The Living Hunger

by Dennis F. Larsen

  “Sorry Sarge, just me. I’ve got to talk to Major Mel.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Yes sir, just after two a.m.”

  “What’s so important that it can’t wait until morning? Aren’t you supposed to be on the radio?”

  “Yes sir, that’s why I need to speak with her. I made contact with some big laboratory in Colorado and they want to talk with her, A-SAP!” the excited young man spelled out for Farrell as best he could, still squinting due to the light directed at his face.

  “Oh, sorry,” the near naked Sergeant said, lowering the light, while instructing Allan to wake Mel and meet him back at the radio room.

  “Will do, you going to get dressed sir?”

  “Why, you prefer me running around in my underwear? Of course, I’m getting dressed. Get Mel and meet me in a few minutes.”

  Allan headed back down the hallway, his lumbering strides rattling the lockers as he went. Farrell shook his head; a smile fixed to his chiseled features before he returned to his room, threw on his pants and shirt and ran for the HAM radio. Mel and Allan arrived a few minutes later. The radio room was a converted geography classroom with maps arrayed on each of the walls. The HAM radio sat on a large desk facing the northern most wall, a map of the Western United States tacked immediately in front of the desk. A few pins marked locations on the map where surviving groups had been located, they were few and scattered. The banks of overhead fluorescent fixtures were off, with the only light in the room coming from a small overhead desk lamp, fixed above the electronic equipment. The single illuminant caused the desk and radio to almost glow in the dark of the room. Farrell sat hunched over the desk, his mouth close to the mic and right hand on one of the dials.

  “I’ve got some guy with a pretty thick British accent on the line. The reception isn’t great but if you tweak the knob a bit you can keep up with the modulation of the signal,” Farrell said, pointing to the dials for Mel’s benefit. “I’ve not had a chance to tell him too much, other than there are 47 of us and our approximate location.”

  “Who are they?” Mel asked.

  “I’m not quite sure but probably some military lab out of Colorado. It sounds like they’re still operational. He kept saying something about vitamins and an antidote. He wanted to speak with someone that deals with our medical issues. That would be you.”

  “He told me the same thing. Wanted to talk with a doctor or nurse, whoever was caring for our medical needs. That’s why I was looking for the Major,” Allan said to Farrell, in an effort to clarify his actions.

  “You did right, son,” Farrell said, patting Allan on the shoulder while motioning for Mel to take the seat in front of the radio.

  “This is Major Melanie Ghostkeeper, who am I speaking to?”

  “Madam, I am Godfrey Whitcomb, a chemist with BioChem Technologies,” he said, a distinct accent filtering through her speaker. “The young man I was speaking with said you’ve had some trouble with births. Is that correct?”

  “Yes it is. We’ve been together for about three and a half years and we’ve not had a live birth in all that time. Is this a wide spread problem?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately, it is, however, we may have a solution.”

  “Excuse me, but did you say you may have a solution?” Mel asked incredulously.

  “Yes Major, we realized a few months ago that the chemical we were using to clean the atmosphere was causing some problems with vitamin absorption and long story short, we may have solved it,” Godfrey indicated, being careful not to sound too optimistic.

  “You mean you’ve developed some medication that will restore our intestinal tract to its proper function? Did I hear you correctly?”

  “Yes, you did. Our problem is getting it to you. We are manufacturing the ampoules as quickly as we are able and administering them on site, but unless you can make it the 800 or 1000 miles on very poor winter roads, you may just have to wait until spring and the thaw.”

  “How is it administered? Is it pill form or what?” Mel asked.

  “It’s a tricky compound and doesn’t do so well in any form, other than an injection. Believe me, we’ve tried everything, but the intramuscular injection seems to pack the best punch. We do have a small plane that we’ve discussed using for delivery, but we just don’t know how we’d manage and to whom.”

  “I see, so where do we stand? We’ve figured out that eating liver is helpful and some of us are regaining some of the lost function, like our night vision but what else can we do?” She continued to pump the Englishman for answers before the signal was lost.

  “Clever girl, we’ve not run into too many groups that have figured that one out. Congratulations, you’re ahead of the curve. There is not much else you can do, at least for now. We’ve eliminated plants as a useful source of vitamin intake. For whatever reason the ERAD15 has specifically affected the sites in the intestinal wall that allow absorption of plant-produced sterols and vitamin precursors. As you’ve already learned, the intake of animal organics is much more successful and will build back somewhat normal levels in the liver and other organs, however, they won’t stay there until the new compound is entered into the equation.”

  “The new injection, correct?”

  “Yes, our studies are showing that once the intestinal wall is, shall we say, reset, then the levels remain more constant.” Godfrey knew he was overstating the success of the new compound, based on very limited test subjects, but wanted to give the survivors a touch of hope.

  “But what are the side effects?” Mel cautiously asked, fearing the downside may outweigh the upside.

  “None that we know of yet,” Godfrey responded, crossing the fingers of both hands. “However, we’ve just recently started administering it so we don’t have reams of data.”

  “So bottom line is, we either drive to your location now or in the spring, or wait to see what you decide to do about the plane. Is that about the long and short of it?”

  “Excuse me, I didn’t quite catch that last bit. Long and short?”

  “Is that a fair assessment of where we stand, at the moment, in relation to you helping us?”

  “Yes, that is correct. We will be broadcasting on this same bandwidth every night for four hours, beginning at midnight. You’ll be able to contact us with your decision. It has been good speaking with you and we wish you the best of luck. Before you sign off, are you aware of other pockets of survivors that could use this information? We are only aware of one other, relatively close to you. A rather abrasive chap has been pestering us for the antidote, but I find it odd that he didn’t mention you nice people.”

  “Would his name be Bullock, Don Bullock?”

  “Oh, you know the fellow.”

  “Indeed we do, has an operation about 15 miles south of us. Is he planning on making a run to your location?”

  “He’s not indicated one way or the other. I’m afraid he’s in the same situation as yourselves, with poor roads and no idea how hostile the population is between here and there.”

  “I understand. If he contacts you with a final decision, would you mind passing that little bit of information our way? Could really be of benefit to us.”

  “Right you are, no problem. I’ll make a note here at the desk.”

  “Thank you, thank you so much. Goodbye for now.” Mel almost whispered back into the microphone. She spun around, a look of astonishment on her face, her mouth open but no words being formed.

  “Well, what did you make of that?” Farrell asked Mel, the news coming as a bit of a shock to all three of the Bear River survivors within the room.

  “I’m not quite sure,” Mel responded, still mulling over the things that Godfrey had said.

  “Well, if my opinion means anything, it sounded pretty good to me. Do you think we could get there and back okay?” Allan asked Farrell.

  “I don’t know. It’s a long trip and who knows what we might run into along the way. If they can get their plan
e to us, I think that’s our best bet.”

  “I agree,” Mel concurred, but Farrell could tell her mind was a thousand miles away.

  “What’s wrong?” Farrell inquired. “Shouldn’t we be happy about this news?”

  “Oh yeah, sure, but something just doesn’t feel right to me. This is just so ‘out of the blue’. I mean, it will be wonderful if it works but it gives me pause. Think for a minute of the consequences if it doesn’t work or it makes things worse. Remember, he didn’t say they had much data, which means they are using live people, like you and me, as guinea pigs.”

  “Guinea pigs? I don’t like the sound of that,” Allan said, pulling the ball cap from his head and smoothing his hair back, before replacing the hat.

  “Alright Allan, get back to the radio and keep us posted on anything new. Be sure that Dallas knows about this in the morning and he can brief all the operators. Got it?”

  “You bet, I’ll talk to Dallas in the morning. Should I contact that group in Idaho and see if they know about it?”

  “Good idea. I’ll leave that in your hands,” the Security Chief instructed. Farrell took Mel by the arm and ushered her from the room, beyond Allan’s ability to hear.

  “What is it? I can tell something has struck a chord with you,” Mel asked.

  “Think of it for a minute, Mel. If this stuff works, it’ll be more valuable than gold. There are people like this Bullock character who will want to capitalize on controlling its production, distribution and administration. Mark my words, blood will be spilt over this little wonder drug.”

  “Good point. It had not really occurred to me in just that way, but I can see that happening. Don’t you think the lab has its own security? They must have some way of controlling the distribution and keeping it safe.”

  “Did you get that impression? I sure didn’t. It sounded to me like they are accepting all takers, just to get the product out. I can understand their eagerness but this could go South on them very quick if somebody with some muscle rolls in there and takes over their party.”

  “I suggest we discuss it with Gary in the morning and then, perhaps, put it before the group for a vote. It may be worth the risk to make the run, but I’ll leave that with you, as you’ll likely be the one to do it.”

  “Okay, let’s get some sleep and meet with Gary to go over the options. Will 9:00 a.m. work for you?” Farrell asked, as they walked back to their rooms.

  “Anytime, I’m not going to be able to sleep anyway.”

  The few hours of sleep the pair got were restless, filled with strange dreams and macabre characters. Mel spent the hours delivering dozens of malformed babies, each more grotesque than the previous. She would just complete one delivery before another was waiting in the adjacent room. Gurneys covered with blood, placenta and stillborn embryos, littered the hallways in her mind. Farrell tossed and turned, the faces of his new friends twisted in pain, bullet holes ripped through tender flesh, their eyes rolled back in their heads, creating gruesome death masks. He awoke covered in sweat, his heart beating as if it would bounce out of his chest. Both chiefs sat at the edge of their beds long enough to catch their breath and contemplate the nature and message of their dreams.

  Mel was no more superstitious than anyone else in the group but her native upbringing had taught her the importance of tapping into one’s dreams. She, and a few others, believed it was a form of communication from a higher power: the Great Spirit or God, depending upon their belief system. The dream had solidified the concern she had in regards to the side effects, which could occur with the use of this new drug. Her recommendation would be to hold off and continue doing what they had already tried: increased meat intake, concentrating on Vitamin A, which seemed to be working. The lab can take the time to test on somebody else, refine the product and then they would see.

  Farrell on the other hand could see the writing on the wall and knew it would be now or never. Corrupt men would soon set their sights on the facility and try to make it their own. The problem was taking care of their own little band’s needs before that happened.

  At 9:00 a.m. the two chiefs strolled into Gary’s office and filled him in on the events of the foregoing night. He was astonished at the good fortune but shared the same concerns of his advisors, once they laid out the entire framework of the idea. It was far more complicated than he had originally thought. Lives would be at risk and who was he to make that call? If any of the group had dreams of having a family and a life beyond the school, then risks had to be taken.

  The trio bounced ideas off each other for hours, finally deciding that any one solution was not perfect, but they could minimize the risk.

  “Listen, another six weeks and the roads will be much better. We’ve got enough gas to make it there and back, with a couple of good reliable vehicles. I can have the boys start beefing them up now, with some reinforced sidewalls, in case we run into trouble. I’ll need to take five of the security team with me, which will leave you stretched a little thin but I don’t see any other way,” Farrell concluded.

  “I tend to agree,” Mel noted, followed by Gary saying the same thing.

  “Okay, that’s what I’ll do. The only thing that will preclude this plan, is if they happen to bring us a shipment with the plane, but I’m not going to hold my hand on my butt until that happens,” Farrell said, as he demonstrated exactly what he meant.

  Chapter 15

  “What am I to do with you, Ethan?” Don asked, as he sat back in a large over-stuffed chair munching on a stale chip. He smiled each time he reached into the bag and watched as the annoying sound sent a shiver up Ethan’s spine. The man that stood before Bullock was bent and tired. His thinning hair and wrinkled brow spoke of a life of hardship and stress that had not been relieved when he and his wife had joined Don’s band. For months the couple had worked and fulfilled virtually everything they’d been asked to do but they were starving in the midst of what appeared to them to be plenty. Certainly, Don was not missing any meals.

  “We were hungry! I had no choice! My wife’s losing weight and can’t keep up with the chores she’s assigned. I didn’t think an old can of tuna would be missed.” Ethan stood before his accuser, wringing his hands, though they were held together at the wrist with a trio of plastic ties fashioned into handcuffs. The others in the room were silent. Solomon, Don’s enforcer, leaned against the wall behind his boss’s chair, idly cleaning debris from underneath his nails with a sharpened bayonet. Roger, ‘Red’ and Jimmy looked on, a bit more interested in the general proceedings but certainly more caring than Don or his killer.

  The ‘trial’ was taking place in a secluded corner of the 170,000 square-foot building that housed Don and most of his clan. He reserved the cold confines of this room for just such meetings, keeping the pleadings and screams away from the working majority. The concrete floor was clean but stained with red blotches for effect and Bullock sat in the only furnishing, making everyone else stand to endure his sense of power. His rules were not meant to be broken and there could be no gray area as Don saw it. The leader felt rather justified in his ability to render verdicts, basing much of his rationale on the Bible and The Law of Moses. If you stole, you lost a hand -- if you murdered, you lost your life: ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’.

  “Ethan, I understand but my hands are tied. I really have no choice but I’m willing to extend a bit a mercy your way. Rather than cutting off your dominant hand, I’ll look the other way this time and just have Solomon sever your left. Does that seem fair?” he asked, looking around the room at his squad leaders before returning his stare to the squirming Ethan. Red and Jimmy nodded their agreement but remained silent. Roger literally bit his tongue, knowing a vocal opposition to Don’s decree would possibly lead to a confrontation with Solomon, something he wished to avoid at all costs. However, not showing any sign, one way or the other, was enough to irritate Bullock so he pressed Roger for his opinion.

  “You don’t agree, Roger?” Don
said, tossing the empty bag onto the floor.

  “It’s our law,” Roger asserted, trying to avoid eye contact with the big man.

  “Yes it is, but I feel you’re still in disagreement.”

  “No, not entirely. It worries me that Ethan won’t be able to fulfill his responsibilities with only one hand. That’s all,” Roger lied. He knew that expressing his real concern for the man and his wife would lead to no good for him and would, unfortunately, not help Ethan’s plight either.

  “What would you have me do? It seems that you must know better than I. Come on, we’re all friends here. I’d like to hear what you’d suggest.” Don was actually having a bit of fun toying with Roger in front of the other men, who were now far more interested in the proceedings.

  Roger could see himself getting pulled into a discussion and confrontation that he didn’t want to be part of but his sense of fairness would not let him hold back. “Well, this is his first offense. He and his wife have been good workers and not caused any problems in the past. Perhaps there’s room for a warning this time?” he said, being sure that Don knew it was a question and not a statement.

  Don stroked one of his many chins, pretending to give the suggestion an honest evaluation. “Perhaps, perhaps but what if word got out? What if everybody thought it was okay to break the rules even once, then I’ve got chaos and no control. Everyone will expect the same degree of kindness and I just don’t think that works for the group. Do you?”

  Roger felt himself being pressed further and further into a corner from which he might never return. He finally relinquished his stand and agreed with Don. “Yes, I see your point and agree completely. I don’t see any option other than to remove his left hand. It will act as a sign to the rest of the community to stay in line.”

  “I’m glad you’ve come around to my way of thinking, but I’ve had second thoughts. You’ve opened my eyes and there really is no room for leniency. We’ll take his right hand -- will be that much more of a signal to the rest. Don’t you agree?” he said, looking directly at Roger for a reaction. Roger’s gaze dropped to the floor and offered no resistance, simply nodding as the others had done a short time ago.