The Living Hunger

by Dennis F. Larsen

  “You ever shot a man, Rod?” he asked, bringing his gloved hand to his chin to wipe the moisture away.

  “I can’t say that I have and hope I don’t ever have to,” Rod said compassionately, knowing the feelings that must be raging through the big man’s being.

  “As brave as I want to be and as strong as everyone expects me to be, it’s hard. I don’t know if I have what it takes to kill another man. Sarge keeps saying that when the going gets tough, the training we’ve had will kick in and I’ll act out of instinct. You buy that?” Allan asked, with all the fervor of his soul. “I mean, look at Cory the other day. He’s been using guns his whole life and Farrell relies on him a lot, and he froze. I probably would have done the same thing or worse. Scares me that someone else will get hurt or killed because I screw up and don’t do my job. I don’t want to let you guys down. You’re my family and you mean everything . . . ” he again lost his ability to speak as the tears cascaded down his face.

  Rod moved the last few feet to rest a hand on Allan’s shoulder, not an easy task for a man half Allan’s size. “I do believe Farrell knows what he’s talking about. I’ve seen you train and I know you’ve got a good heart. I have no doubts about your ability or your desire to help. I’d put my life, and I think Allison would as well, squarely in your hands. Ain’t that right?” Rod said, looking back at his sweetheart.

  “You know it. I feel sorry for the first guy that really ticks you off,” Allison said, standing up to join Rod and Allan. “You’re going to be fine. There’s nobody here I’d trust more to watch out for me, other than Rod, and I mean that.” She walked around the gun, pulled the tenderhearted giant’s face close and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered, “We love you too.”

  The three stood together for another few minutes, not speaking but enjoying the stillness of the evening and the unspoken truths that swirled between them. Love of family and friends forged in the fires of adversity was strong - strong enough to endure, flexible enough to forgive and sure enough to provide lasting trust. Allan was grateful for the kind words of his friends and knew he could give his life for theirs, but the uncertainty of his abilities still clawed at his gut and eroded his self-confidence. One day, one day soon, he would have the chance to prove himself and the fire that burned within him.

  Chapter 20

  Farrell spent the evening moving from one checkpoint to the next, ensuring that any unwelcomed visitors would be greeted with hardened fighters, willing to stand their ground. At one checkpoint, manned by Cory and Clayton, he was not quite so sure. The Security Chief had held back, not making his presence known, so he could see how the two did working the same post. He had not been surprised but he had also not been disappointed.

  “Clayton, if you do that stupid face one more time, I’m gonna shoot ya and tell everybody Bullock snuck up here and did it himself.”

  “What face? I’m just sitting here, minding my own business and trying to keep us all safe. I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Clayton said, as straight faced, as he was able.

  “Alright but I swear, one more time and C&C will just be C!” Cory said, looking sideways at Clayton to see his response.

  Farrell watched from the shadows, not interrupting the two, at least not yet. A few minutes passed before Clayton dropped both arms to his sides, opened his mouth wide and stared in a zombie-like trance, out over the parking lot to the barricades on the other side. Cory was cautiously using his young eyes to scan the horizon for possible threats and did not note his friend’s condition for several minutes, before his attention was drawn to the zoned-out character to his right.

  “You rotten jerk! That does it!” he said, standing up and slamming a 3” magnum shell from the magazine of his shotgun to the chamber. “You want me to just take a leg or finish you off with a head shot?”

  Clayton fell off his chair, holding his side and laughing to beat all. “I thought Sarge was going to have to drag you out of the jeep the other day. I was sure you’d crapped yourself. Funniest thing ever.” He let out another string of trademark laughs and snorts before he was able to get himself under control.

  “I’m gonna just wing ya then, maybe take out a knee so that Don Bullock can chase you down in that jeep of his, then we’ll see who’s crapping themselves,” Cory said, a smile on his face, enjoying being able to toy with his best friend.

  The Security Chief had seen about all that he needed to see. He approached the two at a run; his footsteps landing loud enough that it would be no surprise. Cory immediately brought the loaded shotgun to his shoulder, while Clayton reached for his own weapon. “Who goes there? Identify yourself!” Cory called out, his finger tight on the trigger and feet spread to provide support, should he need to fire the gun.

  “Who in thunder do you think it is? Put those guns down before one of you idiots shoots me,” Farrell said, slowing to a swagger, as he approached the two young men. “Do you two ever give it a rest?” he said, chuckling to himself.

  “Well he started it,” Cory said, pointing to Clayton.

  Clayton burst out laughing again, picturing his friend frozen at the wheel, while a truckload of death and destruction was barreling down on him. At the time, Clayton had also been petrified, anticipating that Cory and Dallas were both going to take a face full of lead or the trucks grill head-on. His shout for help had been answered in a heartbeat, when the rocket had taken out the truck and stopped it cold. “Oh man, Sarge, that look on Cory’s face and then the look on yours when you saw him – priceless.”

  “I’ll tell ya, I sure don’t know what to make of you two. I don’t think either one of you could figure out how to pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the sole,” Farrell said, knowing the reaction he’d soon get from the two knuckleheads.

  Cory and Clayton looked at each other for a split second before the pair broke out laughing again. Cory reached his hand up to receive a high-five from the Security Chief but decided against it, when he saw the smirk on Farrell’s face, but he gladly took a good hard smack on the palm from Clayton, who was more than happy to oblige his buddy.

  “Piss out of a boot, ha, ha, ha. That’s a good one, Chief,” Cory said, trying to regain his composure.

  “Alright boys, get it together,” Farrell cautioned them. “There is a very real and serious threat out there tonight and I need you both to be sharp. Clayton, no more Cory-Zombie imitations. Cory, don’t pull down on Clayton with your shotgun.” Farrell paused for a moment, enjoying an unusual second of calm at the scene, then said, “Unless he does something stupid, then take him out.” This time all three burst out laughing, knowing that Clayton would not survive the hour if the order were carried out.

  “Okay Chief, any other orders?” Cory asked, trying to rein in his emotions, playing it serious for a moment.

  “Nope, I appreciate you guys trying to keep it light but be careful. You’re the eyes and ears of the entire northeast compound tonight. I need you to be alert.”

  “We won’t let you down, Sarge,” Clayton said, a very serious note to his remark.

  “I know you won’t. I’ve got all the trust in the world in you two. Putting all the jokes and laughter aside, I know you’re good boys, doing the best you can under some very trying circumstances. Believe me, there’s times I’d be crying if I didn’t have you two to laugh with. I’ll be back in a few hours to check in on you. Use the walkie-talkie to radio for help if you see anything.”

  “Will do,” Cory acknowledged.

  Farrell turned and had gotten about ten feet when Cory called behind him, “Hey Sarge, tell us one more time how fat that Bullock character is.”

  The battle hardened vet, turned as if he were John Wayne, put his left hand on his hip and right hand on the butt of his gun, dipped his chin down, almost blocking his eyes with the brim of his cowboy hat and said, “Well, I’ll tell you son, that Don Bullock is so fat that if you told him to haul ass - he’d have to make two trips.”
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  Cory and Clayton lost it again. Farrell could still hear them laughing as he moseyed on to the next station.

  Chapter 21

  The following morning there was a buzz of excitement in the air as the community anxiously waited for the town meeting to get underway. The night had passed without incident and all were in attendance but for Farrell, Rod and their wives, as well as three other men who had agreed to forgo the meeting and man the necessary security posts. The Security Chief and Elva watched from the Eagle’s Nest, the same position Allan had occupied the night before, with Rod and Allison. The machine gun dwarfed Elva as she played 20 questions with her husband about the gun’s operation.

  “I should know how to use it,” she said, pulling the butt to her shoulder and stretching her arm just long enough for her fingers to reach the trigger guard. “See, I could shoot this thing,” she noted, moving the big gun back and forth within the mount and pretending to sight down the barrel at imaginary targets.

  “Oh, I don’t have any doubt that you could shoot it. It’s just such a big gun.”

  “Well, how will we ever know if you don’t teach me?” She continued to press her advantage, knowing that eventually he would cave in and do what she wanted. She had a particular way of getting what she wanted out of Farrell and she was not afraid to use all of her feminine charms to reel him in. Seconds later, he was breaking the gun down, removing the ammo belt and preparing to teach her how to fire a Browning .30 caliber machine gun.

  As Farrell went through the parts, use, and operation of the Browning, Elva watched carefully, feeling the strength that drew her to him. It was no wonder she’d been smitten by him, so quickly, and so completely. He was everything she wanted in a husband and father for her future children. In him, she could see her own father, his strengths and goodness, but she could not help but be drawn to the bad-boy side of Farrell as well. She knew it lurked just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed or tamed. On one hand she desired to control the wild side that she had yet to explore, but as young and naive as she was, it also scared her that she would not be woman enough to contain him.

  “Thank you, Farrell,” she said, laying her hand atop his as he continued to instruct her in the gun’s operation.

  “No problem, you are probably right. You better have an idea how to shoot this big thing.”

  “No, I mean just thanks for loving me so completely. I do love you so much!” she said, hoping that he could see and feel how dearly she meant those words.

  Farrell quickly moved around the end of the gun and swept Elva into his arms. “Come here,” he said, before bending her over and planting a big kiss on her questioning lips. “And I you. You’re more than I deserve,” he said, again kissing her.

  “Thanks, I needed that for some reason,” she said, reluctant to be set aside but knowing they had more to do than think about one another.

  Farrell continued with the instruction and when completed, watched as Elva went through the steps of loading and unloading the gun, clearing a jam and demonstrating how she would fire it, if called upon.

  “Very good,” he said, impressed with her ability to listen and grasp the concept of working such a complicated weapon. “Your mom and Len at the meeting this morning?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what they’ve decided to do. Len is getting worse pretty fast. Mel’s not sure what’s wrong with him. His liver is really having trouble. Have you noticed how jaundiced he’s starting to get? His eyes are quite yellow. Mel has him eating twice as much venison liver as the rest of us and he just can’t seem to process it. She’s afraid he was exposed to the contaminants at such an early age that something is more screwed up than just the vitamin issue. He really needs to see a doctor. What about Godfrey? He’s some sort of doctor, isn’t he?”

  “Yup, chemistry – he has a PhD in chemistry but he’s not a physician.” Farrell looked into the distance, unsure of what could be said to lessen the heartache he knew she was feeling. He’d seen it coming and had discussed the little guy’s condition with Mel and Gary. The prognosis was not good and his care was beyond what anyone in the community knew how to treat. There was no doubt that Mel was doing her best but with minimal training in regards to systemic disease, hope and prayer seemed the only avenue of treatment.

  “I think he should have the injection. Doesn’t have much to lose and it may save his life,” Farrell finally said.

  “That’s what I told Momma. I think she’s going to see if they’ll treat him but I don’t believe she wants it for herself. She’s tired; the only thing that’s kept her going this long has been the need to care for Len and me. I’ve seen it in her eyes for a long time now; she misses Daddy and what they shared. I understand that better now that I have you but it’s hard for her, and my heart goes out to her. I miss him too, every day I think of him, so I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it must be for her. He was a good man, Farrell, I wish you could have known him.”

  “I do too. He gave his life for what mattered most and I respect that. Hope I can be the same kind of man when, and if, it ever comes to that.”

  “Well that’s about the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week. You’ve done nothing but sacrifice and put yourself in harm’s way, ever since this bunch came together. Why do you think everyone here loves and respects you, the way they do? We’d be a mess without you, Mel and Gary.

  “Thanks hon. How do you think those two are making out with the group? Glad it’s them and not me having to explain everything,” Farrell added.

  * * *

  The atmosphere in the auditorium was jubilant one moment and pensive the next. Those who had made up their minds to have the injection, had perhaps, done so prematurely. Mel did her best to lay out the pros and cons as she saw them. She tried not to take sides but gave the information in a professional, well thought-out manner. Time was given to Godfrey to explain the medication and the pharmacology behind the idea. He was then inundated with questions from the group. Gary observed the proceedings from the back of the room, not wanting to exert his influence over the very personal decision each member must make. A full 45 minutes after the meeting had begun it was adjourned. Those wishing to move forward with receiving the injection were ushered to the front of the meeting hall where they drew a random number from a hat. Women between 15 and 35 were an exception. The chiefs, earlier in the day, had concluded that they were the target group as they were most in need of the medication, and could choose to go first, if they felt so inclined. Elva and Allison, being among this select number, readily agreed to be in the first wave of recipients.

  “Well, I guess that’s it, Gary,” Mel said, completing her schedule of who would receive injections and when. She sat at the edge of the stage, her feet dangling over the side. She wore her usual ball cap, a snug pair of jeans, and a sweatshirt that read ‘Bears’ across the front in black and red. A little souvenir she’d picked up at one of the local stores on a gasoline run she’d participated in a few weeks prior.

  “So what are the numbers?” Gary inquired, taking his own hat off and scratching his unruly hair.

  “Looks like most want to proceed with the shot, 36 to be exact. I’m doing the first wave at noon in my office. I’ve asked Godfrey to be there, as I’m sure there will be lots of questions.”

  “Good idea. He’s proving to be more helpful than I had first imagined. Quite a likeable guy, once you understand where he’s coming from. I hope the community will give him a chance and make him one of their own.”

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s any concern about that. He’s already taken quite a liking to Rose Allen and she, to him,” Mel expressed, nodding her head toward the back of the auditorium where the afore mentioned couple were talking in hushed tones, the body language very casual and accepting of one another.

  “What can I do to help?” Gary asked.

  “Nothing really, I think I’ve got everything under control. The group at noon will be all women and next week it looks like a 50/50 s
plit. No, wait a minute, I take that back. I’m bringing Len into the first group today. Poor little guy needs something and I don’t know what else to try. Godfrey seems to think the injection will make a difference, so he’ll be first on the list.”

  “I sure hope for his sake that it works. We don’t need that setback, not now.”

  “I agree, but he’s a tough little guy, lifts my spirits each time I see him, even though I feel like I should be lifting his. Don’t know how he manages to remain so upbeat, with everything that’s been happening around him, but he somehow keeps a smile on his face. It’s quite remarkable when you think about it. Gives me hope, as I’m sure it does everybody else around here,” Mel said, not one to open her heart and share her inner feelings but when it came to children, especially children who were sick or in pain, it pulled at her heartstrings more than most.

  “Yeah, he’s a good boy alright. Will be a real shame if he continues to get worse.”

  Mel jumped down from the stage, pushing the emotional, heartbreaking thought from her mind, as she marched up the aisle, headed toward her office. She called over her shoulder, “I’ll let you and Farrell know how it goes later this afternoon.” The medical officer moved quickly through the open doors, past a few of the lingering survivors and hustled to her office where she needed time to prepare, contemplate, and seek direction beyond her own abilities. Mel understood, more than any of the other members of their little society, that hope for them and mankind, hung in the balance and today would either mark the way for a brighter, more rewarding future or just another nail in the coffin of their existence. Her pace increased, heart pounding wildly in her chest, the burden of so many weighing heavily upon her shoulders.

  At noon, nine women stood outside the medical office of Major Melanie Ghostkeeper. There was an air of excitement but also apprehension in the hallway as the women talked quietly. At precisely noon, the door opened and the Major stepped out, dressed in her normal attire but covered with a knee length lab coat, a binder in the crook of her left arm and a stethoscope wrapped around her neck. She smiled at those waiting for her and directed Mrs. Allen to bring Len into the room. They slipped through her office and into the procedures room, where Len was asked to jump up on the examination table, which he did with ease.