We Won't Go Quietly: A Family's Struggle to Survive in a World Devolved (Book Three of the What's Left of My World Series)

by C. A. Rudolph

  “We took you in willingly, Alex. Providing you room and board was my decision. It’s no trouble.”

  The young girl looked relieved. “Okay, good. I’ve been trying hard not to gorge—but that oatmeal you have tastes so good. The maple and brown sugar one is my new favorite.”

  “Yeah. That’s Alan and Lauren’s influence. Both of them—huge oatmeal fanatics. Although, from what I remember, Alan had a preference for cream of wheat.” Michelle pointed at one of the buckets on the floor. “That over there is all that’s left of it.”

  “That sucks.”

  Michelle snickered. “Agreed. It does suck.” She paused. “Alex, I’m curious. How did your family manage to survive this long? Did you have food stored away or a storage plan like this one?”

  Alex shook her head and twinkled with the purity of a child half her age. “Not really. I mean, we do store food away, but nothing like this.”

  “Nothing like this, huh? But your family has still coped just as long as we have.”

  “For us, there wasn’t anything to cope with,” Alex said. “Nothing really changed much after the electricity went off. Even when it was on, it wouldn’t stay on, so we never used it much.”

  Michelle gave Alex a puzzled look to match the one Alex had given her moments ago.

  Alex raised a brow. “I can explain if you want me to.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t want to pry.”

  Alex shrugged. “You’re not prying at all. See, Mom used to can a lot—like almost every day, actually. She still cans sometimes, but it’s a lot harder to keep water at a boil when the only fuel you have is wood. When I was younger, it seemed like all she ever did was can food. Vegetables, fruits, meats, you name it. I think she inherited like a million glass jars from my grandma.” A pause. “And we have gardens.”

  “That isn’t surprising,” Michelle said. “Lots of people have gardens.”

  Alex’s sparkly eyes grew wide again. “Yeah, but you haven’t seen ours. We have lots and lots of gardens. All over the place. Raised gardens outside the house and lots of them inside, too. We have gardens everywhere.”

  “I see. I stand corrected, then.”

  “Mom starts everything from seeds, and we grow tubers, herbs, and vegetables all year long. And potatoes, corn, and other things. We also have chickens. And two goats.”

  Michelle cocked her head. “Oh—okay…”

  Alex’s eyes darted around as if searching for more to add to her story. “And we have a rabbit farm, too—I think there’s like thirty or forty of them now, maybe more.”

  “Wow. You’re all lucky to have those things. Especially now.”

  “We’ve always had them,” Alex said. “Nothing’s really changed. My mom has always kept us at home. She home-schools us, and we’ve always worked at home, too. She’s…very handy. She knows how to do a lot of stuff. She works really hard—we all do, in our own way. It’s not easy, but it’s the only way we know how to live.”

  “There’s a word for all that, you know. It’s called sustainability, or the practice of being sustainable. It sounds to me like your family is very self-reliant—something we’ve always strived to be.”

  “Mom says it’s called being independent.”

  “Independent? That’s actually a much better word for it,” declared Michelle.

  “Uh-huh. We’ve always been independent—for as long as I can remember.”

  “Alex, have any of you ever left your house?” Michelle quizzed jokingly.

  “Oh, sure. There’s woods all around, and we go out all the time, looking for mushrooms, herbs, and plants. And we hunt and check on our squirrel snares every day.”

  “No neighbors?”

  “No one else lives near us. Our house is in the boonies.”

  “You never went into town?”

  Alex shrugged innocently and shook her head.

  “Even to buy groceries?”

  Alex shook her head again. “I’ve never been to a grocery store.”

  “Really? Even to buy things like cereal or bread or milk?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten cereal. I never ate maple and brown sugar oatmeal before, until I tried it here. Mom and my older sister, Mack—it’s short for Mackenzie—make all our bread from scratch, and we get milk from our nannie, Viola.”

  Michelle rubbed the base of her neck. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Did you say nannie?”

  “Yeah. It’s a female goat. My younger sister, Dez, named her Viola when we got her.”

  Michelle smiled. “That’s a cute name. I mean both—including your sister’s. I take it Dez would be short for—”

  “Desirée,” Alex jumped in.

  “I thought so. I’m sorry for all the questions, Alex. But I’m fascinated with what you’ve told me. Honestly, I have to say I’ve never heard of any family getting by in the way you’re describing. I’m actually quite impressed.”

  Alex returned Michelle’s smile with an exuberant one of her own, seemingly unembarrassed with divulging key details of her family’s life. She continued. “We like our lives simple. Mom has always been a stickler about us keeping to ourselves and being independent. She says it’s healthy for us to keep our distance from everyone else. That way no one will ever own us or tell us what to do. That’s why we’ve always grown our own food. Too many people are dependent on too many other people for things they need to live.”

  “Now that I cannot disagree with,” Michelle said. “I’m sure my husband wouldn’t, either.”

  “Mom says living isn’t supposed to be complicated.”

  “She’s a smart lady, Alex,” Michelle said. “I can’t wait to meet her. I bet you’re anxious to get back home to her—and your sisters.”

  Alex smiled excitedly. “Yes! I can’t wait to see them. I bet they’ve been so worried about me. Mack will probably just give me shit for being gone, but I know Desirée will be happy I’m back—she’ll never stop talking or asking me questions about it. And my mom is going to literally freak. She’s emotional—she’ll probably start crying.”

  Michelle snickered. “That’s a pretty standard response for a parent who’s been separated from and reunited with her child, I think,” she said. “Look on the bright side—most of those tears will be happy ones.”

  Michelle pointed to the stairs, gesturing for Alex to head that way and she would follow. Once on the cabin’s main level, Michelle removed her headlamp and returned it to the nail on the wall, where it had hung dutifully since the move-in.

  “I have a few errands I need to run this morning before we take you home,” Michelle said. “I know you’re chomping at the bit, but please bear with me. It’s calmed down a smidgeon around here since last week, but there’s still a lot of rebuilding going on. The Taylors’ property took a good amount of damage. Having them around was like having a neighborhood farmers’ market at our disposal—and now it’s all gone. So today, I’m not the only person in the valley who’s worried about food.”

  “I understand. Do you need any help?”

  Michelle smiled, sighed, and turned away, moving past Alex and into the kitchen. “I’d love some.”

  Aside from Michelle and Alex, the cabin was vacant with the exception of the usual suspects. John was sleeping soundly in his room, and Christian was sitting at the far end of the kitchen table. He had his foot propped on a chair and his head turned away, gazing casually outside through the window. Something hard and spherical was in his hand, and he was busily spinning it while tapping out a tune with it on the table.

  Michelle glanced at him as she walked past en route to the family’s two-bucket water filter. “Morning, Christian.”

  “Good morning, Michelle, aaand…good morning, Alex,” he said, turning his head to the side. A set of abnormally glassy eyes fell on Alex, along with matching dilated pupils. “Are you leaving us? Still headed home today, girl?”

  Alex blinked and looked shyly downward. “Yes. Today is the day. I can’t wait.”

&
nbsp; Christian nodded and smiled. “Cool. We’ll be sad to see you go. But your rightful place is with your family. I wish you luck. Come back and see us.”

  A grin stretched across Alex’s face. “Thank you, I’ll try. And for what it’s worth, I’m going to miss it here, and I’ll definitely miss you guys. You’ve all been good to me.”

  After filling a glass from the bucket filter’s spigot, Michelle took a drink and went to pour another glass for Alex. “So, Christian…where’s your shadow at today?”

  Christian stopped spinning the large marble-like object in his hand and lifted a brow. “My shadow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why, Michelle, whatever do you mean?” he asked, invoking a forged accent no one in the room could render while thumbing the mustache atop his beard.

  “Sorry. I meant to say your girlfriend.”

  Christian smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Michelle. I don’t have a girlfriend per se. I do, however, have a partner, or a paramour—a very close constituent with whom I occasionally share intimate details of my life.”

  “Oh, my apologies again,” Michelle said, giggling. “I must’ve been mistaken. I assumed the two of you had leveled up recently.”

  Christian’s brows drew in as he turned to look at her. “Leveled up?”

  Michelle nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What are we? A video game or something?”

  “Calm down—no one’s keeping score. It’s just that I could’ve sworn you two have been sharing the same bedroom lately.”

  Alex’s eyes grew wide and her cheeks filled with color. She turned away awkwardly, moving farther into the living room to distance herself.

  “Now, Michelle—how would you be privy to such information? I assume you have some sort of evidence to back up your cheap assumptions?”

  “I don’t need evidence. It’s my house,” Michelle shot back. She pointed at the recliner in the corner of the living room. “We live in a small world, Christian. And it’s not rocket science. When you’re not on the porch swing or your ass isn’t glued to that chair, there’s only one other place you can be found.”

  Christian turned away and resumed fumbling with his toy. “I’m becoming predictable, I see,” he joked. “Guess I need to switch things up a bit.”

  Taking a moment to sidebar, Michelle offered up the glass of water she had made for Alex, who hurriedly scampered over to receive it. As Alex darted back to her safe place near the door, Michelle’s eyes fell upon the half-empty bottle of prescription Vicodin on the table.

  Michelle inched her way to the table, pointing at the bottle. “Are you still in a lot of pain?”

  Christian bobbed his head. “Just in case you haven’t been paying attention, I’ve been hit by a few stray bullets lately, and getting hit by bullets tends to hurt a little.” He glanced at her coyly. “Oddly enough, getting shot has become a more frequent occurrence since meeting your daughter.”

  Michelle slapped him playfully on the shoulder after taking a second to recall which one hadn’t been wounded in recent days. Her eyes shifted momentarily, her attention switching to the object Christian was fidgeting with, unable to identify it. “I’m aware. And I’m also very glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m sensing a variation in your tactics, Michelle. It’s disconcerting. Are you flirting with me?”

  “Hell no, I’m not flirting with you,” she replied, her expression aghast. “Stop being a moron.”

  Christian scratched his temple. “I didn’t know I was…must be the drugs.”

  “Must be,” Michelle agreed, stepping backward to grab the notepad she’d set on the counter while Alex giggled from across the room.

  “By the way, in case you’re still wondering—my shadow is with Lauren,” said Christian, his tone transitioning from playful to somber. “They’ve been meeting and going off somewhere together every morning since the little girl’s funeral.”

  Michelle nodded her recognition, but couldn’t take her eyes off the object in Christian’s hand. “Christian, what is that?”

  “What’s what?”

  “That thing…the thing you have in your hand.”

  Christian tilted his head backward and looked at Michelle’s downturned inquiring expression. “Huh?”

  “Don’t ‘huh’ me. What is it? That green thing—you’ve been playing with it all morning. It sounds hard like it’s made of metal or something. You keep tapping it on the table, and I don’t want the table damaged. It probably has dents all over it now.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, overturning his hand. “I’m an idiot. You mean this?”

  Michelle nodded. “Yes. That. What is it?”

  “Oh. It’s just an M67.”

  Michelle drew closer. “Okay, you’ve lost me. What’s an M67?”

  Christian sat up as the leg he had propped on the chair across from him fell gradually to the floor. “Oh. Well, an M67 is a grenade.”

  “A grenade?”

  “Yeah.”

  Michelle’s carefree tone disappeared. “A grenade. Like a hand grenade. Is that what you mean?”

  Christian nodded while presenting the olive green weaponized sphere as if it were some sort of trophy. “Roger that. It’s not the kind you fire from a launcher or anything.”

  Michelle pointed to it. “Is it a…live hand grenade?”

  Christian’s lower lip protruded a bit and he nodded affirmation.

  “The kind that you throw—the kind that explodes after you throw it?” Michelle asked.

  “Yup,” Christian uttered proudly while nodding. “It’s a fragmentation grenade, so it does just tha—”

  Michelle silenced him, putting her hand over his mouth. “So that’s a real hand grenade you’re holding. A live hand grenade. And you’re just sitting there in the chair—in my house, playing with it like it’s a rock or something.”

  Across the room, Alex nervously reached for the front door and put her hand on the knob.

  Michelle pointed at the door. “Okay. Get it out of my house, please.”

  “Seriously? Michelle, it’s practically inert, and the safety pin even has a safe—”

  “I don’t care if it’s inert, Christian,” Michelle droned. She was bug-eyed now. “Get it the hell out of my house. Now, please.”

  “Okay. Sorry.” Christian stood carefully from his seat and stepped as lively as his narcotized body would allow to the front door.

  Alex twisted the knob and opened the door, her gaze never leaving Christian’s hand.

  Michelle ran her fingers over her hair and sighed. “Christian, by any chance, do you have any more of these hand grenades?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. There’s five more in m—”

  “Okay—stop. Just stop right there. Get those too, and get them out of my house, along with the one you have in your hand. And while you’re at it, kindly remove any other explosive devices you have lying around in my house.”

  Christian stammered in the doorway before reaching down and hoisting his backpack. “I don’t really know where I’m going to put them.”

  Michelle glared. “I don’t care where you put them, Christian. I don’t want anything that explodes inside my house, okay? Is that fair?”

  Christian nodded, turned, and exited the cabin without another word. Alex shut the door behind him.

  Michelle put a hand to her chest, releasing a gratifying sigh. “Sheesh. No more painkillers for that guy.”

  Once they had loaded their belongings and gassed up one of the Honda Ranchers, Michelle and Alex drove a short distance south along Trout Run Road to Bryan and Sarah Taylor’s home, pulled in and parked in the driveway near several other ATVs.

  The pair made their way to the back of the house, where a group of neighbors had converged on the property for cleanup and reconstruction efforts. Peter Saunders, who had taken the lead of the rebuilding endeavors, was the first to acknowledge them, his hand held high in a pageant-patterned wave. He had a pencil behind his ear and a l
eather toolbelt around his waist, adorned with a framing hammer, tape measure, a speed square, and other tools characteristic of his trade. “Hello, ladies,” he said informally. “How goes it?”

  Alex held up a waist-high wave to bid her hello.

  Michelle tendered a somber good morning, her eyes drawn to the chaotic mess behind the Taylor home. “We’re good, I think. I was about to ask you the same question.”

  Peter took a quick look over his shoulder at the haphazard construction project in the Taylors’ backyard. He shrugged. “Oh, you know. The usual. I’m good, too. Just here cleaning up yet another mess…trying to make something out of nothing.”

  “How bad is it?” Alex asked, leaning forward a bit, her hands nestled in her front pockets.

  “It’s bad. The greenhouse is a goner, along with everything they had in it,” Peter explained, turning his attention to Michelle. “If you remember, we built that thing originally with stuff we scrounged up from abandoned properties in the valley. The final product was a bastardized mess—but it was functional. We got lucky finding all that glass. It’s a shame—what we’ve come up with this time won’t be anything like the prototype.”

  Michelle pressed her lips tight. “Did they shatter it all?”

  “Everything. Every single pane. Nothing’s salvageable.” Peter grinned slightly. “And there isn’t a glass repair shop open around here for miles.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Michelle agreed, cottoning to Peter’s chronic humor. “Do you think you’ll be able to rebuild it?”

  Peter’s grin flattened. “I can build or rebuild just about anything—if I have the materials. But we are suffering from a serious lack of them. Fred and Norm are out looking now, trying to hunt down whatever remnants they can find. We did manage to get our hands on a whole roll of plastic—you know, the kind you cover houses with when they’re fumigated. I guess one of our former neighbors worked for a pest-control company. That stuff will go a long way to helping us put the humpty-dumpty greenhouse back together again.”

  “Sounds to me like you have a plan already worked out, Pete,” Michelle said, grinning. “You’ve always been our MacGyver.”