The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

  “What da ya mean? I thought you had the feeling about Kirk. It’s not gone?”

  “No, it’s worse.” He paused for a minute and then slid down the shallow embankment. “You know what I feel like doin’?” he asked, bringing his voice to a hush.

  Dude looked around before replying. “No. What?”

  “I feel like getting on our bikes and finding the Harvester that killed Kirk.”

  “That’s possibly the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say. You think we should mount up, somehow sneak off campus, and track down a Harvester…and then what? Drag his sorry ass back here?”

  “Exactly! It’s the perfect plan.”

  “What’s the perfect plan? I was joking,” the smaller boy exclaimed.

  “Dude, I can’t explain it…I wish I could, but something…someone is pushing me to look. Maybe we’re the only ones that can find him.”

  “I’m guessing we don’t tell Rod, Clark, Clayton…”

  “I like the way you’re thinkin’. Yeah, we don’t tell anybody. You know full well they won’t let us go if we say anything. They’re so busy dealing with the murder that we should be able to roll on outta here.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Listen, Man, we grab out gear and push our bikes like we’re headed to practice at the stadium. I’m sure we can talk our way through the gate on the east end. Those guys are always half asleep. Once we’re a few blocks away we can fire ’em up and head out.” Boob paused for a moment, shifting his baseball cap’s visor from front to back. “We’ll have to go through the cemetery and avoid the roadblocks. The Harvester would have done the same thing.”

  “And where do you want to be buried when Rod finds out we’re gone?”

  “Ah, very funny. When we come back with Kirk’s killer they’ll be singing a different tune,” Jeff encouraged, gripping Dude’s shoulder in a sign of solidarity. “We can do this. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Last time you said that you nearly shot me. Do you remember? Rabbit hunting last year…your gun discharge…barely missing my head.”

  “Yeah, but this is different. This is something important. I can’t explain why, but I know it is.”

  “Why I go along with your moronic ideas is beyond me, but I’m in,” Dude agreed, placing his hand, palm up, for a hard dealt ‘five’. “What they gonna do to us anyway…throw us in solitary for a month?” The young man issued the statement with a nervous laugh, before they hustled away in search of their guns and motorcycles.

  * * *

  The high-pitched screech of metal-on-metal peaked and ebbed with each rotation of the old bike’s wheels. Ben’s legs screamed for relief: a downhill grade, a strong tailwind, anything that would ease his pain, but the valley’s floor yielded no such assistance – stretching endless and flat. The dirt road had been the worst, grooved and rutted over years of snow and thaw. However, the earth’s surface was not his only nemesis. Lack of food, fatigue, and a blazing sun were wilting his strength and slowing the rescue.

  He’d begun measuring his progress by spotting, and then passing distant landmarks, but now he viewed cracks in the pavement, only yards ahead, and pushed to go…just that far. Sweat rolled over him, the salty solution stinging painfully as it invaded sun-blistered fissures in his exposed dermis. Brandi…for Brandi…can’t stop, he repeated, halting for a moment to refill the bike’s withering tires. It had been some time since he’d seen the ‘Welcome to Utah’ sign. In fact, the farm where he’d left the others must have been just on the border, lying mostly on the Idaho side. Can’t be far…and then he heard it, the hum of a two-cycled engine whining on the wind.

  * * *

  “What exactly are we looking for?” Dude asked.

  The two self-appointed trackers viewed the road heading north out of Smithfield from a rise in the landscape. They’d used the ploy, just as Jeff had suggested, and slipped away from campus without raising a single, questioning brow. They’d ridden through the cemetery, backyards, and foothill trails to arrive beyond what once was a small farming community.

  “I’m not sure. How far do you think we’ve gone?”

  Dude looked over his shoulder, estimating the distance to Logan. “I’d say about five miles, give or take a mile.”

  “I was thinking the same. He’s he somewhere…he’s here. I can feel it,” Jeff said, not necessarily speaking to his friend. “Cut your engine for a sec so I can listen.”

  The boys sat in silence, while pivoting their heads to explore the surrounding ambient noises. Dude was the first to acknowledge what they’d found. “Nothing. I don’t hear a frickin’ thing. You?”

  “Me neither. He’d be on a bike, like us. Don’t you think?”

  Dude rolled his eyes, his enthusiasm for the adventure already wearing thin. “You keep assuming it’s just one guy. What if it’s a dozen of those cutthroats?”

  “In either case, they’re not going to be on foot,” Jeff asserted.

  Dude quickly conceded and replied, “Alright…agreed. They’re or he’s probably motorized.”

  “But he wouldn’t stay in Smithfield. It’s too close for comfort. He’d want to hang out in Preston or someplace beyond our reach.”

  Dude let out a long, deep sigh; hopeful it would draw Boob from the enchantment that held him fixated. “Before you say what you’re going to say, hear me out. We’re a long ways from home, and nobody has a clue we’re here. Right?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So, what if we do run into a pack of Harvesters? We’ve no backup…no help.”

  Jeff tapped the barrel of his rifle that was slung tightly to his back. “We’ve got these. We can take care of ourselves.”

  “Maybe in our dreams. Think for a minute…this has been a fun diversion, a real adventure but it’s time to go home,” Dude pleaded.

  Jeff looked into his gloved hands for what seemed like minutes, weighing their safety and the gnawing need he felt to go on. “You’re right. You head back.”

  “With you, right?”

  “If I’m not back by sundown, let my mom and dad know where I am.”

  “Jeff, are you crazy? I don’t get it. Why risk everything for some strange ‘feeling’. It could get you killed.”

  The bigger of the two smiled and waved for his friend to turn around and head back. “It’s all just part of life’s grand adventure. I’ll see you when I’m satisfied that I’ve done everything I could to find the killer.”

  “On your own?”

  “Yup. On my own.”

  “Like I’m gonna let you go off on your own…give me a break,” Dude said, smiling. The friends roared their bikes back to life, as Dude yelled out, “You get me killed and I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Just a few more miles and then we can turn around. I promise it’ll be okay,” Boob bellowed in reply.

  “Yeah…great. Famous last words if you ask me,” Dude retorted.

  Chapter 24

  Perched atop Old Main, the assassin had a bird’s eye view of the heightened activity below. Things had started to happen shortly after Rod, Clark and Allison concluded their little pow-wow at the site of the killing. His mind instantly conjured a back-story, using lies and well-orchestrated fabrications to cover his tracks. As he watched the security chiefs hustle about, issuing orders, his thoughts turned to the evidence: clothing – disposed, note – ingested, knife – dangling at his side. He pulled the blade from its sheath and inspected it a final time. A stubborn smear of blood remained at the hilt, streaked along the guard. The killer grunted his dissatisfaction while spitting on, and then rubbing the spot clean. Perfect, he thought, sliding the weapon home.

  From his vantage point he watched…waited…and schemed. An hour passed without an intrusion, but shortly thereafter the sound of footsteps echoed up the narrow stairwell leading to the nest. Here they come, he thought, as he touched the pistol opposite the sheathed knife.

  “Who goes there?” he shouted, just as the trapdoor near his feet opened.
/>   “Clark. Stand down.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Clark climbed the last few feet and flipped the door closed behind him. The sentry on duty appeared alert but tired. “You keeping an eye on things?” he questioned, his tone direct.

  “Trying to, Sir. There’s quite a ruckus going on down there. What can I do to help?” the killer offered.

  Clark leaned against the rail and looked the sentry over; hoping something of interest would jump out at him. “You up here when Kirk was killed?”

  “No, Sir. Got here a few minutes later…you know, after the shot was fired.”

  “You can cut out the ‘Sir’ crap. Colonel Bubley went for that but doesn’t mean much to me.”

  “Alright, Sir…I mean…Clark. Thanks.”

  “So you heard the shot and came dashing up here? That about it?”

  “In a nutshell. I was asleep…wasn’t supposed to be on duty until first light, but when I heard the rifle I got over here as quick as I could – thought the other guard could use some help,” he lied.

  Clark nodded his understanding and continued. “Who was up here when you arrived?”

  “Dean. When the sun came up he went off to find some breakfast. I haven’t seen him since…must be around though.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Clark agreed. “I’ll track him down. Was he able to see anything? What did he say?” The sentry paused and swallowed deeply, but it was his quick glance skyward that caught Clark’s attention, putting his muscles on edge.

  “He didn’t say much – heard the blast but missed the muzzle flash. It’s dark enough down that street and the angle makes it a bit hard to see.”

  “Could you see us when we were there a few minutes ago?”

  “Yes, Sir…uh, yeah…much easier with the sun up.”

  “Dean will confirm when you arrived, I’m assuming?” Clark questioned.

  “You bet – don’t know if he looked at his watch but it was shortly after Kirk was found.”

  Clark rubbed his chin, thinking and looking at the thick blade draped tightly against the sentry’s thigh. “That’s quite a knife,” he said, nodding at the weapon.

  “It is that. I don’t go anywhere without it – helps me sleep at night,” the guard replied, touching the handle with his palm.

  “Do you mind?” Clark asked, motioning for the sentry to remove and hand it to him.

  “No, not at all. I’d recommend you keep one like it close. You never know,” he whispered, pulling the thick, weighted cutter from its casing.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Clark replied, while taking the knife in hand. “Boy, this baby’s got some heft to it.”

  “And it’s sharp – mind yourself.”

  “Indeed,” Clark said, passing his thumb against the blade’s edge. He inspected the hardened steel carefully but found nothing unusual – most of the sentries carried a machete, bayonet, or similar. “Here ya go. You can put it away.” The knife passed between the men; with Clark taking note how easily the sentry flipped it around, sheathing it from view.

  “Thanks. I wish I could help. There’s not been much to see or report since I got here.”

  “When’d you last see or talk to Kirk?” Clark asked, his eyes traversing a lengthy scar that began at the guard’s wrist and ran to his elbow. Its raised, white tissue was linear…almost surgical, Clark thought, as he considered how it had been received.

  “I hung out with him for a few minutes yesterday. I don’t have many friends…he was a good guy.”

  “He say anything out of the ordinary…anything that would make you believe he was onto something?”

  “Nope…not a word.”

  “Well, if you think of anything let me know.”

  “You know I will. I’ll keep a sharp eye and report anything unusual,” Juanita’s mole said, trying to maintain his composure. “Clark, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “You and Rod thinkin’ this was an inside job?”

  “That obvious?”

  “Well, I’d expect troops flooding the streets if you thought it was an outsider.”

  “Let’s just say, we’re ruling out ‘friends’ before we move on,” Clark replied.

  “Makes sense. I’d do the same. Good luck.”

  * * *

  While Clark sought the most plausible suspects throughout Old Main, Rod deployed teams to housing units and the library. He reserved the sentry posts for himself, wanting a clear picture of who may have gone in or out during the night. Midmorning, Allison excused herself and began to round up The Normals. Godfrey had previously scheduled testing to begin anew among the select group. Rather than call it off, Allison saw it as an opportunity to keep the teens out of harm’s way.

  One-by-one she found and directed the youth to Godfrey’s ‘lair’ for the work to begin. However, The Normals weren’t thrilled, but still cooperative. After an hour of searching she was down to two names – Jeff and Dude. Allison anticipated finding them at their putting range but footprints, cut into the clay-like soil, were all that remained of the boys. Normally a pretty tolerant parent, but taking into account the kid’s history, Allison’s anxiety quickly turned to anger. Not today…you two…not today. Rushing away from the golf course, she screamed their names in vain. At The Quad, Clayton, who had heard the desperate call for help, joined her.

  “Allison, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “They’re gone. The boys are gone. I can’t find them.”

  “They’ve got to be here somewhere…just calm down. We’ll find ’em,” Clayton assured her. He was about to send her off in one direction, and he to another, when they saw Rod charging toward them.

  While he was still a ways off, his petitions could be heard, “Allison, have you seen Jeff…Dude?”

  By the time he arrived, Allison’s heart was rising and falling against her chest with the intensity of a sledgehammer. “I’ve not found them. What’s wrong? Where are they?”

  Rod sensed the overwrought tone and tension of his wife’s voice and attempted to settle her down before answering, but she was having none of it.

  “You know something! Spit it out,” she yelled, holding nothing back.

  “They’re gone…”

  Allison cut him off before he could explain further. “Gone? Gone? Where? Who’s with them?” She paused only briefly before assigning a guilty party. “Cory. Cory’s with them, right?”

  “Afraid not. I believe they’re on their own. Sentries said they left some time ago for the stadium. I’ve just checked…they aren’t there.”

  “So where? Where are they?” she asked, tears coming easily to her eyes.

  “I wish I knew, but knowing Boob, they’re wanting to help catch the Harvester that killed Kirk,” Rod explained.

  “But you don’t think it was a Harvester. I’m confused.”

  “I know, but Jeff was on about something last night before bed and I brushed him off. I think he believes he had a premonition and is feeling guilty about not stopping the murder.”

  “How does that make sense?” she cried.

  “It doesn’t, at least to you or me, but to a teenager’s mind it might.”

  “I’d agree,” Clayton said. “It sounds just like something Cory and I would have done a dozen years ago. Listen, you’ve got your hands full here. I’ll take Scotty and Niel…we’ll find ’em.”

  Allison wrapped Clayton in a quick, unexpected hug and then pushed him away. “What are you waiting for? Get out there and find my boy!”

  Chapter 25

  From an overgrown borrow pit, at the side of the weathered road, Ben watched anxiously – the rapid Thump Thump Thump of a vibrating motor edging ever closer to his hiding place. He shifted amongst the weeds, pushing and flattening himself to the earth. Peering between ragged, thistle-covered leaves and stems, he whispered, “Not Harvesters, dear God, not Harvesters.”

  For a moment, time stood still. Ben thought of Brandi and the others, wonder
ing if the next few minutes would prove their salvation or demise. A weapon – I need a weapon. Nearly panicked, he looked about and picked up a palm-sized rock. Useless! he judged, but still held it tight, rubbing his thumb over its rough surface. Half a mile; maybe more. Exhausted and brimming with a rising dread, Ben could no longer control his breathing or muscles. He sucked wind and dust into his lungs but fought the urge to cough. Tremors rolled along nutritionally starved muscle groups, twitching fibers involuntarily from his neck to buttocks. Get a grip, Ben. They’re here!

  Rumbling atop the roadway, the first biker cruised by Ben’s position, and then a second did the same. Neither rider slowed as their eyes swung right and left…searching. Who? Ben thought, catching only a brief glimpse of their attire and weaponry as they rolled by. He considered jumping up and waving his arms in surrender, hoping the men were friendly, but he did not move. Frozen with fear, he listened – a third intruder’s vehicle approached. The roar of the motorcycle engines had previously masked its clatter; Ben watched as four tires crunched and spit rocks in the wake of a dark, unidentified pickup.

  I have to know – Ben thrust his hand, still clutching the rock, to part the vegetation. For an instant, a clear view presented the vehicle for his inspection. An armed, unrecognizable man leaned from the side window, his face filthy and tired. As the black truck drove by, the passenger suddenly spat from the open window. Reflexively, Ben jerked and dropped his head, but not before a crudely painted sickle caught his eye…nearly stopping his heart – Harvesters!

  * * *

  “What’s wrong?” Dude shouted. He’d brought his bike to an abrupt stop, nearly laying it down to avoid colliding with Jeff.

  “That,” Boob said, pointing a mile down the road at two approaching motorcycles and a jacked-up truck. “Gotta be Harvesters.”

  “Then let’s get outta here!” Dude pleaded. He righted his Yamaha and turned to leave, when he heard a defiant reply.

  “No, they’re looking for something. We need to find out what,” Jeff said, bailing from his bike and placing it low to the ground. Dude shook his head, but did the same with his bike, before crawling up a gentle rise where they’d be obscured from the road. Clearing the crest, Jeff slipped the rifle from his back and brought binoculars to his eyes. “Four of ’em…two on bikes and two in the truck.”