Today when Elva had seen the white pickup race forward and the man in the back swinging the weapon toward Farrell, she could not help but yell out, “Farrell, no!” She couldn’t imagine seeing another man she loved gunned down right before her eyes. Relief swept through her when she recognized that there would be no shooting. As soon as the dust settled from the advancing pickup, the armored column turned on their heels and backtracked in the exact direction from which they had come.
“Good,” Elva found herself saying, watching Farrell and her friends, Cory and Clayton, move away from the guard shed and back toward the front of the school. She could not contain herself and sprinted from the classroom, running for the doors that she knew would welcome the three from their excursion, one floor down. She reached the entryway at precisely the same time Farrell opened the door and entered the foyer. He was caught off guard by the rushing assault of the Allen girl. She swept into his arms without warning, hugging him closely and kissing his cheeks over and over again.
“I was so scared for you. I can’t tell you how glad I am that nothing happened and you’re okay.”
Farrell looked around, pleased that Rose Allen was not looking on. He too had felt the pangs of attraction for the beautiful Elva. Living in such proximity, with very few options for male-female interactions, only helped to advance a superficial relationship to something more meaningful. In the beginning Farrell, heeding Rod’s advice, had tried to distance himself from the somewhat younger Elva but the star-crossed lovers could no longer keep their emotions hidden. He loved the young woman and she, him. He returned her hug, pulling her close, appreciating her spontaneous affections.
“Elva, you should be in the dressing room with the others. It wasn’t safe for you to be roaming around. What if they would have started to shoot?” he said, still holding her close and looking into her eyes.
“I knew you’d protect me, and everyone else, for that matter.”
“You have more confidence than sense,” he said, enjoying the outpouring of tenderness that was dampening his cheeks.
“That guy in the jeep - he was pretty big, huh?”
“You should’ve seen him up close, he could chew hay and pull plow.”
“Too funny, but what were they after?” She pushed for information; not so much because she was interested but she knew he’d hold her as long as she asked him questions.
“Don’t worry too much about the security of this place. That’s my job and I’ll figure out what to do with that fat ol’ Don Bullock.”
“Whatever you say,” she said, reluctantly sliding from his grip but noting the glint in his eye she knew was meant only for her.
“You should get back to your mom and brother before they wonder what’s happened to you. Go on now, I need to meet with Gary and Mel to discuss this Bullock character,” Farrell said, as she turned to run back to the dressing room. The infatuated young woman tossed a sideways look over her shoulder before she rounded the corner, happy to see that Farrell was still looking after her.
“Chew hay and pull plow?” Cory laughed, followed quickly by Clayton’s signature chuckle. “Didn’t know you could be so funny, Sarge.”
“Oh heck Cory, that’s nothing. Last week I was trying to mend a fence out by the ball diamond and Farrell here was watching me. Not helping, mind you, just watching and enjoying the struggles I was having. Finally he says to me, ‘Clayton, the only thing you’re gonna do with those gloves on is piss your pants,’” the lanky kid said, doubling over with laughter, thinking back to the playful exchange with Farrell. “And you know what? I did!” Both he and Cory could not contain themselves and burst out laughing. Their fun filled the empty hallways with laughter as it echoed off the lockers and cinderblock walls.
“All right you two, you’ve had your fun. Try to find something worthwhile to do and I’ll check with you later.”
“Yes sir,” Cory said. “Clayton, oh man, that was funny. Did you really pee yourself? That’s not very cool but so darn funny. We got to think of a name for the Chief’s funny one-liners. They’re classics.”
“Rod says he’s got a million of ‘em. Just have to be in the right place at the right time to hear ‘em. Rod calls ‘em ‘Farrellisms’,” Clayton volunteered, still giggling.
“That’s perfect -- ‘Farrellisms’ it is. Never expected today would end up being so comical. Listen Clayton; if I were you, I wouldn’t go around telling that story to anybody else. If you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, why’s that?”
“Cause I want to! Funniest thing I’ve heard in weeks. Thanks Bro,” Cory said, punching his friend in the arm, before jogging off to the weapons room.
“Jerk!” Clayton called after him, a large smile reaching from ear to ear. It was not often that he got to be the one telling the funny story. It felt good, even though it did make him look a bit foolish.
Chapter 10
Farrell could still hear the echoing laughter of the two boys as he made his way to the administrative offices of the former high school. Gary would be waiting there, pacing a groove in the already worn carpet, anxious for an update from his Security Chief and Mel. Before he reached the glass door that separated the offices from the hallway, his walkie-talkie buzzed on his hip, “Gary, I’m on my way. Farrell, I’m sure you’re monitoring this; I’ve asked Rod to stay with Allison in medical for the time being. We have a lot to talk about, I will be there shortly,” Mel said, the Major’s voice taking on a tone that neither man had heard before.
That didn’t sound very upbeat, Farrell thought, stopping to consider the emphasis and content of Mel’s message. It was clear without her having to outline the results: the labor and delivery had not gone well. He wondered how his little brother was holding up; Rod’s affection for the pregnant woman had been obvious to everyone but himself. “Mel, those two okay?”
A moment later the handheld device squawked and Mel replied, “They’re strong. They’ll be fine, heartbroken for now but Allison’s a remarkable woman. She will endure. We have bigger issues to deal with though. I’ll explain it to you and Gary in a couple of minutes. I’m trying to get Allison cleaned up. She needs a couple of stitches and then I’ll be able to join you.”
“Okay, I’ll let you get to it. Please let Allison and Rod know how sorry I am that today didn’t go as they had wished. See you in Gary’s office in a few minutes.”
“Roger that.”
This day just kept getting better and better. What would be next? Before Farrell had time to open the door and make his presence known, the figure of a man filled the area behind the door, the aluminum casing framing him perfectly, as if he were a portrait. A thick, brown beard masked the look of sadness on his face but the red eyes and quivering lip were telling. Gary, a fabric storeowner, was the original heart and soul of the little community. He and his wife had survived; living in a cabin they shared with friends in the foothills, overlooking the valley and the small cluster of homes below. They had been wise and gathered together hundreds of pounds of dry goods, wheat and other non-perishables prior to the missile attack that spelled the end of the area, but their survival had come with a cost.
In the days and weeks that followed the end of hostilities between the nations, which no one was quite able to date, Gary and his wife had gone door to door seeking out the sick and afflicted, rallying the community and raising spirits. They had unselfishly used their own resources, with no hidden agenda, for the good of their friends, neighbors and former clients. Finding the living among the dead was a daunting task. The smell of death had lingered in the air for days and weeks. In the early days an attempt was made to be civil, keeping some degree of respect for the dead but the work was overwhelming, leading Gary to excavate large, narrow trenches with a backhoe, to provide a place for the dead. The dying were a different problem altogether. Medical personnel were limited. Originally a couple of nurses and a dermatologist had been helpful, staying on to run the hospital as best they could but with limited help an
d resources the work was harsh. The dying rarely recovered. A phantom death had been no respecter of persons, with illness and disease spreading like wildfire, taking with them the lives of the elderly and the young.
Ultimately, what little degree of order Gary and his followers were able to attain, slowly eroded as supplies ran low and people lost their sense of community. The evolution from ‘sane people working together’ to ‘every man for himself’ had occurred at almost the speed of light. This was about the time that Farrell rolled into town, showing up one day driving his Ford pickup, a large US flag streaming from the bed and Johnny Cash blaring from the speakers. It had not taken the people of the farming community long to learn who Farrell was or what he was looking for. Like so many, including the nurses and doctor, they too had left a relatively safe place in search of family and loved ones, hoping that somehow, someway, they had managed to survive. Farrell was one of the lucky few, in finding Rod, but the vast majority were not so fortunate, losing their way or their lives in pursuit of family ties.
It had been Gary who suggested the school as a base of operations and a place of safety for those who were willing to work together for a common cause. Farrell and Rod had signed on, seeing the vision of a man with a kind heart and a strategic plan. Gary had been the perfect choice for Community Chief. He knew almost everyone in the county and all respected him. His reputation as a fair and honest businessman preceded him and his success in the community had come as a result of his ability to organize, plan and execute. Perhaps his only flaw was his tender heart. Living in a world of greed, mistrust and death was difficult for a man who saw everyone as a son or daughter of God, each worthy of a helping hand and a second chance. Farrell and Mel were the weights on the other side of the scale that balanced the leadership in this regard. Extending mercy, while keeping the security of those committed to building a better world, ahead of everything else.
“Tough day, huh?” Gary said, extending his hand to Farrell, as he opened the door and greeted his much younger friend.
“Yeah, you could say that. Do you know what happened with Allison?”
“No, but Mel didn’t offer much encouragement with her call,” he said, fighting back the tears that were knocking at the door of an emotional breakdown.
“We really needed that baby to survive. We’ve not had a normal birth since we started this place. Amy is our youngest member and she’ll be six this year. I’m sure Mel is fit to be tied,” Farrell said, removing his hat and running his hand through his black, wavy hair.
“I know, believe me, I know. I’ve thought of nothing else these past few weeks. We’ve worked so hard gathering supplies, which we thought would keep everyone alive, and we’re still losing people to disease and whatever contaminants we’re breathing and drinking. It’s just so frustrating not knowing. What else can we do further to protect us from all the crap that’s been spewed into the atmosphere and soil.”
“We may be fighting an uphill battle without any way of winning, but we can’t give up hope. As easy as that is to say, our only chance is to provide some degree of confidence that there is something better waiting for us just around the bend. Come on, buck up, you’re supposed to be the one giving the pep talk,” Farrell said, pulling the shorter, heavyset Gary into a bear hug.
“Thanks Farrell, the deaths and setbacks are really starting to get to me. I just need a couple of weeks in Hawaii to get my head on straight. Could you arrange that for me? I promise I’ll come back. Who could stay away from this little slice of heaven we’ve carved out of all these empty houses and mass graves?”
“Sounds like I better send C&C in here for a minute to cheer you up. Did you hear those two idiots a few minutes ago? They’re more fun than watching a one legged man at a butt kicking competition.”
A smile finally started to form somewhere in the middle of the bushy beard just as the glass door swung open and Mel rushed in, droplets of blood still staining her sleeves and a notebook in her hand. “Gentlemen,” she said, nodding her head at each of the other chiefs.
Chapter 11
Eight hundred miles away, while the chiefs were meeting to discuss the events of their day, a group of biochemical engineers, chemists, geneticists and doctors, sat around a large conference table in an underground bunker somewhere in Colorado. Each attendee appeared unusually pale and fatigued. The men, although clean for the most part, were unshaven and somewhat unkempt and a stale mixture of various colognes hung in the air, causing the women to congregate away from their male counterparts. The women, on the other hand, were equally pale but neatly trimmed and dressed professionally, as if it were just another day on the job. A middle-aged woman with dark, deep-set eyes stood at the head of the table, a small portable podium hid her sleek figure from her friends and colleagues. Director Tashuk had called the meeting, wanting to solidify their research gains and losses and in the process bring everyone up to speed on the advances they’d made.
BioChem Technology had been a private company established in the late 1980’s, and for the past five decades did most of their work for the federal government. They had been instrumental in developing many of the biological and chemical weapons, which had been used in the global war, with little, if any restraint. The researchers and other people working in the secret, off-site facility, solely funded by the government, had a life away from the fears of contamination, radiation poisoning and the other environmental calamities the world’s population was dealing with. The lifestyle had its drawbacks. None of the employees who had chosen to remain within the confines of the facility, had seen the light of day in over three years, except for those required to do so in an attempt to gather important data or test subjects. In those cases, the researchers still chose to wear full HAZMAT suits. The employees had a unique perspective when it came to the cocktail of chemical and biological agents that were circling the earth, penetrating the atmosphere and coating everything and everyone in the process.
As the focus of the hostilities turned from annihilating one another in the most destructive game of chicken ever played out, the director of BioChem, Mrs. Sylvia Tashuk, locked down the facility and issued the directive to ramp up development and modifications for an antidote that would counteract the swirl of life threatening agents. The underground, self-contained community had everything that was needed for the 150 employees to eat, sleep, work and survive for five years. When the doors had been shut for the final time, three years ago, the number was reduced to 112; 38 had chosen to abandon the technology firm’s mantra and set out on their own in search of family, peace or a way to purify their conscience. It was not known how the 38 fared but the friends they left behind often thought of the brave few and wondered if they themselves had made the wrong choice in staying.
The underground survivors worked now, not for the government, wealth or fame, but for mankind. BioChem Tech was perhaps the only place on the planet with the resources, equipment, manpower and intellect necessary to solve the environmental issues at hand and rescue a planet destined for absolute ruination. Year one had gone better than they had expected. With each of the destructive chemical and biological agents that BioChem had engineered, they had an equally effective antidote but in much smaller quantities. The federal government had not been nearly as interested in the cure as they were the cause. Unit doses of the killing agents had been sold in quantities beyond imagination, with the government only buying enough of the antidote to cover their needs and certainly not enough for every man, woman and child who paid their salaries.
Air samples were taken in through an elaborate system of tubes and collecting devices, allowing the scientists to identify the deadly agents that the air contained. Most were recognizable to the elite team of researchers and they knew what needed to be done to counteract the ill effects of the hazardous materials, but there were some, used by rogue nations, that were a quandary for the workers. In the first year they manufactured antidotes, sometimes two a day, in an effort to restore the earth’s air
supply to a safe level. Outside air samples were tested with the antidotes and refined as they went. As the work progressed, they noted a natural drop out of many of the agents that had circled the globe, killing as they went. The natural life of many of the biohazards was being degraded by heat, cold, sunlight and time. The earth was naturally cleansing itself but the process needed to be helped along before the pockets of surviving citizens were no longer viable.
It was not until they tested ERAD15 that they were convinced they had a functional, effective means of suppressing and eradicating the effects of the remaining biochemical and chemical molecules. A delivery system was created within the facility that exported the ERAD15 directly into the atmosphere. The ventilation system, which converted the chemical slurry into a vaporized version of the potent antidote, ran 24 hours a day, every day of the week and had done so since its inception two years ago. It was very effective, binding to virtually any recognizable chemical in the air, other than water and oxygen. The resulting non-lethal, inert chemical compound, would then drop to the earth’s surface and no longer be a threat. At least that was the theory.
Initially, the ERAD15 had been an overwhelming success. Tempting even the most phobic members of the research facility to venture outdoors to take in a breath of fresh air, however, as any good scientist knows, there are always side effects. Always!
Sylvia swept back her dark hair and called the meeting to order, tapping the pen in her right hand a number of times against the wooden podium. ”People, excuse me! Can I have your attention? We have a number of things to discuss this afternoon and I’d like to get started.” The room quieted as people slid their chairs under the table and prepared to hear what their ‘boss’ had to say. “Thank you, I appreciate your attendance to yet another meeting. I can’t imagine how tired you are of seeing my face but the work you are doing is vital to the survival of the planet. I don’t have to reiterate the successes and gains that we’ve had over the past three years, but let me begin by saying that, as of tonight, we are shutting down the ERAD15 delivery system. The atmosphere is about as normal as we’re going to get it.” The announcement came with a triumphant shout from most of the individuals in the room. “Results collected last week and our projections indicate that the ERAD has done everything that we had hoped it would. Thousands have benefited from your hard work, having no idea who you are or what you’ve done. I can’t tell you how meaningful it is to me that you have stuck with this, day in and day out, without pay or recognition. This speaks to me of the wonderful people that you are and I consider myself fortunate to be counted among you.” Her voice wavered and she had to look at the papers resting on the podium to regain her composure.
The Living Hunger Page 9
