The Living Hunger

by Dennis F. Larsen

  Rose had more immediate worries about her son, Lenny. As she looked at him now, snuggled up and resting peacefully, his health weighed heavily on her mind. Her youngest child, Leonard, remembered little of the days before their move to the root cellar that they called home. His inability to remember a happier time amidst a normal world bothered his mother. He was certainly old enough that some memories should exists but it seemed as if his mind had erased everything prior to the death of his father, leaving only the difficult days following that tragic event. Len was a cheerful boy, blessed with a keen, imaginative mind that could hold the attention of most adults in the community. He was a storyteller, capable of expounding on tales of daring and long-fought battles that he rattled off as if he had actually somehow been involved. He wore his brown shaggy hair parted in the middle with bangs that hung like a horseshoe on either side of his forehead. His skin was much like his sisters, olive and easily tanned. The boy’s jade-colored eyes highlighted a face that danced when he was telling a story, and ‘feeling’ it.

  The move to the school had initially done wonders for the little guy. He was generally happy amongst his newfound friends even though most were adults. He had taken an immediate liking to the Jenson brothers, and they to him. Rod and Farrell acted as surrogate fathers to the boy and Len went well out of his way to spend as much time as possible with the men. Mel Ghostkeeper, as of late, was also taking a greater interest in the growing boy. When they had first arrived, it was obvious to the medic that their diet was lacking many of the nutrients needed to sustain normal growth and health. She was sure all would be well once an established diet could be maintained and it had, except for Len. He continued to show signs of a suppressed immune system and failing liver function. Mrs. Allen understood the medical limitations they faced and was confident the Medical Chief was doing everything in her power to treat her son, but she still worried, as is a mother's charge.

  Tonight as she rocked and recollected, a persistent voice echoed in her mind: Rose, come away -- come away.

  Chapter 7

  Allison Harper sat alone in the stands overlooking the oval track that ringed the all but forgotten football field, now covered with row after row of diminutive corn stalks withering under the blaze of an afternoon sun. She wore a brightly flushed tie-dyed sundress with a matching large-brimmed hat to protect her fair, unblemished complexion from the sun’s direct rays. Allison’s mind played tricks on her as she imagined the field overrun with vivid colors, flags waving in the breeze, children whooping and hollering and cheerleaders calling out shouts through decal covered megaphones. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head in an effort to restore the actual scene laid before her. Suddenly the sound of an announcer could be heard over the sound system, “Harper, in the pocket, line is holding - Bear River needs this one. Blitz, blitz, the defense is blitzing! He’s got a receiver! Lyons is open - he’s deep, deep and heeeeee’s got it! Lyons on the 20, 15, 10, 5, Touch Down, Touch Down! Bear River scores! That’s it, the gun has sounded and that’s the game. Harper throws a winning touch down pass to complete the season and . . . ”

  The voices resounding in her head were obscured by the actual sound of the school’s bell squealing over the public address speakers; three short blasts followed by a long drawn out clanging of the bell. Oh no, now what? She recognized the coded ring as an emergency call for the residents to move to a secure location or battle station.

  The young redhead struggled to get to her feet. The added weight of the baby she was carrying had thrown her balance off, as of late, and given her a rather awkward, waddle-like walk. Her hips spread, supporting the fetus, causing her feet to angle laterally, pointing at the ten and two o’clock positions. She used her right hand to push on the bench beneath her while holding her round, protruding belly with the other. Groaning and with tremendous effort she lifted her frame from the bench, delivering an audible, “Oh my,” as she felt an unexpected rush of fluid explode from between her legs. The release of pressure was not painful but still caused a sharp intake of breath and an instantaneous rise in the woman’s heart rate. Allison stood looking down at the mixture of clear amniotic fluid dripping from her maternity dress and legs. It pooled between her feet, specks of blood adding color to the mixture as it ran from the bench to the earth below.

  “Not now, dear Lord, not now,” a frantic plea escaping her lips as she scanned the back of the school for help. She could see several people running to meet the call of the bell. “Help . . . help,” called the troubled woman from the bleachers. Knowing that she had barely eked out a recognizable cry for help, she inhaled deeply and screamed with all the energy of her soul, “HELP, PLEASE HELP!” A degree of pain, unlike anything that she had ever felt before, immediately overcame her, causing her to fall backward onto the bench. She landed with a wet ‘splat’, her feet lifting from the ground, momentarily extending straight out from her body. With a metallic twang her feet slammed back to the supporting structure. Her unusual green eyes, freckled with brown pigment flecks, rolled back into their sockets exposing only the whites. A fog descended upon her as she first lost consciousness, then control of her limbs, and finally collapsed in a heap between the seats.

  From his security position near the tennis courts, Rod heard the call for help. He spun to see where the cry had come from but nothing was immediately obvious. Pushing his sunglasses further up his nose he narrowed his eyes, straining to find the person in distress. Carefully he scanned the crops for any sign of movement, he saw none, but then a slight flapping of yellow between the bleacher seats caught his attention.

  “Allison! Allison, can you hear me?” He’d seen her headed for her favorite spot on the stands earlier in the day and assumed it must have been her calling for help. Torn by his sense of duty to the community and his feelings for the young woman, he pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt and yelled into the receiver, “Anybody listening? We need help! Allison’s down, she’s in the bleachers on the west side. I’m leaving my position to get to her, somebody take over for me near the tennis courts. This is an emergency! I’m moving out, now!”

  Rod swung the AR-15 over his back and sprinted for his friend. She had been just older than him in school but always caught his eye with her sweet disposition and unselfish service to others. He had been surprised when she married the Bear’s starting quarterback just out of high school. It seemed like an odd pairing to him but they were happy and had even managed to survive the war and eventual fallout. The little community had been so excited when they announced that Allison was pregnant. There had been no births among the group since its inception and the news brought a sense of hope and future to the struggling and weak.

  That had been seven months ago and three months before Brent, Allison’s husband, had died. He had been well, with no disorders or sickness, and had been an integral part of the security team, sweeping the nearby neighborhoods for resources and the living. It started with a runny nose followed by a severe cough that reached from deep within his chest to spew phlegm and blood from his congested lungs. Antibiotics were not in short supply. Many of the local pharmacies had been looted early and the storage room was full of capsules, which should have resolved the pneumonia but it remained untouched. The infection swept over him in days. First taking his sight, then his ability to breathe and finally his life. He would not see his unborn child or the sorrow that his death had caused, at least not from an earthly dimension.

  In the days and weeks that followed his death, Rod had assumed a supportive role in the widow’s life. He had been anxious to assist her with all her needs, not wholly interested in a romance but seeing her heartache was more than he could bear, and he desperately tried to fill the void with human kindness and generosity. They had become fast friends and both had eagerly awaited the day of her delivery, but neither imagined it would happen on a day such as this, or in the manner in which it did.

  Rod was not prepared for the sight that greeted him as he reached the pregnant woman
sprawled out on the metallic framework. Running to her he slipped on the watery mixture coating the walkway, almost landing on top of her before catching himself with both arms outstretched over her motionless body. He could see that she was breathing reflexively, also noting the large artery in her neck pulsing as it pushed blood to her brain. Reaching down, he firmly laid his hand over her distended belly, moving it slightly back and forth until he felt the unmistakable strike of a hand or foot. Relieved, he whispered closely to her ear, “Allison, it’s me, Rod, can you hear me?” There was no response but she continued with slow, steady intakes and exhales of breath, which provided her rescuer with a degree of calm assurance.

  He moved her into a lying position, straightening her head, neck and legs as he waited for the arrival of additional help. As of yet, they had not been lucky enough to find a surviving physician but several of the group had moderate medical training and fortunately for Allison; a marine medic, Major Mel as they called her, with years of experience, was counted as one of their own. Rod cradled the woman’s head in his lap as he waited anxiously. Seconds seemed like hours; the edge of the seat dug into his shoulder blades but the discomfort was the furthest thing from his mind. He watched her chest rise and fall with each breath, the movement in her belly now obvious with the dress stretched tightly over her skin, her thumb-sized belly button bulbous and round.

  From the back of the school, near where the shop classes had once been held, he perceived a commotion of sorts, as two men came running in his direction carrying a portable gurney. A woman followed them closely, her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail and threaded through the back of a Diamondbacks baseball hat. She ran like a man, pumping her arms in rhythmic time with her legs, churning as quickly as she was able and reaching the pair in a matter of seconds.

  “Is this how you found her?” Mel asked, attempting to catch her breath between syllables. Without waiting for an answer from Rod, she pressed on, “Her water has broken. Don’t like the looks of that fluid -- too much blood.” Melanie pulled the stethoscope from her white overcoat and placed the buds into each of her ears and carefully listened for a heartbeat, first of the mother and then the unborn child. “Sounds good, both are strong but we need to get her to the medical room right now. Come on Rod, you support her head and neck. Alex, you and Allan get her midsection and feet. On the count of three I want you all to lift her and I’ll slide the gurney underneath, okay?” When all were in position she counted to three, promptly sliding the canvas cradle under Allison as she cleared the necessary six inches.

  With her body safely on the gurney, the three men hoisted her to waist level and started the fast paced walk back to the school. The pregnant woman remained incoherent, which was troubling for the medically trained attendee, but with her hand clasped tightly around Allison’s wrist she was assured that the heartbeat was strong and steady. She was also pleased to see no excessive sweating and no significant discharge of further blood from between her legs. She was, however, concerned over what had caused the woman to pass out in the first place. First time mothers were often overcome with fear and pain to a point of wanting to pass out, but usually not until the baby and delivery were much further along.

  “Come on you guys, you can move quicker than this! Hustle it! I’ll get the door when we get close enough to the building. I want her in the room just off my office. We’ll roll her off onto the examination table once we get inside. Rod, you stay with me and help with the delivery. You two,” she said, pointing to the other helpers dressed in well-worn jeans and t-shirts, “get back to your posts and keep me apprised of this latest development.”

  “Yes ma’am.” replied Allan, nodding his head at Alex as if to confirm the order. The two husky farmers had joined the Bear River Community shortly after Rod and Farrell found Elva’s family hiding in their root cellar. That had been almost a year ago, with a few joining the small community since but several dying from various causes. Even though the fighting between nations was over, the weapons amassed and used by so many were still racking up a body count on those least responsible for the present world’s condition. The leaders of the haphazard collection of survivors knew, without speaking their mind to the group as a whole, that the real fighting was yet to come. Before long it would be brother against brother and band against band in a desperate struggle for resources and people.

  “What latest development?” Rod asked, looking at Mel for some insight into what she was talking about.

  “I’ll fill you in once we have Allison inside and stable.”

  The makeshift medical team quickly maneuvered the doors and hallways bringing them to a small office cluttered with medical supplies, texts and odd-looking instruments. Melanie Ghostkeeper got her surname from her Cherokee father and given name from her Scottish grandmother. The odd pairing had been the result of her father meeting her mother while both attended university. He was furthering his education to assist his band with aboriginal studies, and she was pursuing a law degree with an interest in US History and land claim initiatives. Meeting in the library to ‘study’, they became inseparable friends, then lovers and finally husband and wife. Mrs. Ghostkeeper gave birth to Melanie in the summer of 1980; their daughter was a strong-willed, independent thinker with a desire to help the oppressed and bring justice to an unjust world. With that particular mindset she joined the US Marines and served as far away as Afghanistan, Germany and finally in Africa. She’d seen more misery and hardship in one lifetime than any individual should have to experience. Her background included extensive combat medical training, small arms experience and this would not be her first time between the legs of a woman giving birth.

  Major Mel was not to be messed with; she was fit, hardheaded and carried too many chips on her shoulder for anyone to get very close to her. However, everyone in their company knew she would be the first to lay down her life for them, if it ever came to that. The Medic’s features were anything but soft. Her brown skin was stretched tightly over angular features of an attractive face unburdened with laugh lines. Chiseled cheekbones and large brown eyes highlighted a face that looked far younger than her actual years. She was spiritual in a unique way and saw life as moving from one God-given moment to the next, each just as important as the one before. Mel believed a Great, All-Knowing Father directed her path; leading people to her, that she might assist and make things better, or allowing her to act as the sword of His vengeance for those that stood in need of destruction. When it came right down to it, and after all that she’d seen and done, she really didn’t care which it was; but for this moment, and Allison, she would give her all in experience, training and knowhow to get her patient and baby through this alive and well.

  Once she was satisfied that the additional males were no longer needed, she excused them with the curt retort of a commanding officer and moved about quickly to clean up Allison and position her for the impending birth. She reached for a pair of scissors and began cutting away at the fluid soaked dress, beginning at the hem below the woman’s knees.

  “A . . . Ah, are you going to cut her dress off?” Rod stammered.

  “Of course, why?”

  “All the way off?”

  “You’re kidding me, right? What are you worried about? Here hold the fabric and stretch it here so it cuts more easily,” she said, handing a handful of the dress to her insecure helper.

  “I’ve never seen a woman . . . ah, you know.”

  “Oh my . . . Do you mean to tell me you’ve never seen a woman naked before?” a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

  Rod looked down at his feet before returning his eyes to the mature officer’s direct gaze. “No, I have not and I’m not ashamed to say it but I have to tell you, I don’t think Allison is going to be very happy when she finds out I saw her . . . her . . . her everything.”

  “For heaven’s sake, am I going to have to call for somebody else to help me here?”

  “No, no, I want to help. It’s just kind of embarrassing, if you know
what I mean,” Rod said, stretching the material taut for the officer to make the final few cuts, peeling the material away, exposing the woman.

  “Rod, that’s fine. Go wash your hands and bring me those sheets stacked under the table,” the Major instructed, pointing at the pile of clean, white linens.

  He returned a minute later with clean hands and his arms overflowing with neatly folded bed sheets. Mel chuckled when she saw the young man’s over exuberance as he deftly tried to balance the load of laundry.

  “Is this enough?” he asked.

  “Oh, I think so. Set them down over there and bring me two. I’ve cut the rest of her dress away so let’s cover her upper body with one and I’ll use the other to protect your delicate ah, um, shall we say - nature.” She moved quickly to wrap Allison up in a white cocoon of material, leaving an alley between her legs that would be necessary to bring the child into a world of struggle and pain.

  “How ya doin’, Rod? You okay? I don’t need you passing out on me.”

  “I’m okay, I mean I’m good. I’ll be okay. I can do this . . . for Allison.”

  “I’m going to see if I can bring her around with some smelling salts. Stand by her head. Yeah, just like that. Be ready to steady her shoulders if she’s startled. We don’t want her falling off this table.”

  Mel walked to a shelving unit, moving vials and canisters aside until she found a yellow, finger-sized tube, which she brought to the table and waved under the young widow’s nose. The medic looked up just long enough to align her eyes with Rod’s, nodding as if to say -- ‘get ready’.

  Allison suddenly spurted to life, trying to thrust herself upward, and had it not been for the strong and quick reflexes of her friend, she surely would have ejected herself from the table. The medic and her assistant spoke words of assurance to the perplexed woman, calming her and bringing a degree of peace to her mind.