“Thanks—but I can manage,” said Faith.
Faith walked down the long hallway and found room B8 to be empty apart from her possessions. It was a small room, and there were only three additional bunks other than her own in the room. She assumed it must’ve been a teacher’s office or maybe even a break room before the school had been repurposed by FEMA.
Faith made her way to her bunk and, after opening the tops of a few cardboard boxes, began going through her personal items. Everything appeared accounted for with one exception. Her Bible was nowhere to be found. As she continued rummaging, Faith began jumping to conclusions. Had they done this on purpose? Had they taken it from her as some form of punishment? She guessed so, especially after meeting Beatrice. She probably did it herself on purpose, Faith thought. If so, then it was an inexcusable act. Beatrice was nothing like Karen Mitchell. Faith could sense her malevolence.
Faith lay down on the bed and stared at the bottom of the bunk above her. She imagined herself in a conversation with her husband. She longed to see his face again and hear his voice. She prayed for God to keep him safe, no matter what his fate had been. She also asked God to watch over her, protect her, and provide her with the strength to do what was necessary—whatever that might be.
A plan was beginning to take shape in her mind now and she had to move forward with it and see it through. The chapel was just the beginning—a mere stepping-stone to a much greater undertaking. It would allow her outreach and give her a chance to minister to an increasing amount of lost souls. Was she destined for something greater than this? She didn’t know. Faith decided it best to simply watch for a path. If and when it revealed itself, she would follow it and use it as a guide, along with her conviction. She just hoped that it would reveal itself in time. There wasn’t any more time left to just sit by idly and allow what was taking place to continue without interceding at some level. She owed it to her husband now, and to herself. She owed it to her family and the hordes of innocent people who were now being senselessly persecuted. She also owed it to God.
Chapter 9
“Because we focused on the snake, we missed the scorpion.”
—Egyptian Proverb
Trout Run Valley
Hardy County, West Virginia
Saturday, October 16th (Present day)
The cold late autumn rainstorms that’d blasted into the valley the day before had finally subsided. The sun was out, the skies were clear, and outdoor activities in the valley were resuming. Norman and Lee had worked diligently to build an outdoor wood grill out of cinder blocks and other assorted spare parts they’d scavenged. It was burning well now, and they were busily hanging strips of seasoned, freshly slaughtered bear meat above the heat for drying and preserving. They’d been working on the animal overnight with the help of their neighbors. Bryan Taylor, an ardent hunter and wild-game enthusiast, was now forearm deep in the remnants of the beast, salvaging all the edible parts with the skill of a seasoned butcher. His wife, Sarah, was inside visiting with Michelle while the men had their guy-time. Grace, who adored children and found them to be an ideal audience, was in the process of entertaining a young, exuberant Emily Taylor.
The rain had left almost as abruptly as it had arrived. It had downed thousands of weakened leaves from the trees and turned areas of dry, loose dirt into thick, unforgiving mud. Lauren had been walking gingerly through it all morning—finding that it wasn’t beneficial to a healing sprained ankle. She stood on one foot while it imbedded itself in the mire at the edge of the driveway, and hoisted a heavy backpack full of gear onto the back of one of her family’s Honda Rancher ATVs. She unslung her rifle and leaned it against the handlebars, then began strapping the pack to the rear rack. When she heard a horn blast from the gate, she looked up and saw someone waving to her. The golden blond hair and ivory smile made the visitor’s identity a dead giveaway.
Lauren backed away from the Rancher and waved back at Megan Mason, motioning for her to open the gate and continue in. Megan pushed the gate open, got back into her machine, and then raced it down the driveway, stopping a few feet from where Lauren stood.
Megan had a look of pure excitement on her face as if she hadn’t seen the sun in months. She shut down the machine and jumped out eagerly, right into the mud, much to her chagrin. She frowned. “Ugh—your driveway needs some work.”
“Yeah—sorry about that. We’ve been meaning to get a load of gravel brought in,” Lauren joked. She gestured to the colorful four-seater UTV, or utility task vehicle, that Megan had brought with her. “That’s a nice ride.”
Megan turned to look at the machine for a split second. “Dad’s Polaris? Yeah. It is pretty sweet,” she said. “Fast as hell, too.”
“I bet it is,” Lauren agreed while looking the machine over.
Megan’s presence there had without delay alerted Lee, who tossed up a hand speckled in blood, salt, and other seasonings to wave at her. Megan smiled and returned the gesture, then pointed at the gear that was strapped to the back of Lauren’s four-wheeler.
“Do you need help loading your stuff?” she asked.
“What do you mean? It’s already loaded.”
Megan grinned. “I mean loading it in there,” she said, pointing back at the Polaris. “We’re taking my ride today.”
Lauren smiled and displayed a surprised look. “Oh, okay. I guess I didn’t know how we’d be going about this. It’s my first time doing a patrol that wasn’t on foot.”
Megan helped Lauren relocate her gear into the backseat of the Polaris. Lauren took a seat on the passenger side and laid her rifle beside her. Before getting in, Megan placed both her hands on the roll bar above the driver’s seat and leaned in, tucking her head underneath the roof.
“So, was your mom okay with this?” Megan asked inquisitively.
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Meaning she didn’t approve?”
Lauren paused a second before responding. “Not exactly…meaning I never asked her.”
“OH,” Megan said as she slid into the driver’s seat while kicking the mud off her boots. “Great. I think.”
As Megan reached forward to start the engine, the two girls were alerted to the sound of an approaching vehicle as it made its way down the driveway behind them. The sound of an engine wasn’t nearly as ubiquitous in the world they lived in today as it used to be. Megan whipped her head around toward the road and Lauren turned to do the same.
“Who the hell is that?” Megan barked. Her voice carried signs of concern. Ultimately though, it sounded more bothered that her plans to leave and enjoy a rare stint of freedom were being interfered with.
“That’s Norman’s truck,” Lauren said with a mark of surprise as she crept out of the Polaris.
“Who’s driving it?”
“I’m not sure who’s driving it.”
“I thought it got shot to hell the other day,” Megan said.
“It did.”
The Dodge approached slowly and stopped about ten feet behind the Polaris. The man sitting in the driver’s seat turned off the engine and then just sat there, motionless. Both girls didn’t know what to think or what to do. They stared at the man and he stared back at them through the spiderwebs and star breaks in the bullet-hole-riddled windshield.
The man had thick black hair and a bowl-style haircut with bangs that covered his eyebrows. Lauren kept her sidearm hidden from the man’s view and placed her shooting hand beside it. She lifted her other hand and waved, attempting to break the ice with a sociable gesture. Megan decided to take an entirely different approach. She pulled her Sig Sauer from its holster, moved to find cover on the other side of the UTV, and then aligned her weapon’s sights with the driver.
“Get out of the truck!” she shouted angrily. “Now!”
The driver smiled and hung both of his hands just outside the open window.
“Yes, ma’am,” he complied, with a voice that carried a friendly West Virginian drawl.
As he slowly exited the truck, Megan refocused and took a good look at him.
“Hey,” Megan whispered to Lauren from the side of her mouth, “have you ever seen No Country for Old Men?”
Lauren responded in the affirmative with a single nod. She’d instinctively unholstered her Glock, but kept it hidden from view—both the man’s and Megan’s.
“He looks like Anton,” Megan said quietly, referring to the driver’s superficial likeness to the psychopathic hit man Anton Chigurh, the movie’s primary antagonist.
The man had managed to overhear Megan’s rhetoric despite her attempts otherwise. He produced a broken, crooked smile that made his likeness to the movie character a bit less similar.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said.
The man was fully relaxed even though a loaded gun was pointed at him. He kept his hands visible with his palms wide open. He didn’t come across as being a threat.
“Who are you?” Megan interrogated while sizing the man up. “And what do you want?”
The man spit a wad of opaque liquid on the ground near his feet. “Don’t shoot me, please. I was just looking for Norman. Is he around?”
“He’s over by the fire,” Lauren interjected before Megan could say anything else.
The man turned his attention to Lauren while making sure not to move his hands.
“Is that right?” he rhetorically asked. “Well…you mind if I let him know I brought his truck home to him? I just got it fixed this morning. Runs pretty good.”
“I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to see it,” Lauren said. She holstered her Glock and began to walk over to where Norman, Lee, and Bryan Taylor were standing, but stopped when she saw Norman was already well on his way over. She snapped her fingers and motioned to Megan to put her gun away.
Megan shot Lauren an evil glance and sidestepped over to her. “You wanna clue me in?”
“He’s one of the Brady bunch,” Lauren replied in a near-whisper. “Put your damn gun down.”
“Brady bunch?” Megan asked just as quietly, but not getting the joke.
Megan reluctantly did as Lauren asked and holstered her weapon, and the man casually lowered his hands. His smile was unwavering.
Norman walked over, his arms outstretched and a look of utter disbelief on his face. He gawked at his truck, which not even a few days ago, he’d all but written off. He walked up to the man and shook his hand, placing his other hand on the man’s shoulder.
“My friend, I don’t have the words to express how I’m feeling right now. I can’t thank you enough,” Norman said to the man.
“It was the least I could do after you guys got us the gas like you promised,” the man said. “I’ve always loved working on cars. Just so happens it’s been a while since I’ve had one to work on, and this gave me something to do.”
Norman nodded. “I didn’t even know you were a mechanic.”
“That’s funny,” the man joked. “Neither did I.”
“Girls, this is George Brady…Junior,” Norman said.
Junior lifted a palm in a welcoming gesture to Megan and then to Lauren. “Just call me Junior. Sorry for the alarm, ladies,” he said. “I certainly didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No harm done. It’s very nice to meet you,” Lauren said.
“Yeah. It’s nice to finally meet you…Anton,” Megan said sarcastically. She smiled, hoping that her approachability would hinder any offense being taken.
“I get that a lot,” Junior said, not missing a beat. “My life’s been a living hell since that movie came out.”
“Maybe a different haircut is in order,” Megan jeered.
“That may very well be.”
While Norman made small talk with Junior Brady, Megan slipped away and anxiously slid back into the driver’s seat of the Polaris. She motioned to Lauren to come along.
“Well, guys, we really gotta get going,” Megan said.
Norman took a pause from his conversation with Junior and gave Lauren an inquisitive look.
“Does that we include you?” he asked her.
“If Mom asks, just tell her I’m with Megan.”
“Okay…I guess. Because as you know, she will definitely ask,” Norman said.
“It’s just a road patrol, Norman,” Lauren mumbled.
“I know, sweetheart. I’m just being me. Keep that radio on and be careful.”
“Always.”
After saying their goodbyes, which included an uncomfortably long wave goodbye between Megan and Lee, the girls accelerated down the driveway and onto Trout Run Road. Lauren gave her friend a curious look when Megan took an immediate turn into her family’s driveway.
“Dad wanted me to bring you by,” Megan said. “I guess he didn’t trust me when I told him we’d be together today.”
The girls parked the Polaris and began the long walk around to the back of the property where Fred could be seen building something. As they walked past the house, the prisoner Fred had chained to a tree in his yard came into view. As they got closer, he raised his head and shook it to knock the poncho hood backward. Mickey smiled at the girls devilishly and began making a show out of licking his lips.
“Hey there, cuties,” he taunted with a grin that displayed his disgusting lack of oral hygiene.
“Piss off, asshole,” Megan snapped. She poked Lauren on the shoulder and whispered, “Ignore him.”
“You two look awfully ripe for the picking today,” Mickey sneered. “Just like a couple of peaches. Sweet, sweet peaches.” He laughed. “I could take a juicy bite out of both of you right now.”
Lauren turned to him, unable to perform as her friend suggested. “You can compare us to fruit all you like—you’re the one attached to a tree.”
Mickey closed his mouth and nodded with a smug grin. “This is temporary. It’s only a matter of time before my brothers find me. After that, we’re gonna take everything you bitches have. All these men protecting you? They’ll be dead. And the two of you, along with all the other bitches around here, become our concubines…so get ready…”
Choosing wisely to ignore the rest of Mickey’s tirade, the girls continued to where Fred was working. When he saw them, he removed his gloves and smiled.
“Well, by the looks of things, this request to go on patrol was for real,” Fred admitted. “Good morning, Lauren.”
“Morning,” Lauren replied. It was at that point she noticed that Fred was building target stands. A large pile of silhouette targets were scattered on the ground just beside him.
“The two of you going to be riding together?” he asked.
“Yes, Dad,” Megan said. “The Polaris is loaded and we’re ready to go.”
“Very well,” Fred said. He offered a slight nod of approval. “Do you have everything I told you to bring, Meg?”
“Yes,” Megan answered, her face displaying her embarrassment.
Fred nodded and smiled, then looked over to Lauren.
“What about you, Janey?”
Lauren shot her eyes at Fred, as did Megan. She hadn’t heard anyone call her that in a long time.
Fred’s face turned pale and he put his hand over his mouth as if he’d slipped and said something he possibly shouldn’t have. “Sorry. I meant Lauren.”
“Who the hell is Janey?” Megan asked.
“Me,” Lauren said. “I’m Janey. It’s my middle name.”
“I never knew that,” Megan said. “Lauren Janey Russell?”
“Lauren Jane. Jane is my dad’s grandmother’s first name.”
Megan grinned. “Lauren Jane. I like it,” she assured her. “I might even start calling you L.J.”
Hoping Megan wasn’t serious, Lauren smiled and shook her head, then looked over to Fred, who still had his eyes pegged on her, still waiting for an answer to his question.
“I brought a full kit,” she said confidently.
Fred smiled. “Outstanding.”
After several minutes of specific instructions to the girls, in
cluding a long dissertation that covered radio etiquette, mitigating the chances of ambush, rules of engagement, and shooting to kill, Fred allowed them to leave. Before Lauren could walk away, though, Fred stopped her.
“Lauren—I’m sorry about that Janey thing,” he said. “Old habits…”
“It’s okay. It’s just been a while since I’ve heard it.”
“Fair enough. Listen, I know you can take care of yourself…but if you could keep a super close eye on her, I’d very much appreciate it,” Fred requested while motioning to his daughter, who’d already begun walking back to the Polaris. “She’s not like you. She’s never had any serious training, and I know that’s my fault—too protective of her for my own damn good. But I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her.”
Lauren nodded. “I’ll do everything I can to keep us both safe.”
The weather today had become unseasonably pleasant, and Lauren was enjoying the feeling of the wind blowing on her face and through her hair as Megan piloted the Polaris RZR UTV northbound along Trout Run Road. They weren’t moving at breakneck speeds, but it was fast enough to put her into a good mood, having been idle for so long. Lauren couldn’t remember the last time that she’d ridden in a vehicle that wasn’t propelled by a pair of pedals.
Megan had a relentless grin on her face and her hair was flopping around playfully. She too was enjoying the feeling of the wind as she sped up and down small hills and around the minor curves of the road, careful to avoid the potholes that had accumulated along the way.
“Can I ask you a dumb question?” asked Megan after a couple of miles of riding in silence.
“Only if you want a dumb answer.”
Megan laughed. “Okay…maybe a not-so-dumb question, then. Do you ever wonder where they live? Or where they’re coming from?”
Lauren turned to face her friend while fighting the wind for control of her hair. “Who?”
“The takers. Those strange people that attacked us last summer and again last week. They have to be living around here somewhere.”
What's Left of My World (Book 2): This We Will Defend Page 14