The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

  “Do you believe in fate?” the teen asked, staring toward the morning sun.

  “Fate? What’s got you thinking about that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just some of the stuff the other kids are saying about me and why I was born.”

  “Well, I’ll tell ya, Jeff, I believe we each have a purpose, a plan that we need to fulfill,” Rod answered.

  “Isn’t that the same as fate or destiny? Does God just put us on a path and send us on our way?”

  Rod slid to sit directly behind Jeff and placed his hands on the youth’s shoulders. “God might set us on a particular path and give us the tools we need to succeed, but he doesn’t force us to do anything. We always have a choice. We can stand for goodness and act with everything we’ve got to uphold truth and freedom or we can sit idly by and let evil overcome. There is no fence-sitting – not in this life.”

  “Dad, what was Farrell like? You’ve told me so much, but was he a good man?” Jeff asked, glancing a short distance away to the markers where his parents lay.

  “He saved my life…and gave his,” Rod began, but was stopped by words that could not be easily uttered.

  During the seconds of quiet, noble calm, Jeff reflected on the relationship between Rod and Farrell. “That says a lot.”

  “Yeah, it does. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

  “That’s on his tombstone,” Boob asserted, knowing he’d read it dozens of times.

  “Indeed, it is. I’ll tell ya what I loved most about your dad – Farrell was always willing to stick up for the underdog – he hated bullies. I don’t ever remember him backing down from a fight…but I also don’t remember him starting one for no good reason.”

  “He was tough?” Jeff asked, his eyes gleaming with intensity.

  “He could be, but I also saw him break down and cry a fair bit too.”

  “I wish I could have gotten to know him,” Jeff said, thoughtfully.

  “Me too. I miss him every day.”

  “I hope you know me thinking about Farrell and Elva is no reflection on how I feel about you and Mom. You’re my parents…really…and I love you both.”

  “I know you do, Son. Having you in our lives has been the source of our greatest happiness.”

  “And frustrations?”

  Rod laughed and shook his head in full agreement. “Yup, some of that too.”

  “You know…it’s weird – some days I’m sad and feel like there’s no hope and other days I think we can conquer the world. Will it always be like that?”

  “No, Boob. It’s just your hormones changing…I remember going through some of that myself. The uncertainty of trying to find your place…your niche in the world can be a handful – not to mention the zits.”

  “Yeah, I know…it’s crazy. I wish I could better understand what’s happening to me,” Boob sighed.

  Rod wrapped his arms around Jeff’s upper body and pulled him to his chest. Leaning back, he squeezed the boy’s shoulders and replied, “You’re growing up…you’re becoming a man.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’m glad we got up early. I’ve got a fresh appreciation for a great man this morning.”

  “Colonel Bubley or Farrell?” Rod asked.

  “Neither…you. You’re like them in some ways, of course, but you love people. More than anything, that’s what you’ve taught me – people matter.”

  The two hugged warmly. “Thanks, Son. I’ve tried every day to live up to your expectations and to fill Farrell’s shoes. I’ll tell you one thing, he’d sure be pleased with the man you’ve become.”

  “I’m not much of a man, yet,” Boob suggested, “but I’m getting there.” He brought his arm to a square and flexed his bicep. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re getting too big for your britches,” Rod said, grinning broadly while mussing the boy’s shaggy locks.

  Suddenly the door directly behind the pair swung open and Egan emerged, a tightly folded US flag in his hands. He quickly descended the steps, nodding but not speaking to the Jenson’s.

  “What’s he up to?” Jeff asked.

  “Don’t know. Let’s find out.” Rod replied, standing to address Boyd’s assistant. “Hey, Egan,” he shouted, just loud enough to be heard.

  The young sentry stopped abruptly and turned to face Rod. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I wish we’d had more of a chance to talk these past few days. I know you and Boyd were tight.”

  “As were you and many,” Egan noted.

  “Yes, but he had a connection to you that none of us could manage, even after all the years we’ve been together. I envy that of you.”

  “He was a fine man and very good to me. I’ll miss him,” the sentry acknowledged.

  “Me too. I’ve never seen that before. What have you got there?” Rod asked, pointing to the flag.

  “It was the colonel’s, a flag he rescued from an outpost in Iraq before it was overrun by insurgents. He recounted the story to me often and I thought he’d like it covering his casket today.”

  A faint, reflective smile crossed Rod’s face and he reached out to place his hand atop the symbolic fabric. “A wonderful thought and gesture. I’m sure he’d have it no other way.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Certainly a tragic accident – a really horrible day, hey?” Rod indicated.

  “The worst. I wish I could have been there. Somehow I feel like it was my fault.”

  Rod shifted his hand from the flag to Egan’s upper arm and offered some degree of assurance, “No sense beating yourself up. Do you have any idea what he might have been up to?”

  “No, I wasn’t scheduled to assist the Colonel until later in the evening. He may have decided to stretch his legs or join you at the stadium.”

  “I suppose so. We appreciate the way you’ve contributed to The Ward. I hope Boyd’s death won’t stop you from making new friends and being a part of our community.”

  “I’m not very social but I do appreciate everything that’s been done for me,” Egan replied, somewhat awkwardly. “I better get this over to the doctor before he comes looking for me. He’ll want to cover the coffin before we begin the service.” He shook Rod’s hand, nodding a quick goodbye to Jeff and was on his way.

  “Doesn’t say much…does he?” Jeff hinted.

  “No, but given what he’s been through I don’t think we can blame him. He’s been a good fit for The Ward and he knows how to fight.”

  An hour later, scores of Boyd’s friends ringed a ceremonial, flag-draped casket; their head’s bowed in solemn remembrance of a man who had led through years of turmoil and hardship. For those who spoke, he was not loved or memorialized for his kind acts or tender ways. Far from it…he was hard as nails and hard on the people of the community, but it had to be so. He understood the world and their new life for what it was, unforgiving and relentless in nature. The battle-scarred marine expected and demanded the best from everyone, including himself.

  Bishop Freeman, as ill and feeble as he was, presided at the service from a small platform, which had been erected to support his wheelchair. Cory had suggested Jacob remain at home but the stubborn cleric was having none of it. “He was my friend and unless you want to bury us both in that lone grave, I suggest you give me the help I need to conduct this funeral,” the bishop had said. Needless to say, Cory had complied and Jacob was now ready.

  “Brothers and sisters, we are gathered on a day of great sadness and loss. My friend, Colonel Boyd Bubley, has passed from this life of toil to a place of bliss and happiness, where I know family and friends have greeted him with open arms. Boyd was a man of unique stature and unwavering character, and though I never heard him say how much he loved you,” he said, pointing around the widespread group, “I know he did – not in word but in deed. He sacrificed more than most and I, for one, am a better man for having known him. He will surely be missed and his leadership never forgotten.”

  Jacob complete
d his remarks and caught the attention of a young woman holding a brass trumpet. “Piper, if you would.” She slowly walked to the gravesite and bringing the instrument to her lips, emotionally and with great care, played taps for the old guard. Eyes were moist and hearts filled with gratitude as the crowd dispersed. Rod, Clark and a few others remained behind to assist in the lowering of the coffin.

  “How do we move forward?” Allison asked, from behind the group of men.

  “What do you mean, Hon?” Rod asked. “We continue to chart the course that’s best for the community.”

  “Who takes Boyd’s place?” she questioned. “Do we elect someone? What happens?”

  “I haven’t even thought that far,” Clark said. “I think we rule by committee, kind of like we’ve been doing.”

  “I’m fine with that,” Rod agreed. “We should meet soon to pass some sort of a resolution and present it to The Ward.”

  “Agreed,” Allison said. “I’ve already heard rumors that people are nervous, thinking Boyd was murdered and there’s a conspiracy in play.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Cory piped in. “Remy confirmed the death was an accident. Look around…who would have wanted Boyd dead?”

  Rod tossed the last shovel of dirt over the site and patted the soil firmly in place. “There’s bound to be some loose talk. You can’t have this many people living together without some conspiracy theories floating about. I say we get together later and let the group know we’re unified and will continue to defend the principles and people of The Ward without skipping a beat.”

  “Great. I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Allison confirmed.

  “Good. Draft something for us to sign and we’ll ratify it this afternoon.”

  Chapter 17

  Weak, hungry, and exhausted, Ben’s family of desperate followers navigated the foothills, using a single bright star as their beacon of hope. Moonlight, cascading down on the troop, offered a pittance of luminance in their blackened sphere. Holding hands, they linked one’s success of survival to the next, each step a collective will to take another…and then another.

  Annie lapsed in and out of consciousness, mumbling nonsensical rhymes and pleading with her father to let her sleep, totally unaware it was Ben, and not her father, who carried her. The reaper surely had his designs on the woman but Ben was determined to see her through.

  The day before they had noted a renewed insurgence of Harvester patrols along Highway 15. Juanita was not one to give up easily, but neither was Ben. He’d convinced them to traverse the mountain range, moving further east through a narrow canyon to the Cache Valley Basin, north of where he anticipated Logan would lie. Now, for the second night, they felt their way along, moving at a snail’s pace due to lack of food and fresh water.

  “Keep a movin’,” someone encouraged, the call moving from mouth to ear down the snake-like column of survivors.

  A thin braid of fabric tugged at Ben’s waist where his wife had lashed him to her. She walked ahead; the tension assuring Lena that Annie and Ben were still mobile and alive. Grim minutes turned to almost impossible hours of torturous steps, where brush and rocks reached out to nip and chew at exposed flesh. Smiles were growing increasingly rare, their mood turning more and more drab, not for lack of determination or spirit, but optimism required energy, of which they had none to spare.

  In the early morning hours, well after the moon had reached and surpassed its zenith, the trail began to ease. Rocky crags were now behind them and the path widened to gentle slopes, angling down to a flattened valley of forgotten farms and homes. Starlight twinkled and reflected off corrugated roofs in the distance, providing just enough imagery for the mind to imagine what must lie ahead.

  From the back of the line Ben called for a moment’s rest. In the cool mountain air, sweat ran from his face, dehydrating and weakening him further. Everyone gathered to catch their breath, finding a smooth rock or flattened bit of earth to stretch out and sleep or massage aching muscles. Ben waited for Lena to help make Annie comfortable. She untied the loop from around his waist and ushered them to a bed of wild grass. He gently placed Annie on the ground and knelt beside her.

  “She’s burning up,” he said, laying his hand across her brow.

  “I don’t know what can be done. We’ve no medications and no water to spare,” Lena whispered.

  Their daughter, Brandi, slipped away from her friends and joined her parents. “What’s up?” she asked. “How’s Annie?”

  “Not good, I’m afraid,” Ben answered. “How you holdin’ up?”

  “I’m super tired, but I’ll be okay. We calling it quits for the night?” Brandi asked.

  Ben looked at Annie and then his wife. “If we move any further, we may lose our cover. I’d hate to get caught in an empty field when the sun comes up. Let’s hang here until we can get a better idea of what’s ahead.”

  “It’s your call. You’ve gotten us this far safely and who knows, maybe we’ve left the Harvesters on the other side of the mountain,” Lena suggested.

  “That’s the hope, but we may find something worse over here,” Ben noted, smugly.

  “Well, that’s just what I wanted to hear,” Brandi said, waving to rejoin the cluster of Normals.

  “Lena, I want you to stay here and do what you can for Annie. I’m going to scout around and see what’s close by. Maybe I can find a water source or something to eat. I’ll try to be back before the sun pops over the ridge.”

  “You be careful.”

  “I will,” he said, kissing her cheek before hustling away. As he passed each individual, he stopped briefly to assess their needs and assure them all was well. He had a way of making everything seem fine in a world of utter chaos. His mother used to joke that he could put a smile on the face of a convicted felon standing on the gallows, with a noose around his neck. He gathered empty water jugs as he went, whispering to all. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back. We’ll be there soon.” He breathed faith and renewed hope to the discouraged and tired.

  Shortly after he vanished into the blackness, Annie’s condition declined, the fever overloading her system and shaking her violently. Lena cradled and held her tight, rocking her gently. “Annie, it’ll be okay. You’re safe. We’ll find you help just as soon as we can.”

  The vulnerable, older woman did not respond, except for a tender, lingering touch of her hand along Lena’s neck. In retrospect, the feelings of anger, initially directed at Annie, racked Lena with guilt and shame. A single, clear tear traced the contour of Lena’s nose and chin, dripping easily to her bare arm. Ben, where are you?

  At sunup, Ben dodged and twisted from one clump of brush to the next, working his way back to his family and friends. His search had taken longer than he’d anticipated but it was not in vain. A shallow, trickle of water, draining from the hillside had called to him, as small stones rolled over one another in their journey to the valley floor. It was not especially clean but it was wet and would bring smiles to many.

  Arriving in the midst of the sleeping group, the tortures of the night were easily visible: red welts and open, bleeding sores were crusted and swollen. Tears filled his eyes as he walked among them, not disturbing, but taking stock of their condition. His own daughter was badly bruised where she must have taken a fall, but there were others much worse off. The thought of Annie and Lena suddenly pushed him through the pack to where he’d left them a few hours before.

  Stepping above the resting band he found the pair over a graceful rise in the terrain. The spread of wild grass was indeed just that: a carpet of greenery, winding between rocks and shrubs, speckled with a beautiful array of wild flowers, in all their varieties. It was breathtaking. He rushed to where Lena held Annie and spoke with great enthusiasm, “I found water, and there’s a small farm not far away. I think we can hold up there and maybe get something to eat.”

  Lena smiled but did not answer. A trail of tears had worn a red path down her face, but she was cried out and had nothing more to give.


  “Annie…Annie,” he called, but there was no response.

  He looked into Lena’s face and knew from her trembling expression the tale of her last few hours. Lena shook her head slowly and mouthed, “She asked for you.”

  Tears welled up in his eyes and his tongue thickened. “Was she in pain?” he asked.

  “She was cold – wanted you to wrap her up.”

  “How long ago did she pass?” he questioned, trying to keep a torrent of tears at bay.

  “Just minutes. She fought but in the end was happy to go – whispered something about Ethan. I think it was her husband.”

  Ben helped ease Annie from Lena’s arms, laying her cooling corpse amongst the flowers. He pulled Lena to his chest and held her tightly. Adversity, stress, and a lasting hunger to endure had welded their lives and fused their souls like never before. They lived because of the sacrifice of one, and they would never forget.

  Suddenly an abrupt, endless scream, followed by another and then a dozen more, reached over the earthen rise and shook the couple from their quiet moment. They rushed toward the group, panicked and scared. Their daughter sat atop a large boulder wailing, with her hand pressed firmly to her calf. Everyone had moved away from the rock, except for the one-eyed man and a parent, who were crushing something on the ground with stones.

  “What’s wrong?” Ben shouted, his voice barely breaking through the cacophony of howls.

  “A snake,” one of The Normals yelled, pointing at the base of the boulder. Another teen ran to Ben, madly screaming Brandi had been bitten.

  “Settle down, settle down,” Raymond squawked, his exposed eye winking proudly. “We got it – darn, no good rattler.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Lena shouted. “A rattlesnake?”

  “Sure ’nough, and a good ’un at that,” Ray gasped, picking up the six-foot-long snake and dangling it for all to see. The grizzled, old coot shifted his head from side-to-side, inspecting the diamondback carefully before tossing it aside.