The Harvest by N.W. Harris

door. He strolled into it,
searching for what he hoped was easy access to the woods. As he
walked the length of the paved alley, the sappy and earthy smell of
the forest grew in intensity, displacing the diesel fuel and tar
odor that polluted it on the tarmac. At the rear of the buildings,
Shane crossed a narrow strip of fescue-riddled gravel and pushed
through the briars. Eight feet in, the undergrowth cleared. The
mingling canopies of old oaks and pines blocked the light such that
only ferns, poison oak, holly, and other shrubbery could survive on
the shadowy forest floor.
    The moist fragrance of the forest initially
swept away his stress. He stretched his arms upward and rose onto
his tiptoes, sighing deeply like he’d just returned home from a
long day at school. This very same forest reached all the way down
the spine of the Appalachian Mountains into Leeville.
    The base sat near the top of a mountain, and
a few yards into the forest, the grade dropped off steeply. Shane
came to the first tall oak, its girth fifteen feet around, and its
roots stretching out through the soft soil, creating ridges between
piles of leaf litter and acorns. The majestic tree had to be over
two hundred years old. He put his hand on its coarse, gray bark,
his fingers digging into the soft moss clinging to it. Closing his
eyes, he imagined his ancestors walking through this forest. They
may have touched this very tree. He could feel its old soul,
shushing him and telling him everything would be all right.
    Drinking in deep breaths of the sweet forest
smells, he hiked down for ten minutes. He opened his eyes just wide
enough to keep from bumping into the trees. The leaves crunching
under the running shoes provided with his black garb covered all
other sounds.
    It didn’t take long for him to feel he was
much farther away from the base than he actually was. When he came
upon a thick tree fallen across his path, he climbed onto it and
sat, facing downhill. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.
It felt like iron bands fell away from his chest and stacks of
cinderblocks rolled off his shoulders. He hadn’t realized how
stressed he’d become and wondered how much more a person could take
before breaking.
    It was the first time he was able to relax
in… what? Well, he reckoned it was just a few days, but it felt
like a lifetime. Being an only child, he wasn’t used to having
people around him all the time. Usually, he got hours alone each
day, and he needed those moments to recharge.
    The chirping birds and the rhythm of a
woodpecker’s hammering shattered his tranquility. Squirrels rustled
through the trees above him, bringing a surge of fear. These
animals might have killed some poor moonshiner in these woods. What
if they had a taste for human blood and came after him? He was
unarmed and too far from the base to outrun them. They’d tear him
to shreds, and no one would hear his screams.
    Focusing on how the alligator-skin bark of
the old pine pinched his bottom for a distraction, he tried to
ignore the absurd rush of terror. But then he started worrying the
carpenter ants might attack him. Their powerful mandibles could
take a tree apart—what could they do to his flesh?
    He wanted to be lulled by nature’s soothing
chorus, but he feared it might never sound as pleasing to him as it
had before the critters went berserk. It wasn’t the animals’
fault , he told himself. They were forced to attack the adults
and would never act that way in the absence of the limbic
manipulator. As usual when he kept still in the woods, the sounds
grew louder and the animals became comfortable with his presence.
Determined to face this fear head-on, he resisted the urge to shout
and clap his hands to chase them away. He closed his eyes and
forced himself to listen.
    Ten minutes may have passed, or even a half
hour, in his struggle to find peace, Shane couldn’t tell. A subtle
crunching sound sent a surge of panic through him. He opened his
eyes to a