What's Left of My World: A Story of a Family's Survival

by C. A. Rudolph

  The Mason family lived directly across the road from the cabin. Both homes were about a half-mile from the old St. James Church where the weekly community meetings were held. It was well-known throughout the community that Fred was an avid survivalist, prepper, and firearm enthusiast. He held a Federal Firearms license and at one time, was the area’s main source for firearm and ammunition purchases. He ran his business from his own basement, which was completely legal and way cheaper than having a separate storefront. It was a very lucrative business for him and his family, and in addition to Fred’s pension, it afforded them many benefits of life that other families in this area could not afford, up to and including a rather sizable home and large plot of land spanning several hundred acres. They owned a fair share of vehicles that still ran, including an armored M35 Deuce and a Half, as well as two military surplus Humvees, each complete with gun turrets for mounting a belt-fed weapon.

  Fred was a veteran and had seen action both in Iraq and Afghanistan. He had spent several tours as an Army Ranger and finished his career as a well-decorated Sergeant Major. Despite being honorably discharged and suffering combat-induced PTSD, he had managed to deal with life on the home front as best he could. He found that being around firearms, military surplus and other familiar equipment made him feel at home the most and kept him calm. In the world after the collapse, he was the one who united the residents of the valley and thus, became the community leader. He was a tall, muscular man with chiseled features and a quick temper. His voice carried a higher volume than most people. The members of the community respected him, and for good reason. Fred had known Michelle’s husband and his parents before the collapse—their cabin being literally right across the road from his home. Knowing that Alan had not made it to the cabin with his wife and daughters after the collapse, Fred and his family checked on them often, and were always ready to lend a hand if needed.

  After shaking John’s hand, Fred looked up to see Michelle walking toward him. He shouldered his Springfield M1A and nodded to her. His sons stood on either side of him and his wife just behind him.

  “Howdy, Michelle,” Fred said with a smile that showed a couple crooked teeth.

  “Hello, Fred,” she responded. “Hi, Kim. Hello, boys.”

  “Hi, Michelle,” Kim said with a smile and overbearing accent that could only be described as West Virginian, being born and raised in Hardy County.

  Both Chad and Mark nodded to her in recognition. Being brought up in a strict military family, they typically did not say a word unless their father told them to. Both were carrying rifles that were slung over their shoulders. Kim didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon, even though she hardly went anywhere without at least a handgun.

  “Have you all been doing some target shooting today?” Fred asked inquisitively. “Heard a bit of gunfire earlier.”

  “We weren’t target shooting. There was an issue down at the Ackermann’s this morning,” John spoke up.

  “What kind of issue is that exactly?” Fred asked John, his voice sounding like a drill sergeant grilling a cadet.

  John took a minute and explained what had happened earlier on in the day at their neighbor’s house down the road, in detail. Fred became more and more interested as the story went on. As John and Fred continued to talk, Kim walked up to the porch and gave Michelle a hug. She told Michelle how sorry she was to hear about Mrs. Ackermann. They both then went inside, as did Grace. Lee remained on the porch while John spoke with Fred. Fred looked down at the ground at times and shook his head. His lips pursed and eyes grew wider as the story went on. His disgust was building.

  “It’s a shame about Mrs. Ackermann. But Marauders? A motorcycle gang in the valley? You have got to be shitting me,” Fred said.

  “Have you heard of them?” John asked.

  “Hell no, I haven’t,” Fred exclaimed. “Sounds like a fantastic group of guys, though. Too bad I didn’t have a chance to meet them and kill them.”

  Both Chad and Mark snickered at the comment. They respected their father, but sometimes the things he said, and perhaps the way he said them were just too amusing to ignore.

  “Shut up, you two retards,” Fred said to his sons. They both stopped snickering, and did their best to conceal their smiles. Fred turned his attention back to John. “How the hell did they get into the valley? Aint heard no engines running lately—especially Harley Davidson engines.”

  “That’s what we can’t figure out,” John said. “We were planning on bringing it up tomorrow at the meeting.”

  “Damn right, we need to bring it up. We need everyone down here armed and ready to cull the herd,” Fred said. “Their buddies will be back soon looking for them. We’ll need to be ready for that. The last time we had trouble down here, we weren’t dealing with killers. From the sounds of it, these guys most certainly are killers.”

  “To be honest, we were surprised that no one else heard the shots and came our way,” John said.

  “We’ve been in our basement all day inventorying supplies,” Fred said. “We heard a few shots, but just assumed it was y’all target shooting or something. Are you guys good here? Need anything? Where’s your dad?”

  “He’s hunting,” Lee said, still standing idle on the porch. “We’re running low on meat.”

  “So are we,” Fred said. “If I could get these two nitwits to shoot something other than a fuckin squirrel, we’d be much better off than we are.” He motioned to his sons who had all but stopped grinning.

  “If we get more than we need, we’ll send some your way,” John said.

  Fred nodded. “Much obliged.”

  As if too impatient to wait any longer, Lee opened up with, “Why isn’t Megan with you guys?” Lee was referencing Fred’s daughter who was Lee’s age and who almost always accompanied the family everywhere they went, as Fred never let her out of his sight. It was also common knowledge throughout the community that Lee had quite a crush on her. Fred didn’t seem to mind much, but he took every opportunity to debase Lee, whenever the chance presented itself. It was all in good fun though, and this time was no different. His attention then turned to Lee.

  “Megan is at home,” Fred affirmed. He squinted and noticed that Lee was a bit pale and expressionless. “Boy, you look like someone just gave you a reach around. I can almost see your corneas…what’ve you been drinkin?”

  Immediately, John turned to his brother and Lee noticed John eyeballing him. Without saying a word, Lee knew that John guessed exactly what in fact he had been drinking, and wasn’t pleased.

  “Son of a bitch,” John said as he shook his head.

  “We’ll see you all tomorrow at the meeting. We need to get this situation squared away,” Fred said. “Come on, Kimmy! We’re done here.”

  The door opened and Kim walked out, waving goodbye to Michelle and Grace.

  “See yall,” she said.

  Fred nodded to John as he and his sons turned around and began walking back up the driveway, Kim in tow. Fred turned around quickly and shot a look at Lee, grinning and winking at him. Lee lowered his head. John walked back onto the porch and up to his brother.

  “You asshole,” he said.

  Lee, realizing his brother was quite pissed, said nothing as he turned and walked back inside the cabin.

  Chapter 6

  “Danger, if met head on, can be nearly halved.”

  ― Winston Churchill

  Shenandoah National Park

  Madison County Virginia

  Several years earlier

  After a very long day of backpacking in the summer heat, Alan Russell dropped his pack from his sore shoulders onto the mossy ground of a primitive campsite near the Staunton River. Michelle dropped hers as well, and their daughter Lauren did the same not long after. The campsite they had chosen, more or less chose them. It had manifested itself at the right time, as all three had found themselves exhausted after hiking ten miles over varied terrain that day in the Shenandoah National Park. After seeing their fa
ir share of waterfalls, switchbacks, steep ascents, and precarious descents, the three were more than ready to set up camp and relax for the rest of the evening. They had a full day of hiking to get back to their vehicle tomorrow and they were all looking forward to some rest.

  Alan began immediately setting up the family’s tent. Michelle was stringing up a clothesline from one tree to another over the top of the fire pit. After a day of hiking, she would wash the family’s sweaty, smelly clothes in a nearby water source if available, and then hang them over the fire. Any wet clothes hung over the fire would quickly dry, even in the most humid environments. They would of course, smell like smoke, but would otherwise be clean and dry. Lauren was walking around the woods, picking up sticks of assorted sizes for the campfire. Not taking much time to set up, the tent was staked down in a matter of minutes and Alan had already pulled everyone’s inflatable mattress pads out and was in the process of inflating them while sitting partially inside the tent. Lauren walked over to the fire pit and dropped an armload of kindling near the stone fire ring. She then went back out to gather more.

  On her return trip to the camp, Lauren noticed two men hiking up the trail a good distance behind her. She turned around a couple times to get a glimpse of them and tried to do so without them noticing. Both had backpacks on and were carrying fishing poles, and didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. This didn’t seem strange to her as the trail ran beside the Staunton River, along the edge of the National Park and was well-known for its abundance of rainbow trout, especially in the spring and early summer. There was still a fair amount of daylight left and she didn’t feel threatened in the least by their presence, so she continued on to the camp and dropped the firewood on top of the existing pile.

  “There’s a couple guys coming up the trail,” she said.

  Alan popped his head out of the tent and turned to look down the trail, which descended gradually down and along the river bank.

  “Fishermen?”

  “Yeah, Dad. It looks like it,” Lauren said. “They both have packs on and they’re carrying fishing rods.”

  “Trout season,” Michelle stated as she grabbed some articles of clothing that the family had taken off and approached the riverbank with a small bar of soap in her hands.

  “Next time, we should bring some rods do some fishing ourselves,” Alan said as he pulled himself up from the tent, finished with inflating the sleeping pads. He walked over to the edge of the riverbank and took off his outer layer t-shirt and tossed it at his wife. Michelle caught it and gave him a stern look, then smiled.

  Lauren had stacked the kindling in a lean-to formation inside the fire ring. She squatted down and pulled her knife and began to cut small slivers of wood from a dried birch branch to make a pile of tinder. Alan watched closely as his daughter did so. Once the pile was a decent size, Lauren pulled a flint and steel from her pack and began striking them together. After a few strikes, a spark ignited the tinder. She got down as close as she could to the tinder pile and blew on it, just enough to cause the small ember to ignite the tinder. She then scooped up the tinder and placed it under the lean-to of kindling. After giving it a few seconds to catch, she blew on it again and the fire engulfed the lean-to. She then began adding more kindling to the pile.

  Alan smiled. “Where the hell did you learn to make a fire like that, little girl?” he asked.

  Lauren looked up at him and smiled. “My daddy taught me,” she said, trying to emanate a backwoods accent. Alan laughed and Lauren turned back to her fire. Under her breath, she said disparagingly, “Little girl—please, Dad.”

  The men that Lauren had seen coming up the trail had just appeared and walked past the campsite. Alan looked over to them and held his hand up, waving in recognition. The two looked at each other, and then to Alan. They both smiled and waved. They both were missing some teeth but otherwise seemed like nothing more than local guys on a fishing trip. After turning away and walking just past the campsite, they stopped again and turned to face the campsite. Alan noticed immediately.

  “How are ya’ll doing?” he said trying to sound like a country boy himself. Growing up on a farm had helped him tremendously, but he had to admit to himself, he wasn’t as country as he was pretending to be. Sometimes in the forest when meeting locals, it was better to pretend you were a local too. If you were too city they would usually pick up on it and admonish you for it, depending on how far away from civilization you were.

  “Oh—we doin just fine,” the taller man said with a smile. One of his eyes was squinted more than the other.

  “Just doin some fishin,” the other, shorter man said.

  Both men had camouflage pants and t-shirts on, as well as black leather combat boots that were very well-worn. Their skin was tanned and both had stubble beards. Their backpacks were Ozark Trail brand, signifying they did their shopping at a local Walmart.

  “Must be fishing for rainbow then,” Alan said. “Good time of day for that.”

  “Yeah,” the taller man said. His smile diminished and he turned away and spit a large glob of what appeared to be tobacco juice on the trail.

  “Well, we’re headed up yonder to catch us some—rainbow,” the other said. “Might be back by later.”

  “Take care then,” Alan said.

  The two turned away and continued up the trail in a very slow manner. Every so often, they would turn around and look back at Alan and his family. Lauren finally stood up, satisfied with the fire and the way it was building.

  “Finally,” she said. “Now I can get out of these gross tights and put on some shorts.”

  “L, put on pants instead, please,” Alan said.

  “Dad, mosquitoes don’t bother me,” she replied with a mocking look.

  Alan paused and looked back at her, taking his eyes off of the two men for a moment. Lauren noticed his gaze and it did not appear he was kidding with her.

  “Do as I tell you, please,” he said firmly.

  “Fine.”

  Michelle walked up from the riverbank and over to her husband. She reached out and put her arms around him as Lauren got inside the tent with her pack and zipped the door closed.

  “Mmm…sweaty husband. Everything ok?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Our beds are ready, the fire is going, and Lauren is changing.”

  “Great. Almost time for dinner then,” Michelle said.

  “Yeah. Just so you know…there’s a good chance we may be having guests for dinner, baby,” Alan stated.

  “Guests?”

  Alan went on and told Michelle about what had happened while she was at the river washing clothes. Michelle was immediately spooked, but he assured her that if they needed to act, they had the means to protect her and Lauren. Until it got to that point however, they would be cordial and treat these people normally as if they weren’t suspect, even though to him they were. Michelle was uneasy with that decision but agreed anyway, trusting that her husband was more than capable of protecting his family if needed. While talking with his wife, Alan reached down near his backpack and picked up his waist pack. It was well-known by those closest to him that this was where he kept a concealed Glock handgun when camping or backpacking. He snapped it around his waist and returned to the hug that Michelle always had ready for him in any situation.

  After a few minutes in an embrace with her husband, overlooking the round pool below a small but splendid waterfall, Michelle began working on dinner. She pulled out a large packet of freeze-dried beef stroganoff from her pack, which was the family’s favorite, and put a pot of water directly over the fire, resting it on two sticks. After a few minutes, the water began to boil. She poured the water into the large foil packet and set it aside to rehydrate and cook. Lauren finally unzipped and exited the tent. She had put on a down jacket and a pair of hiking pants, per her father’s request. She had her long hair pulled into a ponytail and was wearing a pink Mountain Hardwear beanie on her head. The fire had died down a bit, so she added a few more sticks to it.


  “I should go out and get more,” she said, looking at her father for support. He shook his head, not giving her any.

  “Stay right here where I can see you,” he said. Lauren nodded and noticed that he had his waist pack on. She sat down in the dirt beside the fire and held her hands out over it, warming them.

  Alan followed her by seating himself, as did Michelle. Michelle pulled out some ultralight plastic plates and handed one to each of them, keeping one for herself. She pulled out some utensils and passed them around, using hers to spoon out a serving of steaming hot stroganoff to Alan, then to her daughter, and finally herself. All three began eating as the woods around them began becoming immersed in darkness. The three chatted intermittently about the day’s events and some of the things they had seen while hiking the trails.

  As Alan placed the last spoonful of the hot dinner into his mouth, two flashlight beams came into view. Michelle noticed them not long after, but said nothing. Lauren watched both of her parents as they became instantly fixated on the company headed their way. It seemed as though they had just seen them, but it had actually been well over an hour.

  “Oh, shit,” Lauren said.

  “Watch your mouth,” Michelle remarked. Lauren immediately apologized and sat back against a large stone. She spooned the remainder of her dinner into her mouth as a typical backpacker would—like it was the only thing she had eaten in a long time.

  As the men came into view, the three immediately noticed that it was the same two men who had visited them earlier. Before waves could be exchanged or nods could be seen, the two men impulsively walked right up to the campsite, within a few feet of Alan and his family. The taller man looked closely at the fire and the other held up a stringer with three large rainbow trout hanging from it.

  “Y’all want some fish?” the shorter man asked with a smile. “Got ourselves a good catch…we’d be happy share some with ya.”

  Alan was annoyed at how impetuous the men were. He felt immediately threatened by their presence, but put on his best poker face. “Sure!” he said. “Take a seat.” Michelle gave him a cross look, but it left her face as fast as it had appeared. She turned to the men and smiled at them charmingly.