“Holy shit, that burns!” he said as his arm shook.
“You’re lucky you’re not dead,” Michelle countered. “I have no idea why you felt the need to talk to those guys…you should’ve just shot both of them and been done with it.”
“Sorry, I thought I was doing the right thing by giving them a chance to back off,” Alan said sarcastically. “Next time, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later, momma.”
Michelle just shook her head. The hemostatic powder stopped the bleeding rapidly, and she then placed the dressing over the affected area and secured it with tape.
“We need to get out of here and get you to a hospital,” Lauren said. “How far are we from the car?”
“About six miles. After we get to Bear Church Rock, it’s mostly ridge-walking from there. I’m guessing about three to four hours,” Alan replied.
After gathering themselves, Alan reached down and shouldered his backpack, then all three began the hike back up the trail to where Michelle and Lauren had stashed their packs. Following his wife, Alan noticed the handgun in her back pocket.
“Nice, momma. Glad to see I had some backup,” Alan said.
Michelle smiled and looked back to her husband.
“Stop looking at my butt,” she said.
“Can’t exactly help myself right now,” Alan joked.
“You guys are gross,” Lauren said as she shook her head.
After gathering their gear, the family continued up Jones Mountain Trail to the top of Bear Church Rock, which offered a beautiful view and wasn’t too far off the trail. During the twenty-minute hike, Lauren didn’t say much and Alan was worried about her being traumatized by what had happened. Once on the rock outcropping, Alan dropped his pack and pulled out his cell phone to call the Park Ranger emergency number and report the incident. Lauren walked out to the edge, held her hands outward meditatively, and took in a deep breath. She loved overlooks like this. Michelle took off her pack, took a seat and began sipping on a water bottle.
“Everything ok, L?” Alan inquired to his daughter.
“Yeah, Dad. Yeah. I’m ok.”
“You understand, I had no choice back there,” he said.
“I understand that. Yes,” she replied. “You’ve always told me that people like that are out there and to never let your guard down—and I didn’t. My heart told me there was something about them…and no matter how nice they seemed at first, I kept my guard up.”
“That’s good situational awareness,” her father said. “Being aware of possible dangers, no matter where you are, who you’re with, or what you’re doing is paramount. But there will also come a time when you will need to take action. It goes without saying that if you or someone you love is threatened, that you must choose to act. It’s unfortunate, but sometimes the only thing that can stop a violent act is—violence.”
“I know, Dad. I know,” Lauren said.
“I’m not proud of what I did, L,” Alan offered, “but I’m proud of you.”
Lauren turned to him and smiled. “I’m not proud of it either, Dad,” Lauren said. “But I’m glad you did it. You protected us like you always do. I just hope that if I ever have to do it someday, I’m able to think—and act.”
“You will,” Alan assured her, “you will know it when the time comes. You already have good instincts. I’ll make sure that you’re ready. We’ll train together. And it goes without saying that I’ll protect you guys. You two are my world.”
Michelle put down her water bottle and wiped her mouth with her shirt sleeve. She began to dig for her sunglasses in the brain of her backpack. “All things considered, I’m just glad they’re dead,” Michelle said. “People like that don’t deserve to live. All they want to do is hurt other people. For that reason alone, I don’t have any remorse for them.”
Lauren turned away from the overlook and walked to Alan, reaching out to hand him his Glock handgun.
“Keep it,” he said. “You may need it someday.”
Chapter 7
“None of us knows what might happen even the next minute, yet still we go forward. Because we trust. Because we have Faith.”
― Paulo Coelho
Tuscarora Trail
George Washington National Forest
Shenandoah County Virginia
Present day
The scene that she just observed would probably give her nightmares for the foreseeable future. Lauren had finally reached the area where all the commotion she had heard earlier on in the day was sourced, and it was far worse than she could have imagined. The first thing she noticed upon reaching the area, to go along with the putrid smell of burning plastic and metal, was a sport-utility vehicle that had been completely destroyed. It was riddled with bullet holes and the entire rear of the vehicle had been split open like a clam shell. As she cautiously approached the vehicle, making sure to stay near the forest edge, she noticed two bodies lying face down on the ground. They were ripped apart and burned as if they had possibly been inside the vehicle when it had exploded. They each had an execution-style gunshot wound to the back of the head. The vehicle had no markings that she could detect and wasn’t displaying tags, so positively identifying it was impossible for her. She could only guess where it may have come from. The bodies had been charred beyond recognition, and the vehicle itself was still smoldering.
Lauren wished she had a working camera with her so she could have taken as many pictures as possible to record what she was seeing, and show the others. Instead, she did her best to take mental photographs. She had a feeling that what she was seeing now, would be pretty hard to forget. After a few minutes, Lauren began to feel nervous being there and decided to make her stay brief and soon headed back the way she had come. Not long after returning to the wagon road and heading downhill, she noticed a blood trail on the right hand side and began to follow it. The blood was sporadic and relatively fresh. She immediately knew that there had to be another person who had survived this, and that person was possibly still alive and therefore, still a danger to her and others. She continued down the trail back into the valley under the tree cover, noticing that the blood had veered off-trail and gone into the woods, just before reaching Cedar Creek. She began to smell smoke, but it wasn’t the same scent as had come from the burning truck. It was the familiar smell of wood smoke—possibly from a campfire.
After crossing the old white forest road gate that marked the end of the backcountry and what could be the beginning of some sort of civilization, Lauren looked through the trees to her right and noticed immediately, what the source of the smoke she had been smelling was. Just a short walk down another forestry road and before yet another gate and a bridge over Cedar Creek, was a small primitive campsite right on the bank. From here, she could see a man sitting down and a small column of smoke rising from the ground near him.
Lauren moved slowly in the direction of the campsite, making sure not to break the cover of the thick foliage that helped keep her presence a secret. The man was sitting down, leaning against a tree and had a fire pit dug into the ground deep enough that the flames could barely be seen. He was wearing a black uniform and she could see the patch on his left arm had the letters “DHS” and the word “SECURITY” on it. Lauren was well aware that the Department of Homeland Security was one of their enemies in this new world, and their presence was one of the reasons that her family had decided to move further west. She scanned the area and couldn’t see any weapons anywhere near him. All she could see was the man, the smoke rolling from his in-ground campfire, and several pieces of wood in assorted sizes strewn about near him. He was breathing shallow breaths and was holding his leg with both hands, occasionally letting out a moan, signifying to her that he was indeed injured. She assumed the blood trail she had seen belonged to him.
Lauren continued scanning the area. It appeared to her that he was totally alone. His black uniform was ragged, ripped, and dirty, like he had been in the woods for a long time. He was younger, possibly in hi
s mid to late twenties, with short hair and a nearly full-grown beard. There were a few scabbed over lacerations on his face and neck. He didn’t have a backpack, he wasn’t wearing body armor, and not a single weapon was visible to her. Considering this and her current situation, she decided it was her best chance to act. She was going to break cover, confront him and attempt to find closure to the events of the day. If she had to, she would kill him. She didn’t necessarily like the idea of taking a life, but she knew the consequences of inaction. She quickly closed the distance between herself and the man and his campsite. Using a large oak tree for cover, she lifted the rifle to her shoulder and placed the man’s head on top of the front sight just as he turned to her. Startled, he lifted his hands in the air and a look of stark fear fell across his face.
“DO NOT FUCKING MOVE,” Lauren’s voice thundered breathily just as she flipped off the safety.
“Don’t shoot! Please…don’t shoot!” the man begged as his hands trembled.
“Are you alone?” Lauren demanded as her finger lay just off the trigger.
“Yes—yes. I’m alone.”
“Do you mind telling me who the hell you are and what you’re doing here?”
“It’s a long story…please, don’t shoot me…I mean you no harm. I’m unarmed and I’m injured,” he said.
Lauren shuffled sideways. “These are not your woods. You have no right to be here,” she asserted. “Your agency has no place here—do you understand that? We are a free people and we want to be left alone! I want to know right now, what the fuck you’re doing here.”
“Ok…OK,” he said with a stutter in his voice, making sure to keep his hands up. “I know how this must look to you, and I promise you it’s not what it looks like. I’m not really DHS. I mean, I am…but I’m not. This is just a uniform. I’m actually in a militia—local militia. A small group of us infiltrated the DHS and have been working security at the camp in Woodstock. That’s the only reason I’m wearing this, I swear.”
The man was breathing heavily and held his breath momentarily, in an attempt to control it. He looked Lauren up and down and noticed that she was unexpectedly calm and her weapon was steadily trained on him. He dared not to make any sudden moves.
“Are you certain that you are alone?” Lauren prodded.
“Yes—there’s nobody else here, I swear.”
“Go on, then,” she said to him, “but don’t you dare move.” Lauren didn’t believe anything the man had said and did her best to stay aware of her surroundings while listening to his explanation. He appeared truly scared to her, but she knew that appearances could be deceiving.
“One of our guys blew his cover…I’m not even sure how it happened. But they interrogated him and they executed him today. The rest of us stole a truck and broke the hell out of there…they gave chase and caught up to us just on the other side of that mountain,” he said with a note of fear in his voice. He nodded his head backward, signifying the hill to the east of them where Lauren had just been. “We had to stop where the road ended and turned into trail. They blocked us in and opened fire on the truck. I swerved and hit a tree and we all jumped out. That’s when the rocket…missile...or whatever it was hit the truck.”
Lauren did not want to believe him, but she had just left a scene that resembled what he was describing. A burned truck, assorted debris and two dead bodies were right over hill just east of her, just off the wagon road. The bodies were burned so badly that she had no idea if they had been wearing the same uniform this man was wearing, but assumed they were.
“How many of you were in the truck you supposedly stole,” she asked.
“Three of us total, including me,” the man answered. “Two of my brothers died back there. There were four of us inside DHS. I’m the only one left.”
“How did you end up being the only one who made it out of that mess I just saw back there?”
“You saw it? Good, then—” he began and then Lauren interrupted him.
“I saw it. But that doesn’t prove you’re telling me the truth,” Lauren interjected. She began scanning him and the area around him closely. “I’m only going to ask you this one more time. Are you armed?”
“No. I’m not armed. I swear I’m not. None of us had a chance to get to our weapons before we left the camp, and the truck was empty when we stole it.”
The man’s nervousness was apparent now. His eyes were shifty, but never left Lauren. He was attempting to understand her predicament as much as he wanted her to understand his. She kept him in her sights at all times, her finger resting inside the trigger guard, a split second away from pulling the trigger. A moment of silence passed as the two observed one another curiously.
“Is that weapon—loaded?” he pondered humorlessly, making sure to keep his hands raised and in view.
“That’s a pretty stupid question, in light of your situation,” Lauren remarked sternly, “and before you waste time asking me if the safety is off, it is.”
“Sorry. I just don’t like having a weapon pointed at me,” he began, “especially with a finger so close to the trigger.”
“Understandable—and I don’t like being patronized,” she countered.
The man nodded. “That’s…understandable, too. I used to have an AR just like that. It’s an M&P, isn’t it?” he offered, as if trying to be friendly and de-escalate the situation. Lauren didn’t budge, and kept him in her sights.
“Yes.”
“It’s a fine weapon,” he said, and then paused. “Are you all alone out here, or do you have a family close by?”
Lauren was now officially spooked. As quick as she could while keeping the man in her sights, she backed up several paces. In her mind, she was beginning to feel as though approaching the man was a big mistake. She could feel the adrenaline begin to pump into her veins as her body prepared itself for fight or flight response. Where would she go? Heading back to the trail and back up the mountain would be a losing battle for her. The trail was all uphill from here and very steep, and she was physically drained already. She knew there was a farm and a couple homes just down the road near the old furnace ruins she could flee to, but she didn’t know if those people were approachable, or even if they were still living there. She also had no idea what people in this area would think, seeing a young girl armed with an AR-15 asking for help or how they would react. They could take her in and protect her or they could just as easily kill her. The Cedar Creek Trail led the opposite way for several miles along the creek bed, but would take her to a much more remote location in the forest—a location that no one she knew had been in a very long time.
The look on the man’s face changed quickly to one of disapproval when he saw her begin to disengage. As far as Lauren knew, he could be one of them in spite of his story. She didn’t trust him, but something told her not to leave just yet. Lauren found a couple trees she was comfortable with for cover and got down on one knee, preparing herself for the possibility of an ambush. To her surprise, the man still did not lower his hands, even though he had plenty of opportunity to act while her guard was down.
“Whoa, wait,” the man said, “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was only asking because—I just find it a little unusual that you’d be out here all by yourself.”
“Why is that, exactly?” Lauren asked cynically.
“Well, for starters, we’re in the middle of nowhere and you’re a young girl. It’s just weird that—” he said, just before Lauren cut him off again.
“Let me be clear,” Lauren said authoritatively. “This is not a game and I’m not anywhere near ready to be this friendly with you. Stay right where you are, don’t move, and answer my questions first, ok?”
“Easy there, kid. I told you, I’m militia. I’m not your enemy.”
“I am not a child. You are wearing a DHS uniform and telling me you’re not DHS. Forgive me if I’m not convinced,” Lauren commanded. “I know who I am. Who you are and what you are, remains to be seen.”
T
he man paused. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to get shot.”
Lauren peered down at the man’s leg. “Looks to me like it’s a little too late for that,” she said.
The man nodded and looked down at his leg and the blood-soaked pants. Lauren hated it but the fact was, she was beginning to trust his story. Knowing he was obviously hurt, she was also beginning to feel compassion for him. His story had some holes in it but so far, it was making sense to her, especially since it matched what she had seen. If he was truly a threat, he didn’t appear to be. He had no weapon. Why wouldn’t a DHS agent have a weapon or some gear with him? Nothing fully made sense to her. She kept telling herself to keep her guard up no matter what, and find out as much as she could from him. Her dad would want her to stay vigilant. Information was so rare in these times. She knew getting more meant continuing the conversation.
“How bad is it?” Lauren pondered quietly, her attitude with him quelled slightly.
“It’s clean—looks like it slipped right through,” the man replied. “I was hit while running away. I think it was a pistol round, probably a full metal jacket from the looks of the exit wound. If it was a rifle bullet or a hollow point, it would be a lot worse.”
“I don’t see any gear. I’m guessing you don’t have a blow-out kit,” Lauren said, not seeing a first aid kit on his person or anywhere around him.
Keeping her rifle to her cheek and finger just off the trigger, Lauren reached into her waist pack and pulled a wilderness first aid kit out. She tossed it over to the man who still kept his hands up, even as the kit landed beside him.
“Can I reach for it?” he asked, “without getting shot?”
Lauren placed her right hand back on the fore grip of her rifle.
“Yes. But do it slowly. I swear to God, if I lose sight of your hands for a second or if I think you are reaching for a weapon, your day will be over.”
The man nodded and slowly reached for the first aid kit with his left hand while slowly lowering his right hand. He picked it up and unzipped the package, pulling out items, including a field dressing, some rolled gauze, cleansing wipes, and scissors. He began to cut the cuff of his pants leg with the scissors, in order to pull it over his knee.
What's Left of My World: A Story of a Family's Survival Page 10