The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

  “Oh Rod, that sounds really close.”

  “Yeah, but it’s beyond our perimeter. Listen, it’s going to be fine. Get our boy and…” Rod flashed the light into the room’s corner, anticipating he’d take his brother’s heavy weapon with him…but it was gone. Allison, noting the stupor in Rod’s statement, looked to where the light was shining and in an instant knew the meaning of the rifle’s absence.

  “Rod…oh Rod, he’s out there. Go get him,” she cried.

  Racing from the room, the couple ran into others who were frantically trying to make sense of the noise and get to their stations. Rod and Allison parted company just outside the main door, she running to collect The Normals and Rod rushing into a heated firefight.

  I should’ve found Clark…helped with security. No…no…got to get Jeff. He’ll need me…

  Each frantic step brought the thundering clash of men and women closer and closer. Muzzle flashes created a somewhat surreal dome of reflective, stray light over the cemetery. The sound of ricocheting bullets was now close enough Rod could hear them spinning beyond their mark. He ran with no thought for himself, charging on, unhindered by death’s haunting call. In his frantic flight he imagined Farrell’s last stand and their parting words. I’ll get him, Brother, he thought, as he pictured Jeff surrounded and outnumbered. I’m coming…I’m coming…

  Approaching a security checkpoint on the northern rim of the campus, a squad of sentries was trying to comprehend what they were seeing.

  “Status?” Rod shouted.

  “We’re not sure,” a woman yelled in reply. “We’ve got lots of muzzle flashes coming from beyond the cemetery…at least we think that’s where they are, and then it appears somebody’s returning fire within the cemetery itself.”

  “Any idea who’s out there?” Rod asked.

  “None, Sir.”

  “I guess there’s no chance you’ve seen my boy…Jeff. Have you seen him?” Rod pleaded.

  “Afraid not,” the woman replied, looking to the others for help.

  “Okay then. Hold your fire until we know what we’re up against. We may have some of our own in the cemetery,” with that said, Rod leapt over a row of sandbags and was gone.

  “Where are you going?” the woman shouted after him, her voice just audible above the ongoing action.

  To get my son…

  * * *

  “Are you kidding me,” Lady Williams grumbled.

  Muffled echoes, like distant fireworks, reached out and grabbed Juanita’s attention, forcing her to look southeast. From her vantage point in Smithfield, small flecks of glowing haze sparked in the foothills. However, the lightshow and drifting concussions were hopelessly out of sync. “What have those idiots done?” she screeched.

  “So much for the element of surprise,” one of her troopers said, loud enough for her to hear.

  “You think?” she grunted, sarcastically. “Come on…we’ve lost our advantage. Let’s roll!” she shouted.

  To the trooper who had noted the obvious, she issued a direct order, “You…you drive the lead truck. The Bradley will follow you to the first checkpoint. Get a couple of your friends to ride in the back and clear a path…kill anything that moves. We have to get through that checkpoint and onto the next before the sun comes up. Do not disappoint me!”

  As she concluded her threat, the BFV crew ran to join them, unsure how the Harvester’s screw-up would affect their battle plans. Lady Williams nodded at the fellow who would be leading them into battle. “He’s driving the lead truck. If he doesn’t follow through with his assignment, fire a cannon shell up his ass.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” the gunner confirmed, a broad smile sweeping over his greasy face as he turned to address the unfortunate trooper. “Alright son, lead on.”

  Juanita rushed about, shouting orders and lighting a fire under her followers. “Load up…load up…next stop The Ward and the spoils of war. Come on…let’s get some,” Juanita shrieked, the thrill of battle and the taste of blood too close for her to contain her excitement.

  Chapter 41

  A shallow ditch, on the outskirts of the cemetery, had helped the mole escape his dogged pursuers. He had hit the old irrigation channel hard, his chest, even now, felt as if a horse had kicked him. Yet, no one had been more surprised by the sudden eruption of gunfire than he. Initially, the mole had anticipated dirt spraying and kicking up all around him, but the ground had remained dormant, untouched by the firefight above.

  The first volley of shells he’d seen as a ploy to contain him while his attackers moved in for the kill. However, when the sound of rifle fire surrounded him, there was no doubt his allies had arrived. His thoughts immediately turned to Williams and her plan. She’s gonna be pissed, he rightly imagined. Caught in a virtual no-man’s land, with both sides unaware of his location, he dared not move or even lift his head for a better look. Bullets whizzed overhead, the sound, if it were possible, flattening him further against the gulley’s base.

  He tried to escape, crawling and pushing his way through the thatch that had overtaken the ditch’s eroding contours. When his chest could take no more and his face was pitted with thistles, he rolled to his back and carried on, his heels providing the necessary force to propel him. Eventually, the wail of wounded combatants, much closer than they had been moments before, convinced him of the need to scout the scene. He rolled to his side, readied his rifle, and slowly lifted a single eye above the ditch’s bank. As he had suspected, Harvesters were making their way across the field to the north, but they were still too far away to hear his voice, and to the south…heaven only knew.

  Be patient…join the fight when the time is right. Don’t be stupid.

  So, while the tumult of war raged just beyond his grasp, the mole stargazed and visualized his promised role in the order to come. Surely, Juanita would welcome him back into the fold with outstretched arms, having fashioned a place for him at her right hand. He had sacrificed much in blood and anguish to satisfy her every wish, and the day of restitution was finally at hand.

  The time is now…my future is the present…

  He suddenly raised himself from the confines of the ragged, ditch-like coffin; renewed, reborn, and ready to enter the fray.

  * * *

  “Stay low,” Clayton desperately screamed, as he ran behind Holly and Dude. The three sidestepped grave markers and vertical stones, occasionally stumbling in their bid to get away. Behind them, Cory and Jeff laid down suppressive fire and waited for their turn to run.

  The Harvesters eventually took the field and were now in the cemetery, pushing their advantage and whooping maniacally. In their wake a stream of casualties remained; those killed outright lay twisted and shattered across the landscape, while the dying continued to bleed out, with no one caring to hear their cries for help. Above it all, the crack and whistle of incoming rounds seemed everywhere; snapping dead branches, chipping stones, and taking lives.

  Cory picked his targets, aiming and firing at anything that moved. Blam Blam – another Harvester crazy enough to charge ahead, took two rounds in the chest, stopping him cold. Another burst from the defender’s left, firing a sawed-off shotgun from his hip. A wide pattern of BB’s struck Cory’s side and face, the pellets piercing clothing and skin, but penetrating no further. Spinning and dropping to a knee, Cory flicked his trigger three times, emptying his clip and killing the assailant. Ignoring the bee-sting like pain searing his left side, Cory slammed another magazine into place and looked behind them.

  “Boob…Boob, take off. Clayton’s in position.”

  Jeff, who had been less cautious with his ammo, sprayed his heavy weapon from side-to-side a final time, running the last mag dry. “Good…I’m out,” he hollered. “You…”

  “Yeah, I’m right behind you. Now…get outta here!”

  Jeff briefly held the Chinese assault rifle to his chest before casting it away and dashing to the rear. His legs churned wildly, cutting right and then left, a pattern that had been
drilled into him from the time he was a small boy. Serpentine…serpentine…

  Muzzle flashes from three distinct weapons lighted the way before him, but not enough to keep him from tripping over a low-lying gravestone, which sent him careening into a larger, upright monument. His shoulder slammed against the granite with enough force to wrench the stone from its moorings, toppling it over. The impact dazed Jeff for an instant, giving him a moment to look for Cory.

  He had done just as he’d said and was not far behind, only stopping periodically to whirl about and fire a couple of quick blasts. At the downed marker, Cory grabbed Jeff’s arm and forced him back to his feet. Together they ran the last few yards to join the others.

  “There’s too many of them. We’ll never make it,” Dude yelled, his eyes wide with terror.

  “Bull…we’re half way there,” Cory replied, as he patted Dude’s shoulder reassuringly.

  Clayton suddenly unleashed a burst of rounds into a trio of Harvesters who had broken cover and were racing ahead. “Well…whatever you’re gonna do…you better do it quick,” he bellowed.

  “Okay Holly, give Jeff your gun and ammo. I want you to run like hell back to the first checkpoint you can find and let them know we’re comin’. I don’t want us taking any friendly fire. Take your hat off before you expose yourself and scream for all you’re worth. Let them know who you are,” Cory instructed. “You got me?”

  She nodded, as she quickly handed her things over to Boob. “I’ll make it.”

  “I know you will,” Cory replied.

  Holly jumped ahead, but suddenly stopped and turned around. She rushed to Dude and threw her arms around him, kissing his cheek. “I love you,” she said, before dashing away; her arms and legs pumping madly as she disappeared from their view.

  “Alrightly then,” Clayton quipped. “Time to haul our way out of here.”

  Seconds later, Cory and Jeff were positioned 20 yards behind where they’d last seen Holly, and were once again pouring hot lead into the cemetery’s heart. Dude bounded from one marker to the next, with Clayton in close pursuit. The two made good time, ducking fire from all around. Just as they were about to slip behind cover, secured by their friends, Clayton was hit. The shell entered below his waist, pulverizing his hip, as the bullet found an exit path through the front of his thigh. He went down instantly, losing his rifle and his ability to move.

  “Damn…I’m hit. Cory, I’m hit!”

  In less than a heartbeat, Cory was at his side, dragging him behind a large, marble slab. A temple was etched into the stone’s face, along with the silhouettes of the man and woman buried there.

  “Is it bad?” Jeff shouted.

  “I don’t know,” Cory replied. “Keep us covered. Keep shooting!”

  Dude and Jeff leaned heavily against the monuments providing their protection and opened up, pumping rounds into the night, which for the moment was keeping the Harvesters at bay.

  “Clayton, can you walk?” Cory asked.

  Clayton’s eyes were still bright but the intense pain was unmistakably etched across his face. “Don’t think so. It’s a bad one, Cor.”

  “Damn…damn…I’ll carry you. Dude, Jeff, I’m gonna carry Clayton…”

  “Cory, don’t be stupid…you know you can’t. You’ll never make it. You need to get these boys outta here.”

  “But…” Cory began.

  “But…nothing. I’ll…I’ll hold ’em off.”

  “No way. There’s no way I’m leaving you, Man.”

  Clayton gripped Cory’s hand and held it to his chest. “There’s no time. Get me up on my good leg,” Clayton beckoned. “My gun…get my gun.”

  Cory reached for the weapon and ejected the magazine. He grabbed a full clip from Clayton’s vest and rammed it home.

  Over the sound of Jeff and Dude’s persistent volley, Cory begged with Clayton to let him stay. “I’ll send the kids ahead and they can get help. It’ll be all right…I…”

  “Cory, it’s no good. Get your butt outta here and get me some help.”

  “Clayton, it was never supposed to be like this,” Cory whispered against his friend’s ear, as he hoisted him upright.

  “I know…I know, but The Normals…you have to get Jeff and Dude home,” Clayton winced.

  Cory guided Clayton a few steps to position him against a gravestone. Clayton did his best to balance his weight on his left leg, while readying himself to fire. “Okay, I’m ready. If you’re gonna…make it…go…go now.”

  Cory wrapped his arms around Clayton from behind and held him close, crushing himself to him. “I’ll be back…don’t you let your rifle run dry. I’ll be back,” and with that said, Cory bolted away, sprinting to catch up to the boys. The sound of shells being ejected from Clayton’s gun muffled all else, as tears streamed down Cory’s anguished face.

  Yards passed quickly beneath their feet, all three knowing how critical time was if they were to get reinforcements and return to rescue Clayton. Near the southern edge of the cemetery, a man charged toward them as they burst into the clear. Jeff instantly recognized Rod’s rushing gate and hollered his name.

  The reunion was hurried; there was no time for anger, punishment, or instruction. The embrace between father and son echoed a sense of relief for both, but it was to be short lived.

  “Dad…Dad, it’s Clayton…he’s hurt,” Jeff said, the words gushing quickly from his mouth.

  “Rod, did you see Holly?” Cory asked.

  “Yeah, she’s fine,” Rod replied.

  “Great…I’m goin’ back for Clayton.”

  Rod reached out to take Cory by the sleeve but he pulled away. “Wait until we can…”

  “There’s no time,” Cory screamed over his shoulder. “I have to get to him.”

  Rod guided the boys toward campus, their tear-stained faces turned to the vanishing figure of Cory, who quickly disappeared from their view. Cory ran, throwing caution to the wind. He darted straight ahead…no serpentine…no time. As he approached the area where he’d imagined leaving his friend, he suddenly realized the cemetery had grown strangely calm…quiet. The sound of gunfire had come to a virtual standstill…and so did he. He stopped and listened, and although the sounds of battle had ceased, he could make out something else…something oddly out of place…he heard laughter.

  “Oh God…please no,” Cory grunted under his breath. He moved ahead, angling his path to the sounds of the celebrating Harvesters. Step after step elevated the noise and the panic Cory felt in his heart. Breaking upon a scene from some ghoulish comic book, Cory spotted a wounded and incapacitated Clayton being held under each arm by a pair of hulking Harvesters, one with red hair. They were close, close enough to hear what was being said; yet Cory kept his peace and stayed hidden behind a headstone.

  “First among many,” Finn grunted, jerking Clayton’s hair to tilt his face for all to see. “They know we’re here…screw ’em. We’re still gonna get what we come for…right?” he shouted. A war cry of sorts erupted from the jeering crowd, forcing Cory to peek from behind the stone. “They’re scared. Did you see them run? Pussies…they’re a bunch of pansy-assed pussies, and what are we?”

  “Harvesters,” went up a cry from all around.

  “What say we give ’em back this one’s head,” Finn shouted, releasing Clayton’s hair. Their captive’s head hung low for a second, and then from side to side until he raised his eyes to look around him. From where Cory knelt, and with the help of dawn’s first shadowed glimmer, Clayton’s eyes appeared unafraid.

  “Kill him…kill him…kill him…” the Harvesters chanted.

  Cory lifted his rifle to his shoulder, ready to take the lot with him, if necessary. It was then he saw him, black faced but recognizable as one of their own. Scum sucking traitor…Cory thought, his finger now pressed firmly against the trigger.

  “And who should do the honors?” Finn shouted, pulling the mole to stand behind Clayton.

  The sound of a long, sharp blade being pulled from
its scabbard echoed in Clayton’s ears and he swallowed. Pain rippled through him, as he silently prayed for peace to overcome him. One last time, he looked around the ragged circle of killers and was about to accept his fate when something moved…someone just beyond the crowd. Clayton, with all the energy he could summon, peered beyond the Harvesters to see his friend.

  Their eyes met and for an instant their friendship was all that mattered. Cory took a step with his rifle elevated, and crept closer. He kept his eyes glued on Clayton, who had begun to shake his head, repeating the word ‘no’ over and over again. The mole suddenly brought his blade to Clayton’s throat, and amidst bloodthirsty shouts for satisfaction; he began to drag the edge into Clayton’s flesh. Surprisingly, Clayton shouted, “Please!” letting Cory know what had to be done.

  He moved the sight from the traitor’s heart to Clayton’s…but he could not pull the trigger. Cory watched the blade slice cleanly through one carotid, and then the other. Blood sprayed to the unspeakable delight of those present. Unable to take any more, Cory lowered his rifle, to be cradled in the crook of his left arm and retrieved the grenade he’d taken from Clayton earlier. He spun the primer cap and counted…one…two…before lobbing it into the crowd. In a brilliant flash of extreme combustion, chaos ignited the place of the dead, melting flesh and bringing hell to the ungodly.

  Cory stood his ground and fired round after round into the ranks of the scattering Harvesters, not stopping until his gun was empty. Retreating slowly…deliberately, the heartbroken friend pulled his handgun and continued firing, killing as many of the burning savages as he could. Finally satisfied Clayton was gone and his death properly avenged, Cory turned and ran from the horrific scene, bullets and a horde of angry Harvesters close at his heels.

  Chapter 42

  The first gunshots near dawn had alerted Godfrey but not awaken him. For hours he had been at his desk, illuminated by a brightly burning propane lantern. The epiphany he’d recognized some time earlier would not let him sleep. The possibility of finally having a resolution to their vitamin A deficiency was foremost on his mind, and it had to be laid to rest before he could…or would relax. Scratching notes and creating a flowchart of biological remedies had him so glued to the task that he didn’t even notice Dr. Reynolds entering his lair.