Bounding, with strides that were unusually long, Whitcomb joined an ever-growing circle of individuals at the front of the hospital. Reynolds joined him there, acknowledging his arrival with a gentle nod and eyes diverted to indicate there was something meaningful on the ground. Godfrey followed the gaze and saw the newcomer, Ben, bloodstained and lifeless upon the cold earth. A woman, huddled in a prayer-like stance over the corpse, rocked and cried something inaudible into her cupped hands.
“His wife?” Godfrey asked, turning his attention back to Remy.
“Yeah. Their daughter’s the one with the snakebite I treated a few hours ago.”
“What happened? Do we have any idea who is responsible?” the scientist questioned, suddenly very much aware he was the only one who had not bothered to put on some pants. No, wait, he was one of two…Jeff was also quite exposed but seemingly unaware. “Perhaps I should retrieve some trousers,” he suggested, but the comment went unanswered.
“We’ve got a traitor; somebody in our ranks that intends to disrupt our way of life. He is brutal in his tactics and is nothing more than a cold-blooded killer.” The words came loudly, uttered angrily from someone Remy and Godfrey could not see…but they knew Clark when they heard him, and they understood his anger and the resolve with which he spoke. The pair moved slightly to get a view of the security chief, who was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Rod and others of the security team. “We find this scumbag tonight. I want every member of The Ward contacted in the next 10 minutes. Work in pairs. If you encounter a threat do not hesitate to initiate deadly force. This man – and Boob has confirmed for us it is a man – is lethal and knows how to kill. He may be your friend, your co-worker, but he is out to bring us down…for whatever reason.”
“They’re pissed,” Godfrey noted, nudging the doctor in the ribs with his elbow.
“And for good reason. Let’s see what we can do to help,” Remy suggested.
More and more security people were rushing to the scene of the murder, while Rod and Clark tried to assign teams and locations to search. Scott and Niel were among the first to rush away from the crowd, their services were directed to Old Main and the dozens of rooms that might possibly hide an assassin. Cory and Clayton were close behind, given the Hub, north of The Quad, where many of the security people bunked and maintained their quarters. Quickly units ran to their assigned sectors, eager to find and deliver vengeance on one of their own that had strayed.
Remy and Godfrey angled their way through the crowd of sad faces to speak with Rod. “What can we do? We want to help.”
Rod, not the least bit surprised that they should volunteer, spoke quickly and pointed to the infirmary. “Get the hospital and lab secured. The last thing we need is to lose our medical supplies and research data. Take Jeff and…” Rod looked around to locate Dude, knowing he’d likely be close by. “Yeah…and Dude. He’s over there with Holly and his mom. Grab your weapons and get to it.”
“We’ve got it covered,” Remy replied, bolting away to round up Dude, with Jeff and Godfrey in tow. Minutes later the foursome entered the yellow-hued, glass doors that led to a series of rooms, which made up The Ward’s medical unit. Slowly they went from one room to the next, checking first on Brandi, who was still in a drug-induced sleep, and then on the others, who dared not venture from the relative safety of the darkened rooms. Most of those staying in the hospital were part of Ben’s group. They were exhausted, dehydrated and needed more care than was first thought.
Hushed whispers greeted the men and boys as they encountered those awaiting word of the commotion. “What’s happened? We heard gunshots – is everyone okay?”
Dude began to answer but was quickly silenced when a large, thin hand wrapped around his mouth in the dark. Instead, Godfrey replied in a calming voice, with just enough British accent to bring a sense of calm. “Everything’s fine. We’re checking on everyone to make sure all is well. Stay inside and together – we’ll be back ’round in a bit to fill you in on the details.” Finishing his statement, Whitcomb slowly removed his hand from Dude’s mouth and winked at the teenager.
They continued their methodical search, spanning three floors, before returning to the area where Ben still lay on the ground. He had since been covered with a blanket, his body surrounded by Allison and some other women who were comforting Lena. The group tried in vain to console the poor woman, who continued to quake in uncontrolled sobs amidst the aftershocks of grief.
“Jeff, you and Dude stand watch here and make sure nobody gets into the hospital. Godfrey and I will check out the lab,” Remy ordered.
“Sounds good. We’ve got this,” the young man replied.
“Yeah, no problem,” Dude agreed, pulling his rifle across his chest to show that he meant business.
“Great, just don’t end up shooting each other,” Godfrey quipped, knowing it would not sit well with the pair, who likely knew more about guns than Godfrey ever would.
“Ah, very funny,” the smaller of the boys sputtered in a voice that cracked with each syllable. “And…and why don’t you put some pants on…or something?”
“I think you touched a nerve there,” Remy whispered, as they scooted away from the boys.
“No doubt. However, he does have a point. I’ll grab some pants before we do anymore explor…” Suddenly, as if nailed to the earth by a lightning bold, Godfrey stopped in his tracks; his mouth agape and eyes wide.
“What? What is it?” the doctor asked, somewhat taken aback by his friend’s odd behavior.
“It’s…it’s a…now give me just a minute. It just hit me. We’ve been going about it all wrong. Hearing our young friend’s voice crack, as it did, triggered something in my mind. I…”
“Spit it out. What are you trying to say?”
“Hormones.”
“Hormones?” Remy replied quizzically.
“Yes. Hormones. We’ve been so busy trying to duplicate the old formula that we’ve lost sight of what we’re trying to accomplish. The data is clear…at least now it is. Think about the new batch of information we’ve collected. The answer is hormone levels. If we can trick the brain into releasing more testosterone and estrogen we may not need to worry about a chemical cure. It’s so easy. Why have we not thought of it before?”
“Brilliant. It’s absolutely brilliant. It may not do much for our vitamin A issue but it…”
“Listen, my friend. The two are linked. We flood the system with increased hormones and the enzymes will come. That’s it. I’m sure of it,” Godfrey exclaimed. “The answers been there for years and we’ve just not seen it.”
“I hope you’re right. Let’s get to the lab – secure it, and look at the numbers,” Remy agreed.
The gangly scientist excitedly rubbed his hands together. It had been years since an epiphany had struck him with such force and he was anxious to prove his point. He wrapped an extended arm around the doctor and proceeded to the lab. “I think if we start with the girls’ results we may get somewhere quickly. It’s strange – the thought just came out of nowhere – like a switch had been thrown. I’ve not…”
As if cued by Whitcomb’s statement, the yellowed light, hanging some distance away, flickered and died, only to surge back to a bright glow before going out for good. Systematically the few lights that were on in adjacent buildings did the same, ebbing in intensity before they died. The calm that had held the somber group from descending into chaos was shattered and screams filled the night sky. Flashlights darted from building-to building and face-to-face, turning the scene into an eerie death-site of harsh beams and devilish shadows.
Immediately, Whitcomb knew the source of the problem and dashed away from the doctor, his legs churning wildly as the pistol he gripped bounced against his churning thigh. “The generators. They’ve got to the generators.”
Chapter 31
In an instant, the tables had been turned on the killer, morphing his role from hunter to prey. Fortunately for the culprit, circumstances had be
en in his favor to save his life: a pitched night, a lengthy shooting distance, and the shaky hand of a youth who had never been in the presence of pure evil. Getting away from the scene had been easy. However, maintaining his facade, as a trusted member of The Ward, was perhaps irretrievable.
He had weighed his options, much like the night of Kirk’s murder, and come to one, undeniable conclusion – his act was over. He was no longer bound by any sense of kinship to Rod and the others. He could now give himself completely to his call. The hunger that beckoned him into the shadows could now reign supreme and lead him to his destiny.
Ducking and skirting the swarm of security had been difficult, but not impossible. He had weaved a hurried path from the hospital to his room, collected his instruments of death, and departed in a matter of panicked minutes. By the time he exited the structure, the roundup, which he knew was coming, had begun. Security teams swept from building to building and room to room as he watched and waited.
While patiently biding his time, the mole thought of the darts he could hurl at The Ward. 48 hours, he thought. If I can stir a hornet’s nest tonight and keep them on edge, I will have served my purpose and vanish…for a time. A grin lingered for a moment before fading quickly with the sound of approaching footsteps. He moved with demonic grace, his feet gliding over concrete, stone, and sod until he stood outside a set of heavy doors that led to the underbelly of The Ward’s power system.
The day before he had stood at the same exact spot, but then he had been an insider and no one bothered to question his movements or motives. The canisters of sugar he’d hidden were still there – sealed and ready for a bit of malicious vandalism. He used his knife’s heavy blade to gain access to a locked hallway that lead to the heart of the old university’s electrical system.
Still masked in a greasy shield of black, he eased along the corridor, the knife extended and sugar tucked securely under his arm. Voices, muffled but understandable, reverberated off the thick, concrete walls, slowing the killer’s advance. For a second he knelt and considered his next move. Quietly, he placed the sugar on the floor and inched ahead the next few feet, which brought him to a set of double doors that had been swung open and locked in place.
“What’s going on?” a middle aged guard asked his partner.
“Like I’d know,” the younger of the two barked back, sarcastically. “You heard the same thing I did.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But nothing. We follow protocol and stay put until someone relieves us or they bring us new orders.”
“I suppose you’re right. Gives me the creeps wondering what’s going on. For all we know we could be under attack right now…and here we sit,” the older guy retorted.
“We’d hear more gunfire if that were the case, but if it’s going to drive you crazy just run down the hall and take a peek.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Hold down the fort…I’ll be right back.”
Seconds later, a bulky character, dressed in fatigues from head to foot, rounded the door’s frame and stepped into the waiting arms of the black-faced assassin. The blade shot upward to the man’s throat, silencing him. It pierced his neck just above the Adam’s apple, severing the vocal cords, before exiting the guard’s skull near the base of the brain. The murder had been quick, quiet, and almost completely painless, but in lowering the heavier man to the floor a dislodged pistol clattered to the ground, loudly bouncing before coming to a stop.
Reactively, the mole jerked the blade free, dropped the corpse, and positioned himself to respond to an attack, which did not come.
“Hey Dex, you okay?” The question was quickly followed with the unmistakable sound of a round being slammed into the chamber of an assault rifle. “Don’t screw with me, Man. Get your butt back in here,” he hollered, his voice rising well above the sound of the generators.
Now, screamed the assailant in his head, as he deftly exposed himself in the entryway, for only an instant, before he pitched the lengthy commando knife across the space, lodging it fully in the heart of the young sentry. It happened so quickly, so professionally that the guard was unable to protect his life. He stumbled and released his rifle, while clawing at the blade buried in his chest. The room spun and his life passed, but not before he recognized the smug face of his killer.
“You,” he sputtered. “Why?” It was a question that would go with him into the eternities, as the knife was ripped from his chest and slashed across his convulsing carotid.
“Well, that was easier than I had anticipated,” the mole grunted, as he returned to the hall to collect his things and drag the heavier-set guard back into the expansive room.
The hum of two oversized generators was distracting but did not keep the killer from completing his task. He unscrewed gas caps from the two functioning units and steadily poured a generous helping of sugar into each tank.
“That should do it,” he said, smiling. He backed away to watch his handy work take effect, which didn’t take long. In seconds, the powerful motors soon limped, chugged, and ground to a stumbling silence…but he was gone.
Chapter 32
At morning’s first light, a billowing column of smoke swirled skyward from one of the many converted lecture halls, which housed families as well as security personnel. The fire had begun shortly after the generators ran silent; a parting gift from a saboteur who yet remained nameless.
Abject despair and sadness were evident everywhere as sunlight broke across The Quad. The bright, warming rays brought a newness of day to all, rescuing The Ward from a frightful night of death and mayhem. Slumped shoulders continued to carry the burden of securing the campus, restoring order, and preparing the dead.
From his perspective, just inside the infirmary’s entrance, Jeff watched the day unfold before him. Over his young life, he had felt the sting of death and hatred, but never like this…so dark, so close, and so personal. It was obvious the attack had come from within, and try as he might, Jeff could not shake the bitterness that was swelling in his chest.
“If only I hadn’t missed,” he whispered, as he fought back the need to cry..
Shrieks of agony filtered down the hallways, adding to the young man’s growing grief…and guilt. Dozens had been injured throughout the night: gunshots fired at fleeting shadows, a raging inferno searing flesh, and the ‘Devil’, crushing hopes and taking lives.
Will it always be so, Jeff thought. He leaned his forehead against the door’s glass insert to watch tears splash at his feet. For a brief second he heard a familiar voice and recognized it as Allison’s. She had not left Lena’s side since finding Ben. The pair were now in a room adjacent to Brandi’s, where Dr. Reynolds had administered a sedative to the distraught, grieving wife. Jeff strained to hear what his mother was saying above the din, and could faintly make out her sweet, gentle voice as it somehow reached out to him, touching his soul. She was singing…actually singing in the midst of so much chaos and misery.
For a moment, he held his breath and listened. The tune was familiar, one he’d heard oft as a boy, and it touched him now like never before. As if on angel’s breath the words pierced his heart and seized his soul, and he longed to be small again, huddled in the warm embrace of the woman who knew him best. The lyrics ran through his mind and renewed his courage.
Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
‘Tis not so; all is right.
Why should we think to earn a great reward
If we now shun the fight?
Gird up your loins; fresh courage take.
By the time Allison had completed the verse, Jeff’s tears had renewed themselves and were flowing freely, cleansing the boy, while strengthening the man.
“Hey Boob,” a girl’s voice called over his shoulder. “You okay?” Holly asked.
Jeff quickly wiped his face dry and turned to face the girl, who stood at the entrance to Brandi’s room.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
“You sure?” she asked
, seeing more than he realized.
“I’m tired, just like everybody else. What’s up?” Jeff asked, no longer able to hear anything but the distressed moans of those in pain.
“She’s stirring. Dude said to get you. I think she’s coming to.”
“Oh, great. Who’s going to tell her…you know. Who’s going to tell her about her dad?” Jeff questioned, knowing the task would likely fall to him. Everyone had a responsibility and she was his.
“Come on – get your butt in here before she’s awake. She might recognize you. I’ll see if I can round up the doc while you keep her calm.”
Jeff took a couple tentative steps toward the door and then, drawing on the song’s strength, he moved to her side and took her hand. It was petite but calloused, the hand of one who had toiled from the youngest of years. Gently he squeezed and she responded with just enough pressure to let him know she was there. He sat near her thigh, silently thinking of how and what he might say…and he waited, heart in hand.
Dude leaned against the opposite wall and watched the tender moment unfold. He thought he’d seen every side of his friend, but this compassionate gesture caught him by surprise. There was something in their touch…in the soft entanglement of their hands that was electric and unifying. He’d felt the feeling before and knew he would again the second Holly returned to the room and flashed him a smile. He loved her and he knew she loved him. His thoughts ruminated through his inexperienced mind, weighing the present against the future, and concluded that perhaps his best friend had found love too.
For an instant, Dude looked up to lock eyes with Boob. A message was sent and received between the two without the utterance of a single word. That is until Dude broke the silence with a shrug and a sarcastic, “What?”
“You’re an idiot,” Jeff quietly whispered from Brandi’s bedside.
“I didn’t say a thing,” Dude exclaimed, trying to keep his voice to a hush.
“You don’t have to. I can read your mind, and I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
The Lasting Hunger Page 21