Christian nodded, and after an extended moment’s pause, he squared off with her. “You know something, Lauren. I think maybe…I might have been wrong about you.”
Lauren’s smoldering gaze met his. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that…that right there,” said Christian, splitting his fingers into a V so he could point to both of her eyes. “I’ve seen that look enough times now to know it by heart. I know what it means, and I’ve seen the things you’re capable of—the fight with the takers, the day you and Megan french-fried those dudes on the mountain. The mincemeat you made of those bikers and their leader, a beast you snuffed out all by yourself. Just the other day, you mowed down another mob of punks like it was nothing. And this thing you did to severely piss off Sir William of bald…” Christian trailed off, pausing, as Lauren looked to him anticipatively. “I’m sorry. And I don’t want to startle you by saying this. But I was wrong. I misjudged you. You…are not just a warrior. You’re a killer.”
Lauren bristled. She exhaled, forcing air from her nostrils, and turned away to stare off into the distance. Her expression allayed a moment after, as if she had come to the same realization aforetime.
Christian’s words weren’t enlightening her, they were offering her sanction.
“I…I haven’t always been like this, Christian,” Lauren said. “Please believe me when I say that.”
“Oh, I know,” he said, nodding his understanding. “I’m fairly certain Lauren Russell wasn’t always going around shooting people and shoving knives in their throats. I know somewhere along the line, a switch flipped for you, same as it did for me, and I also know it can be a lot to swallow sometimes. But that’s good—that’s what makes us different.” He paused. “You’re not a common killer or some murderer on a spree. Murder is done with intent and malice, and there’s no malice in you. You’ve only killed to stay alive and help others do the same. You adapted—you’re a protector now. And for what it’s worth, it couldn’t have come at a better time.”
Lauren tried to smile. “I’d still be the old me if it wasn’t for my dad anticipating an end to the world. He told me one time that desperation can turn a pacifist into a killer. I haven’t ever been a conscientious objector or anything, but now, I think I know what he meant.” She looked to the sky. “God—I miss him. I would do anything to see him again.”
Christian nodded, placing his hand on Lauren’s shoulder. He knew the feeling. He also knew how to change the subject. “You know, I have to say this little heart-to-heart of ours has inspired me. Roused me, even.”
“Roused you?” Lauren asked, a brow raised. “Do I want to know what that means?”
He nodded. “Mm-hmm. Relax, it’s innocent enough. I just think we need to get the hell out of here.”
“You think…”
“Yeah, I do. I mean, look at this place. I don’t think I’ve ever missed home so much in my life.”
Lauren shivered after a slight chill. “You do have a point.”
“So how about it, then? You and me. We put our heads together and find a way out of this mess. I know I can send some serious hate downrange, and I’ve seen you in action once or twice before.”
Lauren swallowed hard. She looked to him, unsure. “I think you’re grasping at straws. But if you think there’s a chance, I’ll try. It wouldn’t be right for me to let you fight them all by yourself.” As she went to smile, a weary yawn crept out. “Right now, though, I think what I really need is to lie down…before I fall down.”
“That’s not a bad idea—not a bad idea at all. Both of us could use some rest,” Christian said, looking low for a suitable spot. “Would you mind, though, if I joined you? Seeing as how you now have most of my coat?”
“Not at all,” Lauren purred, snuggling into the fleece jacket liner’s collar. “Just—keep your hands to yourself. I’ve been informed by a reputable source that you have a girlfriend now.”
Lauren found a spot of level ground close enough to the stockade walls, where she could observe the affairs going on outside. She felt depleted of energy—both mentally and physically. She was beyond dehydrated, her mouth was parched, and pangs of hunger had begun to hit her stomach like a jackhammer. Still, she wasn’t tired enough to fall asleep, even though her fellow captives didn’t seem affected by the same ailment.
With Christian curled up behind her, snoring in autonomous rhythm, Lauren stared into the clearing sky at the waning moon, in deep consideration of how furiously her life had transformed while matters had, for some reason or another, continued taking rapid turns for the worse.
Her world was a decimated version of what it had once been; she was nearing the point where she was ready to say goodbye to it. Doing so would be so much simpler right now.
Just promise me one thing, L. If you know you’re going to lose the fight, you take a piece of them with you. Don’t you dare just let them win.
“I hear you, Dad,” Lauren breathed almost inaudibly. “But it’s just not that easy for me—especially now. I’m sorry.”
Lauren was stricken with thoughts of what might happen to her tomorrow, during her forecasted ‘day of reckoning’. Try as she might to dismiss them or cast them aside, her thoughts were merciless.
Morning was only several hours from now. It would only be a brief matter of time before she would discover what was in store for her. This couldn’t be the end. It just couldn’t be. Life was supposed to be so much more than this.
The collapse had already taken so much from her, and Lauren was finally feeling like she had reached a point where she was ready to handle just about anything this new world could throw at her. Could she and Christian, along with the others en masse, conceivably do anything to stop these people? Could they fight them without any advantage to speak of?
Lauren didn’t know the answers, but she did know with cast-iron certainty that it would take a force multiplier—one of extraordinary proportions—for them to come out on top.
Hearing a twig snap outside the stockade wall, Lauren turned her head and rested it on her arm, peering out into the moonlit landscape. She expected to see an animal of some kind, possibly a deer or maybe even a squirrel. Instead, she saw a figure, a human figure. One who was dressed in all black, remained motionless, and low to the ground, and was kneeling on one knee.
The man wore a balaclava over his head, and in combination with the night-vision monocular he had on, his identity remained fully concealed. He wielded a suppressed carbine in his hands, and from what little Lauren could see of it, using the dim light provided by the moon, it looked like an M4.
The man’s form moved slowly, systematically, and precisely, his head swiveling all the while, as if he were somehow omnipresent, able to see everyone, everywhere. He’d move a single foot, followed by the other while remaining in a crouch so low to the ground, it seemed nearly impossible to maintain. His agility indicated training—training Lauren recognized.
There was something about this dark, low-moving stance that seemed awfully familiar to her. Lauren had seen men move like he did before. Highly trained men. Disciplined men. Military men, even ex-military men. She leaned up to get a better look at him, placing an elbow to the cold ground for support. The man in the black mask whipped his head to her upon sensing the movement.
Lauren saw him move and watched for the aim of his rifle, expecting for him to point it at her, but it remained at the ready position, the muzzle angled toward the ground. It was clear he didn’t consider her to be a threat or a target.
The man moved in closer to the stockade while remaining ridiculously low to the ground, and then suddenly, he stopped. After a slight hesitation, he lifted a hand, placing a single finger over his masked lips.
Lauren didn’t understand, so she sat up fully to get a better view.
The man’s hands changed positions. He let his rifle hang from its sling, and he made a gesture using both hands—a gesture Lauren recognized immediately even though she hadn’t observed anythi
ng resembling it in a very long time. It was ASL—American Sign Language. Two hands, slightly cupped, one on either side of the head, so they appeared as a set of blinders.
“Pay attention,” she whispered to herself. “Okay…pay attention to what?”
Lauren watched him as he made another gesture with his hands, this time four separate words. He repeated the same sentence twice while she voiced each word near-silently to herself. “Keep…your…heads down.”
She swiftly rose to her feet. Finding a space wide enough, she put her face in between a set of poles. Lauren then pushed her arms through the gaps on either side until her forearms’ girth prevented them from going farther. Hurriedly, she signed back to the man while mouthing the words, “Who are you?”
The man looked away and all around his perimeter cautiously. His scan complete, he moved in even closer, to the point Lauren could discern that he was wearing military-style fatigues. He reached upward with one of his hands and tilted his NVGs away from his eyes, locking them in place above his head. Then he pulled down his mask, exposing his face.
Lauren could not believe her eyes. She shuddered and suddenly felt weak, the emotional response to seeing someone she recognized—someone she hadn’t seen in well over a year—nearly consuming her.
She had known there was something oddly familiar about this person, the way he moved, the way he held himself so effortlessly low to the ground, the use of sign language. And now, seeing his face, she knew who it was—the scar on the right side serving as confirmation that it could only be one person in the world.
“Woo Tang,” she said aloud, her voice more blaring than she had intended.
Christian suddenly jumped and rolled over onto his knees. “Lauren? Did you say something?”
She turned to him, smiling, her eyes lit up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay. I was dreaming, but it wasn’t a good one or anything.” He paused, looking her over as he rose. “Why are you smiling?”
Lauren pointed her finger to the man in all black outside the stockade.
Christian followed her finger and jerked slightly when the low-crouched figure became perceptible to him. “Who the hell is that?”
“A friend.”
Christian squinted and then turned to her, looking misplaced. “Is this friend of yours a ninja? He’s got a sword on his back.”
“That’s not a ninja sword,” Lauren said. “It’s a Korean jingum.”
Lauren’s friend made two more gestures to her before finally moving away and disappearing into the darkness—only this time, his gesticulations weren’t sign language. They were hand signals.
Woo Tang held his arm outward at a forty-five-degree angle above his shoulder, his palm facing the ground, and gradually brought his arm down to below waist level.
Take cover, Lauren surmised. Nodding, she showed him the familiar okay sign by placing her index finger to the tip of her thumb and splaying her other fingers outward. “I understand,” she said.
The second signal was a fist held at eye level, thrusted upward as high as his arm would take it, then brought back to eye level. He repeated the motion several times with emphasis. Lauren knew it as the hand signal to increase speed or rush something to completion.
Lauren sent the okay sign again and this time followed it with an exuberant thumbs-up. She turned back to Christian. “We don’t have much time. Whatever they’re about to do is going to happen soon, and fast. We have to get everyone ready,” she said, the venom in her voice returning.
“Ready? Ready for what?” asked Christian. “Lauren, you’re not making any sense. Who was that guy? What the hell is going on?”
She disregarded him and made her way across the stockade, stepping carefully over the sleeping detainees to where Fred lay, with Norman resting in proximity. She put her hand on Fred’s shoulder and gently shook him, willing him back to consciousness. “Fred…can you hear me? It’s Lauren. Lauren Jane.”
Fred’s body jerked, and his lips began to pull away from each other, the dried blood on them acting as an adhesive. He mumbled and grunted incoherently, as though only half of him were there.
“Fred…listen to me,” Lauren said in a strong whisper. “I just saw Woo Tang. He’s here—they’re all here. The unit is here with him, Fred. They’re coming.”
As if her words were pure oxygen breathing life back into him, Fred opened the only eye not swollen shut and began tonguing at his lips in an effort to separate them, then tried clearing his throat, but couldn’t muster the strength to make it happen. He lifted a finger and curled it, motioning for Lauren to come closer. When she put her ear to his mouth, he groaned, “You know…you know what to do here, Janey. The party is…incoming. They are…weapons hot…it’s time…to cull…the herd.”
Lauren nodded excitedly, reaching out to wake Norman and tell him the news. With Norman bewildered and mostly awake, she turned to Christian eagerly. “Christian, come on—I need your help.”
She went to dart off but Christian grabbed hold of her wrist, giving her a wildly confused look. “Lauren—level with me. Did that bump on your head knock a screw loose? You said they’re here, and we need to get ready for them, but who’s here? What are we getting ready for?”
Lauren turned, put her hand to his, unclasping Christian’s grip from her wrist. She blushed as she inched closer to him, then smiled genuinely for an instant before her expression intensified. “Zero Dark Armageddon.”
The story continues in
Divided We Stand
Book 4 of the What’s Left of My World Series
arriving summer 2018
Acknowledgements
Major thanks to my girls: Emma and Delaney, for being such amazing young women and for serving as textbook inspirations for my writing. I love you both, forever. You are the brightest shining stars in my sky, my purpose for being, the reasons I breathe and bleed.
Boundless appreciation extends to my wife, Stefanie, for putting up with me even when I’m at my worst. You are a master at keeping things together when I’m busy tearing them apart.
Thanks to my mom for giving me ‘Faith’ and instilling within me the confidence to achieve anything I put my mind to.
Thanks to the cast members: the Bayliss family, the Starr family, the Briggs family, the DeHaven family, and Jesseca, Lexi, Kenzie, & Dez the Deadly Doughnut.
Thanks to Sabrina and Pauline for helping me polish and make sense of my final draft, which would be the equivalent of a literary upheaval without your help.
Thanks to Kim, Milo, Darja, and the rest at Deranged Doctor Design for their captivating covers and formatting handiwork. You guys are incredible. Extra special thanks to Darja for sacrificing herself to be my first ever real-life cover model.
Enormous thanks to authors Franklin Horton and Tom Abrahams, who were integral in helping me make my dream of authorship come true. Thanks for answering my innumerable questions. Thanks also to Kevin Pierce for his remarkable voice and for turning my words into successful audiobook productions.
To my little dude, Liam Starr: Be strong. You’re a superhero and you’re going to beat this thing. Everyone in the valley is pulling for you.
Casual thanks to Richie, Patricia, Shellie, Shawn, Roger, Kev, Suzie and Jerry and the entire BDA. Thanks so much for the support and encouragement.
Last, but certainly not least, I thank my readers. Without your continued backing, my dream would not be possible.
I’m forever beholden to all of you.
About the Author
C.A. Rudolph is a self-published author who lives and writes within the pastoral confines of the northern Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. He spends most of his limited spare time engaged in outdoor activities such as hiking and backpacking, camping, fishing, shooting, and virtually anything not requiring climate control. He holds a general class amateur radio license and has been active over the years in emergency communications.
His first book, What’s Left of My Wor
ld, was published in December 2016 and became an Amazon post-apocalyptic and dystopian best seller.
For more info on Mr. Rudolph and his books, find him loitering on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and via his website at
http://www.carudolph.com
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Acknowledgements
About the Author
We Won't Go Quietly: A Family's Struggle to Survive in a World Devolved (Book Three of the What's Left of My World Series) Page 34