The Lasting Hunger

by Dennis Larsen

  “Or so they think,” Jeff noted.

  “Exactly.”

  “What’s that tank-like thing? I can’t see it real well because of a tree, but that doesn’t look good.”

  “I think it’s a Bradley Fighting Vehicle. The army used them years ago and Juanita has somehow managed to get her hands on one. Here Jeff, give me those back. Looks like they’re loading up.”

  Clark took back the device, confirmed what he’d suspected, and leaned over the rail to shout at those below, “They’re on the move.” Turning back to Jeff, Clark placed a rough, calloused hand on his shoulder and spoke. “I’m guessing your dad has already filled you in, but I just want us to be on the same page. If things go awry and we can’t beat them back, I’m trusting you to do the right thing, for yourself, and the other Normals.”

  “I don’t like it, but I’ve promised my dad. I’ll see to it they get away,” Jeff replied.

  “That’s good. Now, get down to the main floor and cover The Quad.” As Jeff turned to leave, Clark looked back down the hill and called for Jeff to wait. “Cancel that, Jeff. They’ve split their force and half are coming up the canyon road. Take some of the defenders from the main floor and swing south. We can’t let them flank us. There are a few sharpshooters in the science building but they won’t be enough.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Jeff,” Clark emphasized, “you can’t let them flank us. If they do, we’re through.”

  “They won’t…we’ll see to it.”

  * * *

  “They’re on the move,” the Mickelson’s heard, as it was shouted from the bell tower. A moment later Clark clarified his first assessment, notifying his defenders that half the attackers were traveling the canyon road and would likely try to flank their position.

  On the ground, surrounded chest deep in clay, Niel and Scotty prepared for the onslaught. They held the center of the trenched line, while a handful of faithful friends were stretched along the defensive, earthen channel. Those who were comforted by prayer had already communed with God and said their peace. The rest, whether they realized it or not, were whispering their own prayer-like thoughts to anyone, or anything, that had power to help them.

  “Niel,” Scotty whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ve been a good brother. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you elaborate on that when we’re done with this rabble.”

  “Yeah, right,” Scotty replied, and then grasping Niel’s arm he continued, “I mean it.”

  “I know you do,” Niel responded. “I’m glad you’re here with me. Mom and Dad would have wanted us to be together.”

  From their station, the brothers looked down a modest incline leading to a small rock wall and perimeter chain-link fence near the bottom. Boulders and wooden beams were scattered about the hillside, anchored and designed to keep vehicles from encroaching, while trying to minimize protective cover for advancing enemies.

  The grinding of hardened metal tracks against pavement was the first indication that the time had arrived. “Keep your heads down,” Niel shouted, waving his hands for those who could not hear his voice.

  “You ready?” Niel asked his brother.

  “Ready or not, I’m afraid we’ve no choice.”

  “Stay focused and we’ll get through this.”

  “Yeah, will do,” Scotty confirmed.

  “Hey, little brother, if this is the last…you know…the end, I just want to say I love you.”

  “Oh, so now you pick the time to get sappy. I owe you more than I can say, but like you said, we’ll talk about it after this is over,” Scott said, pointing his index finger to show they were no longer alone. “Here they come.”

  Chapter 53

  “Conserve your ammo! Only shoot at what you can hit,” Rod screamed to his company of Ward members, who were still holding the northwest access point. The fighting had turned from sporadic to violently intense in just a matter of minutes. It was obvious to Rod and the others that the Harvesters were intent on fracturing their defensive ring.

  Rod’s team of 20, made up of men and women of all ages, had not seen reinforcements for several minutes, and he knew they were on their own. His mind kept shouting ‘retreat’, but with each wave they repelled, he was reminded of the role they played. He, along with Cory’s group were thumbs in the dike of what would become an overwhelming torrent of bloodthirsty savages if they were allowed to enter.

  “Keep them back…we’ve got to hold,” Rod further exclaimed, as he tried to unify his defenders.

  A wide road stretched between the two warring factions; Rod’s people crouched behind sandbags and concrete walls, while Finn’s Harvesters used the landscape and a two-story dormitory from which to shoot. Some of the more fearless killers had charged the checkpoint more than once, but had been brutally rebuffed.

  “I’m out,” a woman to Rod’s left screamed. “Who’s got a mag?” When no one responded, she jerked a 9mm handgun from her waist and continued to fire.

  A moment later, another cry went up, again someone running low on lead. Their plea was answered with a Harvester’s bullet when they moved to retrieve a bandolier from a dead friend. The defender died instantly, his skull shattered and lifeblood spent. In less than a heartbeat another of Rod’s people went down, this time two quick slugs moved them to the afterlife.

  “They’re on the roof! Rod, they’re on the roof,” a gray-bearded man hollered, pointing to the dormitory across the street.

  “Good,” Rod replied, dashing to a locked metal box hanging out of harm’s way on a cement wall. Pulling a small brass key from his pocket, he released the lock and swung a hinged plate out of his way. A single toggle switch was revealed, which he immediately engaged. The action completed a circuit, which ran from a series of automotive batteries, across the street, up a wall, to several dozen sticks of old, mining dynamite. They had been hidden in anticipation of just such an event.

  The explosion was deafening, launching brick, mortar, and body parts into the air. Before the realization of what had just happened could settle in, Rod scurried about his team, commanding them to retreat. So, under an abrasive shower of grit and blood, his people pulled back. It was a controlled retreat, covering one another, until the first signs of a Harvester tidal wave hit their checkpoint. They washed over the barricade like a waterfall, taking up firing positions amongst The Ward’s abandoned defensive structures.

  Rod did his best to control his team, but it was no use. The dam had been broken and his people ran for their lives. “Stand…fight!” he roared, but his call fell on deaf ears.

  The sight of Ward members, fleeing with abandon, heightened the Harvester’s resolve and almost instantly they deserted the sandbags and gave chase. Rod held his ground behind a small wooden fence and fired into their ranks. Harvesters dropped, one here, another there, as Rod matched their footsteps with tumbling lead. At fifty yards their hurried advance stalled and they scrambled for cover. A number of their comrades lay behind them, some wounded and still firing at Rod’s position, while others twitched in the last throes of death.

  Rod dropped to his behind, propping his back against the sheltering fence. Ahead he could see the last of his team round a corner leading them back to The Quad. They’ll make a stand, he thought and hoped. Upon his lap his rifle lay; hot, smoking, and completely empty. Bullets ripped into the opposite side of the fence, each thud a deadly, unwelcome reminder. Pulling his sidearm, he checked the clip before slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He knelt, closed his eyes briefly, and prepared to run. At his belt, he retrieved a fresh pistol clip and clutched it tightly, knowing it would be needed in seconds.

  Leaning to his left, Rod peeked beyond the fence to see five wary Harvesters creeping toward him. He fired six quick shots, striking one of the assailants and flattening the rest to the earth. Okay, okay, he thought. It’s now or never.

  Across the expanse of sidewalks and dying sod, Finn lay amongst the fiv
e men. “He’s out of ammo. He’s down to using his pistol,” he grunted. “Let’s move.”

  Crouching and giving one final look over the fence, Rod saw the Harvesters crawling to reach him. Suddenly he pushed himself away and ran; his back arched and head ducked. To his rear a shout of “Catch him” spurred him on. Bullets nipped at his heels and cut past his head, eventually forcing him to respond. Spinning and dropping to a knee, Rod fired the remainder of his clip at three rushing attackers, again hitting one, but not slowing the others. Ejecting his spent clip, he slammed the other one home, but before he could reacquire the targets, a salvo of bullets cut them down.

  The unexpected eruption of gunfire was surprising but gladly received. More shots rang out as Cory and his remaining units volleyed with the Harvesters, who had hastened to find shelter. Finn had watched his small, advance party go down and was relieved he had stayed behind, his belly glued to the ground. At a distance of 50 to 75 yards away, a small contingent of Ward members were running, cutting across the landscape and firing from their hips. The Harvester instinctively covered his head with his arms, which would have done little to protect him, but he remained unharmed nevertheless.

  “Good timing?” Cory shouted to Rod, as he ran past him.

  “Perfect!” Rod countered.

  “Come on, everybody back to The Alamo,” Cory screamed, quite cognizant of an equally large number of Harvesters on his tail, certainly equal to those that had rooted Rod’s group from their fortifications.

  Hidden behind a rusted, unused trash collector, the traitor casually watched the battle play out before him. Random bullets ricocheted off the large, blue container, which would have caused a lesser man to flinch but he stared on…unfazed. For a moment he’d considered intervening to take Rod’s life, but Cory’s heroic save had negated his thoughts.

  In the melee and confusion of battle, the mole had stripped a corpse and updated his appearance. His face was clean and shadowed by a wide-brimmed USU baseball hat, the colors of which were vibrant, but splattered with dense droplets of coagulated blood. He’d draped his ammo belt over a bullet-riddled denim shirt, which had replaced his own.

  Several minutes before, his hiding place had been shielded from Rod’s team as they’d hurried past, however, his intent now was far different. He curled himself behind the bin and listened. Rapid footfalls sprinted by…Rod, Cory, he imagined. Sensing the entire troop was beyond his location; he suddenly bolted from the shadows and fell in behind the last of the fleeing Ward members. He glanced back but once, taking in a coalescing wall of ragged Harvesters. Matching the cadence of those that were making their escape, the mole blended with and then elusively rejoined The Ward.

  Chapter 54

  The thought of Dude, struggling to communicate, plagued Jeff, who along with a dozen others lay in wait to ambush Williams’ flanking force. He reached to his face and ran a finger along his still raw jawline. The wound no longer oozed but ached continuously; something he hoped would go away in time. Yet, if he could, he would trade places with Dude in a heartbeat.

  The people arrayed with Jeff knelt behind a rock wall that ran along the crest of the campus’ south-facing slopes. Behind them the science building – home of Godfrey’s experiments – loomed three stories tall and was set back 20 yards. A small platoon of Ward members leered from behind sandbagged windows on the upper most floors. Armed with scoped deer-hunting rifles, they were proficient to well beyond 100 yards, a distance that would not be needed today.

  The canyon road, which ran at the base of the hill, was close enough to sling rocks, but it was so steeply angled that firing on it posed an immediate problem for those in the building. Jeff and his team would have an easier time, however, to shoot from their position meant exposing themselves each time they aimed to fire. Fortunately for Pete’s command, the pitch was sufficient to provide shelter for those foolhardy enough to scale its incline, but the climb was arduous and slow: neither of which would be welcomed while those above were trying to prevent their ascent.

  Down the hill and to the right, near the parking lot where Mel had been killed, Bubley had masterminded a barrier to prevent any vehicle from using the canyon road. Large iron beams extended across the roadway, welded at either end and cemented in place. It would take days, or perhaps weeks, for a well-trained construction crew to clear the way. Juanita’s forces would be on foot beyond that point, a tactic that favored The Ward but guaranteed nothing.

  “Don’t shoot ’til the snipers open up,” Jeff whispered to the woman closest to him. He motioned for her to pass the instruction on, which she readily did.

  In the course of moving Dude, and rounding up help to blunt the enemy assault, Jeff had returned Holly’s rifle and retrieved his own. Allison had the forethought to bring it, and every other weapon they owned, when she’d left their home earlier in the day. The smell of fresh gun oil somehow seemed to calm his nerves and made him think of Rod. The hours of training, shooting, assembling, and disassembling, had all led to this moment, as if his father had seen this very day. Rod’s calm, assuring voice was suddenly in Jeff’s head, speaking to him, reminding him of the things they valued most: honor, duty, family, and God.

  Across the way, and beyond Jeff’s ability to make reason of the calls, panicked commands were being issued against a backdrop of erupting gunfire. To the west, precisely where Jeff had seen Niel and Scotty, all hell had broken loose. Machine-gun fire was chirping away at a pace Jeff found hard to believe. Likewise, the sharpshooters, who had relocated themselves to the library, were obviously engaging targets to the north. The variation in pitch and staccato made it clear they were firing indiscriminately into the Harvesters they had encountered near the cemetery.

  Just as Boob was second-guessing his orders to secure the flank, thinking they’d changed plans, a pair of scouting sentries rounded the canyon’s bend and cautiously proceeded up the road. The woman to his right started to raise her barrel over the wall, but a gentle hand laid on her shoulder gave her pause and she waited. The scouts moved with stealth, hugging the natural curve of the hill’s contour. Finally, after silently reaching a position directly below the science building, they halted and spoke briefly in hushed tones.

  Suddenly one of them bolted away, while the other scanned the hillside for signs of life. Fortunately, the defenders were well hidden and had the wherewithal to remain out of sight. Moments later, and as the shooting near The Quad intensified, a sizeable force hustled around the lower bend and began jogging up the roadway. Jeff peered through a narrow crack in the wall and estimated the intruders to number approximately 40 heavily armed men and women. They moved with determined strides, appearing to be more organized and prepared than the chaotic Harvesters had been.

  A single man led the party, gesturing with hand signals to move his units to assault positions along the hill. Still Jeff and the balance of The Ward’s force held their fire. Patiently they waited, each warrior holding their breath and clutching their weapons like instruments of salvation.

  Through Jeff’s narrow, visual avenue, he watched the attackers stop. The few that were visible went prone against the hill’s surface and appeared to be waiting for something to happen. An instant panic began to rise amongst those kneeling behind the wall, but they had virtually no time to consider their plight as a lone, well-tossed, concussion grenade peaked just above their position and fell to the earth. The device exploded 20 yards to Jeff’s right, throwing four defenders back from the wall.

  Seconds later, a mad scramble began up the hill. Pete urged his troops on but he was the first to die. A sniper, itching to see first blood, lined crosshairs on the leader’s chest and launched a 150-grain, 270 slug into the man’s heart. He went end-over-end down the hill until his corpse came to rest on the sidewalk below.

  Sensing the time was now theirs, Jeff and those that were capable of engaging the enemy, rose up and began shooting into their ranks. Several went down in the first volley, but it went both ways. The fire from th
e hillside was withering, taking many Ward members and thinning their numbers. Yet the snipers, stationed over their heads, kept the attackers pinned down…at least for the moment.

  Jeff popped up and fired a quick burst and then dropped back to the wall’s base. Crawling, he went from one Ward member to the next, assessing who was hurt, dead, or out of the fight. He offered words of encouragement, his age no longer a barrier to getting the job done.

  “We’ve got to drive them back,” he exclaimed, once again rising to fire another burst. At the end of the line, he spun and reversed course, his heart heavy with so many gone and the fight far from over. We’ll never hold…we’ll… Suddenly, a voice he recognized called his name and he felt instantly renewed.

  “Need some help,” Cory shouted, as he tumbled to a stop at the boy’s knees. His wife, and two others who had run with him from the eastern barricade, quickly joined the fight. Not waiting for a reply and taking Jeff’s stunned reaction as a yes, the new arrivals rose above the fence and scattered the hillside with lead. “Looks like we’re badly outnumbered,” Cory blurted out, when he dropped back to Jeff’s side.

  “You think?” Jeff said, sarcastically. “We can’t hold them.”

  “Agreed, but I’ve got something that’ll set ’em back on their heels.”

  Taking the lone HIT provided by Christine, Cory motioned for those around him to get down. “Once this detonates, get back to the science building. We’ll take them as they try to clear this wall.”

  “Okay, let ’er fly,” Jeff hissed.

  Two seconds later, the primed grenade was lobbed from behind the wall to land just beyond the crest of the hill. The blast released a cyclone of flame and molten gel, igniting everything within a 15-yard radius. The flesh and bone of those at the core of the explosion were incinerated in seconds. Many others were splashed with remnants of the white-hot liquid and retreated, desperate to rid themselves of the intense pain. As expected, the hillside was instantly aglow with burning debris and flaming human remains, giving Cory, Jeff, Christine, and the rest time to fall back.