What's Left of My World (Book 2): This We Will Defend

by C. A. Rudolph

  Lying in the rear of the container were two large folding solar panels, and beside them was a black three-ring binder. Lauren pulled the notebook out and began thumbing through it. Most of the pages were typed and printed, but some carried her father’s handwriting and were written in ink, and she took special care not to get them wet. The binder was arranged into chapters, and sure enough, the first chapter contained information on setting up a portable amateur radio station.

  “Bingo.”

  The notebook housed dozens of other multipage chapters with titles such as Solar Power Setup, Field Expedient Antennas, and Direction Finding, and something called Radio Wave Propagation.

  Lauren closed the notebook and sighed. She knew that the combined contents of the container could be used to contact the outside world. They could gather and pass along information and finally find out just what had happened…and even more importantly, what was happening now. Having that capability would be a precious commodity—and that made everything inside the container priceless. She decided it would be best to keep it to herself for now and come back to it someday soon.

  Just before deciding to close the lid, Lauren reached for a black Pelican case and set it in her lap. It stood out to her because it just didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the items inside the container. After hesitating for a second, she opened it, and what was inside caused her expression to harden.

  Lauren pulled out a small handgun, which she knew to be a Ruger LCP. It was seated snugly inside a thin, pocket-sized holster with the Sticky Holsters brand logo on the side; and it was indeed sticky. She slid the LCP from the holster and examined its customizations closely. It had a red, skeletonized trigger, a Lasermax laser mounted to it, and a rubber Hogue oversized grip. Lauren pointed it at a wall in the shed and it felt comfortable in her hand. She used her trigger finger to tap a button on the side of the laser, and an intense red dot appeared on the wall.

  Lauren dropped the extended magazine from the LCP and pulled the slide back, immediately ejecting a nickel-plated brass cartridge from the chamber. She then picked up the round and studied it, taking note of the inordinately wide hollow point. Lauren knew the .380 ACP wasn’t exactly a powerhouse in terms of stopping power, but she also knew her father. He always did his research. Whatever he’d loaded this gun with, he’d bet his life on, and she felt safe enough to do the same. After she returned the LCP to the condition she’d found it, Lauren placed it back into the Pelican case and then gazed curiously at the second item.

  It wasn’t something that Lauren had ever seen before, and at first, it appeared to be some sort of knife, as it was seated inside a nylon sheath. It was long, black, and cylindrical, and the handle was made of knurled lightweight metal. It had a trigger and a pull-pin safety. The more she looked it over, the less it eluded her. Her eyes widened. It was a very rare and, in normal times, extremely illegal ballistic knife.

  Lauren handled the weapon with care and slowly returned it to its home inside the sheath. With the pull-pin removed and the trigger depressed, the spring inside the handle would propel the blade toward a target for several yards. It was a deadly close-quarters weapon. She placed it back into the Pelican case along with the other items and snapped the case shut.

  After closing the lid and securing it with the combination lock, Lauren rubbed the numbers back and forth with her thumb to disguise what she’d entered. She then stood with the Pelican case and headed for the door. She turned her head around for a moment before exiting the shed and glanced back at her dad’s container.

  “How did you know?” she asked quietly, as if he were in the room with her.

  Lauren knew for a fact that she was the only other person in the world who knew the combination to her dad’s locks. Everything inside the container belonged to him—but it also belonged to her. It was meant for her. He’d made sure that she would have what’s inside if he wasn’t around. Because he knew somehow that they’d be needed. Someday.

  Chapter 4

  “Prosperity is a great teacher; adversity is a greater. Possession pampers the mind; privation trains and strengthens it.”

  —William Hazlitt

  Mason residence

  Trout Run Valley

  Hardy County, West Virginia

  Friday, October 15th (Present day)

  Norman, along with his sons, John and Lee, escorted Michelle and Lauren as they hastily ambled across the road to the Masons’ home under a deluge of torrential rain. Once beneath the protection of the covered front porch, the group began shedding ponchos and shaking out umbrellas. Norman stepped forward and rapped his knuckles a few times on the impressively stout front door. Some stirring was heard inside before it opened a few seconds later. Norman stood aside to allow the girls to walk in first, and then brought up the rear after his sons. Once inside, Norman closed the door and then twisted the deadbolt to a locked position.

  The group was greeted with firm handshakes from Fred Mason, while his wife, Kim, and daughter, Megan, provided friendly hugs. Fred took everyone’s long guns at the door with squinted eyes and a content half-smile. After checking their chambers and verifying the safeties, he leaned them beside each other against the wainscoting on the foyer wall.

  Migrating from the foyer and into the Masons’ kitchen, the group was again greeted, this time by the familiar yet somber faces of Scott and Whitney Schmidt. The Schmidts appeared as if they were helping to hold each other up, both physically as well as emotionally. They stood so closely together that nothing could exist in the distance between them—the glum looks on their faces disagreeing with their forced smiles. Scott was carefully sipping on a glass of what appeared to be water, but his facial expressions indicated it was something else much stronger. Their son, Brandon, and daughter, Brooke, were both already seated at the table in the adjacent grand dining room, where a large assortment of foods had been prearranged on the table.

  The hallway, kitchen, and dining room were illuminated using oil lamps of all shapes and sizes, along with a few candles—some of which were scented. Michelle, a connoisseur of oil fragrances, potpourri, scented candles and the like, couldn’t help but notice the aromas. They reminded her so much of her home before the world had changed. As she caught herself flashing back to those days, she couldn’t help but think of how much she missed it.

  “It smells wonderful in here, Kim,” Michelle said.

  Kim smiled broadly and took a quick look around. “Thank you, Michelle. There ain’t nothing quite like the smell of a kitchen when food is being cooked,” she said in her gentle Appalachian drawl.

  “Oh—I agree. But I was referring to the candles.”

  “Oh,” Kim said. “Of course. That’s what’s left of my Yankee Candle inventory. I used to be a consultant.” She paused and looked past her visitors as if she’d expected others to join them. “Where’s everybody else?”

  “Grace and Christian wanted to stay behind,” explained Michelle. “I couldn’t tell if they just wanted some time alone or if they were worried about leaving the cabin unguarded.” Michelle paused and turned to Lauren, who’d raised her eyebrows in response but said nothing. “I guess neither would surprise me.”

  “Oh, okay,” Kim said. “I’ll try not to take it too personally. We made plenty for everyone, so y’all can just take some home to them when you leave. Fred plans on taking some up to the boys at the gap after we’re through here tonight.”

  Fred motioned for everyone to move into the dining room and told them to take a seat wherever they liked. He pulled on Norman’s arm as the group took seats at the table, and Norman looked at him curiously.

  “You look like you could use a drink,” Fred said, and he gestured to a glass quart jar of clear liquid on the counter near the sink.

  “Now that you mention it, I could use a little warming up,” Norman said. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Fred nodded.

  “What flavor?”

  “Peach. And it’s from my private stash, so don�
��t go around telling everyone,” Fred said, followed by a sharp glance.

  Norman’s eyes boggled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Fred pulled two glasses from the cabinet. He poured a couple of ounces of the liquor into each glass and then handed one to Norman. After a quick, informal toast, the two each took a sip and responded with a grimace.

  “That’s delicious,” said Norman hoarsely while trying his best not to cough. He swirled the liquid around in his glass. It’d been a while since he’d experienced the near-instantaneous effects of real moonshine. “Burns all the way down. Do you make it yourself?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” said Fred. “I don’t have the parts lying around to construct a proper still.”

  “You don’t need a still to make moonshine,” Norman countered. “I used to make mine at home with a pressure cooker.”

  Fred shook his head. “I prefer to keep my eyesight, Norm. If it’s going to be done, I want to do it the right way.”

  “Well, there’s the right way, the wrong way, and then there’s my way,” Norman mused. He patted Fred’s shoulder, and the two then joined the others in the dining room.

  “Look at all this food, Kim,” Michelle boasted as she studied the bounty. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

  “It wasn’t any trouble at all, really,” Whitney interjected as she began to fill glasses from a large glass bottle of spring water. “There’s no way we’d let Kim do this all by herself. She’s got plenty of help here now.”

  “She sure does,” Fred said coarsely.

  Whitney caught wind of Fred’s tone and shot him a disapproving glare. She bit her tongue, her self-control able to get the better of her. This time.

  Kim smiled warmly. “Whitney’s right, Michelle. It wasn’t any trouble. Besides, we rarely do this sort of thing and I just wanted tonight to be special. After all that’s happened, we wanted to splurge a little and make a spread—thought it might help take our minds off things. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I certainly don’t mind, Kim. Everything looks fantastic,” Norman said as he rubbed his belly.

  As the group took their seats, Megan tapped on Lauren’s shoulder. “Lauren—sit over here beside me,” she suggested.

  Lauren smiled and nodded her acceptance. “Okay,” she agreed, and chose a chair next to Megan. It’d been some time since the two had spoken. John took a seat on Lauren’s other side, and Lee chose the seat on the other side of his brother.

  Megan was a couple of years older than Lauren, but it wasn’t evident at first glance. They were both about the same size and stature. Megan had shoulder-length blond hair, green eyes, and some of the whitest teeth anyone had ever seen. How she managed to keep them that way, especially now that regular visits to a dentist and bleaching treatments were things of the past, was a complete mystery.

  “So, long time no talk,” Megan said with a bright grin. “What have you been up to lately?”

  “Oh—you mean you haven’t heard? I figured it would be common knowledge by now.”

  “I’ve heard bits and pieces,” replied Megan with a snarky tone.

  “There’s not much worth mentioning,” Lauren dismissed. The last thing she wanted to do was rehash the events of the past week, and hoped that wasn’t what Megan was expecting.

  “Well, I’m all ears,” Megan said. “Anything is an adventure compared to sitting inside the house all the time. All I do is read books, tend to chores, and read more books.”

  Lauren smiled awkwardly. She didn’t want to provide all the details, but she did take a few moments to explain her journey to Megan in a capricious manner. She finished nonchalantly with, “I got curious, almost got myself killed, and barely made it home. You know—the usual.”

  Megan smiled and nodded. John grinned and shook his head. Across the table, Brandon was staring off into the distance while his sister stared blankly at her plate. Both were withdrawn—and acted as though they hadn’t heard anything.

  “Dad said you fought off a bunch of takers the other day,” said Megan.

  Lauren nodded, hoping that Megan didn’t intend to push for more. She wasn’t ready to answer an onslaught of questions yet. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

  “Lauren didn’t fight them off,” Lee interjected. “She kicked their asses. But I got some of them, too.” The attention at the table turned to Lee, whose attempt at keeping his contribution confined to a limited audience didn’t go as planned. He smiled humbly. “I didn’t get as many as the sharpshooter over there, but I did my part.”

  “Yeah, I heard that too, Lee,” Megan said graciously. “All of you did your part that day.”

  Lauren’s counterfeited smile began to dissipate as Lee’s cheeks turned a shade of red.

  “At least you guys were able to keep them from burning your house down,” Brandon said somberly, having finally decided to speak up. “Some of us weren’t so lucky.”

  “I’m really sorry that happened to you guys, Brandon,” Lauren sympathized. “Were you able to salvage anything?”

  “Heck no,” Brandon said, his voice displaying his discontent. “Everything we had is gone. It’s all gone—except the clothes on our backs.”

  “And we’re thankful for those clothes,” Whitney sternly intervened. “Right, Brandon?”

  Brandon lifted his head to display his brooding eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you killed them,” Megan suddenly blurted out. She turned to look at her father, and Lauren caught the glance that Fred fired back at his daughter. It was almost as if he was pleading with her not to say anything else about it.

  “We spent an entire day rummaging through the remains of that house,” Fred said gruffly, changing the subject. “The fire got everything.”

  Scott crossed his arms and settled himself into his seat. “I can’t tell you guys how much this sucks,” he said solemnly. “We barely had time enough to get ourselves out. The fire took everything we had—including a lifetime of memories.”

  “Not to mention all the food we had stored away,” Whitney stated.

  “Damn,” Norman said. He paused and gauged the looks on both Scott’s and Whitney’s faces before posing his next question. “How much did you lose?”

  Asking someone how much food they had stored or posing questions about their preparations during normal times was considered impolite. Asking those same questions now was a near-unthinkable act. If the Schmidts were going to endure this ordeal, it was going to take the help of the community. It was a group effort now, and that was the only reason Norman decided to be impulsive.

  “It was a lot, Norm,” Scott said glumly, thumbing his beard. “A couple years’ worth for us and the kids at least. My parents always had the place crammed with food and other stuff.”

  “They were definitely a couple of packrats,” Whitney said quietly. “But we lucked out having what we had.”

  “You all always wondered why we wouldn’t accept things that were offered to us. We didn’t feel it was right because we didn’t need it.” Scott paused and sighed. “And that’s all gone now.”

  “I’m sorry, dude,” said Norman. “I assumed you guys were pretty well stocked. I’m sorry I even had to ask the question.”

  “Me too,” Scott said with a thin smile. “There’s still some stuff we can salvage from the garden—so it’s not a complete loss, but it’s pretty close. And I’m not too happy about it.”

  A few seconds of silence followed as the group digested the facts at hand.

  “Would anyone like some honey wine?” asked Kim as she pointed to a glass carafe conveniently placed on the table nearest the women. “It’s from a batch I made earlier this year—should be delicious.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Whitney said as she took the lead, reaching to pour herself a glass.

  Whitney then poured Michelle and Kim each a glass, and the three ladies held their glasses up to one another before taking a sip. The effort was
contagious, as the men did the same.

  Setting his glass down, Fred said, “We need to put our heads together and find the Schmidts what they need to move on from this. We’re doing all we can, but they’re going to need a lot more than just a roof over their heads before long.” He paused. “I know we have other problems we need to dig into, but we can talk about them at the meeting when all are present and accounted for. Security is pretty stout in the valley right now—I’m proud of where we’re at.”

  “I take it Chad and Mark are still at the barricade?” Lauren asked curiously.

  Fred glanced at Lauren and nodded in the affirmative. “I guess it’s been a while since you’ve been out of the house,” he replied to her with a smirk. “The Bradys have taken responsibility for the northern boundary. That’s allowed the boys to concentrate on Wolf Gap. They’ve built themselves quite an outpost up there. They have shelter and they’ve even dug a latrine. Pretty surprising what they’re capable of sometimes.”

  “My brothers always preferred to be outside rather than in,” Megan muttered as she looked toward Lauren and whispered, “Same as me.”

  Michelle leaned back in her chair and took a sip from her wineglass. She gave Whitney Schmidt a serious look. “Preparing you all for the cold weather should be our priority. Let’s talk winter clothes,” she said. The group began to follow along. “Scott, I’ll go through Alan’s things for you when we get back. He was always such a clotheshorse. I’m sure he can spare what you need to get by.”

  Scott smiled sincerely as his mind ran wild with younger memories of his best friend. “I’ve always been a bit bigger than him,” he said. He then patted himself on his stomach, which had become much more svelte since the collapse. “At least, I used to be.”

  Whitney nudged her husband. “I’m wagering that finding clothes for me isn’t going to be nearly as easy.”