all had.
Because they were runners, Rafe realized. Every other person out there had probably been full of adrenaline, every single one fighting for his or her life. But only the athletes had the skill to evade the creatures, to find the path of least resistance. Rafe had released several YouTube videos of his “free running”, the art of getting from point A to point B in the most creative way possible. A gymnastic art evolved from David Belle’s parkour , free running focused on the aesthetic aspect of efficient movement. Rafe had made videos of himself vaulting off balconies and over walls, dancing across railings and defying gravity to get from one place to another. It had no doubt increased his popularity outside of his native Spain.
Tip-toeing over to the one of the windows, Rafe moved the curtain ever so slightly, getting a look outside. He saw the rooftops of smaller, older buildings, saw clotheslines and power lines and open windows. His mind raced. Would it be possible to get from the roof of the New Mediterranean to one of those buildings? Was it worth the risk to leave the lounge?
“It’s not worth it,” Abe whispered, startling Rafe. The other man pulled the curtain closed. “They’re everywhere. They’d be on you in a second.”
“You don’t know that. Not for sure,” Rafe said.
“You’re right,” Abe replied. “But what do you think would happen?”
For a moment, Rafe nearly conceded. He nearly went back to his corner to get drunk and wait for the end. But he didn’t.
“We have to run ,” he said, his voice well above a whisper. All eyes in the room fell upon him.
Abe sighed. “I can’t stop you.”
“We’re guaranteed to die if we just stay here.” Rafe gestured toward Peter.
Nightmare...the word stirred an uneasy feeling in Rafe’s gut. But he couldn’t remember why.
Peter lowered a bottle of tequila from his lips long enough to whisper, “I haven’t heard anything out there in a few hours.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re gone,” Abe replied. “They might be prowling around looking for us. For anyone, I mean. What I mean is...” He lowered his voice even more, glancing at Gayle. “I mean, I think everyone out there is dead.”
“Oh, God,” Rafe breathed. “What if this isn’t just happening here? What if it’s everywhere?”
“Then we’re dead already,” Peter said. He took a long pull off the bottle. “Might as well just drink ourselves to death.”
“Stop drinking,” hissed Abe. “Your voice is getting louder. You need to get a hold of yourself.”
“Wow, Abe,” Peter slurred. His voice was increasing in volume, and it made Rafe squirm as he continued. “You want a fucking medal, Abe? Maybe another of mine?”
“Don’t start.” Abe got up and crept over to Gayle’s corner. Peter scowled, obviously itching for a fight. He looked toward Rafe, who stared into his lap.
“How’s Emma?” Abe asked Gayle. The woman smiled. “She’s sleeping.”
The infant’s face was pale. She hadn’t eaten - none of them had - in nearly two days. They were all beginning to feel the effects. Rafe’s head ached as much as his stomach did, and he could only keep his mind off the pain by having another drink. The empty bottles were beginning to pile up. Their cache wouldn’t last much longer.
And after that, then what? Wait and starve? Pull down the barricade and run into the claws of the creatures?
Erika Thorn had seen one of them close-up. She said their claws looked like knives of glass, catching slivers of light as they swiped across the faces of their victims. The lobby had become a slaughterhouse as fleeing guests found the creatures waiting for them. Erika had barely managed to escape, slipping and sliding through thick pools of gore. But she’d made it - they all had.
Because they were runners, Rafe realized. Every other person out there had probably been full of adrenaline, every single one fighting for his or her life. But only the athletes had the skill to evade the creatures, to find the path of least resistance. Rafe had released several YouTube videos of his “free running”, the art of getting from point A to point B in the most creative way possible. A gymnastic art evolved from David Belle’s parkour , free running focused on the aesthetic aspect of efficient movement. Rafe had made videos of himself vaulting off balconies and over walls, dancing across railings and defying gravity to get from one place to another. It had no doubt increased his popularity outside of his native Spain.
Tip-toeing over to the one of the windows, Rafe moved the curtain ever so slightly, getting a look outside. He saw the rooftops of smaller, older buildings, saw clotheslines and power lines and open windows. His mind raced. Would it be possible to get from the roof of the New Mediterranean to one of those buildings? Was it worth the risk to leave the lounge?
“It’s not worth it,” Abe whispered, startling Rafe. The other man pulled the curtain closed. “They’re everywhere. They’d be on you in a second.”
“You don’t know that. Not for sure,” Rafe said.
“You’re right,” Abe replied. “But what do you think would happen?”
For a moment, Rafe nearly conceded. He nearly went back to his corner to get drunk and wait for the end. But he didn’t.
“We have to run ,” he said, his voice well above a whisper. All eyes in the room fell upon him.
Abe sighed. “I can’t stop you.”
“We’re guaranteed to die if we just stay here.” Rafe gestured toward Peter.
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