The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

  “You ready to visit yer boy?” Grant asked, knowing Rose was nervous about making a trip to the campus. She looked at the ground but did not speak. “Jeff will be anxious to see ya and there’s likely others you may remember.” The suggestion brought forth no immediate response or hint of recollection, but he persisted. “You ’member Rod, right?”

  “Farrell and Elva,” she said, with a sudden smile filling her face.

  “Yeah, Farrell’s brother Rod – he’s the one takin’ care a Jeffery.”

  “Boo Boo,” she answered, the grin extending.

  “Yup, you’re right. Boob…we’re going to see Boo Boo.”

  The mention and memory of their recent visit further encouraged Rose to make the trip. It would be her first time away from Hyrum since Grant had found her so many years before. He’d questioned the impact such a reunion would stir within the aging woman, but prayed it would somehow do her good. He wrapped her in his strong, but weathered arms, and hugged her tightly. “It’ll be okay, Old Girl…it’ll be just fine.”

  She squeezed him back and whispered, “My boy? We see my boy?”

  Grant replied in the affirmative, not understanding that Rose, for all her loss with reality, was thinking that her own son awaited – still a small lad in need of his mother. That image – that dream had never vanished from her withering mind.

  “Come on then, get aboard. We better make hay…” A sudden change in ambient sounds hushed the old guy and he bent a listening ear to the wind. “You hear that?” he questioned, not expecting any kind of a reply from Rose. He looked at the sky to the north and grimaced. “No clouds,” he mused. A second later he heard it again – thunder, not rolling, but Pop Pop Pop, like muffled firecrackers exploding in a mailbox, a sound he remembered well from his youth.

  “Hold up ’ere, Rose. We might be in for more than a friendly visit. Get in the truck whilst I git me some gear.”

  A minute later, he emerged from the church, a shotgun in one hand and an assault rifle in the other. A pistol slapped at his hip as a bandoleer bounced noisily against his chest. Grant never was one to look for trouble but if trouble came a calling, he liked to be prepared.

  Chapter 27

  “What do you mean, they’re on their way with a truckload of guests?” Allison asked, pointedly. The hour prior to Clayton’s welcomed call on the CB radio, the anxious mother had been in a dither, pacing and demanding action from anyone who would listen. Rod and Cory were about to ride to the rescue when the transmission had come. The boys were safe…at least that’s what they wanted Allison to hear. There was no need for her to fret over Boob’s injury…not yet.

  Rod shifted his uneasy gaze from Cory to Allison, as he replied, “I’m not exactly sure but it sounds like they’ve found some people who’ve been trying to get to us for days. It seems they escaped from that nut job up north…Juanita…”

  “Juanita Williams? Those poor people.” She paused briefly, before hitting Rod with a series of unanswerable questions.

  “Whoa…hold on, you know as much as I do. He says Jeff and Dude are fine. I trust he means it.”

  “But…” she tried to squeeze another question between his words of assurance.

  “The boys got into a bit of a jam, and long-story-short, a group of people will be safe tonight because of their experience,” Rod said, hoping to end the discussion.

  “What about them taking responsibility for not listening to us?” Allison questioned.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. They’re going to be scrubbing toilets and doing dishes for weeks but at least there was a positive outcome.”

  “Good. I just don’t think we should let them off the hook.”

  A growing crowd was meandering around The Quad, waiting the arrival of the unexpected newcomers, when Egan jogged down the steps of Old Main and rushed to Rod. “Rod, couple of things.”

  “What is it?” Jenson asked.

  “It seems we’ve got two trucks inbound. Clayton’s group, with the survivors and boys, have passed the northern security gate and…”

  “And what?”

  “I’m not sure I got this – it was poorly transmitted – but I think some old couple is bringing a load of supplies from the south. Does that sound possible?”

  A wry grin parted Rod’s lips and he swept Allison into his arms. “That’d be Grant and Rose. I told you they’d come.”

  “They’re expected then?” Egan asked.

  “Yes, absolutely – they’re friends. Make sure they get through security without any delay.”

  “Yes, Sir. One last thing for the doctor – Clayton says they’ve got a snakebite victim and will need immediate treatment.”

  “Thanks, Egan. I’ll pass that along and we’ll take care of it. Stay with the radio and keep us posted if anything further comes in.”

  “Will do,” he responded, turning to run back to his post.

  Rod started to address Cory, knowing his long legs would cover the ground quicker than his own, but his slender friend was already running to fetch Remy Reynolds. “I’ll get him,” Cory confirmed, dashing away.

  “Thinks he can read my mind,” Rod said to Allison.

  “Rod…we can all read your mind,” she said, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be needed in sickbay – see you there in a few minutes. Tell Jeff I’m glad he’s safe and…”

  “Yeah, I know, you’ll thrash him later.”

  She rolled her eyes, considering what he’d said and replied, “Not exactly what I was going to say, but it’s close enough. Love you.”

  “You too,” Rod replied, reaching out to smack her backside as she hustled away.

  The mood over the campus had changed considerably in the past few minutes. Knowing the young men were safe and some lucky survivors would be joining them could not help but lighten a load of unimaginable stress for nearly everyone…but one.

  “Stupid, little punks,” Kirk’s killer growled. He stood just inside an inner room overlooking the jubilant crowd. Normals sicken me, he thought, as he watched Holly and her friends high-fiving each other. She may want them unharmed but accidents happen. He considered the idea for scant seconds, the thought giving rise to a sadistic twinge of pleasure below his belt. Suddenly, his name being bellowed down the hallway dragged him from his voyeuristic pursuit and he spun to leave, casting a final look at Rod – just one of a dozen he hoped to put under his knife in the coming days.

  * * *

  “I’ve not seen the campus this alive in months,” Clark assessed, standing near the library where he was overseeing Ben’s group. The words seemed to fall on deaf ears, with everyone’s energy focused on the newcomers and filling their bellies. They’d been given a quick meal of freeze-dried milk and soup. It wasn’t much, but for the starving it was manna from on high.

  A short distance away, Ben and his wife nervously paced outside the infirmary’s doors. Brandi had been whisked into Remy’s makeshift, surgical suite as soon as they’d arrived. Nearly an hour passed before they’d received word that she would survive – minus some muscle mass and possible nerve damage.

  Clark sidled over to the couple, extended his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Clark. Glad you folks made it safely.”

  “Thanks. I’m Ben and this is my wife, Lena. We appreciate the kindness,” Ben replied.

  Lena joined in, offering her hand and expressing her gratitude. “We surely do. Don’t know what we’d have done if your boys hadn’t found my Ben.”

  “Yeah, it’s funny how things work out sometimes – pretty lucky day for everybody concerned. I hear one of The Normals got bit by a rattler.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s correct. Our daughter, as a matter of fact – Brandi,” Lena said, confirming the rumor.

  “Damn – she gonna be okay?” Clark asked.

  Unexpectedly, the nearby doors swung open, drawing Ben’s attention away from Clark. Jeff, bandaged from chin to ear, hustled past the waiting parents to join Dude and his friends in the afternoon sun. Ben turned his
attention back toward Clark and answered, “Your doctor seems to think so. She’s been in there a long time but I guess he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Don’t worry about that – Remy’s the best.”

  “You have more than one doctor?” Lena asked, somewhat surprised.

  “Nope, but if we had a dozen he’s still be the best. She’s in good hands. Did you get something to eat?”

  “No. There’s been no time. I can’t even think of eating until I know Brandi is taken care of,” Lena said, shuffling a few steps closer to the building.

  “Come on, both of you, you won’t be any help to Brandi if you don’t take care of yourselves. Grab a bowl of soup and some milk, and then worry.” The couple began to shake their heads but Clark was not taking no for an answer. He corralled the pair in his strong arms and practically carried them to where the others were still eating.

  A hundred yards away Grant was supervising the off-loading of the goods from his truck. A crew of much younger men and women were hefting the packaged items down a narrow stairwell and into a cooler storage facility in the Hub’s basement. Rose had not left the safety of the cab; the sense of exhilaration in the air was a bit more than she’d expected. Grant had watched her grandson exit a building across the grassy expanse, paying special attention to the wide bandage at his jawline. When the work was nearly done, he left Cory in charge and sought out Jeff and Dude.

  Approaching the pair, whose backs were to him, he shouted loud enough for most everyone to hear. “Hey there, young fellers, looks like ya learnt yerselves a lesson the hard way.” The boys, who were oblivious to Grant’s prior arrival, had spent their time, since returning, enduring backslaps and slap-downs. The voice startled the two, knowing they’d heard it before but unsure where, until they turned to see the smiling old-timer.

  “Grant, I didn’t know you were here,” Jeff called, running to close the distance. They embraced before the heckling began.

  “What you got yerself there?” Grant asked, poking his finger firmly against Boob’s bandaged chin.

  “Ouch! Holy crap Pedoochie, that hurts.”

  “Well, you should watch what yer doin’ and ya wouldn’t git hurt.”

  Dude rose to Jeff’s defense, not wholly appreciating that they should get ribbed for nearly getting killed. “He got shot!”

  “Shot?” Grant stammered in surprise. “And you too?” he asked Dude. “Looks like a hornet’s nest got dropped on yer face. How’d ’at happen?”

  The pair of battle-scarred youth smiled and touched at their bandaged wounds. “It’s a long story…” Jeff began.

  “It’s a long, GREAT story,” Dude jumped in to say. “We went looking for this guy that killed Kirk and we…” The boy continued for minutes, excitedly telling the harrowing tale of their exploit and the return of Ben and his followers.

  “Well, I’ll be – ’at’s quite a yarn,” Grant noted, still unsure just how much he believed.

  “All true, Grant. I’ve got 20 stitches to prove it,” Jeff concurred, wincing slightly, as Grant pretended to poke his lesion again.

  “Sounds like ya did good, boys. One thing’s fer certain…”

  The friends waited for Grant to finish, and when they could tell nothing further was coming they said in unison, “What’s that?”

  “Boob’s no longer gonna be the handsomest prince at the ball,” Grant muttered.

  “He never was,” Dude said sharply, before Jeff had a chance to voice his opinion.

  “Oh, that’s rich. Real funny you two, and if you’re done making fun of me I’d like to see my grandma. Where is she?” Jeff asked.

  Grant pointed toward the pickup and waved, hoping Rose was watching and would join them. She was not. “She’s kinda uptight. Go give ’er a hug – it’ll make ’er day.” The prediction was prophetic, as Jeff’s hug did brighten Rose’s afternoon and put a lasting smile on her lips.

  “He’s good for her,” Grant said to Dude, who was watching from a distance.

  “He’s good for all of us,” Dude said, catching Grant off guard.

  “How’s ’at? He more than just yer friend?”

  “You could say that. Story goes that he’s ‘chosen’ – special. I didn’t know how much I even believed it until today. We’ve grown up being best friends and I’ve seen him do some stupid stuff…well, that’s not entirely true. I’m as much to blame for the stupid stuff as he is, but he sees things…knows things.”

  “He’s special – ’at what yer sayin’?”

  “I guess. If it weren’t for his notions and willingness to follow hunches those people over there would probably be dead.” Dude finished his comment by pointing across The Quad to Ben’s company.

  Grant held the thought and pondered it for a moment before Rod teasingly elbowed him in the ribs. “Thanks for the supplies. I wish there was more time to talk – we’ve had a hectic day.”

  “It sounds like it. Dude was just fillin’ me in. Yer boy took a nasty wound to the face.”

  “Yeah, he sure did, but it could have been worse – could have been right between his eyes.”

  “I reckon he’s learnt a powerful lesson – one that may save him an’ others in years to come,” Grant said, thoughtfully.

  “That’s the hope,” Rod agreed. “Listen, Dude, show Grant and Rose around and I’ll catch up in a minute. Clayton, Niel and Scotty just got back with your bikes and I want to help them unload.”

  “Sweet. Thanks Rod…and thanks for looking out for us today. If Clayton would’ve been a minute or two later we’d have been toast.”

  Chapter 28

  “Loyalty,” he whispered, the word slowly slithering off his tongue to caress his troubled soul. Sitting at a small table, pushed tight against a window frame, he looked into the pitch of night and pondered. In his right hand he unconsciously thumbed the knife he’d used to slit Kirk’s throat. The handle knew his touch, marrying his fingers when squeezed firmly, and thus solidifying their union. As the hour of his betrayal grew nigh, he thought himself a Judas on one hand and Savior on the other.

  His people, who were they? A year ago, he’d known without hesitation, but now…the question plagued him with doubt and second thoughts. To turn back or to defy Lady Williams would be far worse than death. He was no stranger to her fits of rage or the sting of her brutality. Even yesterday, he had been committed to the plan, fixating on the gentle resistance his blade would encounter, as it ripped through tender flesh and silenced the innocent…but now, a speck of apprehension existed where previously there had been none.

  Innocence…there are none who are truly innocent, he scoffed inwardly. There are no good or evil. There are only strong or weak, survivors or servers, the assassin thought, as he considered where he fell. Clark, Rod, and the rest of The Ward had deemed his actions wicked…monstrous, but they failed to see the bigger picture. He was a server, but only to one. The ends would justify the means. He knew that; felt it…somehow had the notion indelibly etched across his mind.

  However, watching the people he’d fooled so completely, give of themselves in acts of kindness to Ben’s group, had planted a seed. A small seed; mind you, but a miniscule kernel nonetheless that had sprouted, bearing confusion and reluctance. He looked down at the glimmering blade and rotated it to catch a moonbeam, framing his reflection. A face stared back from the polished surface; one he recognized but did not know. “Who am I?” he questioned, turning the knife’s handle to hide his shame.

  Sleep…I must sleep. Tomorrow there is much to do…much to sort out and no time to waste. A sudden rise of anxiety swept from his heels to chest, catching him off guard and nearly toppling him over. “What?” he questioned. “Too tired.” He stretched out on his bed, not bothering to disrobe. If they came for him, he would need to be ready…ready to kill…ready to flee. The thought of abandoning his post, his assignment, had never occurred to him until now. Why not? he thought. Let them kill each other off. I can survive. I don’t need…but I do. I am hers and I
must…

  Genuine, thought-liberating slumber did not come quickly, but in time the beleaguered mole dropped to the depths of hell and there met his maker. She was two-faced, one moment compassionate and in the next vile and destructive. He tossed, trying in vain to escape the clutches of a demon’s sleep but it held him fixed and troubled. Pain, searing and relentless, stirred but did not wake him. “Hold him!” she shouted. “He must survive. For us, he must live.”

  The words and the agony of that moment, lost but now remembered, shot him from his bed and strengthened his resolve. He’d found what he needed to carry on – hatred – a sick, twisted enmity fueled by malignant devotion that had trained and coerced him for this very moment. He would not…could not disappoint her now, but in the recesses of his mind he knew and understood the nature of his hatred and he would dismantle it in time…all in due time.

  For now, the trance-induced journey to hell and back needed to be satiated, and nothing calmed his nerves like the smell of blood and the last twitch of a beating heart. He rose, placed the knife, which had lain across his chest, into its sheath and quietly slipped from his room. A cold sweat formed across his upper lip as his heart thumped wildly against his chest wall, crushing any seeds of doubt that may have persisted. He was a killer…born and bred for this night.

  He paused at a corner and listened, his senses were keen…alert. The salty taste of perspiration trickled into the corner of his mouth and he licked it away, savoring the tingle it left behind. Who? Who will die tonight?

  “Loyalty…loyalty…” he breathed, almost without making a sound.

  Chapter 29

  Lady Williams paced between an open bedroom window and her bed, a single, flickering candle casting a larger-than-life shadow on an opposing wall. She’d tried sleeping but could not. So muggy, she thought, plopping down on top of her mattress. The heat was certainly a factor but it was not what was keeping her awake. Battle plans had run through her mind for hours, even prior to retiring to the comfort of her worn sheets and feather pillow.