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

by C. A. Rudolph

  Danny was struck with terror. They were no longer being shielded by their men. He pulled ahead of Damien and began to weave back and forth from one side of the road to the other, hoping that his president would get the idea and do the same. When Damien felt the first shot soar past him from behind, he accelerated and mimicked Danny’s evasive movements in an opposing sequence. The two gained distance and rocketed down the final stretch of the straightaway side by side as the wind whistled by. Danny could see the curve in the road ahead and hoped it would provide them with some cover. As he went to point to it, something smacked into the front of his bike with enough jarring force that it split the front fork into two pieces. The front wheel fell downward and Danny’s bike took a dive into the road. Flying debris made its way into the path of Damien’s motorcycle, causing him to lose control. Both men were thrown nearly parallel over the side of Trout Run Road, landing in the thick underbrush. They rolled down the embankment and came to a stop not far from each other.

  Damien writhed and grunted in pain as the jolt of the landing began to take effect on his body. “What the fuck was that all about?” he griped.

  “Hell if I know,” Danny groaned, his discomfort evident. He gradually began to check himself over while lying flat on his back. “Someone shot my bike, though. Hit it with something pretty damn big, too.”

  “It’s almost like they prepared for this...”

  “Prepared?” Danny quarreled. “Damnit…these people knew we were coming.”

  Damien mumbled irritably to himself as he rubbed his side and brushed debris from his pants and vest.

  Danny continued. “I told you this was a bad idea. We shouldn’t have come in here. This thing was over before it started.”

  “The decision was made, Danny,” Damien hissed. “And it’s over when I say it’s over.”

  Danny rose to his knees and did a quick check to make sure he still had his pistol and his favorite knife before standing up.

  “You made the decision to do this, not me,” Danny spat as he started to walk past Damien. “If it was up to me, this would’ve never happened—and none of us would’ve died today.”

  “Fuck you!” Damien growled, his finger pointed angrily.

  Damien grabbed for him as he limped by and Danny reacted, pushing his hand away.

  “You selfish prick! Don’t you see? That DHS scumbag played you like a fiddle. He got you so pissed off that you couldn’t think straight! And now, they’re all dead—because of you. I’ve followed your lead without questioning you one too many goddamn times. And this time, you should’ve listened to me. I’m your sergeant-at-arms—the one man whose job it is to protect you and make sure you stay upright.” Danny paused and started walking away. “But you didn’t. And now everyone’s dead. And we might as well be, too.”

  “So this is it, then?” Damien jeered. “This is how it ends between you and me?”

  Danny snickered. “Look around you, boss. There’s no one left but you and me.”

  Damien winced as he rose to his feet and continued dusting himself off. He rubbed a cut on his forehead and licked the blood from his finger. He then reached down and picked up his pistol that had fallen from his waist.

  “Guess I’ll go rendezvous with the other boys and finish this. We still have to get our brother back,” Damien said. “Excuse me, get my brother back.”

  “You do that,” Danny said over his shoulder. “I’m going to go find these fuckers that shot at us. And after that, I’m going to find Sasha.”

  Chapter 28

  Sasha twisted the accelerator backward and fully opened the engine up on her motorcycle. She rocketed around the corners of Trout Run Road as if someone was pursuing her. The farther away she got, the more her mind could drift to better places. Familiar places. Places that made her happy, safe, and young again. She was beginning to feel free—finally free. There was no way she was going to turn back now.

  Passing the state line along the way had jogged her memory once again. The sign that’d read ‘West Virginia, Wild and Wonderful’ kept flashing before her eyes. It was the same sign she’d seen at the state line near Wolf Gap days earlier. Sasha knew she’d seen that same sign before at some point in her life. The mountains in this area were incredibly familiar to her. Mental pictures of her childhood home and her parents—two people she hadn’t seen since the first half of her life on earth—were displayed in her mind. She wondered what they looked like today after all these years. Did they age well? Did life take its toll on them as it had on everyone else she knew? Then she wondered if they missed her and if they still thought about her today…and if they were even still alive.

  A rare tear of sorrow escaped Sasha’s eye, but the speed-driven breeze that blew through her open-faced helmet dried it almost immediately. She wanted to cry and she wanted to just be home. She wanted her real home—her childhood home. A home she hadn’t been to in decades. Her surroundings made her feel so close now. Sasha wondered if she could remember how to get there—back to the deep hollow in Pendleton County that bordered the river. Back to where she’d grown up before she’d been taken from the family that had brought her into this world and that had shown her what it was like to feel safe and to be loved. Would they still be there? Had they moved away? It was a good possibility they had. Maybe they’d relocated to escape the memories. Or maybe they had decided to have other children to help quell the pain of losing her or even to forget about her.

  Sasha slowed down considerably when she saw what appeared to be a large vehicle moving toward her. Her reminiscent thoughts wiped away as she watched it barrel down the road closer and closer to her. She started to feel afraid. Had Mark managed to get word to the others about her attempted defection? Maybe. She only saw one vehicle. It was painted olive green and looked like a military truck. The closer it got to her, the less it looked like a DHS or FEMA vehicle. She began to worry and second-guess her decision to turn back.

  Sasha stopped in the middle of the road and went to dismount her bike, but soon thought better of it when she noticed the two men with guns trained on her. One was standing in the back of the massive truck; the other was hanging out the passenger window.

  “Drop the weapon!” the one in the back yelled. “Do it now! We will shoot you!”

  Sasha instinctively raised her hands into the air.

  “Lady, if you don’t drop that gun, we will cut you in half! Do you understand that?” he yelled again.

  Sasha nodded her understanding. “Okay,” she said. “I understand. Please don’t shoot.”

  “Are you Sasha?” the driver yelled from his window, his gun still trained on her.

  “Yes!”

  She slowly dismounted her motorcycle and went to remove the MP5’s sling from her neck. As she did, several engines were heard behind her. Not long after, she heard gunfire over the engines. Sasha turned around and began waving frantically at the men on the motorcycles, who were rocketing toward her with guns blazing. She heard the men in the truck return fire, and before she knew it, she found herself immersed in a deadly crossfire.

  Before Sasha could dive to the ground for cover, she felt the sting of a bullet hit her chest. Then she felt another. She gasped for air as her hands fell onto the fresh bullet wounds and her body recoiled backward from the impact. As she began to fall to the ground, she heard the buzzing sound of hundreds of rounds flying past her head. It seemed to last forever, until she felt something hit her.

  Sasha’s cheek smacked the cold asphalt. Shards from her now shredded helmet landed all around her. Her vision began to cloud over, but the sounds of gunfire that surrounded her only got louder and clearer. She could hear someone yelling in pain. Then she heard a loud crash and another yell. Her eyes bounced in all directions as she tried to get a view of what was going on around her, but it was no use. She tried to move her neck but couldn’t. All forms of motor movement had failed her. She felt paralyzed.

  Sasha’s thoughts began to drift back to her oldest and fondes
t memories. Memories of her home. The property by the river. The fields and the feathery tall grass and cattails. The apple orchard. Pendleton County and its endless beautiful green mountains. Her childhood. Her parents. The life that had been taken from her.

  Sasha tried hard to breathe. Her breaths were becoming more and more shallow. She forced her eyes to remain open, even though they were doing all they could to close without her permission. She didn’t hear the guns anymore. Was it over? Yes, she thought. It’s over.

  She looked up at a young man she didn’t recognize who had rolled her body over and was talking to her. He was saying pleasant things, but she couldn’t make out the words. It wasn’t important now anyway. If this was her way out—she had to accept it. She could feel her body begin to convulse and the pain begin to slowly drift away. It didn’t hurt anymore. She allowed her eyes to close and tried her best to provide a smile to whoever had come to save her. And then, she took her final breath.

  Chapter 29

  Fred marched across Trout Run Road now littered with an assortment of debris and bodies, M1A in hand, a smile indicating victory wrapped across his face. The battle appeared to be over. Their enemy was defeated. But without checking the area for survivors, there was a chance the fight wasn’t over yet. As such, he’d ordered everyone to begin a thorough search of the woods and structures in the vicinity.

  Grace followed Christian closely, just as he’d instructed her to, over to the first of two abandoned houses. He held up the hand signal for Grace to halt behind him and then changed the signal, motioning for her to come closer, get low, and take a knee beside him.

  “Okay—this is how we’re going to do this. You stay outside. Keep your back to the wall, and make sure no one comes in after I kick the door,” Christian said. “Keep your safety off and kill anyone that you don’t recognize. If you can’t handle that, I need you to tell me now, Grace. Okay?”

  Grace nodded. “I can do it.”

  “You’re still shaking. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Grace nodded again. “Yeah. A lot’s happened today, Christian. I’m just…a little unsettled.”

  “Unsettled is good—it makes you aware. You did good today. It’s almost over,” Christian assured her. “We can all go home soon. You got this.”

  Christian turned and ran to the front door. He kicked it in with his boot, knocking the door nearly off its hinges. Grace followed just behind him and turned around to guard the door, as he’d requested. A few minutes later, he emerged and placed his hand softly on her shoulder, doing his best not to alarm her.

  “Nobody’s been in that house for a long time,” he said. “Let’s go next door.”

  “Okay,” Grace said. She was glad he’d approached her that way. The touch of his hand on her shoulder had a temporary calming effect and she liked it.

  She followed Christian diligently across the yard and to the abandoned house next door. As she moved, Grace turned her head toward the road when she saw Fred advance quickly into the woods with Megan at his side. As she turned to look frontward again, a tall man she didn’t recognize was standing in front of her. Before she could react, she felt a sudden hard blow against the side of her head as his pistol met her temple. Grace fell to the ground in a daze, her rifle tumbling away from her into the tall, unkempt grass.

  Grace couldn’t tell if she’d been knocked unconscious or not. If she had, she didn’t know for how long. Her vision was blurry and the sounds around her were stifled. She felt the man’s rough hands as he crudely hoisted her off the ground with ease. He was incredibly strong. His hands were moving all over her for what seemed like an eternity. She felt him remove her sidearm and the extra magazines that she’d attached to her belt. When the blurriness in her mind cleared, Grace could feel his thick, smelly forearm wrapped tightly around her neck. He was very close to choking her and she could feel his pistol poking her behind the ear. As her vision returned, she saw Christian, and he had his rifle aimed in the direction of the man who now held her captive.

  “Put the rifle down, Keanu,” the tall biker mocked. “You don’t wanna chance hurting this pretty girl, do ya?”

  “In every movie I’ve seen, Keanu wouldn’t put his rifle down. And I won’t either,” said Christian firmly.

  “I really wish you would. It would make this whole thing so much easier for us all.”

  “You can wish in one hand and shit in the other,” Christian said. “But it’s just not going to happen.”

  The man tightened his grip on Grace’s neck and she started gasping for air. Her arms flailed, instinctively reaching upward and attempting to pry the man’s arm from her neck, but it was an effort in futility.

  “Oh, well. Guess I’ll just kill her, then,” the biker said. “Hope she’s not anyone too important to you.”

  Christian tensed and gritted his teeth. “Let me explain really quick how this is going to pan out,” he began. “If you kill her, I kill you. If she dies, you die…and not a single fucking second later.”

  The biker laughed. “You think you’re that good a shot?”

  “You’re about to find out.”

  The biker’s eyes narrowed. “Go on then, Keanu. Take the shot,” he jeered. “Do it!”

  Christian thought long and hard about settling himself, exhaling all the air in his lungs and squeezing the trigger. But he knew for a fact that he just couldn’t do it. The man was using Grace as a human shield, and if he was even an inch off target, his shot would mortally wound her. He couldn’t take the chance.

  “That’s…what I thought,” the tall biker said. “She must be someone special, then. Is she your girlfriend? Are you two in love?”

  Christian tried to think of a way out of this that would keep both him and Grace alive, but he couldn’t come up with anything. He’d taken harder shots than this before, at distances much farther away, and struck his targets true every time. Those targets didn’t have a hostage, and the terrified look in Grace’s eyes was killing his confidence right now. That was when he turned his attention to the large bowie knife attached to the man’s belt.

  “That’s a pretty nice knife,” Christian said, trying with everything he had to keep calm.

  The tall man grinned. “Damn right it is.”

  “Do you know how to fight with it?”

  “Do I know how to fight with it? I could carve you into next week, cupcake,” the biker replied.

  Christian continued to play his cards. “I prefer a kukri over those douchebag bowie knives,” he said. “I’ve got one in my pack, and I’m a samurai with it.”

  The man snickered. “Samurai, huh? Well, check you out. Keanu, the samurai. What the fuck ever.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Christian urged. “You and I drop the guns and have us an old-school knife fight. If you end up carving me into next week, you can have the girl.”

  Grace’s eyes boggled as she fought for air. The man laughed and loosened his grip on her neck just barely enough for her to breathe the word, “No.”

  “You must think I’m stupid,” the biker said. “Tell you what, I have an even better idea.”

  The biker pulled his pistol from Grace’s head and aimed it at Christian. He then fired a shot that smacked Christian in the shoulder, whipping his body backward as it absorbed the slug’s energy. As he prepared to follow up his first shot with a second, his concentration sidetracked and Grace put her elbow into his ribs with all her strength, causing him to release her. She tried to run away, but the biker grabbed her by the hair and tugged her to the ground. As she rolled to the side to get away, he drew back and kicked her in the ribs. A loud metal-on-metal ‘clink’ was overheard as the biker’s steel-toed boot impacted the body armor plate she was wearing. Grace yelped, curled into a fetal position, and made a show of being in pain even though the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been—her intent being to do whatever she could to delay his attack on Christian.

  When the biker looked up to revisit his confrontation, his
forehead was met with a stone that Christian heaved at him. The biker fell backward and managed to stop himself before hitting the ground, but lost his pistol somewhere in the tall grass in the process. He unsheathed his bowie knife and charged blindly at Christian, who, in the delay, had already removed his pack and pulled the kukri from its scabbard.

  The two men battled each other for several long evenly matched minutes. The biker seemed to fight with more ferocity, which placed Christian more on the defensive side of the fight. It didn’t take long though before the weight of the bowie began to tire the biker’s arm. As he went to switch hands, Christian took advantage of the intermission. He moved in, dropped down low and grabbed the man, and then slashed the kukri upward and through the biker’s upper arm, severing it from the rest of his body. The tall biker roared in pain. He dropped to his knees and fell face-first into the grass. He squealed and choked as the blood began to pour from the cavity where his arm once was.

  Christian smiled and emotionlessly kicked the biker’s severed limb, followed by his bowie knife into the grass several feet away. He picked up the pistol the man had dropped, removed its magazine, ejected the chambered round, and tossed it aside. He then pushed the man over onto his back with his boot, drew his Glock 19, and aimed it at the man’s tormented face. Just before pulling the trigger, Christian paused when he noticed the patch on the man’s vest that read ‘Sergeant-at-Arms’.