What's Left of My World (Book 1)

by C. A. Rudolph

  “Are you afraid to die?” Norman asked the biker. “Because you’re awfully close to finding out what a 7.62 to the brain feels like at point blank range.”

  Fred looked to Norman and smiled in approval. Mickey turned his head and looked up at Norman. Fred stepped back and pulled the muzzle away from Mickey’s head a bit.

  “I think the more appropriate question is—are you afraid to die?” Mickey deferred.

  “I asked you first,” Norman said.

  Mickey spat again. He began to speak slowly and concisely. “You don’t get it, do you, country boy? As I say this, he’s coming for you. He’s coming for all of you. Whoever and whatever you hold dear will soon be his and you’ll all be dead. All of you. Every single one of you will be dead. If you have women, they will become his women. He will do things to them that will make torture look like a game of checkers. If you have kids, they will become his children. He will make them his slaves and force them to work like mules. Whatever possessions you have will become his. He’ll kill you slowly and feast on your fucking dead corpses. He will burn your lives to the ground, and piss on the ashes.”

  Norman had begun to become enraged and was resisting the urge to kick Mickey in his mouth. Fred looked up at him and noticed that Norman was getting very flustered. He held up his hand to him and Norman turned away, sensing he was about to lose control.

  “Don’t let this peckerhead get to you, Norman,” Fred said. “He’s talking out of his ass.”

  “We’ll see about that…won’t we?” Mickey said with a grin and what sounded like a giggle.

  “Yep,” Fred said. “But for now, we are still alive and what’s ours is still ours. And we even got ourselves a prisoner.”

  “You ain’t got shit,” Mickey said with a sinister chuckle. “You are all fucking dead men. FUCKING DEAD MEN!” Mickey’s voice thundered as he began to breathe deeply and heavily.

  “Ah, fuck it,” Fred said. “Just hit him, Norman.”

  Norman handed his AK-47 to Peter, who took it and nodded. He then turned around in an instant, and in a burst of rage, drew back and slammed a right roundhouse punch to Mickey’s chin, dropping him to the ground with a loud smack. Norman shook his hand a bit after the blow, immediately feeling the pain of a bare-knuckle punch in his hand. Mickey lay still. He was knocked out cold.

  “Nice punch,” Peter said, as he handed Norman back his AK.

  Fred smiled and nodded. “Let’s clean this stuff up and drag this dick cheese back to the truck. We need to have an emergency meeting when we get back. This situation just got real.”

  “Agreed,” Michael said, sensing the urgency of the situation. “After we distribute fuel, I’ll drive my front-loader up here and repair the barricade.”

  “Hey, Mike. Sorry, but I was just thinking. Don’t you have one of them really big friggin bulldozers?” Peter asked.

  “I’ve got a Caterpillar D9T,” Michael replied. “It’s pretty large. Why?”

  “The blade on that thing—is it about as wide as the road?”

  Michael looked down over the hill and turned back to Pete. “I’d imagine it’s pretty close,” Michael said.

  “I was thinking—we could pull that sucker right up to the barricade. These guys could move stones around all day, but no one would be able to move that thing except us,” Peter said.

  “Damn, Pete,” Fred said. “That gunfight must’ve jarred something. The shit that’s coming out of your mouth is starting to make sense now.”

  Peter gave Fred a mocking half-smile and shrugged.

  “Well, it does weigh about fifty tons,” Michael said. “The blade is as wide as this road and it’s tall enough to use for cover if needed. It would take a lot to penetrate it.”

  “Good idea, Pete. With that thing blocking the road, nothing would get by unless we wanted it to,” Norman said. Grinning, he added, “You’re not using it for anything at the moment, are you, Mike?”

  “Nope,” Michael said with a confident smile. “Not at the moment.”

  “If it’ll keep a gang of pissed-off biker assholes from driving down this road into our valley, then that’s what we need to make happen,” Fred said firmly. “But we still need to set up camp here. I’ll have Mark and Chad head up here and start working on digging us a foxhole up above the barricade in the woods. We’ll be able to see anything coming down the road from there. It’ll provide us plenty of cover.”

  After camouflaging the motorcycles and the dead biker’s body deep in the woods on the Virginia side of the mountain, all four men returned to Peter’s truck and began the ride back into the valley. On the way, they stopped first at Bryan and Sarah Taylor’s house to gather their gas cans and delivered the news of what happened to them, informing them of the emergency meeting that would be held at Fred’s house later that evening. The next stop was the Schmidt residence for the same reasons. After leaving the Schmidts, the truck turned down short gravel driveway that led to the Ackermann farm. Norman stood up in the back of the truck and was able to see Mr. Ackermann in his backyard with a shovel and a wheelbarrow, feeding his hogs. When the truck came to a halt, Peter turned off the engine and Norman jumped out of the bed, followed by Fred Mason. The hogs could be heard now as they squealed wildly. Both men decided to leave their rifles in the truck, to not appear threatening to Mr. Ackermann. Neither of them could estimate what his mental state would be.

  “We’ll go check on him,” Norman said to Peter and to Michael through the open driver’s side window. “Shouldn’t take but a few minutes.”

  Peter and Michael both nodded. Fred followed Norman as he walked around the side of the house to where Mr. Ackermann was. Mr. Ackermann saw them approaching and threw one of his hands up to them in acknowledgement. As they got nearer to him, Norman noticed a wheelbarrow that was full of chunks of something covered, in what appeared to be blood. The hogs were squealing wildly and fighting over the food he had scooped into their pen. When Mr. Ackermann pulled the scoop shovel out of the wheelbarrow, Norman saw what appeared to be a human arm. Fred noticed it as well. Norman wasn’t certain, but his imagination told him exactly what was going on here. When the contents of the wheelbarrow came into view, it became evident. Mr. Ackermann shoved the shovel back into the bloody contents of the wheelbarrow and nodded to Norman and Fred.

  “How can I help you boys?” he asked calmly.

  Norman, who was trying to hold back the feeling of suddenly wanting to regurgitate said, “We just wanted to check on you and make sure you were all right, Mr. Ackermann.”

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Mr. Ackermann said quickly and firmly.

  “Mr. Ackermann, is that what I think it is?” Fred asked him, not able to hold back his curiosity any longer. He knew the answer already, but needed to hear it for his edification.

  “My hogs are hungry and need to eat,” Mr. Ackermann replied in his half-Bavarian, half-West Virginian accent. “The good Lord blessed us with some fresh meat for them. No way in hell, I was going to let it go to waste.” He pointed at Norman. “You and your boys drug these fellas off into the woods over yonder.” He pointed to the woods where Norman, Lee, and John had taken the motorcycles and their deceased riders the day before. “Y’all should’ve just left them here so I didn’t have to drag them back—but don’t worry, I got it taken care of.”

  Norman covered his mouth and looked into the wheelbarrow and into the hog pen, and then back into the wheelbarrow. The feeling to throw up was almost unbearable and he could feel saliva building under his tongue. From what he could decipher, there was at least one body left in there. It had been cut up roughly with what he guessed had been a chainsaw.

  “I imagine they were too big to just drag over here in one piece,” Fred said, trying to relate to his neighbor’s state of mind. “What did you use to cut them up with?”

  “My Stihl, of course,” he replied, his voice showing no remorse whatsoever. “Cut through them like a hot knife through butter.”

  There was an u
ncomfortable pause after his words.

  “Mr. Ackermann, the community is having an emergency meeting this evening at Fred’s house. We’d like you to come if you can,” Norman said.

  The old man shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said.

  “There’s a threat to the community that we all need to discuss in depth,” Fred said. “Things will be changing around here quite a bit now because of it. We’d like for you to be involved.”

  “I’m fine,” he said again. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it without me. This farm needs me and I can’t leave it alone to tend itself.”

  After a few minutes of near-pleading with him with no results, Norman and Fred both said their goodbyes and walked back to the truck. As they neared the truck, Norman noticed a new mound of dirt in the garden beside the house. He assumed the old man had buried his wife there.

  “Everything ok?” Michael asked noticing their grim faces.

  “Uh…yeah,” Fred said. “Mr. Ackermann won’t be attending the meeting tonight.”

  “Why not?” Peter asked, looking confused.

  Fred didn’t answer and Norman looked away with a distraught look on his face. Peter turned to look at Michael who shrugged, then looked back at Fred and Norman.

  “Why are those hogs going crazy?” Peter asked.

  “Blood,” Fred said resolutely as he pulled himself into the bed of the truck.

  “What?” Peter and Michael asked almost simultaneously, both with very confused looks.

  Norman stood beside the driver’s side door and explained the scene that he and Fred had just witnessed. Peter and Michael both were horrified at first, and both just shook their heads in disbelief. Peter started the truck and Norman hopped into the bed. Peter stuck his head out of the window, just as he began to back the truck up.

  “I’m not trying to sound overly macabre, but can you guys think of a better way of disposing of a body?” he said.

  Chapter 14

  Sugar Knob Cabin

  George Washington National Forest

  Shenandoah County Virginia

  Present day

  It had been one of the longest, most grueling hikes that Lauren could remember ever having taken in her life. She was beyond truly exhausted now, and each step she took made her just want to give up. Her ankle was throbbing badly. Every time she put any amount of body weight on it, the pain was nearly excruciating. She needed to rest and take her weight off of it. Her frustration was evident, both with herself and with her predicament. She was mad at herself for getting injured so far away from home. Faced with a petrifying situation of being stalked by dogs and men with guns, that she was certain had every intention of killing her, she had panicked and done something stupid. She had never trained or prepared herself for anything quite like this. The trails in these mountains were not forgiving and she’d known it. Now, she was paying the price.

  The intersection with Little Stony Creek Trail was just ahead, and she yearned to at least just make it there. Sugar Knob Cabin was just a short way from that point. Without a doubt in her mind, that would be where she and Christian would have stay the night. Her day of hiking was nearly over, even though she was still several miles from home. She looked behind and saw that Christian’s limp had gotten worse, due to the hole in his calf. He was bleeding under his bandage again and the wound needed to be re-dressed. Both of them just needed to call it a day.

  Rounding the corner and hiking a little way down Little Stony Creek Trail, Sugar Knob Cabin came into view. It was a small primitive cabin with stone walls and a tin roof, with a short stone chimney and a thick solid wood door.

  “Lauren, hang back a second,” Christian said under his breath.

  Lauren stopped walking and moved to the side of the trail to allow him to pass. He did so with his M4 at the ready and began scanning the area for threats. He moved past and around the cabin and then scanned the open camping area surrounding it. As he passed the stone fire ring, he held his hand over it to check for any heat which would be a distinct indicator of recent use, but didn’t feel any. Reaching the door, he pulled on the thick padlock that secured it in place. The padlock didn’t budge. The building was undisturbed as far as he could tell. He motioned to Lauren that all appeared to be clear.

  “Is it locked?” Lauren asked as she began to slowly approach the cabin. She unsnapped all of the quick-release buckles on her pack and let it fall to the ground, then she placed her rifle on top of it.

  “Oh, yeah,” Christian said. “Like Fort Knox.”

  “Fantastic,” Lauren said, her voice inundated with sarcasm and as well, showing signs that she was in some serious pain.

  “There’s got to be a spare key around here somewhere,” Christian said. “I mean, if you reserved this place and hiked all the way up here and forgot your key, what the hell would you do?”

  “Sleep outside,” Lauren said passively. She took a seat on the ground and slowly removed her hiking boot to expose a very swollen ankle.

  Christian looked down at her and noticed that her injury was looking much worse than it had been earlier. There were purple splotches all around her ankle, and it was so swollen that he had no idea how it’d even fit in her boot.

  “You definitely need to stay off your feet,” he said.

  She nodded and pointed to his calf. “I’m well aware of what the protocol is for a sprained ankle. You, however, should consider taking your own advice,” Lauren stated somewhat brashly.

  Christian looked down at his dressing and noticed that it was indeed in pretty bad shape. He nodded and began looking around the building, in an attempt to find a hiding place for a key that may or may not exist.

  “Now…if I were a key, where would I be hiding?” he asked rhetorically.

  “You’d have a better chance crawling through one of those windows,” Lauren jested, pointing to one of the three windows that weren’t anywhere near large enough to fit a human body through. On top of it, they were covered in shutters made of wood that looked even thicker than the door.

  “I haven’t ruled that out yet,” Christian joked.

  Lauren began nursing her very much overworked sprained ankle. She had found small smooth stone and was rubbing her ankle with it, trying to massage and loosen the muscles. The underside of the stone was nice and cool, but nowhere near enough to sooth the pain or bring down the swelling. She pulled out her first aid kit and broke open an instant ice pack, then laid it on her ankle. As the pack got colder, the pain started to subside. She hoped it would last awhile since it was the only ice pack she had with her, and probably the only one left in her family’s post-collapse supplies. While waiting for the ice pack to do its job, she popped a handful of ibuprofen.

  Christian was overturning stones everywhere he walked. He looked underneath an old wooden picnic table that had been there for as long as Lauren could remember. He was relentless, checking every nook and cranny in the areas surrounding the cabin.

  “Does anyone in your community have medical knowledge?” Christian asked, fully expecting Lauren to lay into him for asking personal questions again. He felt as though that bridge had been crossed already, but wasn’t entirely sure.

  “We don’t have any doctors, but our neighbor, Kristen is a paramedic. She handles all the cuts and bruises—and the occasional gunshot wound,” Lauren said in an attempt to make a joke. Christian looked over to her and grinned as Lauren continued. “My mom’s friend, Amy was an LPN before the collapse so she knows some stuff, but Kristen is definitely our go-to.”

  “Gotcha,” Christian said. “So, when we get back, we’ll need to look her up.”

  “Yeah,” Lauren said, not sounding very confident. She wasn’t looking forward to being a cripple for a while, unable to move about and be active. She knew once her mother saw her condition, she would be confined to quarters. Kristen would probably tell her to keep off of her feet for a couple weeks to let the sprain heal. Just the thought of not being able to do anything for t
hat long didn’t sit well. A full day of doing nothing was enough to drive her crazy.

  “HOLY SHIT!” Christian bellowed suddenly from the other side of the cabin where Lauren couldn’t see him. Lauren looked up, somewhat startled as Christian hobbled around the corner of the cabin with a silver key held up between his finger and thumb.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me!” Lauren said, both in surprise and disbelief.

  “There was a hide-a-key in a knot in that tree over there,” Christian said proudly.

  He walked over to the door and inserted the key into the padlock. With a slow turn that required a bit of effort, the padlock pulled open. Christian pushed the door open with one hand while keeping the other hand on his newly acquired sidearm. The door moved inward, exposing the primitive interior of the cabin. Inside to the right was a table, a woodstove, and a host of simple cookware and utensils. To the left was a cot with a foam mattress, a pillow, and several wool blankets. A couple old chairs sat in the middle of the earthen floor and there were cobwebs everywhere. It appeared as though the cabin hadn’t been used for a very long time.

  “Have you ever been in this thing?” Christian asked as he knocked some of the thicker cobwebs from their moorings.

  “Once, when I was very little,” Lauren said. She pulled herself up to her feet and hopped on one foot over to where Christian was standing in the doorway. “Looks pretty much the same as it did then—minus the cobwebs.” Lauren hopped past Christian over to the cot and pulled herself onto it. She laid back and put her head on the old pillow, crossing her hands over her stomach. She closed her eyes for a moment and said, “If you need me, I’ll be right here.”

  “Sure, you just make yourself comfortable,” Christian said. “I’ll take care of everything else.”