What's Left of My World (Book 1)
Page 2
*
CRACK! The .22 long rifle round’s distinct report sounded as Lauren’s young finger pulled the trigger on the Ruger 10/22. She had put every one of the five shots she had taken so far on the paper at fifty yards. She fired again, hitting very close to dead center. She then emptied the 10-round magazine with the final four rounds hitting within an inch of the fifth shot.
“Nice, L. Now, click over the safety, and set her down,” Alan Russell said to his little girl. “Let’s go see how well you did.” It was obvious he was more than proud of her. He had been viewing the target with a spotting scope, so he knew how well she had done already, but Lauren was using the iron sights and had only a vague clue.
She did as he said and jumped down from the shooting bench enthusiastically.
“If I did really good, can we show it to mom and maybe frame it?” Lauren asked.
“Absolutely,” Alan replied. “This is your first time shooting a rifle. It’s important to display your accomplishment.”
They walked up to the target stand where Lauren got a chance to see the holes she had put in the target. At first glance, she noticed a few wild ones on the edges of the paper, but was elated to see the five holes in the center ring. She reached up and pulled the paper from the thumbtacks to give it a closer look. She produced a large smile that displayed a few of her missing teeth.
“Can we shoot some more, Daddy?” she asked.
“Of course we can,” Alan replied. “We have all day for you to practice—and I want you to at least try every rifle we brought. After this, no more BB guns for you.”
“I LOVE GUNS!” Lauren exclaimed. Her father looked at her and she drew back, thinking maybe she had been a little too eager. “I mean, I really like them. A lot.”
Her father laughed and she smiled brightly. Lauren’s enthusiasm was always so readily available and easy for her to express. She always seemed to be able to find joy in most things in life.
“Well, me too,” he said with a smile. “Let’s get some more targets up and put a few more down the pipe with the sights, then we can try a red-dot sight. We also have a couple rifles with scopes that you can try.”
“You brought your Granddad’s gun?” she asked. “Your Granddad Oliver?”
“Yes, I did. How did you know that?”
“That’s the one with the scope I remember most,” Lauren replied, “and it has real wood, not plastic like some of your new guns.”
“Interesting that you’d remember that,” Alan said as he put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and the two began walking back to the shooting bench. After they arrived, Alan began reloading magazines. Lauren picked up one and began to reload it as well, watching her father closely for guidance. The two said nothing for a few minutes and only smiled at one another occasionally. Lauren finally broke the silence.
“Daddy, can this gun kill someone?” Lauren asked. She placed her hand on the stock of the Ruger and looked it over, her grin no longer apparent. Her emotion had definitely changed, as if she had been thinking about this in her silence.
“Yes,” Alan responded, almost immediately. He paused. “Honey, all guns can kill. Even your BB gun can kill if it’s used properly.”
“But I don’t want to kill anyone,” she said innocently.
“That’s good. Me neither. In most situations, it’s not something that needs to happen. But that being said, there are times that require it say, in cases of self-defense. The world can be a wonderful place, L. But it can also be a dangerous place. We don’t want to think about it, but there are people out there that aren’t nice. They will take from you and they will hurt you and they don’t care. Having a gun is a good deterrent and if needed, can stop someone from hurting you or taking something from you that isn’t theirs.”
Lauren removed her hand from the rifle and looked up at her father inquisitively with her blue eyes.
“You’re scaring me, Daddy,” Lauren said as she turned away and her eyes welled up. Alan reached for her and made her face him.
“Look at me,” he said.
Lauren looked up to him and began to cry. She always wore her heart on her sleeve. When something bothered her or upset her, she was always just a second away from showing her emotions.
“What have I told you about crying?” he asked, placing both hands on her shoulders.
Lauren sniffled and wiped her tears, then said, “Turn it into something else.”
“That’s right. There are people, like your mom and me, that it’s ok to cry in front of. But there are other people out there who will use the tender heart and strong emotions you’re gifted with as a way to hurt you. You need to find a way to turn it into something else.”
“I’m trying,” she said quietly, a little embarrassed that she had seemingly disappointed her father.
“Listen—I’m not trying to scare you, L. I’m trying to prepare you for some harsh realities. You know I always tell you the truth about everything. I always have—and these are things a little girl doesn’t need to know too much about—that is, unless you want me talk to you about it. If you do, just ask me. Ok?
“Yes, Daddy,” she said. Her tears were now beginning to dry up.
“Your mom and I are more than capable of protecting you. All I want you to worry about is being a kid,” he said.
“Ok. Can I still keep learning to shoot?” she asked.
“Of course,” he replied.
Her smile returned. Alan kissed her on the forehead. She reached for him and he lifted her up into his arms, hugging her tightly. After a moment, Lauren jumped down and returned to her seat at the bench, placing another ten round magazine into the rifle, and snapping it into place. She then set it on the pad as she’d been shown before, making sure to keep the muzzle pointed downrange, pulled back the bolt, and loaded a round into the chamber.
Alan turned around just in time to see his wife Michelle walking up behind them with her shooting glasses and a pair of pink earmuffs on. He smiled at her and noticed her closely monitoring their daughter as Lauren pushed off the safety on the Ruger 10/22 and began steadily firing.
“What do you think?” Alan inquired.
“Huh? Can’t hear you,” Michelle said. She pointed at her earmuffs with a sarcastic grin.
“Never mind, wasn’t important,” he said as he turned away, playing along.
Michelle quickly closed the gap between herself and her husband. She came up from behind him and gave him a big hug. Alan turned around and hugged her in return, kissing her on the forehead. He then turned around to watch his daughter shoot, placing his arm around Michelle’s waist.
“She’s doing well, huh?” Michelle said.
“Yes, she is,” Alan said. “I’m very impressed with her.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m really glad she’s learning to shoot, Alan,” Michelle said. “I didn’t like it when you first started teaching me, but I grew to really enjoy it.”
“You were scared because you didn’t understand guns,” Alan said. “All it takes is education and proper training.”
“Yep. And now I’m a better shot than you,” she said.
“The hell you are,” he retorted.
Lauren finished emptying the magazine, clicked the safety on and set the rifle down on the bench. Turning around, she noticed her mother had joined them and quickly ran over to her and her father, reaching for them.
“Group hug! Group hug!” she yelled.
Alan and Michelle lifted their daughter up, each with one hand, and pulled her close into an embrace.
*
Lauren snapped out of her daydream. She shook her head and sighed heavily. A tiny tear had rolled from her right eye and she wiped it away quickly with her hand. She shook her head and opened her eyes wide enough to revisit reality. She didn’t want to cry, but she really felt she needed to when she thought of her dad and how much she missed him—and she missed him deeply. He had been right about so many things. She wished he was here, so she could at l
east thank him. In spite of her sudden sadness, she tried hard to turn it into something else, just like he always told her. It was time for her to move.
Deciding her respite was over, Lauren stood back up and shouldered her pack. She then wrapped her waist pack around her and snapped it into place, leaning down to sling her rifle over her head and left arm. The sling was set in a single-point configuration, and it allowed her AR-15 to hang directly in front of her, where she could ready it if needed in a pinch. She carried two full thirty-round magazines in her waist pack, and had four others located inside her backpack. In addition, she carried a sidearm, a Glock 22, hidden in the concealment sleeve of her waist pack. There were two extra fifteen-round magazines in the waist pack, and a spare box of hollow point ammunition in her backpack. At one point, this would have been considered overkill for most hikes but in these times, she felt it was just approaching adequate. She knew there was always a possibility of stumbling into someone whenever she was away from home, and anyone she didn’t recognize could be a threat. She felt confident that she could defend herself if necessary. She had spent a lot of time training for something like that. She always tried to remain in close proximity to home so that if she did have to use a firearm, it wouldn’t be long before someone would be en route to render aid, having heard the shots. There was no guarantee, however, even though the sound of a gunshot in these hills carried for miles. Her family and those they trusted were not known for running from the sound of trouble, and that was reassuring to her.
As Lauren began to descend from the peak to the bridge below that crossed a large chasm on Big Schloss, the unmistakable sound of rapid gunfire caught her ear. As it came from the east side of the mountain, she turned and quickly ran back up the trail and pulled herself onto the top of Big Schloss. Down on one knee and lifting her rifle to her cheek, she adjusted the magnification of her scope to get the widest field of view, then brought it to her left eye and began to swivel north to south, looking for any visual evidence that might help her see where the sounds were coming from. Then she heard another, and another, and then another burst of gunfire. And yet another, then finally a loud explosion. Her heart was beating through her chest—both from the run back up the trail and having to pull herself back onto the rock outcropping, and from the shock of hearing what she was hearing. She had swept back and forth twice and still couldn’t see any visual indication of the blasts as they echoed throughout the valley. She assumed it had to be coming from the other side of Little Sluice Mountain, possibly in the valley that followed or maybe even over the next hill from there, which would put it in or near the town. Either way, it was blocked from her view and there wasn’t anything she could do about it from this location. She lowered her rifle and sighed loudly. The hike from her current position to get to a vantage point to view that area was several miles, through areas she hadn’t visited in a while—and with that she didn’t feel fully safe to travel, especially by herself. It was nearly a half-day’s trudge with what she was currently carrying. She knew no one at home would agree with her going there alone. It was too far from help if she needed it. She also knew that if she went home first to tell the others that the return trip back up the mountain and over to Little Sluice Mountain would take exponentially more time—possibly time they didn’t have. She closed her eyes and thought hard for a moment. She needed to know what was going on sooner than that. Something inside her told her that she needed to see what was going on. She felt that if she didn’t go now, that what was happening would eventually affect her family at their doorstep. And that, is why she decided to go.
She re-slung her rifle and hopped back down to the trail, moving swiftly downward across the footbridge and down the approach trail back to Mill Mountain. As she began heading north, she heard a few gunshots echoing in the distance. She pulled back the charging handle of her AR-15 slightly to verify that a round was chambered, checked the safety, and then marched north. In her heart she felt afraid, but her will was undeterred. This was after all, her chosen responsibility now. She had to protect herself. She had to protect her family. She had to protect her community.
Chapter 2
“Family isn’t always blood. It’s the people in your life who want you in theirs. The ones who accept you for who you are. The ones who would do anything to see you smile, and who love you no matter what.”
― Unknown
The cabin
Trout Run Valley
Hardy County West Virginia
Present day
Michelle Russell awoke and found herself staring up at the ceiling in a thick pile of blankets and pillows. Taking a moment to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she slowly pulled herself up and out of bed. The sun was brightening the sky and the light was starting to shine through her bedroom window. This was her indication that it was time to get up and start yet another day of preparations for the incoming winter months. She went to her closet and pulled a thick camouflage hoodie from a hanger, quickly putting it on to ease her shivers. She was always cold in the morning. She went to her dresser and pulled out a pair of Carhartt work pants and slipped them on one leg at a time over her base layer thermals, which she hardly ever took off. She grabbed a pink camouflage fleece beanie from her dresser and put it on, tucking her long, curly brunette hair into a pony-tail and securing it with a hair tie. She then reached over to the nightstand and opened the top drawer where her holstered Glock 23 lay dormant, attached to a thick padded tactical belt with a double magazine carrier on the other side. She wrapped the belt around her and snapped it closed, then adjusted it a bit downward, just below her waist. She grabbed some merino wool socks and pulled them over her feet, and then slipped her feet into a pair of open-toed Birkenstock house shoes.
Looking into a small circular mirror mounted to the wall on the side of the door, Michelle cocked her head, taking a visual snapshot of her face. She smiled at herself at first, and then produced a slight frown.
“I really do miss makeup,” she said with sigh.
She opened her bedroom door and walked down the hallway of the ranch-style log cabin that her family now called home. The old hardwood floor creaked with every step. As she passed the next bedroom, she noticed that Lauren wasn’t there, and was not surprised. It would’ve been a surprise to see her there, but knew full well that Lauren usually left the cabin before the sun came up. She was always outside in the mornings—milling about around the valley and gathering intelligence of the area. That was her chosen duty, her responsibility to her family, and Michelle recognized that. She just didn’t like it. Although she was never at peace, knowing her baby girl was not home, she knew there was simply no point in arguing with her. Lauren was headstrong like her father, and always had to be doing something to keep herself occupied. She would obsess on a particular task and not want to be bothered until she was done figuring it out. Michelle passed the next bedroom on the right and knocked on the closed door. A voice from inside the room groaned and then she heard a fart. She smiled.
“Boys,” she said quietly to herself. Then, she raised her voice to a speaking level. “Get up, Lee…rise and shine! We have water to gather and firewood to split.”
There was a pause, then a voice from inside the room said, “I’m so sick of living in the woods…”
“Tell you what…forget the water and firewood and just go back to sleep. But we might get thirsty soon. And we might start getting cold. Oh yeah, and without water or firewood we can’t cook, so we’ll start to get hungry before long,” Michelle said.
“Ok—ok. FINE,” Lee said aggressively.
“I knew the mention of hunger would get your attention,” she joked.
“Yeah, yeah,” Lee uttered. “For the record, I’m getting up, but I don’t have to like it.”
“No, you don’t. Wake up your dad too, once you’ve wiped the crap out of your eyes. I’m going to relieve your brother. I’m sure he’s dead tired,” she said as she continued down the hallway to the kitchen and living room.
“The Shining,” John said. “Stephen King. I’ve read it like ten times. Never gets old.”
“With the limited library we have, we’re lucky that you’re easily entertained, John,” Michelle said. “Good morning.”
“Yeah…so far it’s a good morning,” John replied. He grinned and then yawned again. His eyelids narrowed over top of his eyes, which were as blue as the morning sky.
“Any idea how long ago Lauren left?” Michelle asked.
“A couple hours ago, I guess. Just before dawn. She looked ready for yet another mission,” he said.
Michelle paused. “I take it that she was dressed for the occasion…” she said.
“I don’t necessarily mean what she was wearing, it was how she looked. Today, she just had a different look in her eyes.”
“Is it something that we need to worry about?” Michelle asked, somewhat jokingly, but mostly with concern.