The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

  “Sounds good,” a graying older man replied.

  Clark walked from the command building with his mind harboring a gnawing sense of impending doom. He stopped for a moment and listened. It’s quiet…too quiet, he thought. Even though they had beefed-up and strategically placed their resources, he was sure it was not enough. Removing the ever-present ball cap, which partially hid his bristled buzz cut, Clark firmly rubbed his scalp: a habit that never failed to clear his thoughts. Seconds later he sprinted to wake Cory and Clayton – he’d need them as his eyes and ears before the sun came up.

  A dazed, but groggy Christine, opened her eyes to find Clark standing at her bedside. “Clark, I…”

  “Christine, I’m sorry I had to wake you. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired…but better. What’s wrong? What’s happened?” she asked, trying to push herself upright.

  “I’m looking for Cory and Clayton. I went by your place and no one answered. Do you know where they are?” Clark asked.

  “No…I’d expect him to be here or…” She paused for a minute and pushed her feet off the side of the bed. “Wait a minute…I do remember something, but it’s fuzzy. Maybe I just dreamed it.”

  “What’s that…do you recall?” Clark questioned.

  “Something about hunting…he and Clayton were going hunting.”

  “You’re sure…he and Clayton?”

  “Yes. Why…is there a problem?” Christine inquired, her voice now matching her furrowed brow.

  “No…no…I’m sure I’m just confused. When you see Cory, let him know to report to me before he turns in.”

  “Sure…anything,” she replied.

  A moment later, Christine was up and moving. “Hunting,” she fumed. He and Clayton have put themselves in harm’s way and I’m lounging in the infirmary. “Not today. I will not greet this day from a hospital bed.”

  While Christine dressed, Clark bolted across The Quad anxious to reach the barracks. His mind raced, imagining a dozen places C&C might have ventured…all dangerous. Where have they gone and what are they up to?

  The general feel and ambiance of the security personnel’s living quarters was not unlike Old Main’s, yet the building was much newer and the hallways more confined. Clark swiftly moved from one room to the next, looking for Niel and Scotty. Finding their door, he banged on it with enough force to wake the dead. The echo bounced down the empty hallway, vibrating doors and shaking fixtures. A tussled Scotty swung the door wide and was surprised to see Clark filling the frame.

  “Hey Clark, what’s up?” he asked. “We just got to sleep.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I need you and your brother to be runners for me. Get dressed and meet me out front in two minutes.”

  “Oh…yeah, I guess we can do that,” Scotty replied, slipping his hand into the back of his boxers for a quick scratch.

  “Now, Man!” Clark barked.

  “Yes Sir. Niel, get your butt out of bed. We’ve got work to do.”

  Scotty slammed the door behind him, but a minute later it crashed open, with the brothers running for the main exit. Each was still trying to pull themselves together: clasping buttons, tightening ammo belts, and doing their best to prepare for what lay ahead.

  Under the watchful eye of a solitary, dangling star, Clark explained their mission and cautioned them to be vigilant. “I want you to make rounds. You hit every outpost and then back here to report to me…and then do it all over again. I don’t know how long I’ll need your help, but we’ve got to know what’s happening on the outskirts of town. You got it?” he asked.

  “Of course. How long will the radios be down?” Niel asked.

  “As long as we don’t have a way to charge the batteries – could be a few minutes or the rest of the day. I’m counting on you guys to make this happen. I’ve got a bad feeling,” Clark said, again rubbing his head. “I can’t explain it, but we need to be prepared…prepared for what’s coming.”

  “Sure thing. We’ll be back as soon as we make the loop,” Niel said, winking at his younger brother.

  “Great, and if you happen to see C&C, tell them to let me know what they’re up to.”

  “Gotcha,” Scotty replied.

  “One last thing,” Clark said, before sending them on their way, “there’s a flare gun under the seat of that truck…use it in case of an emergency. We’ll send help if we can.”

  A minute later the pair jumped into the pickup and were screeching away from the campus.

  Forty five minutes…it should take them forty five minutes tops, Clark reasoned.

  “What next?” he pondered aloud. He felt pulled in so many directions he couldn’t decide which was the most important. “For now…the tower, I need to get a better look around.”

  Chapter 39

  Mere seconds after Holly had summoned the courage to grunt like a pig; the thought of Kirk’s slashed throat and near-severed head bound her tongue against any further call for help. Yet, she tried, parting her lips and breathlessly crying, “Dude…Jeff.” Again and again she repeated their names without any audible success.

  Where is he? Suppressing a wave of nauseating fear, she peeked over the cold, granite stone that stood before her. He’s gone! Oh no…where…where…

  For a second, Holly was sure her heart had stopped. She frantically looked from the spot where he’d fallen, to any possible place of cover. There’s too many…he could be… It was then she spotted movement…a passing rush of shadow straight ahead and near an unusually large, grotesque headstone with a leering angel looking down upon the scene. Gotcha, she thought, and for a moment her courage was bolstered.

  Intently, she held her gaze, watching for anything to pass from either side of the monument. He’s still there…he’s got to be. Suddenly a hand touched her shoulder and she shuddered; yet only glanced away for a second, long enough to see Dude and Jeff standing behind her.

  “What is it? Did you see somebody?” Jeff muttered quietly.

  “Clayton and Cory?” Dude added.

  “Yes…and no,” she replied, turning her attention back to the killer’s location.

  “Well, which is it?” Jeff questioned again, this time lifting his own eyes above the stone for a look around.

  “Be careful…he’ll see you,” Holly cautioned.

  “Who?”

  “The traitor…I saw him. He’s just over there behind that gross looking statue with the angel on top,” she said, pointing timidly.

  The information pushed Dude to his knees, where he could peer around the side of their protective gravestone. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yeah, pretty sure. He fell down…that’s when I saw him and squealed.”

  “Good,” Jeff whispered in reply.

  “Good? How’s that good? He’s close and we don’t know where C&C are,” Holly reminded the boys.

  “Okay…okay…give me a second,” Jeff said, not taking his eyes from their target. “If we…crap…he’s on the move. Did you guys see that? He’s running to the east. Come on…we can’t lose him.”

  In an instant, all three youth were moving without thinking beyond the moment. “Stay low,” Jeff reiterated, as they scurried from grave to grave. Trying to remember their training and keep up with the quarry, The Normals hastened into the unknown, intent on excising a devil.

  * * *

  Cory had gauged the distance, hefted the grenade, and was about to twist the primer cap when he saw the targets bolt from behind their cover. There was something oddly familiar about the small group’s movement and cohesion that startled Cory, and in an instant he knew who they were.

  “Holy hell Clayton, it’s the kids,” Cory grunted.

  “What? What are they doing out here?”

  “Getting themselves killed. Come on…we have to get to them before he does,” Cory said, as he burst from their hiding place and raced ahead.

  The men vaulted the lower markers and dodged the rest, pushing themselves as fast as they dared to corral the te
ens. “They’re quick…hustle Clayton, we’ve got to catch them.”

  “They must be onto our killer,” Clayton sputtered, between gasps for breath.

  Near the cemetery’s final row of gravestones the frantic chase came to an abrupt halt. Cory saw the small cluster of forms stop and dive to the ground. “They’ve stopped. Hold up a sec so we can see why.”

  * * *

  “He’s gone. Where could he…” The question hung in the air unanswered, but they all understood the insinuation. “Get down,” Jeff barked. “Holly, cover the west…Dude, the south. We can’t let him sneak up on us.”

  The three teens lay prone, silently working out the complexity of their situation. Minutes passed without a word. Holly convinced herself anyone within a stone’s throw could hear her beating heart as it rang loud and clear in her ears. The thought of having the hunt turned on them was very unsettling for them all.

  “Remember, his vision must suck…we’ll see him well before he can spot us. In another minute we need to move. We can’t risk staying here,” Jeff whispered.

  “Okay, but what if he…” Holly began to ask.

  “Shush…I’ve got something moving from the south. Crap Jeff, do I fire? I can’t tell if it’s C&C…do I fire?”

  “No…no…not until you’re sure.”

  “Holly, take a look. Is it Cory? Can you make them out?” Dude said, panic rising in his voice.

  “Can’t…damn…I can’t tell for sure,” she hissed. “Wait…there are two…there are two of them – has to be C&C.”

  “Jeff, they’ve stopped – looks like they’re going to fire! We gotta get outta here,” Dude wailed.

  “No,” Boob screamed, while jumping to his feet and charging directly at whom he hoped would be Cory and Clayton.

  * * *

  “Did they make us out? Do they know we’re here?” Clayton asked.

  “No, at least I don’t think so.”

  From C&C’s position, the teenagers looked like clumps of dense, dark clay glued to the earth. There was nothing to distinguish them from the surrounding terrain, except for the occasional glint from a gun barrel or sight.

  “What are they doing now?” Clayton asked.

  By now, he and Cory had taken cover behind a pair of evenly spaced, chest-high tombstones. They leaned over the marble surfaces, their guns extended and ready to fire. “Watch behind them, Clayton. Anything moves beyond their position…open fire.”

  “Right,” Clayton confirmed. “Do we dare call out to them or close the distance?”

  “And get ourselves shot? I don’t think so.”

  “Then what?” Clayton asked, perplexed by the deadly standoff.

  “I don’t know…I just don’t know,” Cory responded, grievously. For a few perilous minutes the duo wrestled with their options. Finally, they concluded to throw caution to the wind and advance on the kids, with their hands high and weapons slung.

  “It’s the only way. Surely they’ll see it’s us…right?” Clayton asked.

  “We’ve got to hope so, but we can’t call out or we’ll bring fire from the traitor.” The friends knelt facing one another and smiled. “Just another day, Buddy. Keep your eyes peeled and for heaven’s sake…don’t shoot me,” Cory said, with a smirk.

  “I just might…watch yourself,” Clayton replied. “Let’s go.”

  The team stood, draped their rifles over their shoulders, and walked slowly towards Jeff’s group.

  “I’ll watch the kids…you keep a look out for others,” Cory commanded, as they stepped into the open. “Here goes nothing…”

  They walked slowly, willfully, taking each step with extreme care. Five yards…then ten…another 30 to go. For those caught up in the silent battle, the world seemed condensed to a single acre; dark, still, and unrelenting. Nothing moved, even the canyon held its breath in anticipation of C&C’s next footsteps.

  “Cor, hold up,” Clayton gasped. Without warning, he whipped his rifle off his shoulder and aimed it directly ahead.

  “Clayton, what the…” It was then Cory saw them as well – dark, silhouetted figures, dozens of them, flooding the field north of the cemetery – “Harvesters.” Cory unslung his rifle and peered down the sights. “Give ’em hell, Clay…bust ’em up.”

  Before the first blast cleaved the night, C&C saw Jeff brake from cover to run screaming toward them.

  Jeff’s loud, reverberating scream broke the silence overshadowing the showdown, but did not stop Cory and Clayton from firing. Shells burst from their muzzles, lighting an arc between them and where Jeff had suddenly fallen to the ground. The men each emptied an entire clip before the advancing Harvesters replied with rounds of their own. It was impossible to see if any of the attackers had been hit, but Cory and Clayton kept up a rapid staccato of machine-gun fire as they hustled to the teens.

  By the time C&C made their way to the earthbound trio, incoming bullets were ricocheting off everything around them. Jeff had crawled back to join his friends, and was trying to provide supportive fire when Clayton knelt at his side and slapped him across the back of the head.

  “What the hell are you doing out here? You just about got yourself shot,” Clayton snarled.

  “I was trying…” Jeff began.

  “No time for that now. Come on, we have to work together and get back to The Alamo,” Cory yelled, above the sound of lead whizzing over their heads. “Clayton, you take Holly and Dude and fall back while we cover you…then we’ll do the same. We can hold-and-cover all the way back home.”

  Cory looked into Holly’s eyes, which were wide with terror. “Holly, stay with Clayton – remember your training – use your gun.” She nodded her understanding, but said not a word.

  “Okay, move out,” Clayton ordered, backpedaling over the uneven terrain, while making sure Holly and Dude were with him.

  Targets were now less visible, as the Harvesters had fallen to the ground and were crawling forward. Suddenly, the distinctive roar of a heavy caliber weapon sounded above the rest. The rounds from Farrell’s Chinese assault rifle danced across the barren field, severing limbs and taking lives. Jeff stood behind the machine gun, which was resting atop an ancient stone’s crest. He banked the barrel right, and then left, spinning the ammo drum in a desperate attempt to protect his friends.

  “Boob, it’s our turn. Run…run like hell and get to the next row of stones,” Cory shouted.

  The pair ran, ducked, and weaved around obstacles that stood in their way. At the barrier, they scooted past Clayton, Holly, and Dude, who had begun emptying their own clips into the night. Back and forth they went, zigzagging their way to the protection of The Ward. For the outnumbered and beleaguered lot, midnight had long since fallen on a battle that had only begun, but the stench of gunpowder and the howl of death were already lingering in the air.

  Chapter 40

  Rod had crawled into bed; worn out, tired, and still smelling of smoke and ash. He’d wanted to cleanse himself completely before joining Allison, but he just didn’t have the strength, or the will, to endure a cold bath. She, on the other hand, had removed the layers of filth, which were too much of a reminder of the things she had endured the previous day.

  “I stink…don’t I?” he said, as he slipped between the sheets.

  “No…not too bad,” Allison lied.

  “I knew it – sorry. Do you want me to have a quick bath?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous…and no, you’re fine. I can only imagine how tired you are.”

  “Yeah…I could hardly get my boots off. I don’t know how Clark is still going, but I’ve got to spell him off in a couple hours.”

  “Well,” Allison began, “roll over and let me scratch your back. It’ll help you relax and get to sleep.”

  “Thanks, but just snuggle up against me for a minute and I’ll be able to doze…that is if you can stand the smell.”

  Without a word, she rolled to her side and wrapped herself around her husband’s prone form. He pulled her close, as sh
e laid her head in the hollow of his left shoulder. It was so natural…so comforting, her body fitting around his like a glove captures and enfolds a ball. She let her fingers roam through the sparse hair that adorned his chest, before reaching higher to gently massage his neck. Seconds later, Rod’s breathing slowed and his muscles gave way, allowing him to sleep. Allison followed shortly thereafter, still snuggled in his warm embrace.

  For a time, the two slept…dreamless minutes interspersed with sudden moments of fitful worry. Eventually, exhaustion dragged them both to the depths of a much-needed dormancy, which sent Rod to battle his demons and Allison to walk with the dead. On a nearby table, a homemade candle, one that Jeff had helped Allison make years ago, also fought against giving up, but it too finally gave out and twinkled its last glowing ember.

  The startling din of gunfire rustled the couple from their co-joined dreams of years gone by, propelling them upright in their bed. Rod instinctively reached for a flashlight, flicking it on.

  “Good hell…that’s close,” he bellowed.

  “Where…what is it?” Allison questioned, her mind trying to make sense of what she was hearing.

  The pair jumped from their bed and began pulling on clothing. “What time is it?” Rod asked.

  Allison scrambled to find her watch, and thus retrieving it, shouted out, “4:50.”

  “Crap…still some time before sunrise. When Boob…no, wait…he’s at Dude’s. Get dressed and head over there. The Normals should take up positions in Old Main…round them up and see to it,” Rod ordered.

  “Will do. Where will you be?”

  “Wherever those shots are coming from.” Just as he concluded the thought, a renewed volley and sudden escalation in the ensuing battle reached their ears.