The Harvest #2 by Heather Knox

Author:Heather Knox
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ABDO
Published: 2018-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHARLIE HEARS FIRST THE AWFUL SCRAPING OF metal against metal, like nails on a chalkboard, then the clang of metal pipe falling to concrete as it echoes through the empty of the barn. She crawls behind a barricade of hay bales that grants her something of a vantage point from which to see the inside of the structure. A commotion rises from beneath her, shouting and footsteps as her assailants don’t even bother to try to catch her by surprise. They have her outnumbered, but she has home field advantage.

She pokes the barrel of the rifle through a crevice between two stacks of hay bales to watch the strangers through the magnification of the scope. The first thing she notices is that they move with impossible speed; the second, that the man carries a handgun. She takes a deep breath, exhales, and pulls the trigger evenly towards herself. She sees the red but not reaction. The next shots she fires do not come with her same trained composure, giving way to desperation as her assailants scramble—not for cover, but towards the sound, towards her. She squeezes the trigger again, again, again before realizing that some of the shots being fired are not her own. Each sharp burst of noise amplified by the echoing.

That’s when she notices the blood, her blood, breaths before she notices the searing pain. She covers her mouth with her hand and screams into it, muffling the throaty sound as tears finally spurt from her eyes. She hasn’t cried in years. She slumps back against the hay bales, breathing too fast, trying to choke down her sobbing. She wonders if Grady made it to safety, how long it will take her to bleed out, what the men came for.

Tunnel vision sets in. She hears shuffling on the floorboards of the hayloft, heavy boots on wood and the crunch of straw, then it stops. She lifts her rifle towards the sound but it is heavy, so heavy. Someone grabs the barrel of her rifle but she hangs on to the stock a moment before shoving it as hard as she can, not very, at the someone who grunts.

“She’s a fighter,” someone chuckles.

“She’s got a hole in her. We’ll lose points for that,” a female voice laments.

“She’s about to bleed out. We won’t get any points if that happens.”

“I’m not done with the little—”

“Do you want to explain to Victor what happened? How an old man and a little girl nearly took down four Praedari?”

The old man. Grady. She wonders if he found a place to hide or if he went down fighting. She couldn’t fault him for either.

The two voices stop squabbling. The male someone grumbles about how Victor owes him a new shirt. Someone else towers over her, then crouches—male, she guesses, by the smell of aftershave. The fourth person from the lawn joins them. When the darkness finally overtakes her it feels as though she is surrounded by dozens of looming, shadowy figures.

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