Free The Harvest by N.W. Harris Page A

trying to look as intimidating as he sounded.
    “And these?” Laura asked, poking her finger
at the horse pills.
    “Your training will be exceptionally
vigorous,” Jones replied. “Those contain a special mix of amino
acids, super nutrients, and vitamins Dr. Blain put together to help
your body and mind recover quicker. If you don’t take them, you
will fall behind.”
    Not allowing for any more conversation on the
subject, he turned away and led them past six more identical sets
of quads to the door at the end of the barracks. He pushed his way
in and held it open.
    “Here’s the bathroom. To the left of the
sinks are laundry machines and a locker filled with cleaning
supplies. You and your roommates will be responsible for keeping
this barrack spotless.”
    “Great,” Kelly said apprehensively. “So is
this one for the girls or the guys?”
    “I’m sorry,” Jones growled, his voice getting
louder. “Perhaps I haven’t spoken clearly. You will all share this
barrack.”
    “With only one bathroom?” Kelly sounded
incredulous and unintimidated.
    “Yes,” Jones replied curtly. “Sharing
berthing and bathing areas will help us evaluate you.”
    “That’s just wrong in every way,” Laura
objected, putting her fists on her hips and donning a defiant
scowl.
    “Wrong?” Jones said, enraged. “The survival
of your species, of this very planet, is at stake! The seven groups
of seven who will train here are our only hope. Is it not worth a
bit of suffering so we can prepare you for the single most
important mission your species has ever attempted?”
    The veins in his thick neck bulging and his
face red with passion, Jones glared at each of them. Shane cast
nervous glances at his friends. He could tell no one liked the
situation any more than he did, and they seemed weary of the
alien’s constant yelling.
    The barracks didn’t look like a haven for
rest, and Shane expected it was part of the plan. Other than the
coed factor, it was a lot like football camp. Coach Rice used to
give lectures to the football team to explain their training. In
one, he mentioned the body and the mind best learned reflexive
action, such as leaping to the side in an instant to avoid a
tackle, when both were completely exhausted. He said this was why
he made them run and lift weights until they nearly dropped and
then had them practice plays on the football field once their eyes
were drooping from fatigue and their arms and legs felt like
jelly.
    Shane and Steve were familiar with the
aggressive approach, but he wanted to quit all the time when he
first started. They were going to have to help the others along
until they got used to it.
    After impatiently staring at them for a
moment, seeming to give Shane’s now gloomily introspective squad a
chance to ask some final questions, Jones pivoted sharply on his
heel and marched back through the barracks. The seven teens shot
wide-eyed dude’s crazy glances at each other, and then
followed him.
    “If you need anything, dial one,” he said,
pointing at an old, green, touchtone phone to the right of the
front door. “Each team has a number. From this point on, you will
be referred to by that number. You are Team One.”
    “I can live with that,” Steve said cockily.
“I like being number one.”
    “It has no reference to your rank as related
to the other teams.” He looked at each of them in turn, his brown
eyes narrow, and his brow wrinkled with intensity. “If you have no
further questions, I will leave you to get situated. We start
training at zero four hundred hours tomorrow. The rest of the
squads will arrive today.” Jones walked, or rather charged, out of
the building, the door slamming behind him.
    Shane’s mind was a whirlwind, trying to
process everything he heard and saw since arriving to this hidden
base. His blurry gaze remained locked on the exit until Tracy
cleared her throat. His friends looked just as dazed, but their
attention was on him.
    “This ain’t