Their initial time spent here was full of trials and tribulations, which they were fortuitously able to overcome. Michelle felt that they had been more than fortunate. If things remained this way, she knew they could live safely and thrive here for many years. She also knew, in the world they lived in now, that the chances of this were slim and with that, their current comfort level was finite. If thriving here was to continue, they would eventually need to defend what was theirs.
Chapter 3
“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt
Tuscarora Trail
George Washington National Forest
Shenandoah County Virginia
Present day
Lauren had been hiking the trail in front of her for what seemed like hours and her breathing sounded more like panting. Even in the cool, sharp air that an autumn day in the mountains sometimes offered, especially in the mornings, she was sweating profusely, due to the effort she was exerting. Mill Mountain Trail heading north wasn’t an exceptionally difficult trail to hike, as elevations hovered around the three-thousand foot mark and most of the trail was therefore fairly level. It wasn’t the difficulty level of the trail though—it was the pace that she had chosen that was taking its toll on her. The trail was very secluded and didn’t offer any view, in spite of how tall it was, and the lack of distractions allowed her to keep a steady stride. Lauren wasn’t concerning herself with the lack of scenery today. She only cared about reaching her destination and investigating what she had heard.
Upon reaching an intersection, she followed the Tuscarora Trail to the east, which through this corridor shared space with a rocky old wagon road, and was very wide, compared to most of the trails in the area. The trail’s width and openness concerned her. It was at one time, used for much more than just foot traffic. What made it most disconcerting was the feeling of being out in the open, so she forced herself to stay very alert of her surroundings. She constantly monitored the ground below her for fresh tracks or evidence of foot travel, but didn’t notice any. The Tuscarora, or the “Big Blue Trail” as some knew it, led her down into a small saddle and back up to Sugar Knob, then back down into another valley and finally back up steeply to Little Sluice Mountain. Upon reaching the peak of Little Sluice, she veered from the trail which continued northeast, and began trudging downward on a thinly visible side trail to the peak of White Rock Cliff, which would offer her a grand vantage point of the valley below. The trail, which was marked by two rock cairns on either side was overgrown, rarely used, and very narrow. While not very steep, it was as treacherous as any trail in the area could be, and after the long hike to get here, her sore feet were not enjoying the trip.
While on her way here, she had stopped at Sandstone Spring to refill her water bottles and fill her hydration bladder, which she normally left empty on her morning patrols, in an effort to lighten the load on her shoulders. Sandstone Spring was a year-round fresh water source on the ridgetop that seemed to emanate out of pure sandstone. The area around the spring was unmistakably sandy, almost as if a beach existed in the middle of the woods. A similarly sandy campsite sat adjacent to the spring. Lauren could remember spending more than a few nights with her family there, while backpacking the National Forest. Her first time here had been a trip she and her dad had taken together, just the two of them when she was younger. She remembered how magical this place had seemed to her then. The water was cold and as pure as could be in such a remote area. The spring waters ran down the west side of the mountain and became one of the many tributaries of Trout Run, where her family and neighbors sourced their water in the valley below.
Against her better judgement on this trip, Lauren had decided to sling her rifle over her shoulder, in order to free her hands and utilize her trekking poles, which normally remained strapped to her backpack. With her rifle on her back, she felt a bit on edge, but she kept telling herself that being on a trail as remote as this, the most likely danger she would encounter was the type that couldn’t fire a gun. She knew this well, but was also knew that she could very easily transition to her Glock, which was always only a second away if she needed it.
In spite of having all four limbs working for her, Lauren was truly exerting herself. She had found herself nearing exhaustion on more than one occasion and had taken several breaks to combat it, but the pauses were short-lived. She hadn’t heard any more sounds of gunfire, since beginning her jaunt several hours ago. The curiosity of what had happened earlier kept her moving. Wanting to get back home by nightfall, Lauren did her best to stay aware of how much time her extended hike was taking her. She needed to get this done as soon as humanly possible. As best as she could estimate, it was nearly lunchtime or possibly just after. She gauged the time, partially by looking at the high southern hemisphere sun, but mostly due to the noises that her stomach was making.
As tired and sweaty as she was, Lauren was warm and relatively comfortable. In lieu of the hundreds of things a backpacker must remember, in order to remain safe and survive in the backcountry, this was paramount to her, especially now when the weather was beginning to get cooler. She knew, having heard it many times from both parents, that wearing the wrong clothing in the wild in any weather is a recipe for hypothermia. Amidst her deep breaths, she occasionally unzipped her insulated jacket, in order to vent the buildup of body heat from underneath. She tugged on her base layer as well which was nearly saturated with sweat, and just touching it and feeling the soft texture jarred her memory. She remembered when she had gotten it on a trip to REI with her dad, just before going on a two week backpacking trip in Dolly Sods Wilderness. She had nothing but fond memories of that trip, and remembered learning a host of outdoor survival skills there. It was the longest she had ever spent outdoors in a single span before. Though unsure of how she’d fair in that environment for an extended amount of time, and as well a bit bothered that she’d go that long without a shower, the trip turned out to be one of the most rewarding things she had ever done. The skills she had learned on that trip were necessary then, and had become absolute in today’s world.
After lumbering down the decline for some time, the trail began to level off as she was finally nearing White Rock Cliff. She slowed her pace a bit as she passed a large campsite on her right, and began making a serious effort to control her breathing. The campsite, which had two large fire rings and logs fashioned into benches, was just as vacant as she’d expected it to be, even though she hadn’t been certain. Looking ahead of herself down the trail, she began anticipating what she would be able to see from the outcropping. It was possible that the view from the top of this ridge would let her see what had been the cause of the blasts that she heard earlier this morning. The anticipation increased her pulse as well as her anxiety. She moved off the trail just before reaching the rock scramble and dropped her trekking poles to the ground. She then unslung her AR and set it carefully against a tree. She unsnapped the sternum strap and hip belt of her backpack and slid it off gently, laying it on the ground. She then adjusted her waist pack to ride on her side and picked up her rifle once again. Tossing the sling over her head and holding the rifle at low-ready, she continued to the top of the overlook, occasionally using her hands to carefully move across the rocks.
Lauren peered over the eastern side of the mountain with her head low and rifle ready. The view was magnificent, and she smiled slightly as she took it in. She pulled the rifle stock to her cheek and looked into the scope with her dominant left eye while keeping her right eye open to watch around her. Looking downward into the valley below she pivoted, first to the farthest south that the view allowed, and then northward. About three-quarters of the way through her pivot, she noticed a very small column of smoke rising from the forest in the valley directly below her. This seemed peculiar to her. A small column usually meant a campfire and seeing one
this close to where she was located was certainly cause for some concern. Stumbling onto people in the middle of nowhere wasn’t as safe as it used to be. With everyone in survival mode now, it was downright dangerous and was to be avoided if possible. She did her best to mentally estimate the proximity of the trail to where the smoke was, but it wasn’t easy. Lauren could recollect that a small settlement of homes, including an old colonial-era farm was located in that same area and that the smoke could just as likely be coming from someone’s woodstove. She continued her pivot northward and saw nothing, so she elevated her view and rotated southward again to see yet another plume of smoke, this one considerably larger and much darker. It was coming from the other side of the next mountain to the east of the valley below. Lauren couldn’t remember the range’s name, but to her at this moment it was insignificant. In her mind, this had to be the remnants of what had caused the noises she’d heard echoing throughout the valley earlier that morning.
Lauren lowered her rifle and sighed, blowing a burst of breath into her bangs that fell in front of her face often. She looked down at the rifle and began remembering all the times she had trained with it, along with her dad. She remembered how apprehensive she’d been when she had first fired it, and how much she’d grown to like it. As she used her sleeve to wipe some grime from the upper, she closed her eyes and drifted into reminiscent thought.
*
Lauren sat nervously on the ground, a blindfold wrapped around her head. Pieces of a disassembled Smith and Wesson M&P 15 were scattered about her. After stripping it down, her father walked over to a shooting bench and picked up a revolver, checking it to make sure it was loaded.
“Can you hear me ok, L?” he asked. Lauren nodded that she was able to hear his voice through her earplugs. He continued, “Ok. When you hear the shot from my revolver, it’s time to move. Assemble the rifle as fast as you can. Once you feel it’s operable, stand up and remove the blindfold. Acquire the targets as fast as you can and take them down, but remember—no rush. Your eyes will be adjusting to the brightness, so things will be blurry at first.”
“You might want to lay down, so I don’t accidentally shoot you, Dad,” Lauren joked.
Alan smiled. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Lauren uttered.
Alan considered pulling the trigger immediately, but backed away from the notion. He waited about a minute, long enough for Lauren’s anticipation to spike. He then fired. Lauren cursed loudly as she began fumbling around her, identifying the pieces of the dismantled rifle. She placed the lower in her lap, quickly checking to see what pieces were missing. She noticed that the trigger group was intact, but the buffer and buffer spring weren’t. She felt around her on the ground until she found them, and installed them as quickly as she could. She then found the upper and set it in her lap, pushing her finger into it to verify that the bolt carrier group was indeed not there. Finding all the pieces, she quickly seated them, struggling mostly on the retainer pin. Alan watched her closely. This was the part he fought with all the time, even without a blindfold on. Lauren soon overcame it and finished assembling the rifle. She quickly found a loaded magazine and sent it home while she stood up and pulled off her blindfold. She charged the bolt as her vision began to clear, and began looking around her and finally downrange, where several steel silhouettes stood. The closest was about twenty feet away with the furthest being about fifty yards. Lauren brought the rifle cleanly to her shoulder, slapped off the safety, and began firing. She smacked each target with at least two shots, the steel targets reporting the hits. After hitting each of them, she lowered the rifle and flipped the safety back on, turning to face her father.
“That was pretty damn good,” he said. “What did you think?”
“I think I want to try it again,” Lauren said with a smile.
They ran the exercise several more times. Each time, Alan tried to trip her up by placing the parts in different locations and changing the level of disassembly. Lauren would get stumped, but eventually was able to overcome. The day ended with the two walking side by side back to the car to load up and head home.
*
Lauren snapped out of her temporary slumber upon hearing the sound of a twig snap on the trail just below her. She turned around quickly, pulling her rifle to her shoulder and snapping off the safety just as she had always been trained to do. Just in front of her, stood a young girl. She had long matted blonde hair. She was filthy and her clothing looked as if it hadn’t been washed in months. Lauren shuddered a bit, feeling the shock of the situation as she studied her. The girl lifted her hands into the air close to her chest, just as another figure walked up behind her, wrapping her arms around the little girl. She wasn’t carrying a weapon, but did have an old plastic bag hanging from her wrist that appeared half-full of whatever was in it.
“Please don’t shoot,” the woman pleaded. “We don’t want any trouble.”
Lauren moved her sights back and forth between the two, which appeared to her to be mother and daughter. The mother had the same tangled hair, and was in just as much disarray as the little girl’s was. Having no idea what their intentions were, Lauren had no choice other than to keep them at gunpoint for now.
“I don’t want any trouble either,” Lauren affirmed. “Did you follow me here?”
“We saw you on the trail below,” the woman said, seeming slightly ashamed of her dirt-covered face. “We don’t see people on the trail very much anymore.”
“Do you live here?” Lauren asked curiously, as she continued to study her. The woman didn’t answer immediately. She was wearing clothes that didn’t fit her and a pair of canvas shoes that were covered in patches made of duct tape. She did not appear to be carrying a weapon. The situation was a curious one—if they saw her walking on the trail below, they certainly had seen that she was carrying a weapon. Why they would willingly follow an armed stranger down a dead-end trail didn’t exactly make sense.
“In the valley below,” the woman said quietly.
The girl looked up at her mother and said, “Mommy, aren’t you going to ask her if she has any food?”
The mother, seemingly mortified, placed her hand on her daughter’s face.
“You followed me for food?” Lauren probed, glancing at the bag that the woman was now attempting to hide from her. “What’s in the bag?”
The woman reluctantly opened the bag and with her hand pulled out what appeared to be a mushroom of some type, which the mountains here were full of, especially in the early mornings. Lauren nodded to her, satisfied with the simple answer that the woman and her daughter spent their mornings foraging. From the looks of their emaciated bodies, she guessed this had been their method of survival for quite some time. The woman placed the mushroom back in the bag and tied a knot in the top.
“We’ll be on our way—sorry to bother you.”
The woman and her daughter turned and began descending the rocks, walking back down the trail. The little girl was in protest with her mother, but was being told to hush. Lauren noticed the little girl’s shoes now, and even though well-worn and dirty, she could tell that they were the kind of sneakers that had blinking lights in them that flashed each time a step was taken. They weren’t nearly as bright as they’d once been, but still worked. Lauren lowered her rifle and reached into her waist pack, pulling out several pieces of pemmican about the size of golf balls.
“Wait!” she said, raising her voice just enough for the woman to hear her.
Lauren held out the pemmican as the woman turned to face her.
“It’s pemmican. Our neighbor makes it with venison, walnuts, and red raspberries,” Lauren explained. “I don’t have much, but you’re welcome to it.”
Upon seeing the food offering, the young girl ran up onto the rocks without fear, directly to Lauren. She grabbed the pieces in her hands and immediately placed one to her mouth, taking a bite without hesitation. She smiled as she chewed. Her mother began to crawl back up the rocks to
her, but stopped when she noticed Lauren’s backpack leaning against a tree beside the trail. Lauren looked up from the pemmican-devouring child and noticed her mother was eyeing her backpack. She immediately brought her rifle to a fighting position in the woman’s direction.
“Please don’t mistake my kindness for weakness,” Lauren ordered. “I suggest you take what I can give you—and nothing else.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said as her eyes darted back and forth between Lauren’s rifle and the backpack. “We’re just so hungry. I’m—I’m really sorry.”
“Everyone is hungry,” Lauren said.
What's Left of My World: A Story of a Family's Survival Page 4