The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

  In the middle of the melee, Clark twisted and rolled a final time, coming to rest atop Juanita. She was badly wounded and rife with anger but tried to play to his emotions.

  “I’m unarmed…have mercy…have mercy,” she begged.

  Bullets flashed back and forth over their heads but remarkably the two remained unharmed. Clark stared into her eyes, and for a split second he did feel something but it was far from compassion. “You mean like the mercy you showed my people today? You mean like the benevolence you so tenderly offered the good men and women of this community?”

  A faint twinkle of hope swept across Lady Williams’ face, prompting Clark to push himself away. “I don’t think so…not today. Better that one should perish…” he began, before putting two bullets in her heart. Just as quickly, he moved to Egan and repeated the act, whispering, “I’ll see you in hell.”

  Satisfied he had done all he could, Clark scrounged for a rifle to take more of them with him, but was cut down by a hail of lead fired from both sides. Bullets rattled his frame, shaking his corpse in a horrific dance of death…yet Clark’s spirit had already flown, shedding a mortal coil to find rest – his days done and deeds recorded.

  Chapter 62

  Driving with the headlamps off was more difficult than Grant had imagined. A combination of vitamin deficiency and cataracts caused halos around virtually every light source, especially at night. As starlight gleamed off shop windows and random metal surfaces, Grant felt like he was in a fun house trying to escape a hall of mirrors. So troubled was he that he finally pulled over and made Jeff drive the last leg of their journey.

  They cruised through the streets unhampered by Harvesters or Juanita's militia. In fact, a tentative calm hung in the air as they reached the temple and exited the truck. For a time, the men stared toward campus but did not speak, each imagining their own version of unforeseen terrors.

  “Quiet,” Grant finally whispered.

  “Yeah, too quiet,” Jeff agreed. As the words slipped from his lips, they heard the telltale sound of a small calibre pistol being fired. It was immediately followed by a symphony of weapons being discharged in rapid succession.

  “Is that good or bad news?” Jeff asked.

  “I don't rightly know. You boys better go have a peek,” Grant suggested.

  “Agreed,” Cory replied. “Come on Boob, you go up this side of the street and I'll take the other.”

  “Gotcha,” Jeff confirmed. “How's your vision?”

  “Not great, but good enough. Whistle if you see something I don't.”

  “For sure. Let's go.”

  The duo covered the few blocks to campus in minutes, the non-stop sounds drawing them like kids to a circus. On the western slope, leading to Old Main, a smoldering mass of bodies and weaponry greeted the two with a pungency that was overwhelming.

  “Holy crap, have you ever smelled anything like that?” Jeff quietly asked Cory, as they came together at the base of the hill.

  “Sadly…yes. Looks like Niel and Scotty were able to stop the armoured vehicle. Let's get to the trench.”

  Together they moved slowly up the grade, avoiding enemy combatants and checking on those they recognized. In the trench they found Scotty, lifeless and cold. For a moment, they thought Niel must have survived or was still fighting, but then Jeff spotted him under the Bradley.

  “I've got him – he's dead,” Jeff cautiously called to Cory, after feeling the chilled rigidity of his friend’s neck. Instantly Jeff's breath seized within his chest. Emotions he'd not allowed to come forth were rising in a wave of deep regrets and utter sadness, yet he pushed back, trying in vain to keep them in check. Jeff had tasted the Michelson's brotherhood, the warmth of their concern, and the joy of their frivolity. They had graced his life and etched their story upon his heart – their example would forever be remembered and cherished.

  The day had changed Jeff, as only battle and killing can. In 24 hours he had aged a decade and matured a lifetime. However, the cold reality of seeing friends ravaged had not prepared him for what lay ahead.

  “Jeff, let's move…south entrance. You lead, I'll cover.”

  “Right.”

  Easing up the concrete steps, Cory and Jeff were presented with the sights and sounds of an all out firefight taking place in The Quad. Muzzle flashes punctuated blasts that gave the appearance of soldiers moving in slow motion across the field. Amidst the chaos of the close quarters battle, combatants were firing at anything and everything that moved…including their own. The confusing array of outfits and uniforms made it impossible to see who was killing whom, but Cory and Jeff seemed assured their people were no longer involved.

  “They've turned on each other,” Jeff finally articulated, quite certain his eyes were not deceiving him.

  “Have we no survivors?” Cory added, his heart sinking at the very thought.

  “Wait…hold up…I've got movement to the right. There's a group crawling away from the fight,” Jeff noted, pointing a short distance away.

  “Let's head them off,” Cory suggested, while carefully sliding down the steps to keep his profile from view.

  Moving to keep themselves from being hit by random shells and ricochets, they marked a trajectory to intersect those that were escaping. At a dip in the earth, directly in their path, Cory and Jeff prepared to confront them. Jeff's eyes were keen, having been blessed with exceptional night vision. He watched their outlines and the awkward nature of their descent from the hill above.

  “They're unarmed – can't tell who they are but they have to be…”

  “Ward members,” Cory said, completing Jeff's thought.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Holding their breath they waited, not revealing their position until the men were upon them. When they were within earshot, Cory issued the password ‘Joshua’ and waited for their reply. Stunned, the men halted, looking about for who had given The Ward’s secret call sign. In the dense shadows, cast by the nearby buildings, no one was visible but they knew they were not alone. Again Cory repeated the name ‘Joshua’, this time bringing his rifle to bear on the closest target.

  Finally willing to give the counter sign, someone called out ‘Jericho’, confirming they were Ward members. “Quickly,” Jeff whispered into the darkness. “We’re over here.”

  A few seconds later the men relayed what was happening and what had triggered the fight. None of them had seen Clark killed, but believed it would be a miracle for him to have survived.

  “Are there more?” Cory asked.

  “A number of the women escaped into the steam tunnels when we could no longer hold them. I don’t know if they’ve been found but a half dozen Harvesters are hunting them.”

  “That’s not what we wanted to hear,” Jeff replied.

  “Do you know which tunnel? Which direction did they go?” Cory inquired.

  The sentry, who seemed to have a grip on the situation, spoke up, “North. We figured if they could get to one of the old lecture halls they might stand a chance.”

  “Okay then, you two stay with Jeff and me,” Cory ordered, pointing at two men who still had some fight in them. “The rest of you get off this hill and make your way to the temple. You’ll find an old guy there, Grant. Holler out before he shoots ya.”

  “You’ll have to wait there until we return. There are weapons lying about on the hillside. Pick up what you can salvage…just in case,” Jeff added.

  Cory handed a sawed off shotgun to one of the remaining sentries, and Jeff tossed his pistol to the other. The two teams parted company; one headed for the lower level of Old Main and the other to possible freedom. As they moved out, the battle raging a short distance away began to fade. Bullets were still taking lives and shattering dreams, but unbeknownst to The Ward, those unharmed were slipping away into the night. Though few in number, they left behind a wake of dreadful moans and pleading cries for help. Dozens lay clinging to life and in no time the whir of spinning lead and exploding cartridges faded
, proclaiming agony the victor. There were no shouts to fall back, counter attack, or regroup to safety, just endless sobs that largely went unanswered.

  Inside the northern-most tunnel Cory led the way, followed closely by Jeff and the others. He held a heavy flashlight, borrowed from Grant who had lifted it from a sheriff’s office years before. The casing was long, black, and solid, hiding a reservoir of rechargeable batteries. As a light to pierce the darkness of the musky tunnels it was a godsend, but as a club it was lethal.

  The corridor, which shot straight ahead, was wide enough for two men to walk abreast but it stank of mildew and earthy seepage. The men eased their way along, stopping periodically to listen for voices or movement that would surely echo off the concrete walls. Cory manipulated the light, keeping it close to his feet, only occasionally tipping it to obliterate the shadows ahead.

  Not far into their search they stumbled upon The Ward member who had volunteered his help. His throat was cut, a tragic reminder of the consequences of a stealthy game of cat and mouse.

  “They must not have needed his help any more,” Jeff suggested.

  “Yup,” Cory agreed. “They’ve found the women.”

  As if on cue, the faint sounds of men howling and women screaming reached the small search party. They hurried on, following the noise. After maneuvering a gentle bend in the tunnel, a distant flickering light marked their destination. The panicked bawling of those in trouble was abhorrently grim.

  “Where does this lead?” Cory asked.

  “Nowhere. This is one we welded closed – they’re at a dead end,” one of the sentries confirmed.

  Whispering in hushed tones, Cory killed his light and prepared his team for combat. “There are at least six Harvesters up there and who knows how many women. We’re only gonna have one chance at this, so make every bullet count. We’ve got surprise on our side, but be careful and don’t shoot each other. Jeff, you and I’ll go low. You guys stand tall and fire over us. It’ll be dicey but it’s the best chance of dropping them all at once. Are there any questions before we try this foolish thing?” Cory asked.

  An uneasy silence answered Cory’s question, prompting them to move out. The bewailing steadily grew louder, making it more and more difficult for the men to hold their pace and not bolt into an uncertain fray. Their friends were in dire need, yet they controlled the urge and relied on patience.

  Fifteen feet from a torch-lit angle they stopped. A loud scream, followed by an evil laugh, held them in place. Suddenly, a topless woman bolted around the corner, the tatters of her shirt hanging limply at her hips; a Harvester was not far behind. His pants were about his knees and he was otherwise naked. He tripped and bumbled his way along, egged on by catcalls from his friends who were enjoying the sport.

  In an instant, the fleeing victim ran face-first into Jeff’s chest, which startled and stopped the rapist. Before he could cry out, Cory was on top of him, crushing his skull with the butt of the flashlight. A dull whimper leaked from his gullet as he slunk to the cold concrete floor. Cory readied his rifle and quickly moved ahead – the others followed, leaving the woman to cower in the dark.

  The noise and vulgar nature of the ordeal was immediately upon them as they rounded the corner. A pair of gunmen, saddled up against the left wall, were holding a dozen women hostage, while the remaining Harvesters took turns with an unfortunate few. Repulsed, but not obstructed, Cory and Jeff hit their knees and opened fire. The two Harvesters that were armed went down first, their guns clattering to the floor.

  To the right, another Harvester tried to break for his weapon but a blast from a sawed off shotgun nearly cut him in half, toppling him instantly. Another made the mistake of trying to surrender, raising his hands high above his head. Almost immediately, one of the women that had been assaulted retrieved a knife and slit him from groin to sternum, spilling his entrails to the floor. He died holding his intestines and wallowing in his own blood.

  The last remaining Harvester begged for his life, but the abused victims were in no mood for forgiveness. They encircled him; as a hyena is ringed by a pride of angry lionesses, keen for a kill. For a second he fought fiercely but it was not enough. A sense of ‘reap what you sow’ united the women, who proceeded to beat him into an abyss of unconsciousness. The vengeful act yielded no reward, no cleansing of their souls but it felt just, all the same.

  Bella, a friend of Cory’s, stepped in front of him and offered a bloody hand in appreciation. “We knew you’d come…in time…we knew you’d come.”

  At the first sign of light, Jeff, Cory and the rest of The Ward members left the tunnel and entered Old Main’s first floor. They had gone beyond the call of human endurance and survived, but the devastation around them was unspeakable and crude. They shuffled from one body to the next, hoping to find a friend…a companion…anyone alive. Leaving the hallway behind, they stood on the outer steps and were overcome by the vastness of the carnage – so many lives taken unnecessarily.

  With his pistol in hand, Jeff ran to where he’d last seen his parents. He leapt over a Harvester who was dragging himself, crippled by the loss of a leg, but Jeff ignored him entirely. Other lifeless forms slowed, but did not stop him, until he saw Rod and Allison cradled in a final embrace and lying in the blood-soaked dust of The Quad. He fell to his knees and for the first time since it all began; he allowed his emotions to overtake him. Tears burst from his eyes, a mere token of the pain that was rending his soul in two.

  Burying his face between them, he wrapped his arms around their familiar frames and openly wept. “Why…dear God…why?” he called, his heart aching beyond his ability to cope.

  A short distance away, Cory stood next to Clark’s battered body and watched, wiping his own tears away with the back of his hand. Slowly he walked to Jeff, no answers to give but a helping hand to extend. At his back he recognized the familiar call of a gapped-tooth old man, and he spun to witness Grant hobbling across the battleground. Together, they made their way to where Jeff was pouring out his heart. Neither spoke, but Boob knew they were there and it brought comfort to his being.

  In time, Jeff came to himself and sat on his haunches. Grant knelt beside him and pulled Jeff’s head to his chest. “It’ll be okay. We’re here for ya.”

  “I know…I know,” Jeff replied, trying to put on a brave face.

  “You gonna be okay?” Cory asked, extending his disfigured hand to rest on Jeff’s shoulder.

  “Yeah…in time. What is it they say…time heals all wounds?”

  Grant had never been one for sentimentality, that is until Rose and The Ward became a part of his life. Jeff’s loss touched him deeply and with his voice quaking he replied, “They may say that, but it ain’t true. Don’t, for a minute, ever think the memory of your folks is gonna leave ya. You don’t want it to. They’re your lifeblood, your heritage, and you live for them…you make them proud of every day they’ve given you, from here to the end. You hear me?”

  “I do…but what do we do now? I mean look around…what’s left?”

  Cory pivoted his head from one shoulder to the next – death and destruction were everywhere – nothing had been spared. “We care for our wounded, bury the dead, and do what the bishop used to say.”

  “And what was that?” Boob asked, a glimmer of hope rising in his voice.

  “We pray for guidance and the strength to do what’s right.”

  Grant stood and pulled Jeff up with him. “I reckon you boys will be movin’ on. Doesn’t seem like there’s much to keep ya here any longer.”

  Jeff glanced at Cory, a pleading look upon his face. “But this is our home. All I know is here. Rod used to say this is sacred ground, and they sealed that belief with their blood. I can’t leave.”

  “Nor can I, Jeff. We started something here and we’ll finish. We do what your parents envisioned…we rise from the ashes of this day and rebuild.”

  Epilogue

  (Two Years Later)

  In the months that followed
their longest day, the remnant of The Ward did exactly as Cory suggested. They had come back from the brink of destruction to restore their lives and build anew. Word of Lady Williams’ demise had travelled like windswept wildfire, drawing people from across the prairies to settle in Cache Valley. The first to arrive were the Growers and outcasts from Juanita’s compound, who were more than ready for a taste of ‘real’ freedom.

  The day of the Harvester seemed to be all but a memory, save the few who clung to the past and preyed on lonely travelers. Cory led with a gentle heart but understood his days were numbered.

  Packing supplies in the back of a heavily modified pickup drew a crowd of friends and followers to bid Cory and Christine farewell. Jeff stood nearby, his hand interweaved with Brandi’s. They had bonded and bound their lives together not long after that fateful day. United they learned from Cory and pledged to continue in his ways – in the ways of The Ward – established by friends who had given their all.

  Godfrey watched from the sidelines, a toothy smile broadcasting the joy he felt inside. It had worked – his epiphany had been correct and Christine was a testament to his plan. He studied the middle-aged woman as she moved about helping her husband load their things. Not more than a week prior, he had confirmed her suspicions of a much-wanted pregnancy. She had told no one, but he had high hopes she would before they departed.

  At the top of Cory’s truck, a large barreled .50 caliber sniper rifle was locked in place, ready for action. It had been Grant’s contribution to the cause, of which he was not a firm believer. A notion that one man and one woman should travel the west, heralding the virtues of coming to Logan, seemed foolish at best, but he wished them well.

  Grant and Rose never did move to The Ward. They were set in their ways and comfortable where they were, but they were visited often and loved by all.