Norman, Fred, and Michelle began walking down the dirt driveway to the cluster of houses, each holding their hands outward to signify to whomever was watching them that they were unarmed. No one was outside that they could see. They walked cautiously up to the first house which had a long wooden front porch. From inside the house, an older man’s gravelly voice called to them, “That’s far enough!”
They stopped in their tracks. Norman and Fred stood side by side in front of Michelle.
“Who are you? What do you want?” the voiced called. The sound of someone stirring inside the house was heard.
“It’s Fred Mason from down the road,” Fred said in a voice loud enough for the person to hear, but careful to not sound threatening. “Norman Boyce is with me, and so is Michelle Russell. Her daughter Grace is in the truck. We just want to talk.”
“Talk about what?” the voice asked, sounding somewhat exasperated. “We don’t want to be bothered.” The door opened and an old man stepped outside of the house, letting the wooden screen door slap shut behind him. He was a tall, skinny man with a thick white beard and long, thin white hair. He wore denim overalls and in his hands was a very large double-barrel shotgun. Norman looked him over and then took a long glance at his weapon, which wasn’t pointed in their direction, but just as easily could be in a split second. The man’s skin was wrinkled, but he didn’t appear anywhere near as decrepit as the house he’d just walked out of, which was little more than a shack with a metal roof. Norman had never seen a shotgun that size before and guessed that it was maybe a 10-gauge, which was a rare sight even in normal times.
“Mr. Brady, we wanted to talk to you and your family about helping us tighten security in the valley,” Norman said in a calm tone. “We’ve encountered some new threats recently and we need your help.”
“If you’re talkin about them damn raiders like the ones we had last summer, we got that covered,” Mr. Brady said. “I seem to remember us talking about this before, back then. Nothing’s changed on our end.” He spat a wad of what appeared to be tobacco juice onto the wooden floor of the front porch.
“Mr. Brady, a lot has changed since then,” Fred spoke up. “We have a new problem now. We had a run-in with two members of an outlaw biker gang a few days ago. They attacked the Ackermanns at their home, and Mrs. Ackerman was killed in the attack.”
Mr. Brady said nothing at first as he looked away from his visitors and took a look around his property. Norman and Fred glanced at one another. They wondered if any of what they had said was getting through to the man. It was impossible to tell.
“Sorry to hear that,” Mr. Brady said in the most sincere voice he was capable of, which was still very gruff. “Erika was a sweet lady.” He paused and continued looking around. “Well—did you kill ‘em?”
“Mr. Ackermann did,” Norman said. “He didn’t have any choice.”
“Good then,” Mr. Brady grunted, “Problem solved.”
“Not exactly, sir,” Norman said. “We had another run-in with them at our barricade near Wolf Gap. We exchanged fire and were lucky to live through it. We killed one, captured one, and one managed to escape. We’re certain he’ll go back and tell the others what happened, and they will be looking for some vengeance.”
“What makes you think there’s others?” Mr. Brady questioned. “Seems to me, in light of what’s going on in the world, a group like that would’ve starved to death already.”
Fred looked at Norman and then to Mr. Brady. He stepped forward and began to elaborate on Norman’s story. After a few sentences that Fred was sure he had ignored, Mr. Brady held up his hand and Fred stopped talking.
“I said that’s far enough,” Mr. Brady said as he lifted his shotgun slightly.
Fred held his hands in the air and retreated slowly backward.
“I’d like you all to get off my property—now,” Mr. Brady commanded. “I didn’t invite you here—you’re trespassing.”
A middle-aged man exited the front door of an adjacent house. He cradled a scoped hunting rifle in his arms. As he walked outside, two young girls wearing tattered dresses ran outside, one chasing the other. They laughed as they ran around to the rear of the house, periodically moving in and out of sight. Michelle peered over Norman’s shoulder to get a better look at the girls. She knew that the Bradys had grandchildren, but had never actually seen them. One of the girls was about eight years old, the other a bit younger. Both had long, unkempt blond hair and a skin tone that told of how much time they’d spent outdoors. They were beautiful.
“Everything alright, paw?” the man asked.
“Everything’s fine, Bo,” Mr. Brady answered. “These folks were just leaving.”
Bo Brady looked at Fred and Norman and nodded to them. He then nodded and tipped his hat at Michelle. “Ma’am,” Bo said to her.
Michelle smiled at the gesture and lifted her hand slightly to wave. Despite appearances, she knew that these people weren’t as much dangerous, as they were misunderstood. They were as country as anyone could be—the modern definition of hillbillies. But they were also simple, old-fashioned family men that loved their children and respected their hard-working women. Chivalry wasn’t dead, even in the woods of West Virginia.
“Mr. Brady, good morning,” Michelle said. While introducing herself, she felt it was time to stop hiding behind Fred and Norman. She pushed between them to stand in front, facing Mr. Brady. Upon seeing this, Mr. Brady lifted the barrel of his shotgun into the air, so as to not aim it at her.
“Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to aim this here boomstick at you like that,” he said. “My apologies.”
Fred and Norman were both astonished at how quickly the situation had changed. The looks on their faces were priceless.
“Mr. Brady,” she began, “I know us coming here like this looks bad, but we don’t believe this situation is anywhere near being over. That’s why we decided to enlist your help. We wouldn’t be here right now if this wasn’t serious. None of us will be safe here until we can all cooperate and secure our lands. We are already doing all we can, but we need your help.”
“We can handle ourselves, ma’am,” Mr. Brady said. “I’m not sure what else we can do.”
“Please, just humor me for a moment,” Michelle pleaded. “These people that we are dealing with—they have no morals. They are the kind of people that will sneak up on you in the middle of the night and rape and kill your granddaughters, Mr. Brady.” She paused. “We found some items in their possession that would indicate they are very much capable of that type of behavior,” Michelle said grimly. “We aren’t taking it lightly down the road. Neither should you or the rest of your family.”
For some reason, her words seemed to get Mr. Brady’s attention somewhat. His eyes grew wide and he turned around to see his granddaughters playing what appeared to be a game of tag. After a minute, he turned to Michelle again and asked, “What do you want from us?”
“For starters, we need you to guard your end of the valley,” Michelle said. “We are already guarding the other end. There’s other needs but for now, just getting your family onboard with us will be enough.”
“We don’t have the manpower, George,” Fred stated, feeling that with Michelle taking the lead, the situation had calmed down enough to be informal. “We have the southern border secured and we’re patrolling the road hourly—but we can’t sustain this level of security without the help of you and your family.”
“We need more people,” Michelle added. “People we can trust.”
“How do you know that you can trust us?” Mr. Brady asked. “How do we know if we can trust you?”
Michelle looked away and sighed, then looked into Mr. Brady’s grey eyes.
“That’s not an easy question to answer,” she said. “We took a chance coming here today. Past experience had us second guessing doing that. We want to build a trust with you and your family. We want to survive and protect ourselves and our children. Life is tough enough for us already�
��we don’t need any more enemies.” Old man Brady coughed. He leaned his shotgun against the wall behind him. He turned around to face the group as Bo Brady walked from his porch to his father’s, his rifle now slung over his shoulder. He occasionally looked over his shoulder at his two young daughters, who were laughing and playing behind his home.
“What do we get…in exchange for helping you?” Bo Brady asked.
“By helping us, you help yourselves. There’s safety in numbers,” Norman said. “With the valley under constant guard, with some obvious exceptions, life for the others can go on.”
“My sons and I aren’t soldiers,” Mr. Brady said.
“We’re defending our way of life now, George,” Fred said. “Fighting for survival makes us all soldiers, whether we like it or not.”
Mr. Brady nodded, seemingly beginning to understand the situation for what it was. He then said, “We want our children to be safe as much as any man does. This land is ours and ain’t no one gonna come down here and take it from us. Give us some time to think about it.”
“That sounds fair,” Michelle said, trying to pretend like she wasn’t amazed with the results of their encounter. “Let us know as soon as you can.”
Michelle motioned to Fred and to Norman to turn and walk away, and they did. She could hear Mr. Brady and Bo mumbling back and forth between each other. She turned back and saw that another one of Mr. Brady’s sons had joined them, also with a scoped rifle in his arms. As the three were nearing Norman’s Dodge, Mr. Brady called to them. Michelle, Fred, and Norman stopped and turned around, seeing Mr. Brady and his sons walking up to them in the middle of the driveway.
“We’ll help,” Mr. Brady presented. “But we want something in return.”
“What’s that?” Fred asked.
“We need gas,” Mr. Brady’s other son said. “Looks to me like you guys might have some.” He pointed to Norman’s Dodge. “We have some old trucks, some mopeds, and a few other things that I’d like to get going, and some other equipment I’d like to be able to use again—like my chainsaw.”
Norman nodded and smiled. “I can understand that,” he said.
“We don’t have an unlimited supply, but we can help you with gas,” Fred said. “In exchange for a secure northern border and the additional manpower, that is.”
“Surely,” Bo Brady said. “We can set up a blockade at the bridge up the road and we can take turns guarding it. Once we get some gas, we can help patrol the road. We have quite a few able-bodied men here. All of us are farmers, hunters, and fishermen. We can all shoot.”
“What about the women?” Michelle asked curiously.
“Our wives stay here at all times with the children, no exceptions,” Mr. Brady growled. “That’s our policy.”
Fred held out his hand and shook with Bo and Mr. Brady’s other son who’d introduced himself as George Junior, but told them all to call him ‘Junior’. Mr. Brady seemed reluctant at first, but extended his hand. Norman shook their hands as well. When Michelle shook with them, all three men smiled at her and lowered their heads reverently while saying, “Ma’am.” The gesture, once again made Michelle smile.
As the group exchanged smiles and pleasantries after reaching what appeared to be a successful detente, Grace began shouting from the truck and everyone snapped to attention. They heard her door slam shut as she ran to them up the driveway, her AR in one hand and a radio in the other. Confused transmissions, that included lots of raised, panicked voices, could be heard coming from the radio’s speaker. Fred grabbed the radio from Grace and put it to his ear. He immediately could tell that the voices belonged to his wife Kim and daughter Megan. He went to press the PTT but before he could, she called for him, asking if he could hear her.
Fred mashed down the PTT. “Meg, it’s Dad. What is going on?”
“Dad—we’re under attack,” Megan voice whimpered over the speaker. “They’re coming out of the woods—the Schmidt’s house is on fire!”
“Megan, where are you exactly? Are you safe?” Fred asked his daughter frantically. He was trying to remain calm, but couldn’t find a way.
“I’m ok, Dad. I’m with Brooke and Brandon and their parents. We’re staying low—hiding in the woods. Their house is burning down, Dad! They started shooting into the house before they set it on fire.”
“Do you have your gun with you?”
“Yes. We all do. I’m locked and loaded and Mom is on the way. Dad—the guys who attacked us are heading across the road now. It looks like they’re going to attack the Russell’s cabin next.”
Fred began sprinting toward Norman’s Dodge. Michelle, Norman and Grace all followed.
Michelle was frantic. “Fred—call Lee and make sure he’s getting everyone up—they were all still sleeping when we left,” she said anxiously.
Fred tried to contact Lee over the radio a few times, but Lee never responded. He then called his daughter. “Meg—listen to me. Stay where you are and shoot anyone that comes near you. You kill anyone you don’t know. Stay on the radio. We’re on the way…” A bullet whizzed over his head, causing him to dive to the ground in a cloud of profanities just as several ATVs and two old pickup trucks approached on the road at a high rate of speed. As they closed in, they began firing their weapons at Norman’s truck, scoring hits in the radiator and both front tires. The windshield was the next target as pieces of glass shattered all over the hood as well as the road.
“Son of a bitch!” Norman yelled as he instinctively grabbed Michelle and tossed her to the ground behind a tree and then dove in front of her. Michelle pulled the hidden Glock from her waistband and emptied the magazine at the attackers while Norman covered his ears with his hands after the first couple shots. Grace fell to the ground beside them and began firing her AR back at the ATVs that had already sped past the Brady’s houses. As the pickup trucks sped past, Bo Brady ran behind his house and quickly gathered his daughters, sending them indoors. Junior stood beside his father with his rifle raised in the air, but didn’t fire. Mr. Brady, surprisingly didn’t move an inch, in spite of what was going on around them.
Norman got up and ran to his truck, immediately noticing its condition. “Oh, that’s just great!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the hood. “Just fucking great!”
As Grace and Michelle rose to their feet and joined Norman at the truck, Fred turned to look at Mr. Brady who stood silently with his son, seemingly unfazed. They said nothing to each other, the looks on their faces signifying that they didn’t seem interested in helping for whatever reason. Fred yelled into the radio for someone to come pick them up and Peter quickly responded, telling him that he would be on his way to get them after he took Amy and their sons to the Perrys, where he knew they’d be safe. After gathering their weapons from Norman’s Dodge, they all began running down the road as fast as their feet could carry them.
“We’ll be waiting on that gas,” Mr. Brady proclaimed with a raised voice.
Christian awoke suddenly to the sounds of gunfire in the distance. He jumped up from the recliner and pushed the drapes away to look out the window, instantly seeing several armed men running down the driveway toward the cabin a couple hundred yards away. The front door opened and Lee appeared, inhaling and exhaling loudly as he fell inside, slamming the door shut behind him with his foot.
“They’re coming!” Lee shouted as he ran down the hallway in the direction of the gun safe.
Christian turned around and quickly ran down the hallway, turning into to Lauren’s room to wake her. She jumped up from the bed when she felt him nudge her shoulder.
“Get up,” Christian said. “There’s a group of people coming down the driveway with guns. We’re under attack.”
“Takers—get John,” Lauren said as she rubbed her eyes.
Christian nodded and ran to John’s room. He walked inside and woke up John, who was very surprised to see him. All four gathered gear, weapons, and ammunition and met in the living room. Lauren moved more slowly than us
ual, keeping in mind her injured ankle. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. As quickly as she could, she put on a pistol belt and slung her AR in front of her. John put on a chest rig full of AK magazines and slung his Mossberg across his body. He then picked up his AK and eyeballed his brother, who was beyond flustered and completely out of breath, barely keeping his composure enough to properly seat a magazine into his AK. He then looked to Christian.
“You want to back me up?” John asked.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Christian said as he finished sliding his body armor on and checked his rifle.
John stepped forward and put his arm around Lauren, then kissed her forehead.
“No warning shots, John,” Lauren said as she charged the bolt on her AR.
John nodded and said, “Guard the fort.”
John burst out the door with Christian in tow. Lee finally got up and walked to the window, leaning his large body against the wall. Several shots were heard from outside, the bullets impacting the cabin’s outer wall. Several more shots were heard, including a burst of full-auto suppressed fire that Lauren assumed belonged to Christian and one of his government issued M4s. Lee and Lauren both got down as low as they could.
“If we make it through this, I swear—I’m going on a diet,” Lee said in a huff. He crawled through the kitchen to the rear door of the cabin which lead to a small porch, opening the door just enough to see outside.
Lauren wanted to smile at Lee’s resolution, but couldn’t. She crawled over to the door and cracked it open, allowing her rifle’s barrel to lead the way. She couldn’t see John or Christian anywhere, but could definitely smell that something was burning outside. She heard an occasional yell and thought she could hear screaming in the distance. As she peered left, the driveway came into view, where three men in ragged clothing lay dead. She peered through the magnified reticle of her rifle’s scope, just to verify that she didn’t recognize the men, and let out a sigh of relief when she didn’t. She then began to wonder where her mother, Grace, and Norman were.
What's Left of My World: A Story of a Family's Survival Page 30
