Free Bitter Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 2) by Michael R. Hicks Page A

thrown, or smashed. Freezers the size of small cars had been knocked to the floor, their thick stainless steel dented, punctured, and even torn. One bore gouges all the way through the metal. The gouges looked like claw marks.
    The men who saw that glanced nervously at one another, but they maintained their silence.
    Mikhailov was suddenly aware of the vast darkness above them. “Check the ceiling.”  
    Instantly, half a dozen lights pointed upward. Most of the tiles in the drop-down ceiling had been knocked out. Beyond that, there was nothing but the concrete forming the floor of the second level, along with pipes, and conduits.
    “ Kapitan .”
    Mikhailov moved forward to where a pair of soldiers were crouched near one of the big freezers.  
    “Sir, look at this.”
    Kneeling down, Mikhailov shone his light over a pool of viscous, foul-smelling amber liquid at least two meters across. As disgusting as it was, it clearly was not the same as the poison residue they had seen on the desks in the administrative office. There was a stain across the floor suggesting the pool of liquid here had originally been considerably larger, but had evaporated. Bits and pieces of things glinted under the glare of the lights. Some looked like electronic components. Others he couldn’t identify.
    “What is that?” He pointed to a pair of shiny nuggets near the edge of the reeking mass. One of the soldiers drew his combat knife and dragged the things out of the ooze so they could get a better look.
    It took Mikhailov a moment of staring at them to realize what they were: gold crowns that had once been on someone’s teeth. Glancing at the two men, Mikhailov suspected that neither recognized what they were looking at. It was too macabre a thought.
    The soldier was about to wipe the blade of his knife on his pants to clean it off before returning it to its scabbard.
    “No,” Mikhailov told him. “Don’t contaminate your clothing. Leave the knife here.” The man reluctantly set the knife down on the floor. Mikhailov drew his own and handed it to him. “Here. Take mine.” It was a mental placebo, Mikhailov knew, for whatever ghastly abomination had caused the destruction here would certainly not be killed by a simple knife.
    “ Spasibo, kapitan .” The soldier gratefully slid his captain’s knife into the scabbard before standing up and backing away. The other soldier joined him, clearly relieved to distance himself from the foul-smelling pool.
    Getting to his feet, Mikhailov eyed the refrigerators. There were three of them. Two lay on their sides, the doors open and the contents, hundreds of vials and dishes, spread across the floor. The third had fallen front side down, with the door still shut. “Turn it over. Check inside.”
    Four men, grunting with effort, managed to heave the heavy unit on its side with a loud boom that echoed through the building.
    Mikhailov’s radio suddenly came to life. Rudenko. “ Kapitan? We heard something.”
    “It was just us. We had to move something heavy. How goes your search?”
    “We have cleared most of the lab area here. No contacts. Everything in here has been torn apart, as if by a pack of enraged bears. And it is much the same as with the cars: anything made of plastic or rubber is gone. Only metal and things like stone or ceramic remain. But there is hardly any blood. No bodies, no parts of bodies, either.”
    “It is much the same here, although there are things made of plastic that yet remain. Proceed with your search. We will link up with you near the rear doors.”
    “Understood, sir. Rudenko, out.”
    Three soldiers now held their weapons pointed at the freezer door, which had remained firmly closed.
    “Open it.”
    A fourth man clambered onto the side of the freezer that now faced the ceiling and reached down to grasp the heavy duty handle.  
    Mikhailov aimed his own shotgun at the freezer door. “Now!”
    The soldier on the freezer yanked on the handle, then leaped back