“Good, then it’s settled. Roger will cut off Ethan’s good hand and that will be the end of it.”
“What? I . . . I have to do it? That’s never been . . . ” Roger exclaimed.
“Oh, did I not make that clear? I'm sorry. I thought I had been more specific. Yes Roger, you will do this task for me, and had you opposed me further today, we’d be taking your right hand as well. So consider yourself lucky.” Don smiled as he reached for another bag of chips, trying not to laugh, but he finally gave in and let out a burst of snorts and snickers that echoed around the room.
“I don’t think I can . . . ” Ethan jumped back to his own defense and cut Roger’s comment short.
“Please, is there nothing else I can do? Please don’t take my right hand. What will I do? How will I contribute?”
“Stop your groveling! Nothing I hate more than a whiner,” Don hissed.
Ethan looked from man to man, hoping for an ally amidst the standing few. Each of the men looked away until he arrived at Roger, who met his gaze and held it. Neither spoke as both feared for their lives, which would be nothing more than sport for the heathenness leadership.
Don’s high-pitched voice finally broke their non-verbal communication and drew their eyes back to him. “Roger, you’re a good leader. I respect that. I really do. The men like and trust you. That’s all good but I can’t stress enough how important it is that you toe the line. I’m cutting you a bit of slack today. You’re still relatively new; otherwise today could’ve ended very differently for you. I hope you appreciate that.” He stopped and waited for Roger to thank him.
“I do . . . ” Roger said, fighting the urge to follow up with another comment. “I do, thank you.”
“Well said. Okay, we’ll need to . . . ” Ethan suddenly made a dash for the door, colliding with Roger and pushing him out of the way as he scrambled to make his escape. Roger looked on helplessly as Solomon nonchalantly hurled his long bayonet across the room, burying it in Ethan’s back and dropping him to the floor. Roger crawled to him as the others cheered and congratulated the African on his well-aimed throw.
“You should be thanking Solomon, Roger,” Jimmy yelled out. “Saved you from having to saw his hand off.”
Roger did his best to ignore the careless bunch but focused his attention on the dying man’s last words. “I’m sorry,” Roger whispered, trying to keep the others from hearing their intimate conversation.
“Me too.” Ethan lay on his side, the blade embedded so deeply that the tip protruded slightly from his chest. He struggled to speak but knew he had much to say. “My . . . wife.” Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and his words were faint. Roger leaned his ear close as Ethan began to slip away. “Please help . . . you’re a . . . good . . . ” His eyes shut and he slumped completely to the floor, his muscles giving-in to death.
I should run this dagger through Don's heart! Roger thought, needing a release that would satisfy his anger.
“Well, that didn’t go quite as we expected but was still entertaining. Eh, Roger?” Don asked.
Roger ignored the question and his peers by standing, pulling Ethan’s body away from the door and exiting without saying a word. “What’s wrong with him?” Jimmy called from behind. Roger could still hear the laughter as he walked away from the room, his heart heavy but knowing he had to get to Ethan’s wife as quickly as possible, without Don finding out.
Back in the room, Solomon retrieved his blade from Ethan and casually cleaned the blood from the steel on the dead man’s pants. Out of habit he ran his hands over the pockets, and finding nothing there, returned to Don’s side.
“Who knew he was here?” Don asked.
“Wife only,” Solomon answered curtly.
“Good. His death actually works better for us. Just think of it. We’ll have good ol’ Ethan contributing in ways he never imagined,” Don said, laughing. Furthering his train of thought, he explained, “I’ve given the information we got from Colorado a lot of consideration. We need to redouble our efforts to bring in more game but we can supplement our depleting stores with our good friend Ethan here.”
“You serious?” Red asked.
“Why not? You want to stay alive? Until we get that wonder drug from the lab we better be eating more meat and finding a new source of liver. I thought I made that clear at our last briefing,” Don said, finally getting up from his chair and wandering around the room.
“But I don’t think the people will go for eating somebody they know,” Jimmy put forth.
“That’s the beauty of this particular incident,” Don said, “They don't have to know. Solomon here packages him up and puts him in the food stores along with the other meats. Cook him up in stews or something and no one will be the wiser.”
“And his liver?” Jimmy asked.
“We save that for ourselves, of course. Keep it from everyone else for now but I think you can let Phil know. Moving forward, I want a handful of men that can be trusted to act as a ‘Harvesting’ force. Put them to work searching the outlying areas for wanderers or others that fit the bill. You know what I’m saying, right? Ugly women, old men and others that don't serve our purposes should be taken. Make sure they remove the meat and edible organs away from our borders so we don’t have to do any explaining. As far as anyone knows it’s just venison, rabbit or whatever.” Bullock looked around the room to make sure they were all on the same page. There were no dissenters present.
“What about Roger?” Jimmy asked.
“Keep him in the dark. I’m not sure I trust him enough at this point. Oh, and Ethan’s wife -- Solomon, tell her Ethan escaped and throw her in with the other whores. We’ll make sure she gets more to eat now that our meat supply has suddenly been restocked.” They laughed, enjoying the irony in the boss’s words.
Within the massive building Roger was finally able to find Ethan’s wife. She was devastated with the news of her husband’s death but promised Roger she would keep the knowledge secret, at least for now. She was pleased to have someone helping her but both were unsure of what they might do. For now, they would play Don’s game and keep their heads down. Roger pledged his support and would do his all to keep them both alive. At the moment, there was little else he could do.
With the birth of the Harvesters more than just a gruesome thought, Don and his men left the room, except for one. A lone assassin knelt over his prey, already severing flesh from bone and piling the plunder in a morbid stack of oozing red tissue.
Chapter 16
In the six weeks that followed the initial contact with Godfrey Whitcomb, the school’s shops worked overtime to disassemble, reinforce, and then reassemble the two trucks that would make the long trip to the laboratory. Communication with the distant lab had been sporadic at best, certainly not the every night for four hours, which they had originally promised. Elva had not taken the news well, nor had Allison. The two women were desperately in love with the Jenson brothers and feared that if they drove away from the compound, headed for Colorado, it would be the last time they would see them.
The weather was breaking by late February. By early March, bare patches of dormant plant matter were beginning to show through the melting snow, as the earth renewed itself in the miracle of spring. Elva could see the changes and concluded what everyone knew; the venture would launch sooner, rather than later.
“But what if something happens and I don’t come back, then you’d have married a dead man.” Farrell tried to talk some sense into Elva. Her mother, Rose, had preferred that the two hold off on the marriage until spring, when Elva would almost be 18.
“I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait! Don’t you want me?”
“You know how badly I want and need you, but there’s a lot of risk involved with this trip and . . . ”
She cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips, “Farrell Jenson, I would rather have been married to you for one minute than not at all.”
How could he argue with that? He pulled her clo
se, picking her little frame up from the ground and kissed her passionately. He did want her and it had taken all his strength and resolve not to press his advantage, but he knew waiting was probably the right thing to do. She would be his and his alone. His parents would be proud and he reveled in the thought that they might someday meet.
“Okay, yes - let’s get married. Your mom can’t say no, now. Surely, she sees the predicament we’re in and will agree?”
“I don’t care what she says. I’m a full grown woman and you are my man and we’ll get married when we want,” she said, turning on her pout and tripping away to inform her mother of just that.
A short distance away, Rod had watched the exchange and was happy for his older brother, but suspected that he too, would soon be in the same boat. Allison had been hinting that perhaps it was the right time for them as well. Each of the married and romantically inclined members of the group were more than a little hesitant to advance their relationships, due to the fear of unwanted pregnancy and non-viable births. Hopes were high that the solution was just around the 800-mile corner.
March 21st arrived much faster than anyone might have imagined. The little community was a hive of activity. The security details had gone through hours and hours of rigorous training, knowing that six of the strongest fighters would be away for a period of time. No one was exempt from taking their turn with patrols and guard duty. The safety of the entire community hinged on an early alert if they were threatened from an outside force.
Gary, dressed in a dark suit, stood at the front of the auditorium with a Bible in his hands, while his wife played some well-known hymns on the piano. The entire community was present, except for a sparse number of men on watch. The auditorium was divided into three sections by two aisles that ran from the stage to the main doors of the facility. The large meeting area was used for special occasions, church meetings and a movie, once in awhile. Farrell stood on the stage to Gary’s right and Rod stood to the left. Both men wore suits, their faces smitten with smiles that could not be wiped away, as they waited for their brides. Farrell was dressed in a cowboy-cut suit he had pilfered from a western store a few miles away and near where Gary once sold his goods. A small leather bolo tie was around his neck with a scorpion encased in amber as a slide, and on his feet, a newly polished pair of snakeskin boots. Rod was perhaps more traditional in his brown, pinstriped suit with matching tie and shoes but both men were handsome and happy.
As the two nervous grooms waited and watched from the stage, Gary’s wife began to play the traditional wedding march song. The two sets of main doors, at the end of each aisle, slowly opened and two of the most beautiful women that either man had ever seen, stood in full wedding attire, framed in the large double doors. Each woman was covered from head to toe in a white expanse of fabric, lace and beads; a train, being carried by some of the younger children, stretched for yards behind. Len, Elva’s brother, led the procession in the aisle leading to Farrell, a small pillow in his hands carrying four rings. Elva’s mother stood in the front row of seats. She clutched a small, white handkerchief to her mouth, as tears ran down her cheeks. It was not quite what she had envisioned for her little girl, but it would do.
Rod was overcome with his good fortune as he watched his soon-to-be-wife move toward him. The tears he’d been fighting back all day now trailed down his cheeks and were splashing onto his suit front, wetting his newly pressed shirt. It did not seem to faze him, however, as they were tears of joy and he was not ashamed of the happiness he was feeling. Farrell was more reserved but still, his smile told a story of a man who was blessed beyond what he thought possible. The words of his mother ran through his head, knowing he had fulfilled one of her last requests.
“Find a good woman, marry her and love her more than yourself. If you do this, you’ll be happy.” She’d drilled these sayings into his head from the time he was a little boy and today, he knew she would be proud.
A moment later the brides and grooms were united on the stage, standing before Gary as he prepared to unite them in the sacred bonds of marriage. He was unsure if he still had the God-given right to wed the couples, but there was no one else and he figured God would understand, given their circumstances. At one time, he had held the ecclesiastical rights to perform marriages but that was many years ago and a world away. He read from the Bible, counseled the young couples to cleave to one another and to find joy in their relationships. He talked of sacrifice, the need to be unselfish and the ultimate goal of being reunited with one’s family in the afterlife. There were tears shed and hope was evoked in the name of love.
Finally he pronounced the jubilant couples husband and wife, having Len distribute the rings after the appropriate ‘I do’s’. A kiss solidified the unions, starting them on a path no longer as two unique individuals, but of one heart united in purpose and deed.
Rice could not be spared so the couples were sent on their way with shouts of joy and celebration. Friends of the brides had been planning for days preparing honeymoon suites for the newly married. The rooms, away from the rest of the housing units, were somewhat secluded where they could enjoy some peace and quiet. It did not take the couples long to find their way or for them to begin the exploration of their new lives together.
Sleep came easily to the four newlyweds but the unmistakable sound of Allan’s plodding footsteps woke them all, before he’d even begun to bang on Farrell’s door.
“Sarge! Sarge! You gotta come quick! I need your help! Something is happening. Something bad!” Allan yelled through the closed door, bringing both Farrell and Elva to their feet, running for the door. Farrell looked around for the assault rifle, which never left his side. It was nowhere to be seen; apparently other things had distracted him the night before.
Rod could be seen running down the long hallway before Farrell had a chance to get his door open. “What is it, Allan? What’s happened?”
Allan swung to greet Rod and was just about to deliver the urgent news when Farrell managed to get his own door open, one leg in his pants and hopping on one foot, trying to get the other to slide into place. “This better be important, Allan!” he threatened.
“They’re under attack!” he blurted out in frustration.
“Attack, who’s under attack?” Farrell asked, finally getting his pants to cooperate, pulling them up and fastening them with a large rodeo buckle.
“The lab, the lab in Colorado is under attack!”
“Okay, settle down. Take a couple of breaths,” Rod encouraged, rubbing Allan’s back in an effort to help him relax.
“A few minutes ago I was talking with that Godfrey guy, confirming that you and Rod would be leaving in a day or two for their location. Then all of a sudden, it sounded like all hell was breaking loose. There was all this screaming and shouting. I could hear gunfire in the background. Anyway, Godfrey stayed on long enough to tell me that he’s going to try to get to the plane. He can’t fly, so he has to try and get a pilot but if they can get out of there, they are going to try to make it here. They are going to come to us!”
“Did he say anything about the medication?” Farrell asked.
“No, just said he was going to try to get out of there.”
“Good work, Allan,” Farrell asserted, happy that they’d been lucky enough to be on with the lab when these events started to unfold. However, he had to assume that perhaps, they hadn’t been the only ones listening in.
“Okay, we’ve got lots to do. Rod, get six mobile security teams together, fully armed and ready to engage anybody who tries to intercept that plane. Allan, I want you and about a dozen others on the roof with spotting scopes and binoculars looking for the airplane. Contact me by walkie-talkie as soon as anything is spotted and keep your eyes open to the south. We may have visitors today. Any questions?” Farrell paused only briefly, then continued. “Okay, that’s it. Let’s move!” Farrell looked behind him to see Elva scrambling to find her clothing. Her wedding dress was draped over a chair, a symbol
of peace and hope that was so quickly shattered with the reality of their existence.
“What can I do?” she asked, pulling a sweater over her head, not the least bit concerned with her appearance.
“Gary’s gonna be swamped. Find him and see what he needs.”
“Sure,” she said, while she got on all fours and rummaged for something under the bed.
“What are you looking for?” Farrell asked, still moving about the room collecting his things.
“This,” she said, retrieving and tossing the assault rifle to him. She’d slept better knowing it was under the bed all along.
Chapter 17
The night had started much like any other at the BioChem Lab; operations were winding down for the day. Many of the workers were enjoying time together in the cafeteria, playing cards, reading or having a late snack. Crackers and well-aged cheese were a favorite of most. Godfrey had woken from a pleasant nap around 11:00 p.m., knowing that he would be spending another few hours on the HAM radio reaching out to survivors as far away as Oregon. He had been extending the invitation, as directed by Sylvia Tashuk, for individuals and groups to receive the injection that would likely remedy their intestinal issues.
As he wound his way from his quarters to the operations room where the radio was housed, the tall, thin Englishman passed a rather odd looking group of survivors. Bikers? He internally questioned. He’d not seen them in the facility before, but that was not uncommon as of late. Many had been finding their way here to receive the important injection. Four men dressed in shabby jeans and leather jackets were being escorted under armed guards, as was the protocol, from the maximum-security entrance to the health processing station. Blood would be drawn prior to the injection and people were encouraged, whenever possible, to return a month later for a comparative blood test. These four did not look, to Godfrey, like they would be interested in coming back, in fact, they were spending more time looking down auxiliary hallways and giving the people and facility such a look that he suspected something must be amiss, but he was a chemist and not security, so he let it slide.
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