The Heart of War: Book Seven of the What's Left of My World Series

by C. A. Rudolph

  Fred hadn’t allowed himself any time whatsoever to fully recuperate. Upon learning that both his sons had gone missing and not a soul in the valley knew what had become of them, his quest had begun without delay. Willfully disregarding his pain and with no regard for his body’s need to convalesce, he’d initially decided to go it alone despite pleas for the opposite on behalf of his wife and daughter. Realizing her stalwart father would never bend, Megan had made an offer in compromise, asking to at least allow her to accompany him. Despite his refusal to admit them as being so, his injuries were substantial and debilitating. If something bad happened to him, she could help him, find a way to help him, or seek aid.

  Fred had rejected Megan’s proposal right off the bat. His sons were already up shit creek. It was too damned cold outside, and he hadn’t wanted Kim left by her lonesome. He hadn’t sought for his wife nor Megan to be anyplace other than home or anywhere even remotely close to danger. Fred had been his traditional retired Army Ranger self—unwilling to yield even to the slightest degree, but after his daughter’s persuasive argument, he’d eventually caved.

  Wearing enough insulating layers to swelter in a blizzard and enfolded by the ghillie suit she’d constructed at her father’s direction, Megan scanned the environment below when she began to detect barely audible footfalls. They moved at a lumbering cadence matching that of her father’s, but she went on alert anyway. She returned the night-vision monocular to her eye and rotated slowly, mindful to remain unnoticeable by use of natural, fluid movements.

  The pair had followed every rule in the book to prevent being tracked or discovered. Fred possessed considerable expertise with the tactics they were putting to use, and Megan was soaking up his knowledge like a sponge. Despite the precariousness of their undertaking, she was delighted to have this time alone with him and couldn’t remember spending so many consecutive hours with her father before. She only wished that it wasn’t due to something so tragic.

  Few explanations remained for where her brothers were or what their fate might have been. Deep inside, Megan knew they were still alive, but, as well, knew the likelihood of them being captured. Her mother did, too, and both had tried to convince Fred, only to have him vehemently refuse the notion. After everything he’d taught them, he did not want to believe for a second that Chad and Mark would’ve been stupid enough to allow themselves to be captured. There had to have been another explanation.

  Nearly every effort put forth in finding them to date had been of no consequence until the evening prior. Fred and Megan had staged at Edinburg Gap near the national forest’s edge at nightfall. After securing an FOB of sorts, they’d gone on foot in similar fashion as previous nights. Under cover of darkness and with NVDs guiding them, they’d patrolled the abandoned roads until coming upon a rural subdivision of larger homes, most of which appeared ransacked, plundered, and in many cases, destroyed by fire.

  As they’d veered onto the main drag, Megan had caught sight of an artificial object protruding from a drainage ditch not far from the main intersection. Fred investigated while she’d stood guard, and after brushing away the snow and removing a mound of brush and debris, he had unearthed three motorcycles. They’d been stripped clean of gear, abandoned, camouflaged, and appeared to have come from those salvaged following the botched attack executed by the Marauders motorcycle club several months prior. There was one for all three of those missing—Chad, Mark, and that lone-surviving, strange biker woman. But why had they been left here?

  Fred Mason was indeed more stubborn than most, but in that moment he’d begun realizing that Kim and Megan might have been right all along. The possibility that his sons had been captured and were now prisoners in a post-collapse internment camp was sound, and if accurate, it was the worst-case scenario, as there was seemingly nothing in his power that could be done to retrieve them, barring an act of God.

  Megan tracked her father as he moved stealthily in to rejoin her. She studied him and the sullen, grieved look on his face behind the night vision, squinting at the eerie green halo surrounding him.

  Taking a seat to his daughter’s left, Fred arranged his ghillie suit like a blanket around his and her shoulders. He took hold of the canteen she handed him, jostled it, and unscrewed the top, then thanked her before sniffing the contents. “Ah…two parts hydrogen, one oxygen. Beneficial for the body and soul, but not the greatest analgesic in the world,” he groaned, taking a drink and cringing over sore muscles and joints. “So much for rehab.”

  “Rehab is important, but not as much as rehydrating,” replied Meg with a shiver. “You know that, Dad, and you should know our routine by now. Water is always first before anything else.”

  “Still trying to haul me off the wagon, I see.”

  “That isn’t what I’m doing.”

  Fred snorted and jested, “Sure you’re not. It’s your lie, Meg. Tell it how you want.”

  “I’m not lying…I don’t lie.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No.” Megan shook her head. “I mean, I don’t now…not anymore.”

  Fred puckered his lips before taking a sip. “I suppose we could be rationing, then. Have we depleted our hooch reserves?”

  “No, we have plenty. And stop debating…you can have some of your hooch, but only after you’ve hydrated…and after I assess your pain.”

  Fred sighed, “Very well,” then tipped the canteen and drank.

  Megan watched him, tilting her head. “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, the usual. Sore as hell and stiff as the ice I’ve been slipping on all evening. And…old. Very, very old, Meg.” Fred hesitated. “And I imagine it likely now that we didn’t bring nearly enough magic juice to alleviate the pain I’m feeling.”

  Megan slid her knees beneath her and unfolded, reaching for her pack and the container of narcotic pain medication tablets inside. “What do you mean? Is it a familiar pain or something new? Did you reinjure something?”

  Fred waved off his daughter’s concern with the kindest eyes he could muster. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  Inching closer, Megan dumped a pair of oblong pills in her palm. “If you’re hurting, you should take something for it. I’m supposed to manage your intake of these, but if moonshine isn’t enough and you need them, you should take them.”

  Fred squinted at his daughter’s open hand. “I am hurting. And, at the moment, surprisingly enough, not all of it’s physical. I’m not sure they’ll help much, but I’ll give them a go since you offered.” He took one of the pills, forsaking its twin, and swallowed it down. “I know a lot’s been on my mind and I’ve probably overlooked it, but I’m glad you’re here, Meg. I appreciate it and I appreciate what you’re doing, and why you’re doing it.”

  Megan bleakly smiled and returned the remaining pill to the vial of others.

  “I went through every house on that street, the ones I could, anyway. Most of them were torched, like some psycho pyromaniac invited himself to a community barbeque with a truckload of Molotovs.” Fred sighed. “I didn’t find much of anything down there besides a neighborhood transformed into a derelict war zone. Hard to believe something like that could even exist on the domestic front.”

  Megan looked concerned. “It looked bad from the outside.”

  Fred nodded. “I guess I can envision what might’ve happened…I’ve seen enough residential streets turned into combat zones to know what collateral damage looks like. But what I saw down there compares to and nearly surpasses the worst urban upheavals these eyes have ever beheld.” He pointed through the trees, indicating a line of snowy rooftops in the distance, now being slowly overtaken by freezing fog. “I went inside the one four driveways from the entrance, crept down the hall, and found a…family in bed together, or what’s left of them, anyway. None of them looked like they’d taken a breath in a long time. It was like they just gave up, curled into bed, and fell asleep together one day and woke up as cadavers.” Fred sniffled. “A…child’s body was swaddled in
a blanket in the middle, couldn’t’ve been more than a month or two old. The room was ransacked, as was the rest of the house. Folks must’ve let themselves in and had at their stuff. Guess they figured the homeowners wouldn’t mind.”

  “Jesus,” said Megan, looking repulsed.

  “That’s pretty much what I said. I checked a few other homes and didn’t find much of anything. At the edge of the cul-de-sac though, there’s this big one…larger than most others on the street and still intact, amazingly enough. I went in and found some strange stuff inside, like faded red stains on the carpets and hardwood. One room had red spatter all over everything and multiple holes about the size of a human head punched in the walls. At first glance, it looked like someone might’ve produced a snuff film, but the closer I looked, the more it looked like the real deal. There were…long strands of hair stuck in the cracks. I won’t speculate further, but being there gave me chills.”

  Megan turned away, a hand to her chest. “It’s giving me anxiety hearing you talk about it.” She reached for her pack again and presented a second canteen.

  Fred grinned uncomfortably at her. “Good timing,” he said, then unscrewed the top and took a long swig, wincing at the burn. “That house’s basement has a room chock-full of five-gallon food-grade buckets on pallets, every one as empty as a politician’s heart. I’m guessing the family might’ve been living there for a while on a food-storage setup before something…bad happened to them. Aside from some scraps here and there on the tile, all the food’s gone. Only things left inside now are loads of trash, empty buckets, broken glass, and shreds of clothing.” He paused extensively. “I forced myself to keep wandering through a few more of those places, hoping to find something that could lead us to your brothers. Every corner I turned, the scenes kept getting worse, and I started to worry that I might. If I found either one of them hurt or…in any condition aside from unscathed, I’m not sure how I would’ve reacted.”

  Megan looked down to the canteen of spirits in her father’s hand. “So you didn’t find anything? No signs of them…other than those motorcycles?”

  “Nope. Not a damn thing.” Fred sighed. “And I have you to thank for finding those. You’re developing a keen eye.”

  “I’m only doing what you taught me.”

  “I know.” Fred squeezed her shoulder and handed off the canteen. “The two of us have made a good team.”

  “Made?” Megan questioned the tense, her brow furrowing.

  “We’ve been at this a while. We’ve been all over this valley, scoured it from the state line to the Massanutten through farmlands, neighborhoods, forests, portions of the national goddamn forest…everywhere. The only place we haven’t looked is…well, you know where, and we can’t exactly look there.” Fred paused. “I…owe you an apology, Megan. And I owe your mother an apology. I’m sorry I’ve been so damned hardheaded about this, but it looks like you two might’ve been right all along. I hate to admit it or even chance thinking about it, but it’s becoming clear to me that your brothers must’ve gotten themselves caught up in something. And God willing, if they’re still amongst the living, there’s a strong chance that they’re now residents inside that godforsaken camp.”

  Megan’s lips trembled. She screwed the canteen’s top back on, set it aside, and reached for her father’s arm. “You don’t owe me an apology. You don’t owe me anything, Dad. I’m just as worried about them as you are, but I’ve been worried about you, too. That’s why I couldn’t stay home with Mom, even though I probably should’ve. I’m sorry for fighting you over it.”

  Fred grinned. “Don’t apologize for that. Don’t you ever apologize for standing up for what you believe in. You’re a tough kid. A fighter, just like your old man, and it’s been good having you along. You’ve kept me company, and I’ve enjoyed the time with you. I’ve…missed you.”

  “And I’ve missed you.” Megan beamed at him and touched the face that had become scruffy in their time together. “So what’s the plan now? What do we do? Make a plan to get them out?”

  “A plan is in the works,” Fred said, tapping his head with an index finger. “But I’m far from working out all the kinks, and there are a ton of kinks. As we are now, retrieving them is out of the question. It’d be foolish to even try such a thing. We can’t risk it.”

  Meg nodded. “I get that and agree, but we can’t just leave them there.”

  “No, we can’t do that either. Nor will we.”

  “So, what then? Where do we go now?”

  “There’s only one place to go for you and me,” Fred said, rolling his lips. “Time to recuperate, regroup, and warm up. Let’s get our gear packed up. We’re going home.”

  Chapter 6

  FEMA Resettlement Camp Bravo

  Friday, January 7th

  Sasha Ledo couldn’t see past the itchy blindfold covering her eyes. The fabric was rank, stank of sweat and mildew, and the knot in the back, tied with no regard for her comfort, tugged heartlessly at her hair. Her wrists were bound, and her escort’s grip tore into her elbow joint. He pushed and pulled on her, changing directions every so often with little to no warning.

  Sasha didn’t know where she was being taken, though she did have theories. She had been confined inside a solitary confinement cell within the women’s detention center at FEMA Camp Bravo for a number of weeks, caged against her will. There, she’d been treated like an animal, ruthlessly interrogated for a fictitious set of wrongdoings, fed scraps of what could barely be considered food, and given just enough cloudy, tepid water to prevent dehydration.

  She’d been assigned her cell upon arrival, not long after she and two co-conspirators had been taken into custody by a group of DHS agents. Sasha had watched them hog-tie and drag a recently shot and bleeding Chad Mason to the infirmary and haul his younger brother, Mark, to the men’s detention center. She hadn’t any idea what had become of them since, assumed the worst imaginable fate awaited all three of them, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

  The alone time in her cell had given her plenty of room to contemplate matters. Sasha was no longer predestined to abide the pointless life and senseless death of a subservient entity retained by the Marauders motorcycle club. The ride down that long, isolated, tragic road had ended, and she’d somehow, miraculously, been blessed with a second chance at life, one she resolved not to take for granted. If given the chance, she was going to drive this new ride of hers fearlessly, like a bat out of hell, doing so as if she had stolen it.

  Rocks scuffing away at her prized leather riding boots, Sasha felt the ground beneath her switch to rough, uneven gravel. A sudden jerk on her arm nearly caused her to trip as her entourage adjusted direction. This had been the third or fourth time an identical incident had occurred in the last few minutes, and her patience was waning, as was her ability to keep quiet. “Okay, you knobheads, enough of that shit. I’m not a donkey.” She tensed and anchored her feet, fighting her way to a standstill. “Remember this stupid blindfold you guys put on me? I can’t see where the hell we’re going with it on—and I can’t read your minds, either. So ease up, will you?”

  The guards collectively grumbled.

  “It’d be wise to lock down that overzealous piehole of yours, inmate,” the guard to her left said, yanking her arm. “Keep it up and you might get something shoved in there you won’t like.”

  “Mmm…that was off-color. I like it,” Sasha quipped. “Been a while since I’ve heard dirty talk. Are you trying to turn me on or intimidate me?”

  The guard to Sasha’s immediate right laughed. “I told you, Phil. Don’t even bother with her. This broad is twisted.”

  “Aww, thanks, precious. I might’ve been, once upon a time,” Sasha said. “The only thing twisted about me now are my gams, no thanks to you fuck knuckles. All this heaving and hauling has me feeling like a cheap marionette. Alas…if only I could see.”

  “I said shut up, inmate,” the left guard said, tugging her into motion again. “Alas, the blindfold
stays. Keep pushing your luck and I’ll add a ball gag to the mix, maybe even a leather corset. Both items would certainly agree with your wardrobe.” He chuckled.

  Sasha sneered. “Corsets used to be everyday attire for this vintage chassis, clever dick—but only lambskin, anything else is a deal-breaker. And I have a soft spot for chrome rings, straps, buckles, and steel boning.” A pause. “Could one of you jokers at least tell me where we’re going?”

  “No, Morticia. We can’t.” The left guard smacked the back of her head. “And shut up…don’t make me tell you again.”

  Sasha cringed and expelled a sigh. She knew she’d lost a few pounds, but had she really come to resemble the long-haired, black-dress-wearing brunette of Addams Family fame? She remained skeptical if pride should be taken in the statement. “You hit like a girl, Phillip.”

  “It was a warning tap. And you’re fixin’ to get another one.”

  “Mmm…please? Don’t make me beg for it.” Sasha grinned. “I love being struck—practically worship the pain…it’s so seductive.”

  “Jesus!” the guard on the right blurted. “Phil, I’m telling you, I’ve heard her mouth off a thousand times since she’s been here. She’s downright depraved.”

  “Speaking of depraved, my ex-husband used to punch me stupid whenever we made love,” Sasha droned. “If you’ve never tried it, you’re missing out. It’s incredibly erotic. He’d even strangle me comatose sometimes whenever I put him up to it. Climax by means of asphyxiation might be anathema, but it’s soo—”