The scarlet harvest, p.34
The Scarlet Harvest, page 34
Prisha’s eyes fill with concern. “You’re scaring me.”
“The virus was released in the Valley. It’s headed to Hillcrest.”
Prisha sucks in a breath and looks away. When she looks back, her eyes are filled with tears. “Are you sure? My family… ” She nervously rubs her throat.
“I’m so sorry. I tried to stop him.” I reach out and put a hand on Prisha’s shoulder.
She pulls away. “I’ll be right back.”
She returns with four men and women from the Valley. “While I bandage your wounds, they will load the Helixes.”
Downstairs, Prisha directs the men and women to cover the vials in ice wraps to keep them cold during transport. I’m surprised by her take-charge attitude.
She grabs supplies from a cabinet and holds up a pair of scissors. “Sit. I’m going to cut off your sleeve.”
She removes the sleeve and applies antiseptic with cotton balls. It burns, burns, burns. I clench my fists and my teeth. Think good thoughts: Gregor is dead; I’m going home; all of this will be over soon.
“Did Everly gain consciousness?” I ask.
“She's still out.” Prisha unrolls medical tape and stretches it across bandages on my shoulder. “We moved her to a quiet room and have someone monitoring her.” Prisha hands me antiseptic-soaked cotton balls. “For your legs.”
I run the cotton balls down my bloody shins. The cotton catches on glass splinters. Prisha opens and closes drawers on the hunt for something.
I press a clean swab against the two holes on my upper and lower lips. My eyes sting with tears from the pain.
Prisha gives me aspirin and a cup of water. “What happened to your lips?”
Washing down the aspirin, I say, “Gregor.”
“You found him?” Prisha’s voice rises in disbelief. “They said he got away.”
“He’s dead.” I swish water around my mouth and spit bloody water into the cup.
“How do you know?” Prisha sounds skeptical. Her eyes skim my injuries. “Wait, did you kill him?”
“Shh.” I glance at the people carrying vaccines upstairs. “Did Dr. Klein and Ray make it to Dr. Hahn’s office?”
“They moved Dr. Hahn and the others to the soundproof room attached to Hahn’s office.”
“Is Dr. Hahn going to live?” I ask.
“Nobody knows.” Prisha shrugs. “Your turn. How did you end up with a shredded shoulder and busted lips?”
I step down from the stool. I can’t talk about it. I won’t talk about it. I head to the stairs, wishing the aspirin was kicking in already.
“Wait,” Prisha says. “You can’t let your family see you like that. You’re covered in blood.” She digs through a cabinet and withdraws a lab coat. “Take this.”
“Thanks.” I put the lab coat on over my dress. “Find out if anybody wants to return to the Valley with you. You’ll need help administering the vaccines. And, brace yourself. It’s worse than you could ever imagine.”
We enter the sanctuary and Treb rushes toward us. A flutter of joy fills my chest. Treb is alive. Fritz may be with him.
“You look like crap.” Treb eyes my bloody shins and lips.
“Thanks.” I wrap the lab coat tighter to hide my bloodied, ripped dress. “Have you seen Fritz?” My voice is riddled with anxiety.
Treb shakes his head. “I thought he would be with you.”
Dread opens inside me like a faulty parachute. Please don’t let Fritz be dead. “I haven’t seen him since the Valley people stormed the auditorium. That was hours ago.” I check Dad’s watch. “It’s almost midnight.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Treb says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “I heard the frequency blast worked. Soldiers got smashed.” Treb holds up a hand to high-five.
Prisha smacks his hand. I’m not ready to celebrate. Not until I know Fritz and my family are okay.
“Were there a lot of Valley casualties?” I eye Prisha and feel the heavy weight of guilt.
“There were casualties on both sides but it could have been worse. The Valley volunteers said they started retreating after you got on the microphone.”
“I didn’t think they heard me,” I say, surprised at the news. “Are you feeling okay, Treb? Any symptoms?”
“All good,” Treb says.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Prisha says to Treb. She gently squeezes my elbow. “We have to get going.” Urgency runs under her tone; concern clouds her eyes. She heads toward the cathedral doors.
I turn to Treb. “I’m worried about Fritz. What if he was hurt or captured? Why else would he be missing for hours?”
I want Treb to reassure me, to tell me Fritz is okay. I can’t voice my other concern out loud. I have to believe he’s alive and we’ll be together someday.
“I’m worried, too.” Treb rubs the side of his face and exhales heavily. “I’ll return to the auditorium to look for him when things calm down.”
“Thanks, Treb.” I rest my hand on his arm. “Tell Fritz I went home to 923 Acacia Lane.”
Forty-nine
The Helix rolls to a stop. I jerk my eyes open and unfold from my sleeping position. The sight of my house takes my breath away.
I step out of the car and stand at the curb. No signs of drones or death or destruction in the streets of Hillcrest. The houses look like untouched porcelain slabs beneath a smoky quartz sky in the gloaming hour before sunrise.
It feels as though the world changed—I changed—while everything here remained the same: a hummingbird feeder hangs from a tree; white flowers grow in heaps; the air smells like butterfly jasmine and cut grass; birds chitter and cheep and hopscotch from tree to tree.
Conflicting emotions swell inside of me: sadness and happiness, fear and hope. I try to quell my emotions and work up the nerve to approach the house. I touch the watch on my wrist and the pendant around my neck: tokens from people I love.
As I walk up the sidewalk, a white owl hoots from the rooftop. Helixes loaded with vaccines parallel park down the street.
I can’t shake my lingering unease, my concerns that Fritz could be dead and Gregor could be alive. I recall the gun in Gregor’s waistband. I should have stayed to watch him die.
On the way home from Ovation, I obsessively checked the rearview to make sure nobody followed me. Just before the Helix was sucked into the Hypertran tunnel, I looked back one last time. The top of the lighthouse was burning like a roman candle setting fire to the oily black sky.
Knocking on the front door, I listen for movement. Nothing. I kneel next to a flowerpot and dig until my fingers catch on the spare key. I dust the soil off the key and insert it into the lock.
Please let them be okay.
I step inside and it feels like I’m stepping into a past life: a life where things were much simpler. The living room is tidy. In the dining room, canned food, jugs of water, and bags of soil are stacked against the wall; the table is covered with flashlights, first aid kits, hospital masks, seed packs.
At first, I feel confused but then I understand: Dad knew the virus might reach Hillcrest. I touch the bruise Dad’s fingers left behind when he grabbed my arm and saved my life. I swallow the lump in my throat and hold back the tears in my eyes.
“Mom?” My voice is tattered and frayed.
The silence is nuclear: sucking the oxygen from the room, pressing down on me like the heat of a hundred suns. Every silent second that passes feels like another neutron aimed at the nucleus of my heart.
Just when I think I can’t take the pressure, that my heart is going to break in two—Mom steps into the hallway with Abe and Addie. For a moment, we stare at each other.
And then the most beautiful thing happens.
The silence is broken.
They run toward me: arms outstretched, squealing, crying. I drop to my knees pulling them into an embrace. My chest cracks open like an eggshell, shattering my protective walls, exposing my vulnerabilities.
Tears flood my face. I cry for my dad. I cry for all the lives lost, for humanity’s desire to destroy itself, for the naïve girl I used to be. I cry tears of sadness and tears of joy. My family is alive. I’m alive.
And for the first time, I understand that being vulnerable isn’t a sign of weakness. The weak allow fear and insecurity to rule their lives: they build walls, amass armies, and assert control over women and nature. They use fear and hatred to manipulate and divide.
Only the strongest shed their protective façades, speak their truths, and risk being hurt. They tear down walls, bring people together, and treat everyone with dignity and respect. The way forward is through unity, vulnerability, and love.
Thank you
Thank you for reading The Scarlet Harvest. If you would like to be notified when the second book in the Ovation Duology becomes available, please submit your email address at the following link:
https://kateashbrook.com/contact/
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Acknowledgments
Thank you to friends who enthusiastically supported me on the long journey to writing my first novel: Pallavi, Lara, Ananya, and Tom. To Kam, I was delighted to discover we were simultaneously working on our debut novels; it was great to compare notes over coffee.
Beta readers Mel, Maddy, and Sarah: thank you for helping me pinpoint areas for improvement. Special thanks to Sarah for her in-depth review and ability to make me laugh.
Big thanks to Margie Lawson. I learned more about the craft of writing from Margie than from all other resources combined. Thanks to authors Vanessa Riley, Denny Bryce, June Converse, Jacki Kelly, Piper Huguley, and Sally Kilpatrick–workshopping together was very insightful.
Thanks to my mom for reading my work and cheering me on. Thanks to my husband for his patience, encouragement, and unwavering love and support. Thanks to my favorite lap cat, Olive, for keeping me company during many late nights of plotting, editing, and more editing.
And last, but not least, I’m grateful to the readers who took a chance on my debut novel.
Thank you all.
About the Author
Kate Ashbrook started her career as an Air Force linguist at the National Security Agency and went on to become a technical writer. When she’s not writing, you can find her learning a new language, volunteering in the community, or planning her next getaway to Pacific Grove where she enjoys feeding her coffee and speculative fiction addiction at Bookworks Cafe. She lives in Boise with her husband, two senior labs, and four rambunctious cats.
Kate Ashbrook, The Scarlet Harvest
