Rise of the Huskers (The Raven Falconer Chronicles) by Dennis Larsen Page B

sharpshooter, stood under a steady stream of water that pelted his skin, turning it pink and warm.  He’d spent the day sleeping in a large comfortable bed on the third floor of the Banff Springs Hotel.  The night before, his ever-expanding following of Huskers had raided the historic building, sweeping from room to room and floor to floor in search of victims for food.  A hapless collection of European backpackers had been found hunkered down in the tower’s west wing.  They made easy prey for the ravenous cannibals who savaged those too scared or weak to run, leaving the fleeing few to be hunted and stalked by Nathan and his merciless companions.
    The Huskers had gorged on fresh meat, satisfying one of their basic, driving urges, only to be lost in the perpetual need to fulfill other wanton, baser obsessions.  Some, with their bellies full, wandered about the elegant hotel, as if making a lost connection, while others pawed and groped one another’s blood stained flesh, copulating like wild animals, their grunts and groans filling the air.  Those infected, too far-gone to be considered normal but with a vestige of active cerebrum, chose to congregate away from the others.  Communication was limited but possible, some speaking audible words and others drawing or miming their intent.
    Edwards took it all in, feeling stronger each day and sensing a change, not only in himself but also within the dynamics of his wretched troop.  No true affection existed among any of the group but a tolerance; an understanding prevailed, where previously only assaults and savagery had dominated the Husker collective.  Nathan still lacked memory or the ability to construct abstract thoughts or plans but connections were being made.  Things that he’d done hundreds, if not thousands of times, were coming back, not so much as memories but as instinct, engrained in his being over the years of repeated activities.  This growing, innate ability had pushed him into the shower, first fully clothed, then drawing on the islands of functioning brain matter, he shed his filthy garments and watched the cascading water rinse the stench and blood away.  A mixture of blackened plasma and water churned at his feet, almost beautiful to behold but lost on the Husker’s leader.
    From where he stood in the glassed-in enclosure, an image of a woman lying on the bed could be seen in the bathroom mirror’s reflection.  She was blonde, with long, sleek legs and naked from the waist down.  Her face, though expressionless and lost to sleep, was covered in bruises and scratches, the signs of hard-fought battles, waged and won the night before.  Nathan grunted and yelled to be heard above the sound of the jetted shower nozzle.  “You!”  She stirred slightly but did not respond.  Again he vocalized the call, louder and shriller.  The woman slept on, ignoring his summons.
    Agitated and dripping-wet, he lumbered from the bathroom, clutched her around the throat and lifted her from the bed.  Her feet dangled above the floor, his powerful arms suspending her weight while she sputtered for air.  He stared into her blue eyes, no memory of having brutally taken her just hours before.  Then, as on other mornings, exhaustion had shut his eyes, quieted his racing thoughts and she had stayed on with nowhere else to go.  Finally, he released his strangle hold on her neck and pushed her ahead of him, into the shower’s fresh spray.  She looked about, bewildered and unsure what was happening.  Nathan stepped in behind her and ripped her clothes away, rubbing his hands over her body, shearing the sweat, blood and stink away.  The blonde, no more than a pliable doll, gave into his manipulation and then his prodding, before he pushed her from the stall and lapped at the water splashing his face.
    Tonight would be no different than the past few; the barbaric company of Huskers tramping from one location to the next, adding mindless recruits to their band,