The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

Vastly outnumbered and bartering from a place of weakness, the leader of the Guardsmen had not been adequately humble, at least not to Juanita’s liking. He’d initially asked for women, rations and a free pass across the state. She’d said no. He’d then asked for a leadership position, retaining control of the Bradley – she’d said no. As a final plea, he’d begged for his life: quaking on bended knee, just as humble and sincere as any man Lady Williams had seen. She considered his request, not for long mind you, but long enough to solidify a response that would teach his watching men a hard, life lesson.

  “Mercy?” she’d asked, lifting his chin to stare into his tearing eyes.

  “Yes…yes, mercy. We can help. We’ll join up – won’t we fellas,” he’d cried, swiveling his face away from her touch to see his men avoiding his gaze. “Try us – you’ll see.”

  One of Williams’ subordinates couldn’t contain himself and shouted anonymously from the crowd of onlookers, “Oh, we’ll try you alright – with salt and pepper and plenty of catsup.” The remark had sent a ripple of laughter through Juanita’s people, and had even lifted the corner of her mouth in a devilish grin, but for the pleading gentleman it had a remarkably different effect. He suddenly grimaced and looked at the ground between his gapped knees, expecting the area to soon be inundated with the contents of his bowels. More howls vaulted skyward, spreading a definite smile across Juanita’s lips, but it did not remain for long. The perceived childish display of fear, though amusing to some, angered the hardhearted woman and she placed the muzzle of her revolver against the man’s forehead.

  “You’ll join up?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “All of you?”

  “Yes. Won’t we boys?”

  “You’ll be loyal?” she questioned, looking from one ragtag newcomer to the next. She waited for each to nod in the affirmative, before pressing the issue further.

  She’d pulled the pistol away from the man’s head and he sighed deeply. Lady Williams had noted the relief but ignored the man, turning her attention to his troops. She’d walked slowly, pacing herself before them – sizing them up, before she completed the negotiations for the BFV. “Because…if you’re not,” she said, spinning around to drop on one knee, “this is what you’ll get.” She deftly raised the pistol in a classic shooting stance and fired a single, .38-caliber slug at the soiled man. He’d had no time to dodge or react, the bullet striking him just above the temple and killing him instantly. The incident was forever blood-spattered across Juanita’s memory and tucked into a drawer of her fondest recollections.

  The Guardsmen had indeed turned out to be faithful followers: doing her bidding and looking after the Bradley. They’d never really had to use the armored beast but Smitty kept it in proper running condition. The 25mm cannon had not been fired in years – ammunition was a cherished commodity – but they ran the engine every few weeks to keep the inner workings lubricated and cycled a few rounds through the machine gun, more for fun than anything else. However, word had come down that they’d soon be taking full advantage of the vehicle’s capabilities and Smitty didn’t want to get caught unprepared.

  “Run ’er up a few more rpm’s and hold it there,” the mechanic shouted, above the dull roar of the engine. “That’s good! Hey, you guys,” he bellowed, pointing at a pair of middle aged men who were busy lubricating the ‘tank’s’ tracks. “Get those doors open. I want to see how she does.” A minute later, a pair of large, aluminum doors swung wide, allowing the sun’s bright rays to fill the hangar.

  Inside the vehicle a three-man crew waited for the go-ahead to clear the building. The driver, Bruce, rubbed a stiff, carpet-like beard that began just below his eyes and disappeared into the top of his stained t-shirt. “Smitty, it’s hot in here,” he yelled. “Come on, let’s get on with it.”

  “Okay, take her twice around the park and then back. I want to check the seals,” Smitty yelled.

  “How fast?” the driver questioned, again lifting his voice above the drone of the churning motor.

  “No faster than 30 for now. It’ll do more but I don’t want to push her.”

  “Gotcha! Okay, boys, let’s roll ’er out nice and easy.” Bruce maneuvered the 30-ton Bradley slowly to the hangar’s entrance and into the sunlight. “Hang on,” he commanded, before hammering the accelerator to the floor and propelling the behemoth down a badly worn stretch of pavement.

  “Damn it, Bruce! What did I say?” Smitty screamed, as he chased the armored vehicle a few yards down the road. He stopped, threw an oil-stained rag to the ground and cussed at the accelerating giant. “No respect…that’s it. No respect for me or the vehicle,” he snarled, on his way back to the building’s broad opening. “Take it easy out there, you idiots,” he growled, knowing full well there was no way they could hear him.

  The BFV did a couple of quick laps around a designated testing ground, swiveling the turret and elevating the cannon for good measure. She looks good, Smitty thought, pleased his meticulous care had paid off. He waved the crew to wind it down and bring her back for a quick inspection before calling it quits. Just then, a trail of dust announced the arrival of Lady Williams’ hopped-up El-Camino. The racing half-truck broadsided to a stop, nearly mowing over a couple of sentries in the process.

  “Whooeeee, that was some ride,” Finn said, as he extricated himself from the passenger door.

  “What can I say? I’m in a good mood,” Juanita gushed. She spun the car’s ignition and climbed out. She was clothed in her usual coveralls, but there was something different about her…she somehow looked more feminine. Finn had noticed it right away, but it had taken him a few miles to discover the subtle application of makeup that was highlighting her eyes and cheeks. She really was in a good mood this morning. “Smitty, how’s it lookin’? We ready for action?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s running like a top. Just had the boys run her a bit and I was gonna double check the seals.”

  “That’s fine…just fine. You get on with what you need to do. Finn?”

  “Yup,” Finn acknowledged.

  Juanita took in the Bradley; its brute size and shear power reminding her of the solidly built Harvester. She smiled as a lewd image formed, and then lingered in her aberrant imagination. Williams reached out and stroked the vehicle’s cold surface, which rippled a sensual shiver from her shoulder blades to core. It took another call from Finn to retrieve her from the mid-day fantasy.

  “Yes. Oh, right. Where was I?” She paused for a second, shifting gears to something more urgent and sinister, but no less pleasurable. “The scouts – have you heard anything?”

  Finn lumbered the few steps to join Lady Williams, grinning at the obvious flush in her cheeks. “Scouts are on it. They’re riding every highway, blacktop, and trail for 20 miles – so far, they’ve spotted nothing.”

  “Keep at it. Annie must be found…we can’t have her warning The Ward.”

  “That’s the plan,” Finn confirmed. “Anything else?”

  “There is. How much ammo have we got?” Juanita asked, patting the BFV.

  The broad-chested Harvester thought for a moment and replied, “Enough.”

  “That’s not what I asked. I want to know exactly how many rounds we have for both the cannon and the machine gun. If you don’t know…find out.”

  “Alright, I’ll get somebody on it. Can I ask why?” Finn inquired.

  “You may,” she replied, minus her usual dismissive tone.

  “Well?”

  “I just want to make sure we’ve got enough to break their perimeter and get to the campus. They won’t be expecting anything like this.”

  “You can say that again,” Finn said, smiling. “This is going to be one rude awakening.”

  Lady Williams returned his smile and walked into the hangar. Inside, she greeted Bruce and the other two men exiting the Bradley. “How’s it handle?” she asked the bearded driver.

  “Responds to my touch better than my woman ever did,” he answered, lau
ghing and elbowing the gunner.

  “No doubt,” Juanita replied, feeling sorry for the man’s companion. “Will we have any trouble getting it to Logan?”

  “Oh, we won’t drive her that far. We’ve got a rig that’ll haul it as far as we need to and then drop it off. Blasted thing goes through diesel like a babe sucking a teat but we’ll get her there,” Bruce confirmed.

  “You better,” Williams grunted. “For your sake, you better.”

  “Is there anything else?” the driver asked, feeling his presence was no longer needed or wanted.

  “Nope, that’s all. Just be ready at a moment’s notice. You’ll be the spearhead of this assault so don’t disappoint me.”

  “We got you covered. She’ll dish out more firepower than you can imagine,” Bruce noted.

  “Fantastic!” Finn interjected, enthusiastically. “Listen, guys, I could use your help. How ’bout you count up the exact amount of ammo we’ve got? I want…we want to know where we stand,” he said, nodding at Juanita.

  “Sure we can do that,” the skinny gunner replied. “Shouldn’t take us too long. I know there’s lots for the 7.62 but the cannon is limited.”

  Juanita strolled around the massive, armored beast, with Finn close at her heels. “Will they have anything that can stop it?”

  “I don’t know,” Finn replied, shrugging his thick shoulders. “Smitty, what would it take to neutralize this baby?”

  The mechanic finished what he was doing at the rear of the Bradley and joined the pair. “What was that?” he asked.

  “Will The Ward have anything that’ll stop her,” Juanita said, reaching out and rubbing the cold, thick-platted metal on the vehicles right side.

  “Not unless they’ve got RPG’s or a howitzer. I’m assuming you’ve got intel to the contrary.”

  “Yeah, nothing like that. Small arms…maybe a .30-cal machine gun but that’s all. Our source reports possible grenades but that’s about it.”

  Smitty ran a greasy hand through his hair, darkening the strands as he completed a single pass. “Grenades? I’m no expert but I don’t think they’ll penetrate. This armor’s pretty thick,” he said, smacking his hand flat against an armored plate.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear. Keep it gassed up and ready to roll. I’ll brief you in plenty of time before you’re needed.”

  “Sounds good,” Smitty replied.

  “Finn, six of my boys will ride along with Bruce and the others. Once they make contact and take out the first checkpoint, the rest of our troops, except for your Harvesters, will approach the campus.”

  “Great, and you?”

  “I’ll lead the group against Old Main, but we’ll wait on the Bradley. I’m sending it to wipe out the other two security posts so we don’t have anybody sneaking up on us from behind. We’ll get in position and sit tight, but I want you already there.”

  “Where? How?”

  “My man’s taking care of that. He’ll create enough of a diversion so your Harvesters can move through the cemetery, north of the campus, and infiltrate their lines.”

  “We killing everybody?” he asked, coldly.

  “Not necessarily. There will be those who prove useful and The Normals must be taken alive. There can be no equivocation about The Normals. Is that clear?”

  “Yeah.”

  Juanita poked him in the chest, pushing her point. “I mean it, Finn. I don’t want any cowboy stunts. Will they follow orders or won’t they?”

  “Sure they will.”

  “They better. That’s why Gerry’s gone and you’re here.”

  “When do we move?” Finn asked.

  “Next week.”

  “No, I mean once we’re in the cemetery…when do you want us to attack?”

  “Oh, sorry. When we start firing on their main fortification. I’m thinkin’ they’ll shift all their units to cover the hill and that’s when you’ll strike. I want you painted up and lookin’ scary as hell. You sweep in behind them and do what you do best.”

  “We can do that.”

  “I know you can,” she said, squeezing his upper arm suggestively.

  Chapter 23

  The hopeful, euphoric shouts that had filled the farmhouse only minutes before were suddenly quelled when the snake kit was opened. A pair of dried up alcohol swabs slipped free from the packaging and floated to the dust-covered floor, followed by a yellowing instruction sheet. Ben dumped the balance of the contents into Lena’s waiting hands.

  “Where is it? Where is it?” he cried, a renewed desperation filling his lungs.

  “Where’s what? What were you expecting?” Lena questioned in reply.

  Ben looked into the empty container, believing…hoping he had not seen the last. “The anti-venom. There’s no anti-venom.”

  “But what’s this?” Lena asked, pointing at what appeared to be a syringe.

  “That’s the extractor. It’ll be useless. It’s been too long.” Ben uttered the sentences back-to-back without taking a breath. The urgency of his daughter’s situation and an overwhelming helplessness suddenly descended upon him, dropping the father to his knees.

  Brandi, who had been silent for fear of upsetting her parents further, slid from the couch and wrapped her arms around Ben. “You tried, Dad. I know you tried.” Hearing his daughter’s voice, bridled with unmistakable defeat, brought tears to Ben’s eyes, but renewed strength to his limbs.

  “Lena, clean her up. Use the extractor – just follow the directions – probably won’t help, but won’t hurt either. I’m headed south. I’ve got to get to Logan. If what Annie said is true, there’ll be somebody there that can help,” Ben instructed, while helping Brandi lie back on the couch.

  “We’ll go with you. I don’t like the idea of being separated,” Lena shot back.

  “You’ll only slow me down. I think we’re close; may only be a few miles.”

  “So what do we do while you’re gone?”

  Ben stood and kissed her forehead. “Keep her quiet…calm. If she’ll sleep that would help.”

  A man’s thick, grumbling voice called Ben’s name from the room’s shadows. “You want me to come along?”

  Ben turned to address the finder of the bite kit. “Nope. You better stay here and hold down the fort. Search the area and find these folks some food. I’d bet there’s a root cellar or food locker on the property.”

  “I can do that,” Ray replied, giving Ben thumbs up.

  “Okay, I’m outta here. I’ll be…”

  A burst of activity suddenly erupted from the back of the house, capturing everyone’s attention. The woman, who had done a cursory search of the outlying buildings, dodged and weaved her way toward them, yelling as she did. “Ben, Ben, Ben…there’s a bike. In the barn…I saw a bike. It’s up in the rafters, over a couple of beams.”

  Minutes later, Ben and Ray lowered the Schwinn to the ground and inspected it for use. “Tires are flat…probably ain’t any good,” Ray surmised.

  “It’ll still be faster than walkin’,” Ben quipped. He pulled a handheld pump from below the seat and attempted to inflate the bike’s inner tubes. Pressing his thumb against the aging rubber, a tension built until he was satisfied with the result. “They may not hold long,” he said, taking note of the cracking, white sidewalls of the decaying tires.”

  “Then you best be on your way,” Ray said, slapping Ben on the back.

  The forlorn little band of survivors joined the pair at the front of the house, anxious to wish Ben well.

  “I’ll be quick…if I can still remember how to ride one of these,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “Be careful…please, be careful,” Lena pleaded.

  “You know I will. Ray, if I’m not back…”

  “Hold it there, feller. You’ll be comin’ back…just leave it at that.”

  “Okay,” Ben said, the old timer’s confidence somehow bolstering his own.

  “Is there anything else we should be doing?” Lena called, as Ben
pushed off to take his first couple of uneasy cycles of the bike’s axel. The metal ground and squeaked but still managed to propel him forward. He half-turned and called over his shoulder, nearly crashing in the process, “Pray…you can pray!”

  * * *

  Several miles away, against a backdrop of earthen fairways and crudely made obstacles, Jeff and Dude talked of Kirk’s death, formulating and hypothesizing, but Sherlock and Watson they were not. The friends had grown tired of working on the course; their hearts were now turned beyond fun and games to more pressing matters of life and death.

  “I knew this was coming,” Jeff said to his friend, as they sat atop a rounded pile of dirt.

  Somewhat surprised, Dude replied, “How could you have known Kirk was going to be murdered? That’s impossible.”

  “Not Kirk specifically…just something bad. I told my dad last night, before bed, that I could feel it.”

  “Bull,” Dude blurted out, believing Jeff to be pulling his leg.

  “I’m not kidding, you jerk.”

  “Sorry, thought you were playing with me.”

  Boob shifted his feet and threw a rock between his outstretched boots, striking a wooden block at the bottom of the hill. “That’s okay,” he replied, “My dad doesn’t believe me either.”

  “Why? What’d he say?” Dude asked, throwing his own rock and narrowly missing the wooden target.

  “He was upset…not at me, mind you, but just mad at the way things happened last night. I told him we wanted to help and he…”

  “Hold on. We? Who’s we?” Dude asked.

  “Me and you. Who else? I told him we could help out.”

  “By doing what? We’re not exactly detectives.”

  “Yeah, well, he just wants us to stay out of the way.” The frown on Jeff’s face told more of the exchange, prompting Dude to change the subject.

  “That doesn’t sound much like your dad. He must be stressed out.”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re all stressed out,” Boob replied. I thought workin’ on the course would take my mind off this nagging feeling I’ve had, but I just can’t shake it.”