The Harvest Cycle by David Dunwoody Page B

like Azathoth, the All-Father, trapped in his mad sleep.
         So what are you doing outside? What’s going on?
        “Nothing important. Just moving about. Looking for new resources.”
         You’re lying.
         That’s all right. I like games. Any bit of amusement, really. You play games too, love games. I see your suitors circling you like twin moons. Who will you choose?
        “I’ve chosen.”
         No, dear, it’s never over, I’ve seen enough to know that. Whose dreams do you share? Who do you want to be harvested with?
        “I don’t want to do this.”
         Oh, don’t go, I’ll back off the hard questions then. I just like to know you. Makes the dreams that much sweeter, understanding what’s behind them. Sometimes a dream is just a hodgepodge of sensations but other times there’s such a strong narrative and I always wonder what brought it on.
        “Couldn’t you ask them? Haven’t you said that the minds of men stay with you?”
         They’re not in the mood for talking once they’ve seen the court of chaos. It’s different after that. I like you, Mandy.
        “Don’t call me that.”
         What’s the Plan?
        “That - it’s what I was talking about earlier. About resources.”
         No, it seems to be a grand plan in your mind sweetie. Gonna change the world, are you? What’s it about?
        “Fuck off.”
         I WON’T FUCK OFF!
        Before her, the Jabberwock had been still. Now its nostrils gave off tendrils of gray flame, its teeth revealed to be jagged and bloody and broken in a yawning maw.
        “It’s nothing about you!”
         It’s all about me and I know it! Think you can keep me out? I’ve already seen your first bleed and your first fuck and if you don’t tell me about the master Plan I’m going to tear your mind apart!
        “Do it then! Do it! ”
        The Jabberwock recoiled. There was silence in the nothingness.
         Well.
         Well then.
         Call my bluff.
         All right, fuck it.
         You just bought yourself a Harvest.
        
        
    9.
    Tindalos
        
        She awoke to see herself at the foot of Mount Rushmore.
        “Mount Tindalos,” said a rough, throaty voice. Amanda realized she was on her back and tried to move. Couldn’t. Bound. Arms and legs.
        She heard a pained grunt and recognized it as Mike. Turning her head to the left, she saw him trussed up in the grass, only he was facedown and had been hog-tied.
        To her left was Lucy, tied the same way she was. The girl stared back at her like she was in a state of shock. The puppy was nowhere to be seen.
        “Where are the others? What’s happening?” She whispered to Mike.
        Gritting his teeth, rolling his face in the dirt, he muttered, “Ira’s dead. Cutter and Hitch...I don’t know.”
        “Welcome to the Mount,” said that throaty voice, and a disheveled man wrapped in sewn-up scraps of fabric, with long, ratty hair and a toothless smile, appeared overhead. “You’re looking up at the faces of the old guard. There’s a new President now, and he’ll judge ya.”
        “Why are we tied up?” Amanda gasped. West grunted, wanting her to stay silent.
        “Well, we don’t know just yet if we can trust ya. Do you dream? Or have you been cut down?”
        “We’re dreamers,” Amanda answered. The man smiled his gaping wet smile and walked around the lot of them. He had glassy, wandering eyes and pockmarked skin.
        “My name’s Carrion,” he said. “That’s because I only like the old meat, rotten meat. I’m not like the others. That’s why they trust me to welcome you here.”
        “We mean no harm,” West said. “If we could speak with your President-”
        “In due time,” Carrion said. “Right now we need to deal with the others, them buggers who shot at us.”
        “You