Divided We Stand

by C. A. Rudolph

  Richie licked his lips and nodded, looking at Christian from the corner of his eye. “Okay, we’ll see. Just remember who was nice enough to provide you guys with this armed detail. I’ve always been told you should never bite the hand that feeds you.”

  Christian didn’t say anything, but he could feel his temper rising into the extreme. He tried focusing on the fact he would be home soon and back in Grace’s open arms. Then he remembered he was going to have to somehow explain everything that’d happened to everyone, and then find some way of telling Michelle why Lauren had not accompanied them back. He only hoped she would understand, and he prayed that Grace would.

  Having reached the intersection of Corridor H and Trout Run Road, Christian pointed to the sign, informing Richie to hang a right. Richie turned the wheel and guided the truck onto the road with the other vehicles making the turn and following behind.

  Home sweet home, Christian thought, realizing just how much he had missed it. He watched the parade of trees pass by, now downright leafless, awaiting winter to sink its teeth in. Along the way, everything seemed fine to him, and nothing was out of place until the point the barricade came into view.

  Christian sat up in his seat, placing his hand to the truck’s windshield. “Stop the truck!” he yelled, pointing ahead.

  “Excuse me?”

  Christian glared at him and angrily repeated his command.

  With a confused look on his face, bordering on outrage, Richie pressed on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a stop and causing those behind to slam on their brake pedals and lurch to a stop in the middle of the road.

  Richie turned to Christian with his hands outstretched, begging to know what was going on, and in that moment, Christian removed his seat belt and lunged at him.

  His left hand went for Richie’s collar while his right deftly removed the mud-colored Sig P320 from the canvas holster on Richie’s hip. “There’s trouble up ahead. I’m taking this. I’ll give it back to you when I’m done with it.”

  “And what do you expect me to do?” Richie sniveled, his expression puffed up, his tone snide.

  “You can sit here and do nothing, or you can get your rifle and come with me—just don’t shoot me with it.”

  A startled look on his face, Richie switched gears and said, “No problem, man, all you had to do was ask.”

  Christian pushed away from him and exited the vehicle. Taking a quick look towards the barricade, he turned to get the attention of the soldiers standing on the truck’s cargo bed near the cab. “Guys, possibility of danger close at a hundred yards at the barricade up ahead. I’m moving in to get eyes on. Get ready to adjust your fire.”

  Christian started walking in the direction of the bridge. The Sig Sauer was an unfamiliar weapon to him, but it felt comfortable in his hand. He held it close to his chest while fear for the worst mounted inside him. Then he heard the all-too-familiar sound of an M4’s bolt carrier group sending a live round into the chamber.

  “Freeze, cowboy! Don’t move a muscle,” Richie’s voice called from behind him.

  Christian dug his feet into the asphalt. He turned on his heel to see that all the soldiers, including Richie, had him dead to rights. He held his hands up in the air slowly. “Oh, come on! You gotta be kidding me, right?”

  Richie approached Christian, his M4 shouldered and his finger on the trigger. “Drop the weapon, pogue. Drop it right now, or I’ll drill you.”

  Christian consented, realizing there was no way to control the situation as it stood. He slowly lowered the Sig to the pavement and backed away from it.

  Richie lowered his rifle and gestured to the other soldiers. “If he moves, kill him.” He knelt to retrieve his Sig Sauer. “You got a lot of nerve, douchebag. A lot of nerve.”

  “So do you. Why wasn’t your rifle loaded?”

  Richie ignored him.

  “You’re making a big mistake. We got a big problem right up there,” said Christian, his head gesturing to his aft.

  “It can wait, because now you got an even bigger problem,” Richie spat. “Nobody threatens me. And nobody points my gun at me, either.” He reached for a set of plastic zip cuffs nestled in the MOLLE webbing of his plate carrier. “I assume you know how to put these on? If I have to do it for you, you’re not gonna like it.”

  Christian hung his head, shaking it with disgust. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “I’m only gonna ask you once. If I have to ask a second time, you’re not gonna hear me ask you. Because you’ll be unconscious.”

  From the second vehicle in line, Norman hung his head from the open window. He jumped out of the truck cab and moved hastily to where Richie was holding Christian at gunpoint. “What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here? And why in the hell aren’t we investigating the barricade?”

  “That’s far enough,” Richie said, still maintaining his focus on Christian. “My men will shoot you if you come any closer, Podunk.”

  Norman cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “Just who the hell are you calling Podunk, greenhorn? Listen close, rifle or not, firing squad above me or not, I’ll come over there, grab hold of you and twist you up. Then turn you over my knee and tan your damn hide.”

  A voice suddenly shouted from the bed of the second truck, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Richie, goddammit, stop being an asshole.” The voice was dry and raspy as if its owner was suffering from a bad case of cottonmouth. Even so, it was easy to discern who, in fact, the owner was.

  “Fred?” inquired Richie.

  “Yes, Fred, you blowhard CAB chaser. I may be ate up as hell and high as a kite on Vicodin, but I’m still the baddest motherfucker in this valley. And who the hell gave you permission to call me by my Christian name?”

  Everyone in present company, failing Richie, watched as a bruised, battered, and bandaged Fred Mason turned the corner after extricating himself from the rear of the transport he’d been riding in.

  Fred could barely walk, and one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut. He appeared weak and had a palpable limp in his step. His arm was in a sling, his head was bandaged, and most of his skin was riddled with stitches, butterfly tape, and remnants of gauze.

  As he hobbled away from the truck, Dr. Vincent and his wife jumped out and gave chase while offering wide-eyed stares at each other. They pled with Fred to return, but he paid them no mind.

  Fred continued along, his doctor escort in tow, past the lead vehicle, past Norman, and right up to Richie’s side. “Lower that weapon, Private.”

  “It’s corporal now. I was pro—”

  “I don’t give a departed rat’s ass if it’s captain now,” Fred heckled. “Lower that weapon before it becomes a suppository.”

  Richie’s posture gave in, and he slowly lowered the muzzle of his M4 while refraining from looking Fred in the eye.

  Fred turned and gradually lifted his free arm to the other soldiers. “That goes for the rest of you boots and PX rangers,” he ordered. “Lower them or I’ll beat each of you to death with ’em—and don’t let me ever see you pointing a weapon at any of these fine folks again.”

  A row of conflicted looks amassed as each troop obeyed the command.

  Fred tottered lively to Richie and yanked the M4 from his grasp, then tossed it into Christian’s waiting hands. “Consider yourself demoted. And you’re lucky you don’t have my steel toe in your ass right now, Private. Now get back in that truck and superglue your buttocks to the seat until I tell you to come out.”

  As Richie marched off with his head hung low, Fred hobbled to Christian, squinting his open eye. He was barely able to see the barricade from where he stood. “Now, what do you suppose is going on up there?”

  Christian press checked the rifle with renewed vigor. “I’m about to find out.”

  Fred nodded. “Good man. I’d go with you, but I can’t see a damn thing, and these pain meds got me feeling all kinds of fuzzy. I can shoot, but I doubt I’d hit anything. Plus, these doctors would never
let me hear the end of it. Take Norm. You two take point, and we’ll follow behind in the convoy.” Fred looked up to the line of soldiers standing atop the lead vehicle and instructed one of them to hand his rifle to Norman.

  Then, M4 in hand, Norman joined Christian in the middle of the road as the doctors quietly coaxed Fred back inside the transport.

  Christian gave his M4 a once-over, press checked it, then slapped the selector all the way forward into full auto. He looked to Norman. “You know how to handle one of these?”

  “I usually learn by doing,” Norman said. “In this case, I’ll take baby steps and follow your lead.”

  Just before turning away to leave, Christian and Norman caught sight of another soldier approaching. He wore MultiCam ACUs like the others and was carrying a rifle, but it wasn’t Richie or any of the other men he’d seen pointing a gun at him today.

  The young man approached them slowly and cautiously, and his eyes darted from side to side behind a pair of thick plastic-framed eyeglasses. “You guys look like you could use some help,” he said, his voice moving rapidly.

  Christian squinted at him, still a bit unsure. “Is it that obvious?”

  The young soldier with glasses nodded his acknowledgment, then turned and shouted, “My squad, to the front with me. Double time.”

  A group of five other armed, ACU-clad troops filed out of the rearmost transport and sprinted to him. He then snapped his body around to face Christian. “I’m Neo. Richie can be a real jerk sometimes. But don’t worry, we’re the same rank. The men will listen to me.”

  “Especially now,” said Norman with a smirk. “I think Fred cut him off at the knees.” He reached out to shake Neo’s hand.

  Christian smiled at Neo, noticing he hadn’t yet made eye contact with anyone. “Nice to meet you, Neo. I’m Christian; this is Norman.” He gestured ahead towards the barricade. “We have a situation up ahead.”

  “I gathered,” Neo said, nodding his head. “Kinetic?”

  “Possibly.”

  Neo turned away again to instruct his men, both verbally and with a specific set of hand signals. Seconds after, four of them left the road, disappearing into the trees alongside. “They’re going to scout ahead and cover the flanks. The squad on the lead FMTV will provide suppressive fire as needed. The rest of us have your six. Let me know if you need anything else…and you got it.”

  Christian offered him a lackluster smile. “Thank you, Neo. Just so you know, it gets a little tight up there.”

  “Copy that.”

  The group marched forward, keeping their eyes peeled for threats with no idea of what to expect, as the convoy of trucks followed them a short distance behind.

  At the point of reaching the barricade, Christian charged forward and hurdled over one of the antique vehicle’s hoods, landing on his feet on the other side, then pivoted in a circle searching for targets, finding none in sight.

  Once he verified the perimeter was clear, Christian stood and scratched his head. George Brady’s lawn chair lay folded up on the dull pavement like it had either been placed there purposefully or the wind had blown it down.

  As Norman moved in to examine it, Christian trotted over to the Bradys’ burn barrel and placed his hand inside. “There hasn’t been a fire burning in this barrel for days. What do you got over there, Norm?”

  Norman used his foot to push the lawn chair aside, exposing a portion of discoloration on the road. “I don’t know, you think that’s blood?”

  Maintaining a high crawl, Neo glided in with his M4 pulled to his cheek, as did his partner. After a rapid scan for threats, both men lowered their weapons and stood back-to-back fully upright, keeping their attention to the unfamiliar tree lines on either side of the road.

  Neo quickly picked up on what had garnered Norman’s attention, and he marched over and knelt on the road for a closer look. “Did you just find this? It looks like blood,” he said, his voice in rapid-fire, then he licked the tip of his index finger. He rubbed it on the road and placed his finger on his tongue. “Confirmed.”

  Ricky Brady suddenly appeared after hopping out of the truck he was riding in. Without a word, he ran past the barricade and up his family’s driveway to his house.

  Austin Brady followed him, stopping at the barricade to stare at both Norman and Christian. He spotted the folded-up lawn chair laying level on the pavement. “Where’s Grandpa?”

  Neither Norman nor Christian had the heart to answer him, both men assuming the worst. Knowing what Austin had recently been through in losing his father, the two men were decidedly silent.

  After a moment, Austin ran off to join his uncle.

  “You think they’re gonna be all right?” Norman pondered.

  “I don’t know,” Christian said. “We’ll check on them later. Let’s get going.”

  The convoy continued along Trout Run Road, soon entering the town of Perry and passing the old petting zoo. It wasn’t long before they drove past the former Perry residence on the left, followed by Peter and Amy Saunders’ home on the right. Seeing no activity of note at either location, they continued, passing St. James Church and then finally reaching the point where the driveway leading to the cabin meandered off to the left.

  Christian looked through the driver-side window, past a much more humble and subservient Richie, and what he saw nearly caused his heart to skip a beat. “Stop here,” he said, and leapt from the vehicle before its wheels stopped turning. He crossed the road in a flash and dashed toward the gate.

  Grace and Megan Mason, each holding a man’s leg in their hands by the ankle, were busily dragging a deceased body across the yard to a pile of other bodies, which lay strewn about haphazardly in a circle. A number of other neighbors were engaged in similarly unpleasant tasks, but Christian’s only focus was on Grace.

  He ran directly to her, and when Grace saw him, she let go of the leg and scurried to him, the two coming together in an embrace in the center of the driveway.

  “You’re home!” Grace shrieked. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it! I’m so glad you’re back.” She began showering him with kisses. “I missed your face so much.”

  Christian held her tightly and accepted as much of her affection as he could stand before the question marks in his mind began hammering him for precedence. “Grace, wait…just wait a second. What the hell is going on around here? Who are all these…dead people? What happened?”

  Grace pulled away while maintaining a grip on his hands, a hangdog look crisscrossing her face. “Oh, this?” She gestured behind her. “This is nothing,” she said, shrugging innocently. “I mean, it was something, but now we’re just cleaning up a slight problem we had while you were away. Nothing to get too excited over.” Grace peered around Christian on one side, then looked around the other, catching a glimpse of the convoy. “Who are those guys? What’s with the Army trucks?” She paused. “And where the hell is my sister?”

  “I’ll get to all that in a minute,” said Christian. “First tell me what in God’s name happened here.”

  Grace rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Damn, Christian, I swear. It’s almost like you think we can’t handle things without you or something.”

  Grace spent the next few minutes giving Christian a verbal recount of everything that had happened since the expedition had left the valley several days before. She told of the invasion and how the takers had separated them. Then she explained how their invaders had been so focused on their hunger, she had been able to propose a rare dinner to them and poison them to death the previous evening, in so many words.

  “Once I told them about all the beef we had, it wasn’t a struggle to convince them. Max had his men take me to the Ackermanns’ to get it, and we cooked it all up in the Masons’ kitchen, and that’s where I ran into Meg. I was glad to see her, too. Kim told me they took her away, and I was worried something bad had happened to her. Strangely enough, they’d been keeping her upstairs the whole time just to cook food for them.” Grace took a breath
. “It took hours to fix all that meat. And it smelled friggin’ good too, all sizzling and frying up in that cast iron…it took all the willpower I had not to indulge.”

  Christian looked at her askance, rubbing the bridge of his nose at the onset of a splitting headache brought about by the clutter of Grace’s account. “Okay…so you poisoned them…but how, though?” He tripped over his tongue. “With the water?”

  “Not with the water, silly pants. With the stuff Alex gave me,” Grace said matter-of-factly, as if he knew what she was talking about. “And now we’re just trying to get things back to normal again. You’re looking at the cleanup crew.”

  Megan nodded and smiled brightly. “That’s us, janitorial staff extraordinaire. Not like there’s anything else better to do, but it sure beats KP.”

  “Does that answer all your questions?” Grace asked innocently, cocking her head.

  “No. I mean, yes, I guess. For now,” Christian said. He pointed to the path of the cabin where John could be seen holding a man at gunpoint. The man’s arms were bound behind his back, and he had a gag stuffed in his mouth. “Who’s that guy over there? He obviously wasn’t poisoned.”

  “What guy?”

  “That guy.” Christian pointed again. “The one with the pornstache.”

  Grace giggled and whipped her head around momentarily. “Oh, him? That’s Max.”

  “Max?”

  “Mm-hmm. He was the one in charge.”

  “He’s the leader? And you’re on a first-name basis with him?” Christian interrogated. “Why is he still alive, Grace?”

  “Because we chose not to kill him, that’s why, Christian,” Grace quipped. “Right, Meg?”

  Megan looked away dismissively and walked off. “Don’t involve me in this; that was your decision. If it were up to me, I would’ve shot him in his stupid face the first chance I got.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that.” Grace turned back to Christian. “Whatever—ignore her. I found out some stuff about him. I couldn’t just bunch him up with the rest.”