The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

  “Is that okay?” Annie asked, somewhat repulsed by the task but wanting to please.

  “Fine. It’s fine. Get me some breakfast while I get dressed. If Gerry shows up, give him some coffee and tell him to wait outside. I don’t need him in my house stinkin’ the place up. I swear, the man doesn’t know the meaning of the word – bathe.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I surely will.”

  Juanita turned her attention away from Annie and thought of the day ahead. Plans needed to be put into motion for the survival of her clan, but how and when? So many years had passed since the world turned upside down. She’d lost everything and everyone. At first, she’d hunkered down with neighborhood survivors, moving from block to block, using up the resources before relocating to the next. Early on, she’d understood the tactic would eventually collapse in on itself, and it had. As a struggling people they needed safety, food and organization. Juanita Williams was a farm girl, a hard worker, and very capable but equally ruthless. She’d been raised to give no quarter and she expected none in return. Juanita was, for all practical purposes, the son her parents never had. However, her skills as a consummate liar and manipulator were not among the things taught in their home.

  The woman understood people: their wants, their desires and what needed to be said or done to turn them in her favor. “Sociopath” is what they would have called her had she ever been taken to court, but there were no courts now and if there were, she would be calling the shots. People killed for her and she’d done her own share of malice, but it was always at arm’s length, keeping her pure in her own mind and in the sight of the Growers, who were such a valuable but passive resource. They tilled the ground, hauled the water and gave life to acre after acre of mediocre crops, but even with their tireless efforts, people were growing sick and dying. They needed a new source of vitamin A, liver, or a cure, none of which seemed possible within their immediate sphere of influence, but something was on the wind.

  The roadways were abuzz with a remedy – a horribly wicked cure for what ailed them. She pondered the possibility as she ran a brush quickly through her thick mane and dressed in the coveralls she’d worn the day before. She considered herself fat but was far from it – more thick and sturdy – muscled where a woman would not typically be endowed. Crows feet were etched deeply at the corners of her cinnamon colored eyes, adding some contour to her otherwise square face. Juanita was not particularly pretty, and never had been, but she had a deceitfully honest looking face, a mask she knew all to well how to alter. Convinced she was ready for the day, she scoffed at the few cosmetics, which littered her nightstand, picked up a small tube of Chapstick and dropped it into the front pocket of the denim outfit.

  Juanita hurriedly finished a bowl of tasteless, corn mush that was filling and little else. The night before she’d consumed her allotment of liver, the source of which she preferred to ignore. She watched Annie hustle about the kitchen, cleaning here and there, obviously trying to avoid a conversation. Chatter often led to more work than was already expected of her.

  “Annie, be sure you get that baking done today. I can’t tell you how sick I am of this gruel you call grits. There’s not enough sugar in the county to make it edible.”

  “I’ll get to it today, for sure. I don’t know what was wrong with me yesterday. I couldn’t remember anything.”

  “It better,” Williams said firmly. “Gerry’s obviously here,” she observed, lifting her nose and inhaling just enough to get a whiff of his stench.

  “Yes, he certainly is. I sent him into the yard with some coffee, as you directed.”

  Juanita dropped her spoon loudly into her porcelain bowl and waited for Annie to scoop both up to be washed. As she did, her boss noted a series of faint bruises scattered about the servants exposed extremities. “Thank you, Annie. Have you fallen recently?”

  “No. Not that I’m aware, but I’m such a klutz I could have. Why?”

  “Your arms and legs – the bruises. Where did they come from?”

  “Oh, those. They’ve been there for a while. Maybe they’re getting darker.”

  Juanita was no medical genius but she recognized a problem when she saw one. She’s not clotting. “Annie, tonight you’ll eat with me. I’ll see you get a bit more liver to boost your system.”

  “Really? That is so kind, but what of the others?”

  “There’s only so much to go around. Do you want a portion or not?” Lady Williams replied sharply. Nothing infuriated her more than being questioned. She was above any form of scrutiny and the sooner the ‘grunts’ understood that, the better.

  “Of course, I do. I’m sorry. I know the burden you must carry and I’m thankful for all you’ve done.”

  Juanita huffed and said something inaudible under her breath before storming from the kitchen, out the back door and into the yard. Annie stood motionless in Lady Williams’ wake; her spirit shattered, evidenced by teardrops leaking slowly down her wrinkled face. This is as good as it’s going to get, she thought, before returning to her lengthy list of chores.

  In the yard a single, rugged individual walked circles in the dirt, which an eternity ago had been lush, green grass. Thick, burly tattooed arms, hung alongside a body that was getting more to eat than most. His scalp was matted with swirls of black hair, untouched by shampoo and run amok with lice. As Juanita approached the leader of her Harvester crew, she suddenly stopped, stuck her finger in her mouth and checked the wind.

  “Gerry, walk with me.” She turned, waited for him to join her, and strode directly into the face of a gentle breeze.

  “Mornin’ Lady Williams,” he said politely. The Harvester had removed a red bandana, which had been wound around his greasy head and was stuffing it in his pocket when he reached her side. “Nice out, ain’t it?” He struggled to keep up with the woman, who walked with bold, energetic strides. In his left hip he carried a cluster of shrapnel acquired while serving and defending a country that was now lost, but he was determined to match her pace.

  “Typical,” she replied to his attempt at small talk.

  “You had some questions for me?”

  “I do.” For a moment they walked westward in silence, the dust from their feet swirling back to the farmhouse. Stretched out before them several sections of land were budding with newly planted vegetables, and a small army of Growers were hoisting water from the back of a truck and hand watering the rows. Nearby, a city of canvas tents was randomly arrayed amongst a tall stand of flowering trees. The scene was actually quite picturesque, almost soothing, had there not been a persistent undercurrent of sickness and violence. “I wonder if they’ll do better this year?” Juanita mused, pausing just long enough for her subordinate’s smell to catch up to them.

  “The workers or the crops?” he asked.

  “The crops, of course. I don’t hold out much hope that any of these workers will live through another winter…or two.”

  “I don’t understand them. They’re an odd bunch, that’s for sure. Why they choose to live out here, instead of in town with the rest, is beyond me,” Gerry puzzled.

  “It’s the land.”

  “Say what?” Gerry asked, unsure of what she’d said. He’d been raised in Las Vegas and had little respect for farmers.

  “Gerry, it’s all many of them have left. They find solace in nurturing the earth. It’s their way of healing and moving on, and thank God they do. We’d be screwed without them, which brings me to our talk this morning.”

  She resumed walking, meandering around the compound of silos and corrugated tin sheds until they arrived at the largest of the silver structures. It was massive, housing their stores, equipment and bunks for a squad of sentries. A guard, dressed in army issue fatigues, greeted the two and opened the door for their entrance.

  “Where’d they get the new duds?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been laid up with my hip – haven’t been able to participate on supply runs lately.”

  “I’ve heard,�
� she said curtly.

  Inside, a mechanic cussed at an old backhoe that was giving him fits. They’d tried for days to keep the contraption running long enough to finish an earthen cold storage, but it appeared it had lifted its last load of dark clay from the cavernous hole.

  “What do you think, Smitty? Is it toast?” Williams inquired.

  The old, heavy-duty mechanic wiped a grease-stained forearm over his wrinkled brow and smiled uneasily. Below graying wisps of scant hair, his square face and sagging jowls tensed as he replied, “I’m afraid so. I’ve given it my best and it’s beat me.”

  “Sorry to hear it. Round up a couple of boys and get us a new one or…” She paused for affect, “you’ll be digging it by hand.” He laughed, but stopped as soon as he realized she wasn’t joking.

  “Okay, Lady Williams, we’ll get something today.”

  “I don’t doubt you will,” she said, more pleasant now that her point had been made. “Give us a minute will you? Gerry and I need a quiet word.”

  “Sure thing,” he replied, taking it upon himself to clear the rest of the workers and guards from the building. Once they were alone, Juanita ushered Gerry to take a seat and found a resting spot for herself an adequate distance away.

  “So, what’s the word?”

  “The word?” He hesitated, unsure exactly what it was she wanted him to say. “Oh, you mean the rumor the guys picked up this last time out? It sounds crazy but wouldn’t it be great?”

  “It would if I had a clue what you were talking about,” she said coldly.

  “Well, it seems they came across a couple who said they worked at a lab in Colorado. You know, they developed that medicine to have babies.”

  “Yes,” she said, leaning in, her curiosity piqued.

  “They didn’t want to talk but the boys got it out of ’em. They claimed the lab is gone – wiped out.”

  “That’s not exactly the news I was hoping for.”

  “Wait, it gets better. So there’s no more of the drug we need to have kids – who cares about that anyway, but they claim there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of children who were born the first time around. You know, when they had the working stuff.”

  “Gerry, that’s old news. We have some of them living on the compound. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I did. Those teenagers, right? But here’s the kicker; they said these kids are walking cures.”

  “How so, other than they are certainly healthier than the rest of us?” she asked, intrigued to the point of ignoring his building, lingering body odor.

  “I thought it was obvious – we eat ’em,” he said, a wide grin overtaking his smug face.

  “Excuse me?” she blurted out, not so much repulsed by the idea but the probability of it working seemed beyond reason.

  “Yeah, I know. They said they naturally produce some hormone or enzyme, some crap that would get us right.”

  “Is it possible?” she whispered to herself. “Okay, I must speak with these people. Bring them to me.”

  “Ah, well, you’ve kind of already met ’em.” Juanita stared blankly at him, expecting a further explanation. “Last night – your supper – it was them.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she roared, jumping from where she sat to strike him repeatedly about the head. “Did you not anticipate these people might prove valuable?”

  “I wasn’t there,” he yelled in his defense. “The guys had to beat ’em up a bit to get ’em to talk and once they did, there wasn’t much left.”

  “So they killed them?”

  “Exactly,” he confirmed.

  “It appears to me you are no longer in control of your own men, Gerry.”

  “Bull, they do what they’re told.”

  She stood over him, her hand ready to deliver another slap across his brow. “Gerry, you’re missing the point. They do what you tell them and you’re no longer viable. You’re outdated, still living during the war. We’ve moved on and there you sit in your filthy, old jacket with a stolen star on both lapels. You march around wielding that single star the same way you do your pathetic one-inch pecker, humiliating and embarrassing yourself and no one else. Gerry, your men no longer respect you. You’ve become irrelevant in the overall scheme of things, and I can’t have it, not here - not now,” she spoke boldly, knowing her men would have her back.

  “Then I take my Harvesters and leave,” he replied, standing and hobbling toward the exit.

  “Have it your way,” she said, confidently. As a second thought she yelled after him, trying to further degrade the once proud warrior, “And take a bath…you reek!” At the exit he turned and looked over his shoulder, unsure if he’d see a pistol pointed at him. Juanita stared back, her hands on her hips and chest pushed tight against the coverall’s restraint. Something’s wrong, he thought, as he swung the doublewide door open. Standing just outside, preventing his escape, a pair of uniformed militia blocked his path.

  “Dave, Jace, get out of my way,” Gerry hissed.

  “No can do,” Dave answered, slipping his sidearm from its holster.

  “You want to tangle with my Harvesters?” Gerry asked, remaining defiant.

  Suddenly, a third individual became obvious. He’d been watching and listening just out of sight but now made his presence known with an exaggerated, fake cough. He was densely blond and short for a man, standing only 66 inches, but his chest was as thick as he was tall. Gerry immediately recognized him as one of his lieutenants.

  “Finn, what’re you doing here?” Gerry asked. “Get the boys, we’re pulling out.”

  “I don’t think so. Seems a change in command is at hand,” the stout Harvester replied, pulling his own pistol from its sheath and placing it against Gerry’s left temple. A sudden wash of urine puddled around the taller man’s feet. “Are you kidding me, Gerry? Get back in the barn,” Finn ordered, his thick, European accent not obscuring the intent of his message. He slipped Gerry’s weapon from his side and patted him down for any others.

  Back inside and with the doors closed, they stood before Juanita Williams. “Gerry, I’ve known for some time it would come to this. I just had to hear it from your own lips and see what you’ve become. Your men have been circumventing you for a while and keeping too many secrets. It will stop now, with Fin assuming your responsibilities, which includes taking out the trash.” She paused, only for a second, before she finished her thought, addressing Fin directly. “See to it.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Come on Gerry.”

  Juanita left the outbuilding, giving the events no further thought except for the children, the handful of ‘Normals’ who lived under her good graces. What to do? she thought. It was a moral dilemma, a quandary that would require a great deal of spin and planning. The adults, especially the parents would be unprepared, but sacrifice was inevitable. She’d just have to think of the right approach – massage it, as it were. Before long they’d see it her way, and if not…didn’t really matter, she’d get what she wanted, regardless.

  Chapter 3

  On the upper most floor of Old Main’s west side, Boyd Bubley paced between a pair of lofty windows. His unique gate had not changed over the years but he had slowed, noticeably. Large hands suffered with arthritic fingers and joints too large to be considered normal. The colonel’s days of marine action were buried in the past, but he continued to hold his weakened stature as one worthy of military service, yet he was bent and tired.

  Looking through one of the windows, his imagination was instantly captured by a pair of frolicking young men. Moving through a series of waist-high tunnels, two brothers worked to clear some of winter’s debris from the manmade fortification. The Ward had worked tirelessly to build the works almost a decade before, but the maintenance was a never-ending job of cleaning and securing the maze against Mother Nature’s onslaught. Boyd grinned, and nearly smiled, something the colonel rarely did. Barred by panes of thick glass, he couldn’t hear those working, but could well imagine what was be
ing said on the ground below. The brothers, Niel and Scotty Mickelson, were playing, as much as they were working, each packing small handfuls of clay and dry leaves into dirty bombs. They ducked and weaved among the breastworks, occasionally standing to throw a ‘grenade’ at the other.

  The hard-playing pair had found The Ward a few years before, arriving with nothing more than a will to survive and a knack to accomplish the impossible. They’d traveled 800 miles through some very stark terrain to wind up in Logan, Utah. Toughened by their yearlong journey, the brothers had not located the family they sought, but had acquired another when Boyd and The Ward had taken them in. Niel was the older of the two, standing six foot one with broad, square shoulders and thick neck. Thin wisps of brown hair angled over his forehead in neatly combed bangs and sideburns extended an inch below his lobes. He smiled easily and laughed often, instantly making friends in the close-knit community.

  Niel’s younger brother was his spitting image. However, he was a few inches shorter but just as stout, with the same hairstyle, bangs and sideburns, but more blond. Scotty was reserved and somewhat tentative until he was comfortable with a relationship: testing and trying before dropping barriers that kept him safe. The young men, now in their twenties, had grown up in extremely difficult times, watching everyone they knew die outright from assault or disease. The last of their known kin, an uncle who had given them a fighting chance with his lectures on survival, had finally withered away and succumbed to a chest infection, shortly after going blind. His knowledge had served them well, given them hope, and sent them searching in a malignant land of dead and dying souls.

  Boyd had initially been troubled with their arrival, but then again, he was apprehensive about every intruder. To their credit, the young men had been a wealth of outside information, sharing sickening tales of hardship and pain from the lives of those they’d encountered along the way. Rumors had also rolled from their tongues like cascading waters, though murky and dark. The Harvesters were growing and spreading their infectious evil, sacrificing many and enslaving the rest. At the time, the newly acquired knowledge had consolidated and redoubled The Ward’s efforts to build, reinforce, and secure the city.