Hours later Annie found herself standing in a pitch-black bedroom, the blinds drawn and only the faintest wisp of moonlight illuminating Juanita’s sleeping form. She held a heavy skillet in one hand and a sharpened carving knife in the other. Her head spun and determined thoughts gave way to fatigue and doubt. I must, she rationalized, as the physical and psychological weight of the objects nearly dragged her to the floor.
She inched closer to the bed, raising the pan well above her head and willed herself to act. NOW! She cried out in her mind. Do it for the children.
Chapter 5
In the early morning hours, when angels and restless demons invade the dreams of the living, Allison stood at a small window, staring, but not seeing. At her back, Rod wrestled in slumber: kicking, fighting, and as his wife had witnessed hundreds of times, killing Bullock again. Waking him was fruitless. He needed this instant to work out the struggle in his own way and in his own time. Farrell was not coming back; she’d come to terms with the loss and hoped one day Rod would do the same, and finally sleep in peace.
Her mind wandered, drifting from past to present events and the challenges they faced. Life had proven to be far different than she’d ever imagined. The belief and honored tradition of marrying a hometown sweetheart, settling into a small home, and raising a passel of kids was merely an unobtainable wish. Despite their setbacks, the deaths, and the sometimes-desperate circumstances, Allison was happy. She loved Rod, a deep abiding love that had been born of friendship and sorrow, but nurtured into a binding, eternal relationship.
She turned and walked the few paces to the side of their bed. Sweat rolled from Rod’s forehead and neck, saturating his pillow. She retrieved a cloth from a nightstand, dipped it into a ceramic bowl of clean, cool water and gently mopped at his brow. For a moment he settled, his breath coming in deep, restful waves. Allison dutifully rinsed the washcloth and returned it to his forehead, thinking of how she’d done the same for Elva in her final hours. She missed her dear friend. Their short time together had cemented a friendship that transcended death and taught her the meaning of selfless courage.
In the face of her adopted child, Jeff, she recognized Elva and Farrell, the likeness providing an avenue to memories, which Allison cherished. The young man, if she dared think of him that way, was maturing rapidly, becoming a handsome blend of his parent’s good looks. Jeff was thoughtful, like Elva and Allison, but displayed a dogged determination and courage, much like his father and Rod.
Hours before, Rod had informed her he would be taking their son with him when the morning broke and his squad travelled away from the city to look for supplies. It would be the first of such adventures for the lad and it worried her so. However, she understood the need for, and nature of Boob’s education, and she would not be an overbearing, protective mother who could not let go. No, she was not that woman – she’d seared her own mettle in the flames of battle and she was sure, one day, Jeff would do the same.
Next to her, Rod suddenly jerked and shouted, “No!” Aw, it’s over, she thought, as he tensed and twisted, thrusting his hand into her pillow. Magically, his facial features softened, shoulders relaxed and he calmed to a steady stream of rhythmic breaths. She watched his chest rise and fall, assuring her the battle was over, at least for one more night. Lifting his arm, she plied herself to him, knowing he would sense her there and squeeze her tight. Rod shifted and pulled her close, thrilling Allison as the sound of his beating heart filled her head.
* * *
“One more time,” Rod said, running Jeff through another drill before they left for the day.
“But I…” The boy stopped, recognizing the familiar look Rod shot his way. “Okay, Dad,” Boob said, methodically dismantling his short-stocked AR-15, again. He stripped the weapon down to a dozen parts, laying them aside on an oil-streaked towel. When ready, he assembled the assault rifle, naming each piece and describing their function as he locked them in place. Rod had found the light, black rifle in the trunk of a sheriff’s vehicle a few years ago and immediately snapped it up for his son. The collapsible stock would serve Jeff well, expanding as the youth grew, adapting to his lengthening arms and thickening chest.
At the completion of the task Rod smiled and patted Boob’s shoulder. From his pocket he pulled a heavy clip, the brass cartridges shining in the room’s dim light. “Lock and load,” he said, handing the magazine to the boy.
“Really? We going target shooting?”
Rod’s eyes lifted and slowly trailed across the room to where Allison sat, her countenance filled with fear and worry. “Not today. We’re doing a supply run.”
“And I get to go?” Jeff questioned, excitedly.
“You do. You’ve got to learn what’s really out there and this is a good way to start.” Rod answered the query without taking his eyes from Allison. She winked, giving him the assurance he was looking for.
Boob followed his dad’s stare to his mother’s face, recognizing the concern resting there. “Mom, I’ll be fine.”
The words brought a slender grin to Allison’s face and a light to her eyes. “I know you will. I’ve always known this day would come – when you’d go from a boy to a man. I just didn’t expect it would come so quickly.” Allison motioned for him to join her, hugged him close and kissed his cheek. “Listen to your dad, and do what you’re told,” she said, sternly.
He nodded his understanding and anxiously retrieved his rifle and other gear from the table. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“I can see that. Meet me out front while I say goodbye to your mom.”
The boy scooted out the door. His parents laughed when they heard him run to the stairs at the far end of the hallway. “He’s pretty excited,” Allison confirmed.
“Just a little,” Rod agreed, pulling his wife to him for a parting kiss. “You know, I’ll be right there. I won’t let him out of my sight.”
“I know…I know. Are you taking any of the other Normals?”
“Yeah, Dude. When he heard Jeff was going there was no shutting him up. So he’s coming as well.”
“You’re taking Dude?” Allison asked, somewhat surprised. “Who’s helping him?” Allison paused, remembering the death of Dude’s father the year before. He’d perished defending their perimeter from Harvesters, a tragic but familiar story.
“I suspect his mom knows a thing or two, but I sent Cory over to make sure he’s equipped and ready.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring,” she said, sarcastically.
“What do you mean by that? Cory’s every bit…”
Allison placed a single finger against his lips, silencing his outburst. “I’m only kidding. I know Cory as well as you do – the two of them will work just fine together.”
Rod smiled, kissed her finger lightly and hugged her one last time, before slinging his rifle and pack over his shoulder. “We’ll see you tonight, if not sooner.”
* * *
Overcast skies and a blanket of wispy fog had slowed the small convoy, arriving in Hyrum later than they had expected. The three vehicles, led by a yellow Dodge, slowly eased their way to the outskirts of the small bedroom community, just resting on the southeastern rim of the valley. Before the war and for generations, farmers and country folk had settled, raised families, and enjoyed a laid-back lifestyle. They appeared to be gone: leaving toys scattered in mile-high weeds, front doors open and cars rusting away in crumbling driveways.
Cory stopped the brightly painted Dodge Ram but left the transmission in gear. Dude looked back and forth between the men seated beside him, expecting Clayton to break the silence, but neither did. They scanned the deserted road and properties that lay before them, slowly surveying the landscape for signs of life. Dude pretended to do the same, not quite sure what he was looking for but lending his eyes to the search. Finally after a few minutes of unbearable silence he whispered, “What are we looking for?”
Clayton continued his grid-like examination of their surroundings, seeming to ignore the qu
estion. Suddenly he turned and blurted out, “Harvesters!” The unexpected alarm bounced the lad in the seat and sent a shriek from his lips.
“Where?” Cory yelled, dropping a hand to draw his pistol.
Clayton laughed, cycling through his classic series of snorts and giggles. “You guys crack me up. Dude, I’ve never seen eyes so big.”
“Holy Crap, Clayton. You gotta stop doing that to me,” Cory quipped, easing his grip on the gun and steering wheel. “Did you really see anything or not?”
“No, there ain’t nothing here. Let’s unload and work house to house and see what we can find.”
“Okay, you two hang tight. I’ll go talk to Rod,” the young man ordered, slipping from behind the wheel. A minute later he returned, spun the ignition key and retrieved an AK-47 from behind the seat. “Let’s go. Dude, you’re patrolling with Rod and Jeff. We want you guys to cover our butts while we’re going door-to-door. Any questions?”
The boy nodded his understanding, still trying to slow his heart and respiration after the fright Clayton had induced with his outburst. “Do I shoot?”
Cory looked at the frightened lad and smiled, his mind racing back a dozen years to an empty school where every day was a challenge. “No, not unless you absolutely have to. Your magazine is full, but at least for now, don’t put one in the chamber. We don’t want any accidents.”
“Gotcha,” Dude replied, clutching the short-barreled Ruger his father had gifted him shortly before his untimely death. The slender boy was certainly no coward, participating in every possible training exercise The Ward offered, but he was anxious about what his first day in the field would deliver.
To the casual observer the best friends seemed an unlikely pairing. Jeff was already showing a maturing physique while Mike or Dude, as he was commonly called, was boyish and slender. Though both were handsome, their looks were uniquely their own. Dude’s deeply tanned face was highlighted with defined cheeks and aquiline nose, where Boob sported roundish features against pale skin and a mop of blondish, fine hair.
Born only months apart, they mimicked the relationship of C&C: teasing and cajoling one another relentlessly but having a connection that transcended mere friendship. Jeff was certainly bigger and stronger, but what Dude lacked in strength he made up for with speed and agility. The friends understood, perhaps the same way Clayton and Cory did, they complimented one another and were better together than they ever could be apart.
Dude adjusted the baseball cap that kept his brown, wavy hair out of his eyes and followed Clayton out the passenger door to the circle of heavily armed men. Boob greeted him with a nervous smile and playful punch.
“This is great,” Jeff exclaimed. “I can’t believe how cool this is.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Dude suggested, drawing a quizzical look from his larger friend.
“What’s up? You nervous?” Boob questioned.
“Yeah, a little, but it suddenly occurred to me a few minutes ago that we may have to shoot somebody today. Has that not crossed your mind?”
“Of course, but my dad says it’s not likely. We’ve lived pretty close to this little place for a long time and never had any trouble. I overheard one of the guys say, ‘it’s going to be a walk in the park.’ Whatever that means.”
“I hope he’s right. I’m not scared but…”
“I know…me too. We just do what we’ve been trained to do – shoot straight and stay out of Clayton’s way,” Jeff said, snickering while he pushed Dude with his shoulder.
“Exactly,” Dude agreed, chuckling at the snide comment.
“Hey, listen up you two,” Rod summoned, lifting his voice enough to get the kids undivided attention. “I want Cory, Clayton, and you two up the right side,” he said, pointing at a pair of women wearing jackets with the Cache County Sheriff’s logo emblazoned across the left breast. “I’ll take the center with the boys and the rest of you go up the left. Remember the techniques we’ve practiced. Don’t put anybody at risk. Cory, you have anything to add?”
“Yup. Bring anything you think may be of value to the road. We’ll rummage through it after the sweep and take what we need. And above all else…”
He was quickly cut off by the younger duo, “Don’t shoot me.”
Cory tilted his head and looked over his dark glasses at the smart-alecks and grinned. “Correct – don’t shoot me.”
Rod zipped his windbreaker, adjusted his ammo belt around his waist and issued the ‘move out’ order. The four-manned units jogged in orderly formation to the first homes at the end of the wide lane. Their equipment rustled and shifted but the sound was nearly extinguished by a morning breeze stirring tree branches and loose shutters. “Boys, we walk the middle. Dude, take the left hand side, you can walk in the gutter. Boob, you take the right. Don’t be distracted from your responsibility. You watch and cover the team on your side. You see anything – you holler out.”
The pair nervously took up their assigned positions and waited for the search squads to emerge. Five minutes later, C&C led their unit from the first house followed quickly by Kirk’s platoon, bringing nothing to the curb. Home after home was breached, searched, and abandoned, but very little was found of any value. Jeff looked at his dad when they approached the end of the first street and shrugged. “Where’s the stuff?” he asked.
“God only knows,” Rod replied, quietly. “Form on me,” he ordered, from his position near the middle of the street. A large weeping willow stretched forth its long arms and dangled a snarl of branches over their heads. “Fruitless,” he said. “Any thoughts?”
“They’re picked clean. We’re obviously not the first ones here and certainly not the only ones looking for loot,” Cory surmised.
“Agreed,” Clayton said. “Let’s try a couple more streets and if nothing pans out we may need to try Wellsville.”
Rod considered the idea and then replied, “Well, I know it’s disappointing but we’ve still got hundreds of homes. We can’t go back empty handed. Let’s take a right, finish this block and move the trucks to another location. Okay, hustle it up.”
The remainder of the first block, as well as the next three, yielded virtually nothing of value, bringing the discouraged crew back to the vehicles for a quick strategy session. Rod looked at the women assigned to Cory’s team. The younger of the two was raven haired with an unusually fair complexion. Unlike her counterpart, she wore her locks shoulder length, which added to the narrowness of her thinning face. Dark brows overlooked jasmine eyes that gleamed emerald in the proper lighting. At any other time in history, she would have been a mother of small children, but not now – today she was a trained sentry, capable of killing in the name of freedom.
“Katie,” Rod called, speaking directly to her, “you’re from the valley, right?”
“Correct,” she shot back.
“You probably know Hyrum better than the rest of us combined – where’s a place big enough to store all these goods?” Rod inquired, hoping the 36-year-old woman might offer some insights.
She slung an MP5 submachine gun over her shoulder and thought for a minute. “I’ve not been here for years but a church or school seems the only likely spot. I know there’s a couple LDS chapels on 3rd or 4th West. We could start there…and I think there’s a school near the one on the south side.”
“I’m thinking the same thing, Katie. Let’s roll over there and see what we find. Stay sharp,” Rod warned. “There may not be anything here but if there’s a Harvester gang things could get nasty pretty fast. Cory, you and Clayton roll up within a block of the first church. We’ll follow and then proceed on foot.”
“You got it,” Cory agreed, drawing nods from his squad.
“What do we do?” Boob asked, sliding up next to Rod and pointing at his friend.
“You two stay in my hip pockets.”
“Yes sir,” they responded in unison.
The trucks, bristling with pointed barrels, slowly rolled away from the willow
in search of the first church. Homes in various stages of rot and decay slipped past them, giving way to a common theme of death and desertion. Many of the yards, though overgrown and unruly, harbored a similar element not overlooked by the search party.
“Dad, what’s with all the graves?” Jeff asked, pointing to yet another row of hastily prepared markers.
“I wish I could tell you. It looks like someone has seen to Hyrum’s residents and put the dead to rest. I hope they’re the ones still here. It would be nice to find some compassion…” Rod stopped, seeing Cory pull to the curb and his men disembark. “Okay, we get out here. Put one in the chamber,” he said, ratcheting a round from his magazine to chamber. The friends hesitated, looking at each other unsure if they’d heard him correctly. “Come on, boys, this is for keeps.” Seconds later the three, with their weapons locked and loaded, joined the eight security personnel near the yellow pickup.
“Cover and move until we’re at the entrance,” Cory directed. “Rod, you better stay back with Dude and Jeff until we see what we’re up against. My squad first and Kirk you follow up. Cover us until we’re inside, and then get your buns up there to help us secure the place.”
“If you draw heavy fire retreat and we’ll regroup. An unknown supply is not worth putting anybody in a body bag,” Rod confirmed. “Be careful,” he said, as Clayton, Cory, and the women headed up the street. “Kirk, keep 25 yards between your crew and theirs.”
“Right,” the tall sharpshooter replied, as he slipped a 150-grain cartridge into his rifle’s chamber. “Okay, move out,” he called, sending his squad up the street, dodging from one piece of cover to the next.
Both units zigzagged toward the red-bricked church, their guns swaying but ready. Jeff and Dude watched, listened and learned: storing the experience under their belts for a future day when others would be looking to them for guidance and life-saving direction. Near the church it readily became apparent there was something different about the grounds. The weeds were thinned and the vegetation cut back at the entrance. It appeared someone had been looking after the once-dedicated property.
The Lasting Hunger Page 6