Lauren nodded, seemingly unconvinced. It was true, people were hungry and therefore, desperate. So much so that they would say or do just about anything to stay alive. Her husband may have died, or maybe he was below them on the trail with a gun. She didn’t think that was the case, but readied herself regardless. She said, “Does that include stealing?”
The woman’s pale face started to show some color underneath the dirt that covered it. She pursed her lips.
“We do what we have to,” she said. “We have nothing now—it’s all been taken from us.” She paused and stared deep into Lauren’s eyes. “We do what we have to do.”
The little girl noticed the tension and ran to her mother, dropping a piece of the pemmican on the ground and picking it up in turn. Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Look, mommy—food! I got us some food,” the little girl said.
“I see that, baby,” the woman said glumly, looking down at her daughter with a genuine smile. Her gaze soon returned to Lauren, who held her rifle, ready to defend what was hers if she had to. Lauren knew very well that there was just no way possible to help everyone that needed it. There was nothing wrong with being compassionate, but in the world she now lived in, she knew that compassion could just as easily get you killed.
“You best be on your way,” Lauren said. “I’d like to help more—but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok. We’re sorry to bother you,” the woman said with a nod. “Thanks for the food.”
She turned away and led her daughter across the rocks and down the trail beside her, turning around several times in the process. They soon disappeared from sight. Lauren hiked down the trail and grabbed her pack, truly glad that she had it and even more glad that she didn’t have to shoot someone in order to keep it. She counted herself lucky in more ways than one. If the woman had possessed a gun, or if she wasn’t as innocent as she’d pretended to be, the situation would have had a completely different ending. She would need to be more careful now, and that meant no more daydreaming.
Once Lauren felt comfortable enough to let her guard down slightly, her thoughts returned to the real reason she was here. She would never forget what had just happened and truly hoped that they would manage to survive, but inside she knew it was unlikely. The food she’d provided them was only postponing the inevitable. It made her sad to think about it, but this new world was a sad place, full of tribulations. She began to recall the task at hand, her curiosity and her sense of duty both beginning to reach a level she had never experienced before. She looked down into the valley at the smoke columns in the distance, desperately wanting to know where they were coming from. She could still almost hear the sound of the gunfire and explosions in her mind that she had heard earlier, and began imagining what the source could be. She knew that the Tuscarora Trail would take her steeply down into the valley, alongside Cedar Creek and end up about a mile outside the area of Van Buren Furnace, where it would meet a forestry road that was little more than an ATV trail. It would eventually lead up and over the hill where the larger smoke plume was coming from. The ATV trail was a better option overall. Although traveling it would be more precarious, it was nowhere near as steep as the Tuscarora, and would get her to where she wanted to be sooner, as it crawled through a gap in the mountain. Following this route would provide her with an opportunity to recon all of the areas in question. It was just three more miles to get there, which meant it was six miles to get back to where she was. She had gotten this far already and the last thing she wanted to do was turn back.
Lauren had so many thoughts in her mind at the same time that at this point, she couldn’t sort them or assign them priority. She knew she could make it there, but it would be well past evening before she could get back to where she was, and even if she made it back here by then, it would be a very long hike back home, all in the darkness of night. She had brought enough gear and food with her for an unintended overnight stay in the woods—possibly two, if she rationed appropriately. This had happened to her before when had she had misjudged trail distances on one of her first patrols, after moving to the cabin. She knew that if she made the decision to continue on instead of returning home, that her family would end up being very worried and would quite possibly come to look for her. She knew that her mom would be worried, but mostly just pissed off that she had gone so long without contact. She knew that Norman would be her advocate and as well, the last one to truly worry. He had made a habit out of being steadfast when doubt was abundant. The others, of course would worry as well—and that didn’t bother her much.
Then, she thought of John. Lauren began thinking about how she had always treated him so unfairly after the collapse, and had pushed him aside on more occasions than she could count. She knew she loved him and she knew that he adored her. If anyone would come for her she knew it would be him, even though he knew she wouldn’t want him to. Lauren believed in her heart that she was more than capable of doing this on her own—even if no one else did. If only there had been a way to communicate to her family where she was and what her plans were. There would only be concern, without fear of the unknown. In this world she lived in now, that was an impossibility.
Lauren pulled off her fleece beanie and wiped her eyes with it as they had begun to tear up. She didn’t want to worry her family, but finding out what was going on in the world around her was the driving force in her life right now. Attaining information and learning what was going on, outside of the confines of her community, was her priority. If this was a real threat, information like this would help them prepare and in turn, keep them all safe. Her imagination, combined with the fear of the unknown was painting pictures in her mind of the worst case scenario. That could not be helped. She needed to know the truth.
Knowing what she had to do, Lauren stood up confidently with her rifle to her side, in spite of her aching muscles, which were beginning to annoy her. She shouldered her pack, snapping the straps around her waist and sternum and re-slung her rifle over her head and left arm once again. She then began the hike downhill back to the Tuscarora Trail, all the while, watching the woods around her for any sight of her previous visitors, or any other surprises.
Pushing as many of the negative thoughts aside as she could, she struggled to confine herself to the task at hand. She kept thinking of her dad and how safe she felt when he was around. She could see him holding her hand like he’d done when she was half her age. He never let anyone near her. He seemed to always be in control and was constantly fixated on protecting her. Lauren missed him and wished he was here more than anything else in the world. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, feeling the need to cry, but fighting the feeling with all she had. Turn it into something else he would say to her. Turn that shit into something else. It was like he was still there sometimes.
Lauren looked up at the sky. “Dad, I don’t know where you are—but if you’re listening, I really could use your help right now,” she muttered aloud, almost incoherently. She knew there wouldn’t be a reply. She exhaled, checked her rifle, and continued on.
Chapter 4
“People glorify all sorts of bravery except the bravery they might show on behalf of their nearest neighbors.”
― George Eliot
Trout Run Valley
Hardy County West Virginia
Present day
Norman walked into the cabin and closed the door behind him. He unslung the AK-47 he had on his shoulder and removed his jacket almost immediately, which was sporadically covered in sawdust. He placed the rifle next to the door and hung his jacket on the coat rack mounted to the wall. Michelle had stoked the main woodstove to bring up the temperature in the cabin, that had lowered quite a bit overnight. It wasn’t unusual for the temperatures to drop below forty degrees in the valley this time of year. With the kitchen stove burning as well, the added heat was nearly unbearable, while wearing outerwear of any sort. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve and began r
emoving his boots, which were wet and covered in mud. He then re-opened the door to vent some of the heat buildup outside.
Grace eyeballed him from the kitchen where she had just gotten done with a large batch of banana pancakes, which she had just set on the small dining room table.
“Um, yeah. Don’t you dare walk any further with those on,” she griped.
Norman looked up at her as he slid his boots from his feet one at a time, neatly placing them on the mat near the front door.
“I hadn’t planned on it, Grace,” he said.
“You’ve done it before,” she quickly responded.
“Just once. And I remember the backlash all too well. That’s why it won’t happen again,” he said.
Through the open door, Michelle entered with an armload of dry firewood. She kicked her boots off fairly close to where Norman had placed his, and walked over to the hearth where she dropped the pieces of wood, making sure they didn’t roll off onto the hardwood floor below.
“You guys did great with the wood this morning, Norman,” Michelle said. “Thank you.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me,” Norman offered. “It’s what we do. I just wish we had more gas for the chainsaw. My body wasn’t made for swinging an axe.”
“I know. I think about that oversight every day,” Michelle said. “Gas nowadays is worth more than gold.”
“I know, I know, nothing we can do about that. I’ll just suck it up,” he said as he lifted his arms to the ceiling to stretch. “I’m guessing we have about a few days to a week’s worth of wood with what Lee and I split today. At that pace, we shouldn’t fall behind this winter.”
Lee staggered inside, carrying two five-gallon food-grade buckets full of water. Norman took them from him as Lee continued huffing and puffing. He bent over and began untying his boots, eventually just sitting on the floor while doing so. As Norman carried the water to the kitchen, Lee pulled his boot off of his left foot and used it to push the door shut. He then removed his right boot and pulled himself up onto his knees and finally, back to his feet. He walked to the table, grabbed a seat and plopped down, while exhaling loudly.
“Damn—it’s hot in here,” Lee said.
“That’s why we left the door open, genius,” Grace jeered. She watched Norman for a moment and then said, “Looks like you got yourself quite a workout.”
Lee looked up at her with red cheeks and eyes that were nearly bloodshot. His large chest was expanding and contracting with every deep breath he took. He reached behind him and opened the door once more.
“I’d like to see you come outside and split some wood, smart ass,” he said, “oh, and carry a hundred pounds of water all the way here from the damn creek.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be waiting for a very long time to see that,” she said. “Did you get water for the toilets as well?”
Norman looked at her and back at his son, absolutely flabbergasted with their exchange.
“Some of us aren’t privileged enough to just have to worry about cooking every day,” Lee retorted.
Grace didn’t hesitate. In a slightly raised voice, she said, “Privileged? Really? Well, maybe you’re not privileged enough to eat my pancakes—so guess what? You can make your own!”
Michelle quickly inserted herself before the conversation escalated any further. “That’s enough you two. Lee, go wake up John and let’s all get some breakfast in our stomachs,” Michelle said.
Lee just looked at her dumbfounded and paused for a moment, as if not knowing what to say. “Whatever,” he finally said, as he stood up and reluctantly trudged down the hallway, dragging his feet as he went. Michelle took a seat at the table to the right of where Lee had been sitting.
“Idiot,” Grace said in a very low tone.
“Whatever happened to you guys?” Norman asked, “I thought you two were closer than that.”
Grace gave Norman a look that made him move back a step. Knowing he was pushing a button that didn’t need to be pushed, he backed off, turning his head away and holding both hands palms outward in surrender.
“Never mind,” he said solemnly. “Never mind.”
Norman touched the cooking surface quickly to make sure it was still hot, then lifted the coffee percolator to find that it was empty. He was curious why an empty percolator was sitting on the cook stove and started to ask Grace why there was no coffee made, but decided it best not too. Shaking his head, Norman placed the percolator down on the cooktop and then hefted one of the buckets of water and began dumping it into the group water filter he had built when the family had moved into the cabin. It was constructed using two food-grade five-gallon buckets stacked on top of one another. The top bucket had four water filter elements installed into it and was marked “raw water.” The raw water bucket had a lid and beneath it was a pre-filter made of an old t-shirt that helped keep dirt and debris out of the bucket. It sat on top of another bucket which had holes drilled into its top that allowed for the clean-side filter elements to be inserted. The bottom bucket was marked “clean water” and had a spigot at the very bottom where water was drawn. Water would flow from the raw water bucket, through the filters and into the clean water bucket. After the clean water bucket was full, more water could be added to the raw water bucket without the worry of overflow. The group easily went through five gallons of drinking water each day, so new water had to be pulled from Trout Run or one of the nearby springs at least every other day. The cabin had internal plumbing, but without electricity to pump the water from the well, it had to be done manually.
Lee appeared from the hallway and returned back to the chair he had been sitting in before. Rubbing his eyes, John also appeared and sat down at the table. Both of them began grabbing pancakes and putting them on their plates as Grace rolled her eyes and turned around to see Norman laboring with the water filter.
“Sorry I didn’t make any coffee, Norm,” she said. “I don’t know why…I guess I forgot.”
“Baby girl, don’t worry. I can make the coffee,” he said assuredly. “I certainly don’t expect you to do it all.”
“Well, it appears some people do,” Grace said as she turned to look at Lee who was devouring his pancakes. “Want something to drink to wash all that down, Lee?”
Lee looked up at her with a mouthful of food and nodded. Grace rolled her eyes again and lifted his glass from the table, then turned on her heels to the filter, opened the spigot and filled the glass to the top. The glass immediately began showing the signs that the water was very cold. She set it down gently in front of Lee.
Lee nodded and whispered, “Thank you,” in a very muffled voice, due to the amount of food he had in his mouth. Grace picked up the remaining glasses and began filling them up and placing them back on the table in front of the others.
John nodded to her when she placed his glass of water in front of him and Grace smiled back at him. It was a well-known fact that Grace and John had never had a harsh word spoken between them. He was normally a very quiet person and had no problem keeping to himself what he wanted to say. His expressions as well as his strikingly blue eyes were usually all that was needed to convey a message. Grace, in spite of her name, on the other hand was very assertive and occasionally argumentative with just about everyone, except John.
John finished swallowing a bite of pancakes and washed them down with his water. “So, I take it that Lauren won’t be joining us for breakfast today?” he said, “again.”
Michelle took a sip of her water and set her glass back onto the table. She reached out and forked over a couple pancakes onto her plate. A lump formed in her throat as she couldn’t help but start to worry again about her daughter. She swallowed and continued on.
“Looks that way. We’ve been trying to make breakfast come a bit later on in the mornings to accommodate her schedule, but the later we serve it, the later she stays out,” Michelle said.
“I’d like to know where the hell she goes all the time,” Lee said brashly. �
�I think she’s crazy for going out there all by herself, and she never tells us where she’s going.”
“She patrols the property and the areas around it, Lee,” Michelle replied. “Then, she follows that steep deer trail up Mill Mountain and usually goes to Big Schloss. She can see the entire valley on both sides of the mountain from there. I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, seeing what’s going on outside our little community makes it worth it.”
“Big Schloss. I remember the first time you guys took me there. That trail sucked,” Lee said as he placed the last bit of his meal in his mouth.
“We took you guys up the cutoff trail on the other side of the mountain. Compared to the game trail she takes from here, it’s a piece of cake,” Michelle offered.
“Whatever,” Lee said dismissively.
After finishing filling everyone’s glass including her own, Grace sat down at the table. She placed a couple pancakes on her plate and turned to hear the percolator bubbling on the stove, not long after Norman had set it up to brew some coffee.
“Can you make me a cup please, Norman?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said. “Black?”
“Is there any other way?” Grace said rhetorically, knowing full well they were rationing their sugar supply, and they had run out of creamer a long time ago. She and everyone else was forced to like unflavored and unsweetened coffee.
Norman smiled as he took a mug and poured the coffee from the percolator into it, handing it to Grace. She took it willingly and blew onto the top before taking a sip. He then poured himself a cup and sat down at the table with everyone.
“Now that—that’s what I’m talking about,” Grace said, practically elated with her beverage.
“It tastes ok—I just need the caffeine,” Norman said, “always have.”
“That’s because you’re the fool who used to drink thirty-two ounce coffees two or three times a day,” Michelle said with a smile. “You can’t kid anyone at this table, we know you.”
What's Left of My World (Book 1) Page 5