What's Left of My World (Book 1)

by C. A. Rudolph

  “Yeah, that was me. But this is the new me,” Norman said jokingly.

  The group got a small laugh from the exchange and continued their meals until every last crumb of pancakes had been consumed. Norman lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip, then offered it to Michelle who held up her hand.

  “No thanks,” she said.

  “That’s fine. More for me.”

  “And me,” Grace said as she stood up to get another cup.

  “Are you guys ready to hear today’s agenda?” Michelle asked trying to get the group to focus. Everyone nodded and Grace sat back down a few seconds later.

  “I’m spending the day hunting, that’s all I know,” Norman said. “Small game, big game—hell, any game would be nice.”

  “Absolutely. Some meat would definitely help things. Grace and I are going to inventory food and supplies. Winter is right around the corner and I know we’re getting low on a few things. Lee, I’d like you to inventory weapons and ammunition. We haven’t done that since we moved in and I want to know exactly what we have.”

  “No problem. That’s a job I can do sitting down, so I don’t mind,” Lee joked. “We have so much of it, I doubt we’ll run out anytime soon.”

  Michelle paused and looked at him sternly. The rest of the group said nothing.

  “What?” Lee asked, noticing her stare and the silence around him.

  “I don’t know the future, Lee. Do you?” Michelle asked.

  “Well, no,” he replied.

  “I know we have a lot of ammunition. But, one day could change all that,” she said.

  “I know—I get it. I just think with so many things to worry about, it’s nice to know that’s not one of them,” he said.

  “Lee, ammunition is finite just like the food we have. We can’t go to Wal-Mart or a sporting goods store to get more. If we need more, we have to find someone who has it and with that, is willing to barter for it,” Michelle continued as everyone listened intently. “Which brings up a good point—we need to inventory our bartering supplies. I don’t think we have much more than a few cartons of cigarettes, a case of whiskey, coffee and ultimately, the fuel in the ATVs.”

  “Well, I’m putting my foot down right now. No way in hell are we bartering the coffee,” Norman said. Grace held her cup up to his and they toasted.

  “Seconded,” Grace said with a smile. Norman smiled back at her.

  “We can’t trade the fuel in the ATVs either,” John said finally breaking his silence. “That is our only way out of here if we need to leave, or head further west.”

  Everyone nodded in recognition. John stood up and walked back to his bedroom where he spent his time napping on and off during the day, due to his nights spent on watch. Almost at the exact same instant that he closed the door, everyone at the table jumped when a gunshot was heard outside. Norman quickly placed his coffee down and moved to the door, picking up his AK-47 and opening the door. Grace nervously stood up as well and reached for her AR, which was still propped up on the wall in the kitchen. She followed behind Norman to the door as the sound of another gunshot echoed through the woods. As Michelle got up and walked to where her boots lay, Lee stood up and went to the back of the hallway where the gun safe stood, and began turning the combination dial. He opened the safe and pulled out two chest rigs, one for himself and the other for his father. Each chest rig had several extra magazines in them, as well as a host of other gear stored in the pockets. He then pulled out another AK-47, this one with synthetic furniture, loaded a magazine and charged the bolt.

  John literally flew out of his bedroom with his shotgun and a bandolier of mixed 12-gauge shells over his shoulder at the sound of the third shot. As he and Lee ran to the front door, they passed Grace who stood guard just inside, and exited to the porch to see their father down on one knee with his right hand held upward in a fist, signaling the group to stay low and stay behind him.

  “It’s coming from the south a bit closer to the road,” Norman said, as Michelle peered outside the door where Grace was standing.

  “The Ackermann’s?” Michelle questioned. “That’s the closest house to us in that direction.”

  “Possibly,” Norman said.

  “Jesus, I hope it’s not them,” Grace said. “They’re in their eighties and they have livestock on that farm. Takers are probably raiding them.” She pulled the charging handle back a bit on her rifle to verify a round was indeed in the chamber, and checked the safety.

  Another gunshot erupted and then, a flurry of them followed. Several shots back to back.

  “I’ve counted two, possibly three different guns going off,” Norman said confidently.

  “Yeah, Dad, I think you’re right,” John agreed.

  “Well, hopefully, some of them are coming from Mr. Ackermann’s gun,” Lee said as he looked around with his AK at low-ready.

  “Mr. Ackermann was in the Korean War, Lee,” John uttered. “He’s an old-school warrior. I guarantee at least one of those guns we’re hearing was his.”

  “They all sound the same to me,” Grace said with a look of extreme apprehension on her face. She gripped her rifle tightly.

  “There’s one in particular—if you listen for it, you’ll hear it. It’s more powerful than the others—a large caliber rifle probably. I’m guessing 30-06. Probably an M1 Garand,” John said.

  “John—how the hell could you possibly know that?” Michelle began as she looked at him questioningly. John looked back at her and smiled. Michelle shook her head and looked away with a smirk.

  “I’m going to head that direction,” Norman said. “It’s not far…about a quarter mile.” He took his chest rig that Lee handed him and put it on while Lee held his AK for him. “We need to investigate this and see if they need help.”

  “I’m going with you,” Lee said.

  “Me too,” John agreed.

  “Oh great. Just great,” Grace said nervously. “You guys be careful, please.”

  “We’ll guard the fort,” Michelle said, “but you guys might consider putting on some footwear before you head off.” She pointed to Norman and both of his sons, who were standing on the front porch in sock feet. All three of them shook their heads and smiled, then went back inside to get their boots.

  “And maybe a jacket while we’re at it,” Norman joked.

  Norman and both sons grabbed and put on their boots and their jackets, got into their chest rigs and headed off with weapons ready. John reached down beside the door and picked up a small olive drab daypack and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Grace, let’s go inside and stay low until they get back,” Michelle said as she walked back inside and past her.

  “Gladly,” Grace said as she closed the door. She walked back down the hallway quickly to the open gun safe, grabbed two additional magazines for her AR and closed the safe. “Do you think Lauren heard the shots?”

  “I hope so,” Michelle said.

  As Norman and Lee both approached slowly toward the small farm that could be seen just on the other side of the edge of the woods in front of them, they slowed their pace to a crawl and got down as close to the ground as possible. They had decided on a route through the forest, to take advantage of the cover the woods provided them. John was adjacent to them, just in view, but was walking the road in plain sight with his Mossberg shotgun at ready. Norman had protested his choice of route a couple of times along the way, but John only smiled softly and ignored him each time it was brought up.

  The three hadn’t heard any more gunfire, since leaving the cabin around twenty minutes earlier. Once upon the edge of the woods, Norman got down on one knee and held his right hand up in a fist and Lee knelt down just behind him. They both scanned the area and didn’t see anything out of place at first. Lee tapped his father’s shoulder and pointed to John, who had already walked onto the driveway through the open gate.

  “Two on the ground—looks like they’re dead,” John said rather loudly as he pointed to the front yard of
the two-story farm house in front of him with the muzzle of his shotgun.

  “Who’s dead?” Lee asked his father.

  Norman sighed and stood up and Lee followed him. They stepped out of the woods and onto the rather unruly yard, which resembled more of a field since it had not been mowed in a very long time. Approaching where John now stood, they noticed two late-model Harley Davidson motorcycles parked side by side, in between them and the house. There were two large men lying on the ground. Both had what appeared to be several large caliber bullet wounds. The men were both wearing black boots and each had on matching leather vests, which was typically indicative of a motorcycle club or gang. One man had been hit at least four times and was on his stomach with a lever-action rifle laying just beside his right hand. The other was on his back with a large gaping hole in his neck and had what appeared to be a .357 magnum revolver in his grasp. Both men were obviously dead and were now laying in pools of their own blood which was warm enough to show steam, rising into the cool late morning air.

  John nudged each man a couple times and then kicked both men’s guns away from them. He then poked the muzzle of his shotgun at the patch on the back of the man who had died on his stomach.

  “Marauders M.C.,” John said, reading the patches.

  “Who the hell are the Marauders?” Lee asked.

  “I’ve never heard of them,” John added.

  “I’ve never heard of them either,” Norman responded. “I’m guessing they aren’t a friendly club by the looks of them.”

  “No, they look like bad mofos to me,” Lee said nervously.

  “They just look like another brand of taker to me,” John uttered with a look of disgust.

  John began rifling through the first dead man’s pockets and then the other’s. From the first man’s pockets, he pulled out a couple cigarette lighters, some rolling papers, and what appeared to be a small bag of marijuana. He lifted it up to show his father, who nodded in recognition. From the other man’s pockets, he found a few extra rounds of .357 magnum ammunition, and a baggie full of pills. He nudged the man’s vest and noticed a patch that read “VICE PRESIDENT,” which had fresh blood splattered on it.

  “Shit—this can’t be good,” he said, pointing to the patch.

  Norman noticed the patch and shook his head. “I don’t care if he’s the damn emperor of China, so long as he’s dead,” he said firmly. “What else do you have there?”

  “Just the weed, and some pain killers,” John said.

  “You didn’t find any crack?” Lee jested rhetorically as his brother began stuffing the items as well as the revolver into his backpack. John shook the bottle of pills and noticed it was half-full of small round tan-colored pills.

  “Looks like Oxys,” he said, “or something similar.”

  “Cool! Give me one,” Lee jested.

  Norman raised his eyebrows and looked at John as he slid the baggie of marijuana and the bottle of pills into one of his backpack’s outside pockets. John noticed the look and smiled.

  “For medicinal use,” he said with a grin. “We’ll put it in the first aid kit at the cabin.”

  “Of course,” Norman said with a smirk.

  Just then, an elderly man kicked open the screen door of the house in front of them, stepped outside and pointed a large rifle at the three. Norman dropped his rifle to the side and held both hands up, as did Lee. John stayed right where he was at, on one knee with his hand on the pump grip of his shotgun. He slowly moved it in the man’s direction.

  “Easy—easy, Mr. Ackermann!” Norman yelled. “It’s your neighbors—Norman, Lee, and John. Don’t shoot!”

  The old man slowly noticed who he was aiming his rifle at and lowered it slowly. His face was grim and sullen, and he appeared to have been crying. Norman noticed he had blood on his hands.

  “If they’re not dead, shoot them until they are, please,” Mr. Ackermann said solemnly in a barely detectable Bavarian accent.

  “They’re dead, sir,” John replied. “As dead as dirt.”

  “Good,” Mr. Ackermann said. He turned around slowly and walked back inside his home with the screen door slapping the threshold behind him.

  John stood up and took notice of all of the bullet holes in the door. He also saw that several of the downstairs windows had been shot out, almost as if the raiders had just rolled up and started unloading on the house, even before they’d dismounted their motorcycles.

  “These guys must’ve been high on the stuff we found,” John said. “To roll up on a house like this in broad daylight and open fire is pretty stupid.”

  “Weed makes you hungry. Pain killers make you tired and docile,” Lee said. “I don’t buy it.”

  “Maybe they weren’t high. Maybe they came here specifically looking for something—like food,” John said.

  “Or maybe they were high and looking for food,” Lee said.

  “They definitely wanted something,” Norman added. “But they got something else entirely.”

  Norman walked up to the porch of the house and turned around. “You two watch the perimeter of the house. Keep an eye out for any more of these guys that could pop up looking for their buddies. Shoot anyone that you don’t recognize. I’m going to go find out what Mr. Ackermann knows,” he said.

  John and Lee both nodded. Norman then opened the screen door and entered the house. Upon walking inside, he saw a gruesome scene and realized quickly that he was nowhere near prepared for it. Mr. Ackermann was kneeling down on the ground, and just beyond him was a body. There was blood splatter on the wall to his left. Norman knew immediately that it must be Mrs. Ackermann, and that she had been shot during the attack. Norman walked closer and placed his hand on Mr. Ackermann’s shoulder as the old man broke down in agony.

  “We’ve been married for fifty-five years,” he said. “I always told her she’d outlive me. I guess I was wrong.”

  The old man trailed off into tears. Norman couldn’t speak. His eyes welled up and tears began rolling down his cheeks. He wiped them with his sleeve and knelt down beside Mr. Ackermann, putting his arm around him to allow him to completely let go. Norman got a closer look at the damage that several bullets had done to the old man’s wife. There were two bullet wounds to her head, one of them had landed on her well-aged but still pretty face. There was no doubt what the old man was feeling now, these men hadn’t just killed the love of his life, they’d managed to disfigure her permanently. Norman turned away, deciding he had seen enough, but this was a memory that could never be erased.

  Several minutes went by, but it seemed like an hour. Norman finally stood up beside the now broken old man, noticing that the rifle he had was indeed an M1 Garand. He also noticed that the stripper clip was gone, and the rifle was empty. Had Mr. Ackermann attempted to open fire at him and his sons, he would’ve done so in vain.

  “Mr. Ackermann, did you know those men?” Norman asked, trying to sound as compassionate as possible. “Have you seen them before?”

  After a long pause, he responded. “No, I don’t. I’ve never seen them. Erika had heard a knock at the front door. I hollered at her to not open it, but she did. I came around the corner with my rifle and that’s when it happened. She looked at me and started backing away and that’s when the bastards started shooting. When they saw me with my rifle, they ran outside and headed for their bikes and I unloaded on them. But by then, it was too late,” he said slowly. “My Erika was dead. They killed her.”

  Outside, Lee and John were on guard, walking around the house and keeping an eye out for anything they deemed suspicious. After circling the house a few times, John walked over to the motorcycles that were still standing upright on their kickstands to take a closer look. Both bikes had saddle bags. He nudged them one at a time with the muzzle of his shotgun and could feel that they were full of something. Moving his shotgun to one hand, he opened the first saddle bag. Inside, he saw a few boxes of 30-30 rifle ammunition, some MREs, and a few cans of unopened Budweiser beer.
/>   “Oh, my dear God,” John said slowly, his voice showing signs of mild disbelief.

  “What? What is it?” Lee asked curiously.

  “Beer. It’s beer!” John said in a raised voice. He reached down and picked up the partial six-pack of Budweiser, each can still clinging to each other by the plastic can ring.

  Lee ran over to where his brother stood and looked into the saddle bag he had opened. John handed the beer to him and Lee placed them in his pack.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Looks like this bike belonged to Mr. face-plant over there.”

  “Did the rifle ammo give it away?” John quipped.

  “Shut the hell up,” Lee said. He walked to the other side of the motorcycle and opened the other saddle bag. Looking inside, he noticed it was half-full of jewelry. There was an assortment of rings, necklaces, and bracelets. They were mostly gold, but there was silver mixed in. Lee ran his fingers through the bounty and also saw some coins, and noticed that some of the rings had very large diamonds in them.

  John peered over to see what Lee was doing. His eyebrows lifted at the sight of all the jewelry. “Looks like these two have been busy,” he said. “Killing folks and taking their valuables.”

  “Yeah. Pretty sad, actually,” Lee said solemnly. “I wonder how many people they stole from to get all this crap.”

  “What’s makes it really sad is how useless gold is right now,” John elaborated. “I mean, you can trade it, but what is it really worth? You can’t eat it—it can’t protect you…”

  Lee removed his hand and closed the top to the saddle bag. He then walked to the other motorcycle and opened one of the two bags it had attached to it. Looking in he said, “More MREs, a box of .357 magnum ammo, a poncho, a mini Maglite, some patches...” He paused as he opened the other saddle bag and simultaneously took a step back with his hand over his mouth. “Oh—shit,” he said slowly.

  John walked over to see what made Lee react the way he did. Looking inside, John saw what it was, then staggered backward.