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

by C. A. Rudolph

  Lauren held up four fingers. “There were four of them.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Lauren was already back to work, marching onward and scanning the trees. “Positive,” she said. “Keep your head in the game. It’s not over yet.”

  Grace sighed and darted her eyes around anxiously. “But this isn’t a game,” she whispered to herself.

  Lauren bolted when she saw the toe box of a canvas shoe protruding from the side of an old oak tree. When the teen heard her coming for him, he made a desperate attempt to get away, but she latched onto him from behind. Lauren pushed her rifle aside and drove her hip into him, using the collar of his jacket to throw his body hapkido-style over and across her body and onto the ground. The boy yelped, cursed at her, and attempted to get away, but Lauren kicked him in the stomach with the toe of her boot, sending him reeling.

  “Oh…my God,” fretted Grace. She wasted no time sprinting to the scene.

  The young man was well built and bigger than she was, but Lauren was seeing red and offered no indication that she feared the confrontation. She took a step backward, permitting him to stand, and the instant he was fully upright, he swung on her. As if she had predicted the attack, Lauren ducked under the punch as it sailed over. When she straightened, she dropped a leg backward into a narrow fighting stance, balled both hands into fists and drew her arms inwardly into a highly unorthodox guard. She held both her arms high on either side and just in front of her head, nearly protecting all points of her head and face, while her elbows remained stiff and angled forward toward her attacker.

  The young man wasted no time and swung again viciously, but this time, Lauren didn’t duck. With her lowered center of gravity, she moved forward like a brawler into the strike, and with her arm muscles tensing stringently, she absorbed the blow on her now unyielding elbow joint. She could almost feel the bones in her attacker’s hand crunch as they fractured on impact. He screamed and cursed, trying urgently to shake the pain from his injured hand to no avail and, in an outburst of rage, wound back and rocketed another identically powerful punch from his opposite side.

  Lauren tensed hard again just as his knuckles met her other elbow, the collision having the same effect on his remaining hand. As he cried out, Lauren grabbed a handful of his curly, almost knotted hair and smashed her right knee into his face with enough force to silence him. He fell in a heap, blood draining from both nostrils. Only then did she allow her tensing arms, elbows, and fists to move away from her head.

  Grace just stood there, her eyes wide, her face aghast. “Jesus Christ, Lauren—what in the hell was that?”

  “What in the hell was what?”

  “What you just did…those moves. It looked like kickboxing or something. I’ve never seen you do anything like that before.”

  Lauren shrugged and cracked her knuckles. “I don’t know. I think it was Keysi. Or Wing Chun. Maybe a little of both.”

  “A little of both? Are you for real?” pestered Grace. “You put him down like he was nothing, like some bouncer taking out the trash at a bar. Where did you learn how to fight like that?”

  Lauren thought a moment before giving Grace her final answer, remembering the promise she’d made. “A Green Beret taught me,” she replied casually. “Come on, help me check their boots to see if the tread matches those tracks over there.”

  Grace hesitated, contemplating Lauren’s bizarre answer. It was distant from anything she had expected to hear, but then again, that was her sister in a nutshell, especially now. She wanted to know more, but let it be for now. “Yeah, sure.”

  The first set of shoes Lauren came upon were a pair of well-worn Nikes—nowhere near a match. The second, a pair of off-brand hiking boots. The tread was far too aggressive to correspond to the tracks she had seen. “No match.”

  “Same here,” Grace replied from behind. “Get this—this one is wearing a pair of Chuck Taylors. It’s been a while since I’ve seen those.”

  Without warning, the curly-haired boy suddenly pounced on Grace from behind, placing her into a fierce choke hold, his unusable hands and fingers dangling at liberty like two sets of keys. Grace lost her balance and flailed as he jerked and extended his body, falling backward, dragging her with him to the ground.

  Lauren did not hesitate to react to the assault. Feeling for the Kershaw folding knife clipped to her right pocket, she liberated it and snapped the assisted-open blade to life. She dashed to the scene, urged Grace’s legs out of the way, and speared the partially serrated blade through the boy’s gray corduroys, deep into his thigh. The young man squealed in pain and released his hold on Grace, and she quickly rolled off to the side and away to escape.

  With the Kershaw still embedded in the boy’s leg, Lauren twisted it a quarter turn seconds before removing it. More high-pitched, guttural howling emanated from his lungs, signifying the pain he felt from the additional tearing in the wound.

  He attempted to reach for the knife, but his mangled hands were of no use to him. “We do…what we have to…” the young man mumbled and trailed off.

  Lauren froze, recollecting where she had heard that phrase uttered before—it was unmistakable to her. The woman, she thought. The one she had stumbled upon at White Rock Cliff, the one who had slain her own daughter.

  Lauren reached for and grabbed onto the teen’s hair, taking a second to study the features of his face. Could he be related to her? Was this boy the little girl’s brother? He kind of looked like her, but it didn’t matter now anyway. The attack on Grace had been deliberate and was therefore inexcusable. He’d meant to harm her, and now as such, his life expectancy had become a moot point. Lauren finished him off, abruptly shoving the knife blade into his throat, bringing his cries to a permanent halt. She fell backward onto her rear and switched her attention to Grace’s welfare. “Grace? You okay?”

  Grace nodded, her face contorted, her hands verifying the freshly irritated, reddened skin on her neck. “Yeah,” she said, her tone rattled and panicky. “Surprisingly enough. It didn’t hurt as bad as last time. Holy shit, though, love. Holy…fucking…shit.”

  Lauren smiled thinly. “What happened to turning over a new leaf?”

  Grace fidgeted, trying desperately to find her calm, unable to remember where she had left it. “After the day we’ve had? To hell with that leaf.”

  Chapter 13

  Lauren and Grace didn’t have much to say to each other on their return trip. Too much had already happened today, and there was entirely too much to think about, and too many avenues to consider now, none of which looked particularly promising.

  A day that had begun so well had taken a substantial turn for the worse, just like so many others before it. More threats to their existence had manifested almost out of thin air, and the only thing that mattered now to them both was returning home safe and sound so they could relay what they had discovered to the others.

  Along the way down the mountain’s steep western grade, even while immersed in placidity, Lauren remained on high alert. She inspected every inch of the landscape on either side of the trail—from the treetops down to the moss- and leaf-covered foundation, and ended up finding a number of carcasses neither she nor her sister had spotted on their inbound trip. Lauren took note of at least one raccoon, a red fox, a handful of squirrel and deer, and several others too difficult to identify. Some weren’t much more than piles of leftover bones and fur, having fallen victim to other carnivores and indigenous scavengers in the forest.

  Once within the confines of their home territory, Lauren and Grace stumbled into Michelle and Christian, who were transporting the remaining food stores and supplies from the shed into the cabin for inventory. Without taking notice of her mother’s good morning, Lauren strolled directly to Christian, carrying with her a look of urgency he’d seen a handful of times before.

  “What is it? What happened?” Christian asked as Grace moved to stand next to him. He kissed the top of Grace’s head, but didn’t take his eyes away
from her younger sister.

  “Christian, this is going to sound strange,” Lauren said. “But I need to see your boot.”

  Christian leered. “You need to see my what?”

  “Your boot,” Lauren repeated, now pointing at his feet.

  Grace looked perturbed. “Um, Lauren?”

  Lauren kept her eyes on Christian and put Grace on hold by holding a palm up to her. Grace simmered down, but remained wary, seemingly unsure of what Lauren was up to.

  Christian set down the buckets he was holding. “Okay. But you’re going to have to tell me why,” he said, and took a knee, reaching to untie one of his black tactical boots.

  Examining the situation carefully as it played out, Michelle set her things down, brushed her hands on her pants and moved in. “L, you want to tell us what this is about?”

  Lauren shook her head and waited stoically for Christian to loosen and remove his footwear. Once he’d finished untying the laces, he pulled his foot from the boot and handed the boot to Lauren. She immediately flipped it upside down and studied the tread, tracing the outsole with an index finger.

  “Lauren, seriously. What gives?” asked Grace. “You know it wasn’t him.”

  Christian pulled his hand away from Grace’s shoulder as his expression grew perplexed. “What are you talking about?” He turned to Grace and then to Lauren. “What wasn’t me?”

  It wasn’t her first or even her only notion about him, but even now, Lauren couldn’t help but let the thought creep into her mind. She had marked Christian with the prospect of being a potential Trojan horse on day one. Since then, everything he had said and done practically screamed otherwise, and she trusted him. She’d sold that trust to Grace and had stood up to her neighbors—even her own boyfriend—over him. He had done nothing to sever the trust she had in him, and she wasn’t about to do anything that would cause him to lose trust in her. Especially now. Especially since Grace had discernably fallen for him.

  Awaiting looks fell upon her as Lauren pointed to the boot’s sole. “Is this a standard-issue boot for…for federal types? DHS and the like?”

  Christian nodded, and an air of unease befell him as if he knew what Lauren was getting at already. “Yes, it is. It didn’t used to be, though. We were issued new footwear and uniforms after the transfer to the camp. But we all wear the same boots.”

  Lauren nodded and hung her head slightly. She rolled her lips through her teeth and handed Christian back his boot. “As best as I can tell, the tread is identical.”

  “Lauren—it wasn’t him!” Grace urged, her eyes conveying her resolve. “He’s been with me almost every single day now for weeks.” She put her hand on Christian’s chest and moved, as if to stand guard between him and her sister.

  “Grace—calm down,” Lauren said. “I know it wasn’t him.”

  Grace released a tense breath.

  With a sedate expression, Christian dropped his boot to the ground. It landed upright, and he slipped his foot into it, wiggling to properly seat it. He snapped his fingers. “Lauren.” He took a knee and grabbed hold of his boot laces. “Where did you see the tracks?”

  Michelle jumped in. “Tracks? Lauren, what’s going on?”

  Lauren smiled inside, knowing he would tune in quickly to what had happened. “Just below Big Schloss,” she replied. “In a clearing on the west side of the trail.”

  “Could you tell how many were there?”

  Her brows drew together. “Sorry—it looked like one, but I have no way of knowing for sure.”

  Christian nodded and his face lost all expression. “It’s never just one—they don’t go anywhere alone.” He looked up at her. “Think you can pinpoint it on a map?”

  Lauren nodded. “Even in my sleep.”

  “It’s like I’m not even standing here,” Michelle grumbled. “Can someone please answer my question?”

  The group gathered their things and deliberated the day’s topics as they walked together to the cabin and went inside. There, Lauren answered all her mother’s questions while Christian began busily gathering and sorting his gear. The others noticed, but said nothing to him.

  When Grace came to the realization of what he intended, she couldn’t be quiet about it. “Christian, you’re not thinking of going up there, are you?” she asked, tapping his arm.

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “No—no, you can’t. That’s crazy.”

  “We have to investigate this. And since I’m the reason they’re here, I have to be the one to do it,” he stated.

  “You’re not going up there. I don’t want you to go.”

  “I have to, Grace. If they’ve made it this close to us, they’ll be poking their heads out of the woods in the backyard in a day or two. They probably already have.”

  “Can’t we at least talk about this?”

  Christian lifted his rifle and slapped a full magazine into it. “I’m going. That’s final.” He went to Lauren and handed her a folded topographical map.

  Lauren took the map, unfolded it and pointed to where she’d seen the tracks.

  Christian squinted and put a mark near Lauren’s finger with a pencil, while taking note of the specks of dried blood on her hand. He wanted to ask her what else had happened, but held his tongue for now. “Is this place difficult to find?”

  Lauren shook her head hesitantly. “No. You’ll come across four bodies lying near the trail not far away. I know they won’t be hard to find. You’ll find the tracks in the clearing to the west. Look for piles of apples, too.”

  Christian frowned. “Got it.”

  The front door opened and Norman strolled merrily through, dressed head to toe in hunting garb. A bolt-action scoped rifle hung on one of his shoulders and a shotgun dangled from the other. His uplifting grin and abrupt entrance put a pause on the ongoing dialogues.

  “I swear to God, it’s like all the game already flew south for the winter—even the ones without wings. The woods are empty,” Norman said, his voice inundated with fabricated positivity. “I’ve been out there for hours, and the only thing I found halfway worth a damn was an injured doe. She was limping pretty bad, and honestly, I shot her mostly to put her out of her misery, but I figure she’ll at least put a little food on the table. I was hoping to find us a couple of turkey for Thanksgiving dinner—but nooo. Not a damn thing. Guess I’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe they’re observing the holiday today—might have better luck hunting them on Black Friday.”

  As Norman pulled off a pair of mud-covered boots, he exchanged looks with the others and soon lost his good-natured grin. “Okay. Why’s everyone so somber? Did something happen?”

  Undeterred, Christian resumed his gear-gathering while Grace resumed chastising him for his decision to leave.

  “The girls found tracks on the mountain,” Michelle said. “The human kind.”

  Norman’s look hardened. “That a fact? How many?”

  “I couldn’t tell,” Lauren said. “But it doesn’t matter. It only matters that—”

  “They’re here,” Christian interrupted. “It only matters that they’re here.”

  Keeping his eyes set on the group, Norman leaned the shotgun in the corner. “Okay, I give. Who’s here?”

  “My exceedingly disgruntled previous employer,” Christian said, and with that, he trudged out the front door.

  Grace was mere seconds behind him, stopping only to seize her rifle and pack.

  Lauren closed the front door behind them and looked to Norman. “We also stumbled upon something else peculiar that I want to ask you about. Is it common for hunters to use apples to bait deer and other game?”

  Norman nodded, his jaw clenching. “Yes, it is—for hunters that don’t give two shits about the laws of conservation. It’s illegal as hell in most cases and most places. Game wardens would light your ass up if they caught you doing it. I don’t suppose it matters much now, though. Sugar beets are the best, but pears and apples are sweet, so they work almost
as good. By the way, don’t ask me how I know that.” He paused, his look growing more inquisitive. “That being said, can I ask you why you’re asking?”

  “Grace and I found several piles of apples after we left Big Schloss today. Just off Mill Mountain Trail.”

  Norman rubbed his chin. “Crabapples?”

  “No,” Lauren said. “Orchard apples.”

  He contemplated. “That is peculiar. I’d kill for a bite of a golden delicious right now. So you think someone is up there, baiting deer? Maybe that’s why I keep coming up short.”

  Lauren looked to her mother. “I don’t know for certain, but I have a theory.”

  “Baiting almost guarantees success if you do it right,” Norman continued. “The idea is to create a food plot that draws them in and holds them there. You have to spread the bait around sporadically—in a large area—so they don’t just show up and eat everything all at once. You don’t want to give them a feast…you want them to hang around for a while looking for treats. It gives you more time to shoot them.”

  Lauren ruminated a moment. “Well, these weren’t spread out at all. They were concentrated in a clearing, in piles. Like they’d been poured out of a bucket or a trash bag.”

  Norman rubbed his chin. “Then I’d say whoever did it didn’t know what the hell they were doing.”

  Lauren stared blankly at the wall. “Or maybe they did.”

  Norman drew closer, giving Lauren a stern look. “Okay, be straight with me, sweetums. What makes you say that?”

  Lauren sighed. “We passed by a deer carcass on the way up the mountain. Grace saw it first. It was covered by a group of vultures. When they took to the trees, I checked it out. No gunshot wounds. I didn’t think much of it until we found the apples on the way back down. I spotted the tracks not far away from where they were.” She paused. “After that, on the way here, I saw a baker’s dozen of other animals—all just as dead as the deer.” Lauren crossed her arms and moved to stand beside Michelle. “I’m glad you finally got a deer, Norman, but after what we found today, I don’t think eating it is a good idea.”