Black Harvest

Two sec men turned a winch handle that reeled in several links of chain, lifting the prisoner higher up on the wall.

The man screamed in pain, but even in the echo-filled steel box, the cry sounded weak and feeble.

Beaten.

“Now, you little rad-blasted bag of scum,” the baron began, “have you had the chance to think about what you did?”

“Been thinking a lot…” the prisoner gasped.

“Yeah, about what?”

The prisoner’s head shifted to the right, and he opened his eyes against the invading sunlight. His dry, cracked lips parted, and his tongue appeared over his bottom lip like that of a lizard. He tried to spit at the baron, but his mouth and throat were too dry to produce any moisture.

The baron just shook his head. “You’ve got a bad attitude, Des.”

“Fuck you!”

The baron sighed. “And that disappoints me,” he continued, as if the prisoner wasn’t even there, “because I like you. Anyone who thinks they can get away with skimming jack off the top of my operation has either got the biggest pair of prunes in the entire ville, or he’s the stupidest rad-blasted fuck alive.”

The prisoner, Des, turned his head to the side, as if he’d heard the baron’s spiel before.

“I know you’re not stupid, because if you were, that would make me stupid for putting you into a position to rip me off. That means you’ve got to have Grade A plums in that scrotal sack of yours, and I like that.”

Des said nothing.

“I like that, but it’s not exactly a good thing for you to have. See, if by now you had told me you were sorry, I would have had to think about forgiving you. And if I’d forgiven you, then mebbe you’d already be dead, instead of hanging around inside this steel box waiting for me to let you die. But since you still haven’t come around to being sorry for what you’ve done, I’ve gotta make an example of you so no other sec men get any bright ideas about trying to cut themselves a piece of my pie.”

Des tried to spit again, but all that came out of his mouth was dry air that hissed as it passed through his lips.

“I guess that means you haven’t changed your mind.”

“Fuck you, you ass…” The man’s words trailed off without being completed.

“You really want to live, huh? Hang in there as long as you can?” Baron DeMann laughed at that.

The sec men surrounding him laughed as well.

“Well, I’m gonna make sure you hang in a long, long time, asswipe.” He turned to the sec man on his right. “Bring it here.”

The sec man moved forward, carrying a clear plastic bag filled with a clear liquid. There was a pale white rubber hose coming out of one end of the bag and a needle connected to the end of the hose. “This will keep you hydrated, Des. It’ll be like you’re drinking, but you’ll never have the pleasure of feeling the water sliding down your throat.”

The baron moved forward, climbed up onto a step provided for him by a sec man, then jabbed the needle into a vein in the prisoner’s arm.

“No.” The word escaped the man like a sigh. There was fear in his voice. Real terror.

“Oh, yeah. I’m going to keep you alive as long as I can, just to hear you scream.” The baron moved in close to Des so there were just inches between their faces. “And when I get tired of that music, I’m going to add some junk to the bag, stuff I’m experimenting with that will eat away at your brain until there’s nothing left but goo.” He paused, savoring the moment. “Finally, when it’s more work than it’s worth to keep you around, I’m going to put a few crazed muties in this box with you and watch.”

“No!” Des screamed loudly.

“Ah, that got your attention, eh?” the baron said, climbing off the step. “Good. Think about those muties crawling all over your body, looking for junk.”

“No, no. I’m sorry…sorr-ee,” Des screamed, his voice echoing eerily off the walls of the box.

But the baron wasn’t listening anymore. He had turned his back on the prisoner and was on his way out of the box, followed by a half-dozen sec men.

When they were all outside, the sec men closed the steel doors in silence, all of them listening to the screams of a man who had just started down a very long and painful road toward his own death.

It gave them all something to think about, especially since Des used to be a sec man, just like them.

AT THE OTHER END of the ville, a door opened on a large steel box. From somewhere inside the box came a gnawing, high-pitched mechanical whine that rose in pitch, and then suddenly settled down into a staccato hum.

People outside the box turned to look in the direction of the sound.

And then all at once the sound lost its reverberation as a man atop a motorized, two-wheeled wag suddenly burst from the opening. The wag’s engine whined as the vehicle sent a plume of dirt and dust into the air behind it.

The gate to the ville opened slowly, and for a moment it appeared as if the man on the wag would crash into it, but by the time he reached the gate there was just enough space for him to slip through the opening.

The wag’s small engine rose in pitch again, screaming like an instrument of terror now as it raced toward the western horizon.

In seconds, the driver and wag were little more than a trail of dust in the distance.

The cry of the engine began to fade.

In minutes they were gone from view.

Chapter Four

Jak and Mildred were led down a long dark corridor that smelled—if Mildred remembered correctly—of disinfectant. That, of course, was impossible, since the manufacture of such things as disinfectant and household cleaners died with the nukecaust.

Still, she sniffed at the air and caught the unmistakable scent of pine.

“Smell good,” Jak said. “Clean.”

“I guess we won’t have to worry about conditions being sterile,” Mildred commented.

When they reached the end of the corridor, the sec man guiding them opened a door that led into a white room that was well lit by windows and portals cut into one of the walls.

“A healer has been sent for,” the sec man stated. “He should be here in a few ticks.”

Mildred nodded her thanks. She helped Jak up onto a wooden bed covered with linen and, when he was comfortable, she took a look around.

The room was small, but at first glance it appeared to be well stocked. Mildred made a closer inspection of the room and saw a variety of bottles and vials that were labeled with names of medicines and drugs she hadn’t seen, or even thought about in a long, long time.

There were bottles of cyanide, which she knew could be made from the seeds and pits of apricots, peaches, apples and wild cherries. Next to the cyanide were several vials of a whitish powder that Mildred guessed was arsenic trioxide. She turned one of the vials and read the label, proving herself right. Seeing the two poisons on the shelf gave Mildred a bad feeling, but further study revealed that this was a shelf storing nothing but poisons. There was another shelf in the room that appeared to be stocked with a variety of dried herbs that were often used for medicinal purposes.

She suddenly felt better about the setup.

The first one she picked up was dried echinacea, which was good taken internally against infections and externally for skin abrasions. Next to that were dried elder flowers, which were also good for skin ailments. Farther along were dried ginkgo leaves, good for a half dozen or so diseases, especially those to do with the mind. She continued down the shelf past Ginseng and Hops, Kava and Lemon Balm, St. John’s Wort and Valerian. These were all wonderful herbs and useful for the treatment of mild ailments, but none of them were strong enough to fight off an infection from a bullet wound.