The Living Hunger

by Dennis F. Larsen

  The African had drawn back the large knife again and was about to strike when Cory fired the first shot. The slug whistled by Solomon’s head, causing him to duck and run for cover, leaving the woman bleeding and scrambling to draw her own weapon and join the fight. The racket from Cory’s 9mm filled the night. Bam! Bam! Bam! Rang out in quick succession; each sounding louder to Mel as he advanced to her position, none of the rounds finding its mark but doing the job of scaring the attacker away.

  Mel Ghostkeeper got to her feet, a flood of thick, red blood streaming from her elbow but she was undeterred in her need to catch or kill her assailant. “Come on, let’s get him!” she screamed, through the pain that was making her head swim.

  “Hold up, we should wait . . . ” But Cory’s words fell on deaf ears as Mel took off at a loping trot into the darkness, her small flashlight creating a cone of light ahead of her. “Crap!” he said, as he joined the chase, his gun thrust out ahead of him, still smoking from the few rounds he’d fired at the escaping figure. A few meters ahead, Mel unexpectedly stopped, assumed a firing stance and blasted a string of 9mm rounds into the landscape ahead.

  “He’s moving down the hill, trying to get to those homes! Come on Cory!”

  The two sprinted ahead, firing at anything that could be their killer but coming up empty handed. Forty yards down the hill they ran out of steam and bullets. “We better get back, Mel. I’m out! How ‘bout you?” Cory asked, trying desperately to catch his breath and kneeling at the same time, to make himself less of a target.

  “Yeah, I’m about out too, but he’s gone.”

  Cory ripped the bottom of his sweatshirt off and tied it around the top of Mel’s arm. The blood slowed but continued to drip in a steady stream from the wide open wound. “We need to get you back up the hill and stitched up before you bleed to death.”

  “Agreed,” said the wounded warrior, backing up the hill with the light’s beam covering their retreat.

  Out of sight but just beyond the slope’s crest the two pursuers could hear the commotion of the cavalry arriving to provide assistance. Farrell was cussing and issuing orders to unnamed people while Boyd’s booming voice was doing the same.

  “Looks like we’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest, Cory.”

  “I’m afraid so. Hope Bubley doesn’t have a sharp knife on him.”

  “How’s that?” she asked.

  “Oh nothing, just something Clayton said earlier.” Cory helped the woman back up the hill and into the parking lot. They were greeted by two very unhappy men: Boyd and Farrell.

  “Major, I can see you’re hurt but did I not give you a direct order earlier today to keep your nose out of our business!” Boyd said, leaning in close to Mel’s personal space before Farrell stepped between the two, putting his finger to the older man’s chest.

  “Back off Boyd or you’re going to find yourself at the receiving end of an ass kicking!” Farrell spat the words into the older man’s face, their noses almost touching.

  “Okay boys, settle down,” Mel said, firing the last live round from her gun into the air.

  “What the hell kind of an outfit you running here, Sergeant?” Boyd pushed back at Farrell before turning on his heels and returning to the car.

  “The kind that gets things done, unlike yours!”

  “Thanks Farrell, but I’m afraid I had that coming,” Mel said, while trying unsuccessfully to hold the flesh at the back of her arm together.

  “Bull! You put yourself in harm’s way, solve their dilemma and he acts like a jackass! Come on, let’s get something around your arm.”

  Cory and the two chiefs walked away from the parking lot’s edge and joined those who were surrounding the car. Several were overcome by the gruesome nature of the scene, breaking down in fitful sobs, while others prepared to remove the body from the trunk.

  “Major! Major, once you’re bandaged get over here and give me a report of your activities tonight!” Boyd barked, still fuming over the altercation minutes before.

  “You don’t have to, Mel,” Farrell said, winding a bandage around her arm, the blood soaking through almost as fast as he could apply more layers.

  “It’s fine, they need to know,” she said.

  The night’s five principals were gathered around the trunk, each taking in the horrific sight, the consequences having a unique effect on each of them. C&C looked on in disbelief that one human being could do such a thing to another. Boyd and Farrell, fearful for the people they were responsible to protect, and Mel, mad that she had not been able to put a bullet through the killer’s head.

  “So Major, your actions and thoughts?” a slightly less agitated Boyd asked.

  “Well, we tracked the killer from the breach in the fence to this lot and found the victim just as you see him. We were attacked, returned fire and pursued until we lost him. My gut tells me he ate portions of . . . your man, David. Bottom line -- he removed his thigh muscle so he could eat it for the protein and I think you’ll find he’s removed the liver as well. That’s why all the blood and everything scattered about the trunk. He had to get the other organs out of the way so he could get at the liver.”

  “The liver? Why the liver?” Boyd asked.

  Mel drew in a deep breath, her head spinning as her heart was having a difficult time fighting gravity and pumping the reduced amount of blood to her brain. She had just opened her mouth and was about to reply when she was silenced forever, an AK-47 round splitting the night air and taking her life. The shell entered the back of her neck and exited through her open mouth, the misshapen slug lodging in the metal of the trunk’s lid. The medic pitched forward, coming to rest with David, the two sharing a grisly death embrace. A second, quickly fired round, lifted Farrell’s hat from his head and tossed it aside. The Sergeant dropped and rolled onto his belly, bringing his pistol up, firing blindly into the darkness. His guard had only been lowered for a second and now his friend was gone.

  The parking lot was thrown into absolute chaos as men dove for cover, returning fire at an unseen enemy. Dozens of rounds were sprayed across the lot and into the night, but Solomon was gone. His objective had been eliminated, not in the fashion he had initially chosen, but dealt with just the same. However, his thirst for human flesh had gone unsatisfied; perhaps the lad who had spoiled his dinner would be his next main course. The conjured up image compelled Solomon to extend, and then run his tongue over his full lips, releasing a tremor of excitement that ran from his shoulders to the base of his spine.

  Chapter 38

  A sudden light breeze stirred the leaves of the nearby trees and bushes causing Elva to pull her sweater tightly around her torso. The remainder of the company had left the burial site some time before but she and Farrell stayed on, reminiscing about Mel and the others who were now laid to rest in the northeast corner of The Quad. More than a dozen white markers, each with a name etched carefully into the wood’s surface, were arranged in neat rows, personal items adorning many. At the head of a freshly turned earthen tomb, a dream catcher and stethoscope dangled from the wooden cross. Nearby a baseball hat rested on a slightly older grave marker with a large ‘Y’ sewn onto the front. The earthly resting place was already showing signs of new life as lawn sprouts pushed up through the dirt, reaching for the sunlight’s warmth.

  “They’ll be missed,” Farrell said, pulling his little Elva close to his side, sharing his warmth. “In the back of my mind I’ve always known we’d lose friends along the way but never imagined it would be this hard.”

  “It’s going to get better though. Don’t you think?” his wife asked, wrapping her arms around his middle, pressing herself to him.

  Before he spoke the big Sergeant questioned whether to tell her the truth, as he saw it, or lead the conversation where she wanted it to go. He decided on the latter, “Oh sure, once we nail this cannibal and the injections start to make a difference, everything will be fine. The Ward has been great, we could make a home here.”

  “I’d like
that, some of the ladies are real nice. Mom seems to like it here and Len’s got that new doctor looking after him. He’s gonna miss Mel, he really loved her.”

  “I know. We all did. I wish she would’ve taken me with her that night. If we could have just . . . ”

  “You can wish ‘til the cows come home and it’s not going to make any difference. She’s gone. She did it her way and we can’t turn back the clock. Please quit beating yourself up about it. She was your friend. We all get that and you were probably closer to her than anyone but she and Allan have just moved on. They’re with family and friends on the other side. You need to believe that.”

  “I know, but . . . ”

  “But nothing, she’s probably looking down at us right now, wishing we’d find something better to do rather than mourning her loss. What do you know about this killer that took our friend?” Elva asked, taking in the fatigued countenance that was her husband’s face.

  “You’re right. I know you are. Roger knows this African guy, Solomon. He’s one of Bullock’s hired killers. Does the dirty work for him: assassinations, intimidation, the stuff that would make it difficult for Bullock to maintain power if he were actually doing it himself. Roger says the guy is merciless and has been killing people since he was a little kid.”

  “How you going to catch him?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve asked to meet with Roger, Bubley, Clark and Gary later today. We’ve already seen the changes to security that we requested through the Colonel, but I’m afraid that’s not going to make him go away. Okay, that’s enough about my troubles. How are you feeling? This morning, in the bathroom, it sounded like you were turning yourself inside out.” Farrell lovingly spoke to Elva, picking her up and crushing her chest to his, bringing their faces together, her feet more than a foot from the ground.

  “And if you don’t want a repeat performance all over your face, I’d suggest you put me down.”

  “Really, that bad?”

  “Doesn’t seem to matter what I do or what I eat. I’m worried that it has something to do with that injection but I’ve spoken with some of the other ladies and they haven’t had any trouble. Allison’s been fine. Mom, of course, has jumped to the conclusion that I’m pregnant.”

  “Is that possible?” Farrell asked, gently setting her feet back down on solid turf.

  “Well, of course it’s possible,” she said, giving him a demure little look, a bit of color rising in her already flushed cheeks.

  “Yeah, right. I mean; does it make sense with your period and everything?”

  “I’m not sure. Ever since my daddy died I’ve never been regular, so who knows, but I do feel a bit better in the evenings and some smells really set me off. Mom says, for sure, that’s from being pregnant.”

  The tragically played out results of the past few years’ childbirths raced through his head and he swallowed hard. Elva noted his reaction and interjected, “Exactly!”

  “What do you think? What’s your gut feeling?”

  “No pun intended?”

  “Yeah, oh yeah. No, what’s your impression? If you are pregnant, do you want to carry the baby to term?”

  “Of course I do. What kind of question is that? Don’t you?”

  Farrell could tell he’d opened a can of worms that he had not intended to disturb. “Yes I do, but if the baby is just like all the rest . . . ”

  “Then we deal with that when the time comes, but the bigger question is, what if the baby’s normal? What if the injection has worked and we can have children again? Don’t you think it’s worth the risk?” she asked, placing her hands flat against his chest.

  “Absolutely. It just worries me how a still born would affect you.”

  “I’m stronger than you think, Mister!” she said, driving her index finger into his chest.

  “Ouch, okay, okay, I see your point. So what do we do?” the potential first-time father inquired.

  “Well, Mel has some pregnancy tests buried away in her stuff but I can’t bring myself to look for them. Every time I even get close to her room I start crying. Maybe in a day or two I’ll be able to cope or Mom can try and find one for me.”

  Farrell bent down and kissed Elva lightly on the lips, gently placing his hands on either side of her head, as he did. “You know how much I love you? I’d do anything for you and I think it’s wonderful that you may be pregnant.”

  “Listen Hon, I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole baby thing and I can’t help but feel that everything’s going to be okay. Strange really. I just feel peaceful when I imagine us having a baby. Like it’s meant to be.”

  “Then I’m sure everything will be fine. Come on; let’s get you inside and out of this wind. I need to get to that meeting and Len said something about you bowling with him this afternoon.”

  “Oh, is that right? He can’t get over the arcade and the bowling alley. This would have been quite a place to go to school. Cory said he found a movie theater above the bookstore. He and Clayton are trying to figure out how to run the equipment so we can have a movie night. This really might be a place where we can have a family and settle down.”

  “I sure hope so. We’ll take it one day at a time, one step at a time and see what happens.”

  “Farrell, where would I be without you?” She paused only briefly, and then continued, not giving her man time enough to respond. “I love you!” she said, hugging him tightly before they strolled away from those who had sacrificed all for their friends and heartfelt convictions.

  Chapter 39

  In the days that followed the shooting death of Major Ghostkeeper, the Bear River security members, though few in number, were bolstered and united by their universal hatred for their friend’s slayer. Farrell and Boyd, both speaking from experience, had done their best to control the seething anger that would have driven the other men to rash actions and probable catastrophe. Cory had been inconsolable, blaming himself for the night’s events. A steadier hand, a quicker draw and Mel would still be with them, and there was no telling him otherwise. The Security Chief had pulled Clayton aside and given him strict instructions to monitor Cory’s every move. He was not to leave the compound under any circumstances and Farrell was to be apprised of his ongoing status. Too many had already been lost to this barbaric killer and the leaders, in general, were of one mind, which was that the deaths stopped now and all their earthly resources would be brought to bear, until they eliminated the threat.

  Meeting with the combined leadership of The Ward and Bear River, following Mel’s graveside funeral service, had proven to be very enlightening for all those concerned. The pretense or thin veil of distrust that had existed between the two was lifted and they were able to communicate on a higher level, with allegiance brought forth under a common cause. Boyd had taken much of the meeting to explain how he wanted to handle the new outside menace, with Farrell adding clarification and his take but both men basically seeing eye-to-eye.

  Jacob Freeman had sat quietly listening to the two war veterans discuss how they might hunt and kill the provocateur, but those in the room could tell that he had grown increasingly uncomfortable. At one point, the leader of The Ward’s religious entity raised his hand as if to insert his two cents worth, but quickly pulled it back to his chest before he was allowed to express his opinion. Bishop Freeman, as the majority of the combined clans called him, was a simple man of faith and understanding. He saw things in various shades of grey and knew that seldom was anything clearly cut black or white. At the time when deaths had been mounting and society was crumbling, he had been serving as a lay member of an LDS Bishopric with responsibility over approximately 450 souls. The talk of literally stalking a man to bring about his demise did not sit well with him on one hand, but on the other, he knew more lives would be lost if it was not accomplished. Jacob was not highly educated nor was he eloquent in speech but what he lacked in these areas he made up for with a kind, generous heart and a willing spirit. He’d spent the last seven yea
rs of his life working to preserve lives, and he found it difficult that he should now be involved in the deliberate need to take one.

  “Gentlemen, if I might,” he’d finally said, standing to get their attention. “I understand the nature of the man we’re dealing with but can he be bought off in some way? Is there anything short of murder?”

  “Bishop, I’m afraid you don’t understand the nature of this man,” Clark had said. “This is not the same as scaring away a band of scavengers. He is stalking us! He’s unlike anyone we’ve ever dealt with. Roger knows him and has seen the work of his hands. He is cold-blooded, merciless and apparently has taken to eating his victims. I can think of no other way to deal with such an animal than to kill him.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with Clark,” Farrell had said, addressing his remarks to the leadership in general but looking Jacob in the eyes as he did. “I suspect, for whatever reason, Solomon is here for me and that the others, from his point of view, are just collateral damage. When we were initially attacked, a sniper killed one of my best men and several others as the engagement kicked off, but I believe the first bullet fired was intended for me and not Dallas. We eventually knocked out the sniper’s position with mortar fire but it appears the shooter survived - that’s Solomon. I can’t explain why he took Mel the other night instead of me but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the second bullet was directed at me. I feel responsible for bringing this danger to your doorstep but believe me; I will stop him! One way or another I will bring him down.” He then spoke directly to Freeman, “There will be no negotiation, no detaining him, and no buying him off. I will resolve the problem with a bullet to his brain or a knife through his heart.” The Bishop had been a little stunned. Such direct talk of hunting and killing another was foreign to the humble leader and the words he’d tried to form would not come. He’d simply nodded his head and returned to his seat. “I hope I have made myself clear,” Farrell had concluded, again addressing his remarks to all those in the room.