The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

  “Nope, but now what do we do?” Cory agreed, while the others remained silent.

  “We check out the other church and a few more homes, but I think we’ll find them just as the others – empty,” the security leader said.

  “Okay, I guess that’s it. Let’s load up and try the other chapel,” Cory directed.

  A few minutes later they rolled down a similar street: homes in unkempt disarray with many having wooden grave makers or crudely made crosses. Winterkill and years of neglect had taken the lawns from grass to weeds, some stretching beyond a man’s waist. This section of Hyrum looked particularly hard hit. Many homes had been vandalized and vehicles were haphazardly arrayed along most of the broad streets.

  As they rolled to a stop a block from the next church, Jeff spoke what everyone else was thinking. “Wow, doesn’t look like the other one.”

  “That’s for sure,” Dude agreed, taking in the dilapidated condition of the aging church building.

  Even from a block away, Rod and the others were able to see the remnant of a once beautiful structure, now weathered and damaged. They exited their rides, formed up and cautiously approached the edifice.

  “Doesn’t look very good, does it, Dad?” Boob asked.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Rod replied. “Cory, take your squad up for a closer look but don’t enter without us.”

  “Sure thing,” Cory called. “Alright, everybody on me. Come on, hustle.” The four-unit squad jogged the short distance to the front of the building, using the staggered cars for temporary cover. A moment later, Clayton returned to Rod, Kirk and the rest to issue a quick report.

  “Man, this place is in bad shape. Some of the windows are completely missing and the doors are all shattered. Looks like a bunch of birds have been living inside and it stinks.”

  “Stinks?” Kirk asked.

  “Yeah, to high heaven,” Clayton explained. “You know, like something is dead in there.”

  “Well, that’s very much a possibility,” Rod said, adjusting his hat and scratching quickly behind his right ear. “Any signs of Harvesters or the like?”

  “Didn’t look too close but I’d say no,” the lanky fellow replied. “I can’t imagine anybody living very close to this place.”

  “Okay then, let’s take a look,” Rod ordered.

  The main doors appeared just as Clayton had described: twisted frames and broken glass. Without entering, it was obvious both heat and cold had destroyed much of the interior, and without a doubt birds had been roosting just inside the entrance. Everyone waited at the main doors, while Kirk and his squad circled the building for signs of life. Upon returning they reported none. Thistles and weeds, with an occasional sunflower poking its head skyward, ringed the structure, interrupted periodically by a slab of broken concrete that led to the parking lot and road.

  “Dad, should we even bother to look inside?” Jeff asked, holding his shirt over his nose.

  “Couldn’t hurt. After all, we’re here,” Rod replied.

  “But the smell,” the boy protested.

  “All part of the great adventure,” Cory chimed in, taking a few steps closer to entering the church.

  “Cory, Clayton, do a quick walk through and holler if you need any help,” Rod suggested.

  “Mr. Jenson?” Dude petitioned. “Would it be okay if I went with them?”

  Rod appreciated the boy’s enthusiasm but recommended he stay put until C&C made their rounds. Disappointment showed in the youngster’s face but inwardly he was somewhat relieved, as he was almost unsure why he’d asked in the first place.

  “You looking for a medal?” Boob asked, grinning at his small friend.

  “No, not really. Just wanted to get that feeling again.”

  “You’re what my mom calls an adrenalin junkie,” Jeff joked.

  “Strange…I thought she called me Superman.”

  “In your dreams, Loser.”

  The youthful ribbing continued while Clayton and Cory slipped pasted the mangled doors and into the spacious foyer. Suddenly the two exited just as quickly as they had entered.

  “What is it?” Rod called excitedly.

  “Bodies – two, maybe more,” Cory exclaimed. “That’s where the smell is coming from.”

  “No doubt,” Clayton agreed. “They’re pretty ripe – maybe been there a couple of weeks.”

  “Cause of death?” Kirk asked, bringing his rifle to the ready.

  “I don’t know. Clayton, what would you say? “ Cory asked.

  “Not too sure about the one missing the head, but the other guy looks like he was ventilated at pointblank range with a shotgun: big entrance wound and the birds have been picking at him.”

  “Gross,” Dude gushed. “Glad I stayed out here.”

  “Okay, people, keep a close eye. Kirk, stay out here with the boys while we see what this is about.”

  Just inside the doors a ghastly scene awaited the small company of security personnel. The women swiftly passed by the decaying corpses to provide cover from a pair of merging hallways. Once positioned, they held their noses and watched for threats.

  “Damn, that’s some messed up stuff right there,” Clayton said, pointing at the bodies.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Cory said, taking the barrel of his rifle to expose a patch roughly sewn to the individual’s vest. “Harvester.”

  “Looks that way. What are they doing here?” Rod asked, more to himself than the other two.

  “Must have come over from Brigham. We’d of seen ’em if they came the other direction,” Cory surmised.

  “Scouts or lone killers?” Rod let the question hang in the air for a minute before answering it himself. “Guess it doesn’t really matter. Either way, I don’t like it. Okay, let’s make this quick. Ladies, secure that hallway and meet us around back. Clayton, you and Cory swing through the chapel – there,” Rod directed, pointing at a pair of solid, wooden doors. “And I’ll take a look in the gym and kitchen. Fire a shot if you get in trouble.”

  A moment later the security pairs were on their way and out of sight. Rod tiptoed around the maggot-infested carrion and tried the door, which he knew would lead to the gym – they resisted. He pulled harder but there was no give, as if they were welded shut. What in the world, he thought, hoping whoever had terminated the Harvesters had not seen them coming. Fearing for the others, he quickly dashed though the back of the chapel to a set of identical doors on the opposite side, and found them the same – impenetrable.

  Down a narrow hallway he could see C&C bolting in and out of classrooms, working in tandem like a well-oiled machine. Seconds later, the women appeared at the far end doing the same thing. Rod walked briskly through the darkened corridor to meet up with his security teams, trying, without success, another door leading into the gym across from the kitchen.

  “Anything?” Rod asked.

  Each responded with a quickly uttered ‘no’ except for Cory, who nodded for Rod to have a look in the kitchen. “Spotless,” he said. “How does a place that reeks of death and has birds crapping all over the place have a kitchen that looks like Mr. Clean lives here?”

  “Good point,” Rod replied. “Well, the gym is sealed. I mean, literally sealed. I think the doors have been welded in place.”

  “Got to be some way in,” Katie piped in.

  “Undoubtedly, but where…and who’s here?” Rod agreed.

  Together the small squad looked through rooms, which sat adjacent to the gym, hoping to find a hidden door or entry point. They found none. Discouraged that they had again struck out, they made plans to return with equipment and men to breach the gym fortress to reveal its ‘treasure’. Satisfied they’d done all they could, the men and two female sentries returned to join the others.

  “Well, there’s something here but it’ll have to wait for another day. Let’s get back to the trucks and try a few more homes before we call it quits,” Rod said, hoping his disappointment was not showing through his demeanor.

  “
I’ve got the lead. Dude, you ride with Clayton and me again. We’ll swing down the road by the church and head over toward the dam.” Cory was quick to issue the order and return to his yellow truck. Something about the strangely abandoned church bothered him and he was unsure why. Perhaps it reminded him too much of the lonely days and nights he’d spent living in an empty school and the claustrophobia such memories mustered.

  The small convoy slowly rolled past the church and down a narrow, overgrown lane that ran parallel to an expansive cemetery. Dude watched, anticipating…nothing. The day had proven to be a roller coaster of boredom, interspersed with minutes of heightened euphoria and excitement. Riding in the truck was neither. He watched, still unsure what to do and then it happened. Was that real? he asked himself. Did that tombstone really tip over?

  “Hey, did you guys see that?” Dude asked, trying not to sound overly excited.

  “See what?” Clayton asked, as Cory brought the truck to an abrupt halt.

  “That headstone – over there,” Dude said, pointing past Clayton and into the graveyard.

  “You mean the couple hundred tombstones?” Clayton asked, sarcasm dripping thickly from his lips.

  “Yeah, but no. One just fell over. I’m pretty sure I saw it tip right over.”

  “I guess that’s possible. Could be an animal or something…maybe erosion. Probably happens all the time. We just never see it,” Cory said, mulling over the implications.

  “Okay, thought I should point it out,” Dude said, disappointed it was not something more significant.

  Cory noted the fallen tone in the boy’s reply, placed the truck in park and silenced the engine. “Couldn’t hurt to take a look though.”

  “Really?” Clayton asked.

  “Why not?” Cory replied. “You sit tight, I’ll let Rod know what Dude and I are up too.”

  “Perfect. I’ll swoop in and rescue you if the boogieman rises from a grave or a zombie horde should appear,” Clayton said, sliding his hat over his eyes to further proclaim his lack of interest.

  Dude’s eyes grew large, listening to Clayton’s rant. However, Cory was watching and shook his head at the boy, smiling to ease his fears. “Probably a sink hole but let’s take a look – might be fun.”

  A minute later, Rod, Cory, Jeff and Dude pushed their way through dense, thick weeds to the location where Dude had seen the marker fall. “I think it was just…no wait, over there. I’m pretty sure it was over there. Yeah, right by the big one with an angel on top.”

  Nearing the actual spot of the fallen tombstone triggered a reaction that none of the party expected. A woman suddenly burst from cover and ran toward the church, her gray hair flying in the breeze and voice screaming hysterically.

  “Cory, get her!” Rod hollered.

  Cory took off at a full gallop, his long legs hurdling weeds and headstones like a world-class sprinter. She was no match for the young man, who overtook her with ease and tackled her to the ground. The high-pitched wailing continued, as she thrashed about under Cory’s weight. He held her, pinned to the ground, but spoke softly trying to assure her that she was not in danger. “You’re fine. We won’t hurt you. We won’t hurt you – I promise.”

  Rod held the boys back and watched the scenario unfold. “Cory, need any help?”

  He twisted his head, without releasing his firm grip on the distraught woman, and shouted a negative reply. By now, the remainder of the force was standing outside their vehicles watching. Kirk had taken up a position over the hood, to steady his scope, in case his distance expertise was needed. Clayton had run halfway into the cemetery but restrained himself when Cory had shouted he needed no help.

  For what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, Cory whispered quietly into the woman’s ear, slowly easing the firm grip that held her motionless. She responded with less hysteria and began to settle into a mellow rhythm of sobs and deep breaths.

  “I’m going to let you stand but you mustn’t run. Do you understand?” Cory asked, his words soft and gentle. She nodded her understanding and he felt her form ease up. “Okay, nice and slow.” He placed his right hand in the center of her back, applying just enough pressure to let her know he was still in control, and rolled her over onto her side. For the first time he saw her face: dirty, wrinkled and streaked with moisture, but it was her eyes that caught his attention. They were steel-blue and wild, akin to a panicked animal caught in a trap. She grunted when he pulled her upward and onto her feet, her eyes still weaving and searching for escape.

  “What’s your name?” Cory asked, while helping to brush her off. She did not reply, but tried to pull away and run. He held her fast, tightening the vice-like grip that encircled her upper arm. The woman winced and looked at his hold. “I told you, I won’t hurt you but you can’t try to run away. We’re here to help.”

  Cory and his prisoner began a slow, deliberate walk back to Rod, the boys, and Clayton, who had come to join the party. As they approached, Rod studied the woman, sensing a familiarity but putting the possibility far from his mind. She appeared to be a loner, a crazy woman, lucky enough to have found a way to survive.

  “What do you make of that?” Clayton asked, as Cory and the woman drew within 20 yards.

  “I have to tell you I’m a little shocked. Never expected we’d run into anybody, least of all an old woman,” Rod replied.

  Suddenly the woman stopped and dropped to her knees. Cory tried to lift her but she was unwilling. “It’s okay, Cory. Give her a minute.” Rod cut the distance between them and knelt in front of the crying woman. She made no attempt to meet his gaze but did not resist his hand lifting her chin for their eyes to meet. They swept past his, swinging from side-to-side before finally settling on his handsome features. He held her stare for a moment – the face – he knew this face, but how? She was dead, an angel welcomed into heaven, but here she was, kneeling in the dirt like their first reunion so many years ago.

  Rod tenderly caressed her lined face with both hands and bent to kiss her cheek. She twitched but did not pull away. The compassionate expression mellowed her demeanor and she leaned into his shoulder when she heard him whisper quietly into her ear, “Rose, welcome home.”

  Chapter 8

  Earlier in the day, Juanita’s militia had gone north from her farm, searching the highway and surrounding areas. Williams had decided to go south with the Harvesters, following a hunch that Annie would seek familiar surroundings.

  Black smoke billowed from the exhaust of an old El Camino that had been converted to burn cooking oil as fuel. At the wheel Finn kept one eye on the road while looking for signs of the truant band. A mile or two behind them, abandoned on the highway, they’d found a pickup, which the desperate crew had pushed, and then hijacked away from the compound. The driver tapped his left thumb against the wheel while muttering thoughts of murder under his breath.

  “That’s not doing us any good,” Juanita quipped, leaning forward in the passenger seat to get a better look up the hillside to the east.

  “What’s that, Mum?”

  “Your incessant need to vocalize what you’ll do to these traitors once we find them.”

  “But I thought you wanted them dead?” Finn asked, somewhat puzzled and offended by her assessment.

  “I do, but you’re driving me crazy with that babble. Please stop.”

  “Sure, didn’t know it was such an annoyance,” he replied, sarcastically.

  Nothing further was said but suddenly a shiny blade arced from Lady Williams’ hip, over Finn’s lowered right arm, to the narrow space between his bulging thighs. The tip clipped fabric and thread on its way to being buried in the seat cushion. Finn rebounded away from the blade, pushing his back against the seat, while rescuing his package.

  “What the hell?” he shouted, using an unusual amount of restraint to keep from backhanding her across the face.

  “Don’t screw with me, Finn, not now – not ever. We’ll make a good team, but I expect a little respect. You got me?
” she asked, pushing the knife’s hilt closer to his crotch.

  “Yeah, yeah – don’t…” the newly ordained Harvester leader replied, stopping himself before saying something that would certainly lead to his castration.

  Lady Williams shifted uneasily in the cab as Finn brought the half-sized ‘truck’ to a stop, sending Harvesters sliding against each other in the back. If there was anything Juanita loved more than making a point, it was doing so with violent overtones. She’d begun the day badly and was in no mood for babysitting Harvesters, and at this moment she was quite sure she had Finn’s attention.

  “Don’t what?” she asked, sliding the blade from the cushion and rubbing it against his inner thigh.

  “Don’t…uh, don’t forget I’m on your side,” he lied, holding back what he’d intended to say about her going crazy.

  The pressure from the blade eased as she withdrew and placed it back in the scabbard. “Ah huh,” she sighed, knowing he’d covered his butt, but her point was made. “Okay then, they have to be on foot and they’ll avoid the roads…” she said to herself more than Finn. “Double back to the pickup. We’ll track them from there – they can’t be that far ahead,” she ordered.

  Chapter 9

  Jeff approached Rod and the woman cautiously, sensing more than compassion extended to an apparent stranger. He put forth his hand and rested it gently on his dad’s shoulder. “Dad, who is she?” he asked.

  More than a decade of years had changed the old woman’s appearance but Rod was certain she was Elva’s mother. Her mane of auburn hair had given way to locks of gray and her eyes had lost their emerald sparkle, but her narrow, sharp features still declared her identity. Rod turned, shifting his weight enough to answer without releasing his hold on Rose. “Her name is Rose Allen. She’s your grandma.”

  “My what? My grandma…how? Who?” the boy stammered. He’d heard stories and folklore about this woman but never dreamed of a chance reunion.