What's Left of My World (Book 1)

by C. A. Rudolph

  “Check out my new baby,” Fred said with a grand smile.

  “Whoa,” Alan said as he palmed the enormous weapon. “Is this a .500 magnum?”

  “Damn right. It’ll blow some nice big holes in some deserving sonsabitches.”

  “It’s a little too big for my taste,” Alan said, as he palmed it. He opened the cylinder closed it, and then cocked the hammer back and tested the trigger pull.

  “It’s not a concealed carry weapon,” Fred said matter-of-factly.

  “Obviously. I just mean, my hands are a couple sizes too small for it,” Alan said.

  “Does that mean you don’t want to shoot it?” Fred asked jokingly.

  “Now—I didn’t say that,” Alan replied with a smile.

  Later on that evening following class, Lauren joined her father along with Fred who were sitting in camp chairs at one of several primitive campsites within Point Blank’s property boundaries. They were both sipping on beers and exchanging war stories while a pile of fresh firewood burned happily within the confines of the stone fire ring. As Lauren approached them, their collective laughter began to cease and the conversation started to die down when they noticed her presence. Lauren leaned the rifle she’d been carrying against a tree near her father’s tent and set the rest of her gear on the ground beside it. She stretched and yawned. Noticing Fred had joined them, she waved to him and smiled. Fred nodded to her.

  “Everything go ok?” Alan asked his daughter, his voice carrying a hint of a beer buzz.

  “It’s a lot to learn in a day,” Lauren replied. “I think I did ok, though. I really suck at reloading.”

  “You’ll figure it out—it just takes practice,” Alan said.

  “—And muscle memory. Want a beer?” Fred asked jokingly.

  “Damn right, I do,” Lauren affirmed.

  Fred reached into a cooler beside his chair and pulled out a bottle of German wheat beer. He handed it to Lauren, who popped the top open with the bottle opener on her knife and took several large gulps. She burped loudly, a little unprepared for the flood of foam that followed. She wiped her mouth and soon finished the bottle, then dropped it on the ground near Fred’s chair.

  “Seriously, Lauren?” Alan said.

  “Like father, like daughter,” Fred said with a chuckle as he cocked his head toward Alan.

  Alan looked at Lauren with slight disapproval. Lauren watched her father’s gaze closely and dismissed it with a smile.

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” she said. “That’s the only one for me tonight.”

  “Going to bed already?” Alan asked.

  “Yeah, I’m beat,” Lauren answered. “Dave said we’re starting at 0500.”

  “That’s typical for Dave,” Fred said as he reached for another beer. “He’s usually up before the rooster crows.”

  “Sure you don’t want to stay up and chat for a while?” Alan asked her.

  “Yeah. I’m done for today,” Lauren replied. She walked past Fred and patted his shoulder. She then gave her father a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She took off her shoes, and slid into the tent. “Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, Fred.”

  Alan and Fred both told her goodnight, and continued their conversation, which was marked by consistent alcohol consumption.

  “She’s grown up so fast, Alan,” Fred said.

  “Way too fast, if you ask me.”

  “Megan is doing the same thing to me,” Fred said. “I love her, but she’s making me feel so old it ain’t funny.”

  Alan lifted his beer, tipping the bottle toward his friend.

  “My friend, I know exactly what you mean,” he said. “They say that age ain’t nothing but a number—but when you have a daughter, that’s bullshit.”

  Fred nodded and smiled. Pausing for a moment before replying, his smile slowly went away. “I take it, you’ve been preparing her for what’s coming.”

  Alan tipped his beer up, taking a long drink. He said, “I’ve got her on the right track. That’s part of the reason that I brought her here.” He paused. “She’s taken it a few steps further, though. Lauren has always been like that. I teach her something and then she tangents off and teaches herself things. I just wanted to bring her here to learn the stuff that I don’t know much about.”

  “You know plenty about it,” Fred said. “But I get it. It’s better sometimes to have an objective party do the teaching. You’d be too easy on her.”

  “Exactly,” Alan said. “She’s my baby girl. She needs to learn how to be hard. I can’t teach her that on my own.” He paused and took another sip of beer. “The writing is on the wall. It’s only a matter of time now before the shit hits the fan.”

  Fred nodded. “I’ve been seeing your folks at the cabin lately quite a bit. Looks like they’re stocking up. The last load was all five gallon buckets—must’ve been fifty of them.”

  “Yeah. Sam has been moving quite a bit of his preps there lately. He still keeps a lot at home, though. They plan to hold out there as long as possible just like us, but it’s reassuring to know that we have a place to go if it gets crazy at home.”

  “He was smart to buy that property when he did,” Fred said as he took a sip of beer. “The real estate guru that he is and all. He’s done a good job making friends with the neighbors, too.”

  “You tipping him off that it was available had something to do with it, Fred,” Alan said. “We owe you bigtime for that.”

  As the two continued talking, headlights could be seen approaching them from the road. The vehicle was moving at a very high rate speed. As it entered the parking area, the driver slammed on the brakes and the vehicle came to an abrupt stop, almost perfectly parked in a space between two other vehicles—one of which belonged to Fred. Fred set down his beer, stood up and unholstered his 1911 .45. Alan quickly stood up and reached forward, placing his hand on top of Fred’s pistol. Fred’s eyes darted at him.

  “Whoa, don’t shoot, Fred. He’s a good guy,” Alan said.

  The driver’s door opened and a somewhat skinny, muscular man stepped out. In one hand, he held a wide-mouth can of Coors Light beer, which he put to his mouth, finished, and dropped to the ground with a loud burp. He picked it up and tossed it into the car, then pushed the door shut. He pulled a flashlight from his belt and aimed it at Alan and Fred, and they shielded their eyes from the intense beam.

  “Is that you, Alan?” the man said.

  “Yeah. It’s me. Where the hell have you been, Norm?” Alan said.

  “Well—I would have been here a couple hours ago, but your directions suck,” Norman said as he began walking toward Alan and Fred, aiming his flashlight toward the ground to their approval.

  “My directions were perfect,” Alan said with a smile as he started walking toward Norman.

  “Maybe it’s the beer then.”

  Alan approached him and shook his hand, giving him a half-hug. “What took you so long to get here?”

  “Traffic,” Norman joked.

  Alan introduced Norman to Fred and three chatted for a few minutes about Norman’s trip. All three went back to the campsite which was well illuminated by the fire. Alan and Norman took a seat and Fred remained standing.

  “If you guys will excuse me, I’m going to go chat with Dave. It’s almost nearing his bedtime,” Fred said. He turned to Norman and held out his hand. “Very nice meeting you, Norman.”

  Norman shook Fred’s hand. “Likewise, Fred. I’ll be seeing you.”

  Fred nodded and walked off.

  “So, what’s so important that you had me come all the way out here?” Norman asked Alan as he reached into a cooler and pulled out an ice cold can of beer, handing it to Alan. He then took one for himself.

  “Just some things I needed to talk to you about,” Alan said.

  “You sound serious,” Norman said. “I’m not used to hearing serious things from you—unless you’re drunk.”

  “I’m well on my way there, my friend,” Alan said as he cracked open the beer and took a long sip
.

  Norman sat up and shifted in his camp chair. “That’s cool. Well, you know me, I’m all ears.”

  Alan smiled and nodded. “You know that I’ve been spending most of my time working in the city lately,” Alan said.

  “Sure do,” Norman responded. “I don’t know how you can stand that commute every day.”

  “It pays the bills,” Alan said. “I do it because it’s necessary and I can’t make money like this anywhere else.”

  “That’s understandable,” Norman said, taking a sip of his beer.

  Alan paused and sat forward in his chair, feeling the heat of the fire on his face. Norman took another sip of beer and set the can in the holder on the camp chair. He took a closer look at Alan’s contemplative expression.

  “I can almost hear the gears turning in your head,” Norman said.

  “The gears in my head never stop turning,” Alan said.

  “Is this about what I think it’s about?” Norman asked with a curious look.

  “What do you think it’s about?” Alan asked.

  Norman chuckled. “What it’s always about—the end of the world as we know it.”

  “Yeah—that’s it,” Alan said with a bit of a snicker.

  “Shit,” Norman said. “Well, I guess I’ll get myself in the mood then. I hope you have plenty of beer.”

  “I do,” Alan said. He turned his head to Norman and smiled, but the smile soon faded.

  “Wow,” Norman said, slowly losing the fun tone in his voice. “You really do think something’s going to happen, don’t you?”

  Alan nodded in affirmation. “I do,” he said.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow, next week, next year,” Alan said. “Sooner than we all think. I just know it’s coming.”

  “Brother, ever since we started talking about this stuff awhile back, I’ve been buying guns, ammo, and food like a madman. You are the reason I started prepping,” Norman said. “I have to admit though, it’s been awhile and nothing has happened since. For me, it’s like the urgency went away. But here we are again, and you’re talking about it again, and now I’m getting scared again. It’s like you have access to information that I don’t or something. And that should not be the case at all, considering our choices of career.”

  Alan shook his head. “No, it’s not that at all. It’s just that—in a perfect world, when the shit hits the fan, I’d be home with my girls, Norm,” Alan began, “but the problem is that I spend more time away from them now, than I do with them. With things becoming more and more unstable every day, that scares the hell out of me.”

  Norman took another sip of his beer. “I can see that, totally,” he said. “If something happens, chances are you’ll be separated from them, but not for long.”

  “Sure. If I’m able to drive out as if nothing’s happened,” Alan said. “But what if I’m not able to leave? What if I’m not allowed to leave? What if the car is disabled somehow and the only way out is to walk? What if there’s so much civil unrest that it’s too dangerous for me to walk alone on the street? You know as well as I do that some of the areas I work in, can and will get locked down in the event of a catastrophe. Cell phones networks will be so overloaded that texting will be the only option, and if the networks fail, I have no way to communicate my welfare.”

  “Jesus, Alan. You think too much,” Norman said.

  “I’m being serious, Norman,” Alan said. “This is as serious as I’ve been in a long time. I think about it every day.”

  Norman leaned forward in his camp chair and placed the open palms of his hands toward the fire. “So, what’s this got to do with me?” he asked.

  “Brother, you are the only man on this planet that I trust with my family, other than me,” Alan said. He turned to face Norman. Norman cocked his head sideways and stared back. “Michelle trusts you emphatically and she thinks the world of your boys. Lauren absolutely adores you—she’s always considered you her second father.” Alan paused and took a breath. “If this goes down, and I’m not there with them, I need you to be. My family will become your family. I know they’ll be safe with you.”

  Norman turned away for a second and stared at the fire. He took a short amount of time to contemplate the conversation and then said, “Brother, your family has always been my family. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. I got you.”

  The next morning, Lauren geared up early and headed off to training. Alan, Fred, and Norman packed up the camp and went to the pistol range after enjoying a campfire breakfast. In addition to the .500 magnum, Fred brought a plethora of other handguns with him, some of them custom, as he usually did when he went to the range. The three took turns firing his full-automatic Glock 17 9mm, .44 magnum Desert Eagle, and a custom Smith and Wesson Model 29, which was the gun made famous by the Dirty Harry movies. The three spent some time blasting away with the .500 magnum until the hand cannon caused their hands to ache to the point that they couldn’t fire another shot with it.

  They eventually joined up with Lauren’s group, following them through the many different ranges and watching the drills from a distance. Alan watched with pride as his daughter’s performance was well above what even he had expected. She moved well and her shots were always on target. She was slow at reloading, just as she had admitted, and at one time, Instructor Dave had scolded her for it.

  “You’re out of ammo and the threat is still breathing,” he said firmly. “Instead of spending time fumbling around learning to reload that rifle, transition to your sidearm and eliminate the threat.”

  Lauren was disappointed in herself, but she took the constructive criticism well. In subsequent exercises, she followed his instruction and performed well within expectations. On several occasions when they were out of earshot, Alan noticed Instructor Dave smiling and shaking his head after interacting with her. He could only imagine what was said, but had a pretty good idea.

  During a drill later on in the day that involved Lauren moving through a short range rifle drill with multiple targets, she encountered a misfire. An empty casing had been placed in the magazine on purpose, to see how she responded to the weapon not doing what it was supposed to do. When the trigger was pulled and the rifle didn’t fire, Lauren quickly moved to the left and hid behind cover. She charged the rifle quickly, and got back into the drill as fast as she could, hitting each remaining target with every trigger pull. Once finished, Instructor Dave came up behind her and told her to safety her weapon. She did and after allowing it to hang on the sling to her side, she moved her earmuffs from her ears. Dave walked up beside her and half-smiled. Lauren looked at him apprehensively.

  “Did I do ok?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. You’ve done pretty well all day. There’s just one minor problem,” Dave said slowly, with a smirk.

  “What’s that?” Lauren asked with an inquisitive look.

  “Your head is on the wrong side of the rifle,” Dave joked. “It’s been like that all day.”

  Lauren sneered and looked back at her father, who was standing at the rear of the range with Norman and Fred Mason, all of whom had caught what Dave had said to her. Alan looked at Norman, who shrugged and smiled. Fred just shook his head.

  “Give her a break, Dave,” Fred said with a smile. “She can’t help who her father is.”

  “Being left handed is a curse,” Lauren said. “Blame him.” She pointed at Alan, who smiled and took the blame willingly.

  After a long day of mixed drills and various exercises with plenty of breaks in between, the group met at the head of a single-lane, one-hundred-yard range.

  Instructor Dave pointed at Lauren. “Miss Lauren, would you step forward, please?” he said.

  Lauren moved away from the group and approached him. She could feel that this was about to get serious because Instructor Dave was no longer smiling.

  “Set your rifle on the bench behind you please,” Dave instructed. “You won’t need it for this particular exercise.”

  Lau
ren turned around and placed the AR-15 on the shooting bench, then walked back to him while the group looked on.

  “Your dad told me about what happened on your hiking trip last year,” Dave mentioned. “Do you still carry the gun he gave you?”

  Lauren nodded. “Every day, unless I’m going to school. Otherwise, I never leave the house without it.”

  “Good girl,” he said. Turning and looking at the group, Dave addressed them with a raised voice. “The reason I’ve chosen Miss Lauren to lead off this final exercise isn’t because she’s the youngest. It’s because she and her family were involved in a shooting last year. They were attacked by a couple of men with very bad intentions, and they were forced to defend themselves. Without a firearm and the willingness to act, they could have easily become victims of a heinous crime. Even though she wasn’t the one who shot them, she was a witness to it and since that day, has been carrying the same gun that put the men down, thanks to her father.”

  Members of the group nodded and smiled in approval. Some of them gave the thumbs up sign to Alan. Lauren looked at the ground as the memories of what happened to her and her family began flooding her brain.

  “See that target downrange?” Dave asked, pointing to a grey steel silhouette target with two orange circles on it.

  “Yes sir,” Lauren replied as she looked up.

  “Today, that target is an active shooter,” Dave said, looking at her sternly. “He’s in your neighborhood and he’s going house to house. He’s carrying a suppressed rifle with a one-hundred round drum magazine.”

  Lauren nodded and looked back and forth between Dave and the target, which was about one-hundred yards away. She was beginning to realize why this target had caught her attention yesterday.

  “Do you have neighbors?” Dave asked her.

  “Yes,” Lauren replied.

  “Tell me about them,” Dave said as he crossed his arms. “I don’t need to know everything, just some basics…if you don’t mind.”

  Lauren thought for a second. “We live in a cul-de-sac. Most of our neighbors have kids. The Thompsons next door, work from home and have four kids. There’s an older lady—Mrs. Randolph. She lives by herself across the street. There’s also Mr. Hobson on the other side of us. He’s an asshole, so if the shooter gets him it won’t bother me.”