The Living Hunger

by Dennis F. Larsen

  “Sure sounds like it,” Gary agreed.

  “The purest form that we, as humans can ingest, is liver. Doesn’t sound very appetizing, I know, but if we could find a source of unspoiled liver it might possibly resolve some of the issues at hand. How do you feel about raw liver, Farrell?”

  “Raw, are you frickin’ kidding me? That’s the native in you talking. Why can’t it be cooked with onions and smothered in catsup?”

  “If you cook it, most of the nutritional value is burnt away. Has to be raw and wiggling to do you the most good. Come on, you big strong men shouldn’t have any trouble gobbling down a bit of liver. When I was a little girl and my father was teaching me to hunt, he made me cut out the liver of the first deer I shot with a bow and eat a piece of it while he watched. Probably gave me liver flukes but I did it and he was proud of me. Can’t say that I’ve done it since but if it will restore my night vision, I think it’s worth a try.”

  “I’m prone to agree, Mel,” the Community Chief said. “Let’s see how we can move this little research project along. I wish we had enough of our own animals that we could slaughter a few and give it a try but they are just too valuable, at least as things sit today. The final thing I have for you is what’s been happening with the HAM radio. There was some concern that it wasn’t working but Dallas has been tinkering with it and has made contact with a group in Idaho. They’re pretty tight lipped, as you might well imagine, but at least we know the thing works. I’ve asked him to set up rotating shifts with four operators around the clock. We’ve got to get some news from the outside world as to where we stand and where there might be some help.”

  “Great idea, Chief. Don Bullock alluded to the fact that they have access to some transmitting type equipment and have had some information relayed to them. You’ll have to consider the source but he says there’s no government, no military and no help. Quite frankly, I believe him,” Farrell confirmed. “He really doesn’t have a reason to lie and if help were coming, we would have seen some sign of it by now.”

  “I tend to agree with you, Farrell, but if we could find a larger group, with perhaps a secure town or something that had more to offer than this school, it might give the people some hope and something to live for,” Gary offered, before excusing the leaders and returning to his desk for a few minutes of contemplation and planning.

  Chapter 13

  In the days and weeks that followed the meeting of the chiefs, a feeling of hope and peace descended upon the Bear River Community. The hunting parties had been successful in supplementing the survivor’s diet with fresh venison and for those who were willing, a share of the red, vitamin-rich liver. Many of the group were not sold on the idea of eating raw, wild game but Mel, Farrell and others led by example and ate their portions openly in an effort to encourage the entire group to join in. With the winter months fast approaching and knowing they would soon be blanketed with snow up to their knees, Farrell and Rod renewed their efforts to scour the surrounding homes and businesses for food and other valuable stores.

  Along with the feeling of peace that permeated the hearts and minds of the people, a sense of ‘future’ was growing among the residents as relationships were forged and friendships strengthened. It was common knowledge among the band that hardships would always be a part of their lives, and for most, they had accepted the inevitable, drawing upon one another for courage and stability. Long, dark days were ahead and not just metaphorically. Winter would reduce the hours of sunlight, restricting their daily routines and putting the survivors into closer proximity to one another, more hours of every day. For Elva, this was a welcome change. The challenge of ‘accidentally’ running into Farrell at every opportunity was growing more complicated and burdensome. The relationship, perhaps in an earlier time, would have been somewhat taboo. An almost seven-year age difference, with the woman still in her teens, would have drawn looks and whispers from the overly conservative community, but not here, not among those longing to love and be loved. The sight of young-love was welcomed, springing hope in the souls of the once hopeless.

  Farrell was not the only Jenson son having his heartstrings massaged. Allison had seen in Rod the man she needed to lighten her load and heal her heart. From the day of the delivery, the two had been inseparable, sharing duties and completing tasks as a team. The couple was always looking for ways to reach out, finding joy in the service of others. It was just their nature and who they were. There was no pretense or second-guessing their motives. The two were simple farm folk, taught from their youth to be unselfish and mindful of other’s needs, and they brought smiles and optimism with them in their wake.

  The Sergeant was proud of his little brother and the contributions he was making to the community but the sight of Rod anxiously engaged in a romantic relationship was too ripe for not poking fun. Farrell was unrelenting in his teasing of his younger sibling. Had it not been for Rod’s easy nature and respect for his older brother, fists certainly would have flown. Farrell was just that way, pestering Rod to the point that he knew he could, then backing off, often wrapping Rod in a big hug, giving his head a couple of quick rubs with his knuckles for good measure. Allison, on the other hand, was not amused and had often told Farrell so. She was pint-sized when compared to the large framed Security Chief and the sight of her pumping her index finger into his chest, while scolding him about his behavior toward his younger brother, was almost comical. However, there was a bond that was being formed among the four suitors; Farrell, Elva, Rod and Allison, which inspired the remainder of the group to endure and endure well.

  The closing days of November brought a light mist of snow that covered the thirsty ground, giving the landscape a glistening, reflective property that was awe- inspiring and beautiful. The morning sunlight scattered flashes of angular light from the miniature ice crystals clinging to the earth and creating a kaleidoscope of colors bouncing off the hillside, river and white covered trees. Farrell stood with Elva in the river bottoms, each holding a 12-gauge shotgun but taking the time to enjoy the beauty of the morning.

  “Farrell, you guys in position?” Rod shouted from a patch of overgrown tulies, his red hat just visible through the dense, brown leaves and puffed seedpods. Allison stood near him but he could barely make out where she was, the density of the plant growth consuming the pair.

  “Yeah, we . . . ” Farrell was unable to complete his sentence as Elva pulled at his sleeve, forcing him to bend down to receive a kiss from her anxious mouth. “You drive me crazy,” he whispered to his love. “Yeah Rod, you walk west and we’ll move to you, see if we can push them to the river where they’ll have to fly.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Elva, don’t shoot us okay,” Rod yelled, as an afterthought, not fully aware of Elva’s ability with a high-powered shotgun.

  “Very funny, Rod. Ten bucks I get the first bird.”

  As Rod and his companion began moving forward through the thick, unrelenting thicket he took a moment to reply. “Ten bucks? What am I going to do with ten bucks? How about laundry duty for a few days? You get the first bird and I’ll do your laundry duties for a week and if I get the first, you have to clean all of the guns once we’re done today.”

  “You’re on. Okay Farrell, what do I have to do?” she asked, moving cautiously through the mud of the bottoms, the water and clay mixture pulling at her boots with each step.

  “What do you mean, what do you have to do? They fly, they die, simple as that,” the Chief explained.

  “Well, I know that but don’t we have to call them or something?”

  Farrell chuckled, “Nope, wrong kind of bird. You’re thinking ducks.”

  “Oh, I see. So how will we know when . . . ”

  Before Elva had a chance to complete her thought, there was a sudden rush of dead leaves at her feet and the sound of something taking flight. The unexpected commotion set the inexperienced hunter back on her heels, however, with her feet so firmly planted in the clay she was unable to regain her balance an
d she landed with a wet plop, seat first, into the mud and thistles. A split second later there was a loud blast as Farrell contained his laughter long enough to drop the ring-necked pheasant before it was out of range.

  “She got it!” he yelled, moving quickly to pull Elva from the mud and brush her off.

  “What? No way!” came back from across the river bottoms.

  “Really little brother. Nailed it with one shot. She’s a natural,” he said, unable to control himself any longer, the explosive laugh gushing forth with loud guffaws and side splitting laughter.

  “Oh, it’s real funny. You’re lucky I didn’t accidentally blow your head off,” she said, smiling, and raising a finger to her lips. “This will be our little secret.” Farrell leaned over and kissed the digit that protected her beautiful lips.

  “Our secret, at least for now,” he said, the perfect smile growing even broader as he thought of Rod doing laundry for a week.

  The two hunting duos cautiously moved through the water-infused weeds and plants that grew along the river, shooting pheasants as they lifted into the air; their wings beating the wind in a frantic fury to get away, many successfully doing so but just as many were bagged and ready to return to the community. At the river’s edge the two groups finally met up. The strategy of pushing the birds to the river had paid off and the morning had been, not only fun, but also fruitful. Allison and Elva were much less excited about the hunt; however, time alone with their men was a welcomed outing.

  “There’s old deadeye, huh?” Rod said, tipping his hat at Elva.

  “You bet. Didn’t know this was going to be so easy,” she replied.

  “Uh huh,” Rod replied, flashing a quick, knowing look at his brother. “One shot, one kill. Is that what you’re telling me? First time with a shotgun and first bird up and she pegs it with one shell? Look at me, Farrell. Come on you butt-head. You look at me with a straight face and tell me that you didn’t shoot that first bird.”

  Farrell did his best to keep the story going but could not. He looked Rod in the eyes, placed his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder and began to laugh, not a chuckle but a belly laugh that caused him to bend over and struggle for air. “Funniest thing, wish you could have seen it. Oh man, oh man, I can’t breathe. She steps on that big ol’ rooster and it knocks her right on her butt, gun sticking straight up in the air and her feet stuck in the mud.” He pointed to Elva’s backside and the mud still clinging to her pants and coat. “I couldn’t help myself. The thought of you doing her laundry was just too good, but I’m lousy at keeping a secret, especially one that is so hysterical.”

  Rod had joined his brother in laughing at Elva’s expense but Elva was not impressed and Allison just didn’t get the hunting humor.

  “Well, you big . . . what did you call him, Rod? Oh yeah, butt-head, you obviously don’t know how to keep a secret,” she said, turning to walk away from the trio. Her first step was well placed but the second left her boot stuck in the mud and her stocking foot now free to glide through the air, landing with an oozing, wet sound that rang of cold and discomfort. “Now that’s just great, isn’t it!” The trio now laughing louder than they had a few moments ago. “You going to help me or what?” she screamed back at Farrell, trying to keep her gun and the rest of her out of the mud.

  Rod and Farrell moved to the helpless woman, Rod taking her gun while Farrell helped her regain her balance enough to stuff her muddy, wet sock back into her boot. “Better?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Perfect. Just perfect!” she replied. “This little adventure is just getting better and better.”

  “Oh come on, we’re not laughing at you but with you,” Rod said, looking back to see Allison sending him mixed signals, smiling and trying so very hard not to laugh but wagging her finger at him at the same time.

  “Is that right? Do you see me laughing it up, chuckle boys?”

  The two broke up again, “Chuckle boys . . . okay chuckle boy, let’s get these birds and ladies out of this mess and back home,” Farrell said to Rod, before picking Elva up around the waist and setting her on solid ground.

  “Elva, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. It was worth it and I’d be happy to do your laundry stuff for a week in exchange,” Rod said.

  “Fair enough,” she said, a smile now curling her lips. The feigned anger accomplishing the task that she knew it would. “Sucker,” she said, laughing at Rod and showing thumbs up to Allison.

  “I think you’ve just been had, little brother,” Farrell said, punching Rod in the arm to drive home his point.

  “Yes, siree, I think I was, but it was still worth it.”

  The group moved carefully, winding their way back through the dense brush to a slope that led up the riverbank to the old farmhouse above, where they’d parked the truck. The bank was wet and very slippery. Coming down had been a challenge but gravity had assisted, with the rubber boots acting like skis, bringing the hunters to the bottoms in an exhilarating rush.

  “Okay, Elva you go first,” Farrell instructed, taking her gun and giving her bottom a push to help her on the way.

  “Man, this is so slick,” she said, crawling on all fours and grasping at the branches and weeds that lined the narrow path, pulling herself inch by inch up the tedious slope. About halfway up she could see the brush ahead shaking slightly, as if something were moving, perhaps trying to get away. “Hey, you guys. There’s another pheasant up here in a bush. Get ready and I’ll flush it out and you can get one more before we go home.”

  “Right, give us a second to get ready.” Farrell and Rod steadied themselves, after handing the extra shotgun to Allison. “Okay, go ahead.”

  Elva crawled the last few feet, still being able to see the bush moving about but unable to see the bird as it shifted under the heavy growth. With her left hand grasping a nearby root and her knees supporting her weight in the mud, she reached with her right to push the bird to flight. “Shoo,” she said, as her hand hit something soft and fur-like. She immediately withdrew her hand but it was too late. A large, black skunk, with two white stripes running from head to tail, stepped from the bush, turned to run up the hill away from the intruder, but first let loose with a pungent mist, which jettisoned directly at Elva’s head and wafted to the group below.

  The unfortunate Elva responded by letting go of the supportive plants, sliding on her belly to the bottom of the trail, feet first but fully prone. Her front side polished the trail as she went; Farrell caught her at the bottom, helping her to stand before she bent over and threw up all over Rod’s boots. The heaving didn’t subside until there was nothing further to come up. Farrell and Rod desperately wanted to laugh but the daggers being thrown from Allison’s eyes were deadly and they dared not cross her.

  The ride back to the school was a long one. Rod drove while Farrell huddled with Elva in the back of the truck. The skunk-scented woman was bundled up in blankets as most of her clothing was now lying in a heap on the porch of the old farmhouse. They had done their best with the water they had available to clean her up but the stench was still too great to have her in an enclosed space for any length of time.

  Initially, the ride back had started as a curse, but Elva, even smelling as she did, was wrapped in the arms of the man she loved and it felt good. He must love me too, she thought. There’s not a man on the planet, at this moment, who would want to hug me unless he truly did.

  “Elva, I know today has turned into a bit of a shambles for you but I hope you’re still glad you came.” Farrell pulled her close as he tried to speak from his heart.

  “Let’s just say that it was not what I had anticipated.”

  “Me either, but I do love spending time with you. Doesn’t matter if it’s shooting pheasants, reading together or gathering eggs, everything is just better when you’re with me. I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re my first thought each morning and my last thought each night. And your perfume . . . oh baby, it’s . . . indescribable.”

/>   “Alright then chuckle-boy, what are you trying to say?”

  “I love you and I hope you love me too.”

  “Oh Farrell, you don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say those three words. I’ve loved you from the very minute I laid my eyes on you and you rescued my family from that living hell. With that said, what are we waiting for?”

  “What do you mean, what are we waiting for?” Farrell asked, unsure of where this was headed.

  “Let’s get married. I’m as tired as you are of being apart and there’s no reason for it. I want and need you to be mine.” She had to speak above the sound of the tires running over the surface of the poorly maintained road, to be heard.

  Farrell looked into her eyes, tears forming there with the swelling of her heart. He kissed her deeply, holding his breath but savoring her closeness and the bond they shared. “If your mom will give us permission, there is nothing that would make me happier than to have you be Mrs. Elva Jenson.” The scent suddenly vanished from the back of the old pickup as they wound the remaining miles to their home. A picture of the future played out in each of their minds. Elva’s included a house on the hill, children playing in the yard; laughter and sunshine bringing peace to her soul. Farrell’s was bleaker but still hopeful of happier days to come.

  Chapter 14

  Farrell’s head had just settled into the softness of the down pillow, the coolness of the clean casing a welcome contrast from the events of his day, when he heard the thumping of heavy footsteps dropping rhythmically down the tiled corridor. Instinct and habit forced him from the comfort of his bed and into the hallway, the rifle in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Allan was shocked to find the Sergeant, clad only in tighty-whities, standing in his way, beaming a flashlight directly into his eyes.

  “For heaven’s sake, Allan, I thought there was a whole platoon coming down the hall!”