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

by C. A. Rudolph

  “It’s my emergency bivy. It’s waterproof and has a coating that reflects body heat. Get into it, it’ll keep you warm,” she said.

  “I appreciate it,” Christian said. “Guess I ran out without grabbing some gear. I was kinda in a hurry.”

  Lauren smiled slightly as she pulled out her down sleeping bag and slid off her hiking boots. She unzipped it and slipped herself inside of it, still leaning against the tree. She gladly welcomed the added warmth it provided and could feel it almost instantly. She reached for her rifle and laid it on the ground where her left leg rested in the sleeping bag, so she could feel it under her. Her hands went inside the bag along with her pistol, which she gripped firmly in her left hand. In a matter of minutes, she was asleep.

  Chapter 8

  “Without dignity, identity is erased. In its absence, men are defined not by themselves, but by their captors and the circumstances in which they are forced to live.”

  ― Laura Hillenbrand

  FEMA Resettlement Camp Bravo

  Woodstock, Virginia

  Several months earlier

  Faith sat quietly, reading her Bible. It was all she could do to pass the time, and there was a lot of time to pass. She had lost count as to how many days she had been confined to the women’s detention center, but she knew it had been a long time. She had also lost count as to how many days it had been since she had last seen her husband, Sam, who had accompanied her to the detention area of the FEMA camp long ago, only to be separated from her. She didn’t like being separated from him, but had grown to accept it for what it was over time. Upon arrival to the camp and immediately following classification, he had been sent to the men’s detention center, which used to a Holiday Inn Express. She was right next door, at what used to be the Hampton Inn, now repurposed as the women’s detention center. Both buildings sat next to each other, but were separated by a tall razor wire fence, which also enclosed each building and kept them isolated from the surrounding grounds.

  The yellow jumpsuit she wore was ragged and ugly and it made her skin itch. Even before she had come here, Faith had issues with excessively dry skin and had to ask special permission from the staff to be provided with skin lotion to help thwart her scratching. They had been surprisingly helpful to her. The room she was in had most of its amenities removed. It was relatively dark, but it was climate controlled and she was able to utilize indoor plumbing as needed, as well as a couple of the working incandescent light fixtures. She assumed there had to be an electrical generator somewhere in the camp that was providing their power, but never saw or heard one.

  Despite being incarcerated, unable to move about or leave her domicile unless restrained and escorted by guards, she counted herself lucky in many ways. Being on the top floor, Faith had a window that she could use to see almost the entire camp eastward between the steel bars that secured her indoors. She used this window throughout the day to try and find people she knew, especially her Sam, but never saw him. A few months ago, they had been forcibly removed from their home by a team of DHS Security and relocated to the FEMA camp. Since they were found in possession of firearms and had a large food supply that they had not previously relinquished to DHS under the orders of martial law, they had been charged with the crimes of hoarding and possession of firearms. Hoarding had become illegal after martial law had been instituted statewide. She remembered the talks she’d had with her husband about giving up their provisions and arms and relocating willingly, but he had always been so steadfast to refuse. He was stubborn like that, possibly the most stubborn person she had ever known. She often wondered how much different her life would have been had they decided differently. Surely, it would have been better than solitary confinement.

  She had been placed on the top floor which was considered a lower security area of the building, after displaying a fair amount of exceptionally good behavior, which came naturally to her. The accommodations here were an upgrade to what she’d had previously, which was little more than a room stripped of every comfort convenience up to and including the carpet. The floor was exposed concrete and the walls were bare hard plaster, which made it no more than a prison cell. Her accommodations now were, without a doubt, worlds better. It was, after all, a hotel room with a queen size bed, blankets, and pillows. She had access to a shower that spit lukewarm water that she could use once a week at maximum. She also had her own toilet and valued that immensely. There was nothing worse than having to share a latrine with a large group of people. Her captors were strict but not unreasonable, and they had yet to harm her in any way. In light of her situation, things could always be better, but they could also be far much worse. She thanked God every day that they weren’t, but she missed her husband and constantly worried about his welfare. She also thought often about her son and his family, and prayed for their safety in these strange times.

  Placing a bookmark in her Bible, she set it down on the nightstand and walked to the window. Overlooking the barren trees in front of her, she could see the area outside of the detention center where the Elementary, Junior High and High Schools all sat beside each other. This was where the main residential complex of the camp existed. She could see people milling about outside on the football field, as well as on the running track that surrounded it. There were armed security guards in their signature black tactical uniforms all over the camp. There were several of them in the parking lot below her as well. All of them appeared to be carrying automatic weapons of some sort, but Faith couldn’t tell what they were. They also were all wearing body armor.

  The door opened suddenly behind her and a tall, red-haired woman with masculine features carrying a clipboard entered along with two other correctional officers that Faith didn’t recognize. The woman was Officer Karen Mitchell, the Chief Correctional Officer of the women’s detention center. Faith had been introduced to her on her upon arrival at the facility and had grown to know her to be a strict, but honest and somewhat fair person. She had even been allowed to call her by her first name, when not in the company of other guards. Officer Mitchell, or Karen, was an advocate and as well the primary reason that no one in the center had ever harmed Faith. She would never in a million years admit to favoritism, but it showed on occasion. In truth, she was not as fair to other inmates as she was to Faith, especially the new arrivals and anyone who attempted acts of disobedience. The young, the rebellious, and the new arrivals had to be indoctrinated, and Karen had no problem showing them who was boss. Faith had heard the late night muffled noises through the walls and floors that had disturbed her quite a bit, on more than one occasion. She knew that other women who were captive here were not all treated as well as she was. She thought at times, that maybe it was due to her being in her late sixties and that possibly Karen just had a soft spot for senior citizens, but wasn’t sure. She took it for what it was—a blessing in an unkind world.

  The two guards walked past Officer Mitchell and approached Faith with their arms crossed.

  “Inmate 0710, turn around and face the wall,” one of the guards said. Faith did exactly as they told her.

  “Place both hands on the wall,” the other said in a monotone voice.

  Faith put both of her hands on the wall as one of the guards reached for her arm, and then the other, placing a set of loose-fitting handcuffs on her wrists behind her back. She could tell that the guard was being as gentle as he could be, but it still felt very uncomfortable to her.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Gallo,” Officer Mitchell said, lifting her clipboard up and jotting something down with her pen.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” Faith said to her. She nodded to the guard on each side of her and they nodded back to her in recognition. “I’m confused. Is something wrong? Is this an inspection?”

  “Oh, no. We’re here because you’re being transferred out of the detention area today,” Officer Mitchell said.

  Once the guards backed away, Faith turned around and looked at her with surprise.

  “Transfer?
I don’t understand,” she said.

  “We need the room,” Officer Mitchell said with a smile. “We’ve received quite a few violators recently that have committed much more serious crimes against the state than what you’re guilty of. So, we’re transferring minor offenders out and moving them into the population.”

  Faith thought for a minute and looked around her room. This was very much unexpected and her mind suddenly filled with thoughts about what life would be like outside of these four walls that she had grown so accustomed to. She then thought about her safety and began to worry. She had been isolated from the dangers while here. Was she actually beginning to like solitary confinement in the detention center? Was this the Helsinki Syndrome she had heard about? Or was it that she had become institutionalized? She pushed the thought away.

  “Are you talking about the schools?” Faith asked. “I’m being moved there?” She gestured out her window to the area she had just been observing.

  “Yes.”

  Faith paused and looked out the window for a moment. “Is that a safe place to be for a woman such as myself?”

  Officer Mitchell looked up at Faith and dropped her clipboard to her side. She looked back at the two guards standing behind her and motioned to them.

  “You two can wait outside, please,” she said to them, “I can handle her.” The guards both nodded and looked at each other, then turned and walked outside, closing the door behind them. Officer Mitchell set her clipboard on the bed and walked over to the window where Faith was now standing, and gently removed her handcuffs, placing them into her pocket. Faith looked at her appreciatively and they shared a smile.

  “I thought that hoarding was a serious crime,” Faith said. “Possession of a firearm—even worse. We were told when they came for us that our crimes were punishable by death.”

  “They are. But we make exceptions on occasion. There are crimes that are more serious—such as attacking a Federal Agent,” Officer Mitchell replied, “or attacking a Federal Facility.”

  “Oh my—I didn’t know that was happening.”

  “Yes. Lately, there have been quite a few attacks,” Officer Mitchell explained. “We’ve been lucky, though. We haven’t lost anyone. I’ve told you before it’s pretty dangerous outside of the fence.”

  “I’m so used to it here, I’m not sure if I want to leave,” Faith said with a frown.

  “The decision has already been made. Don’t worry, Faith,” she said, “it’ll be ok.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous for older people in population?” Faith asked.

  “It’s not one-hundred percent safe by any means, mainly because there are so many different personalities grouped together. That’s why we have security. No one will hurt you there, I promise. It’s guarded twenty-four hours a day—plus, I’ll look in on you from time to time,” Karen said reassuringly.

  “What can you do to help me there? I’ll be there and you’ll be here.”

  “I’ll put a good word in for you with Security. I know a few of those guys. No one will bother you and if they do, they’ll be dealt with,” Officer Mitchell said.

  Faith paused for a moment. “What’s life like out there? I see people gathered together and walking south on occasion, but I can’t see where they are going.”

  “In population, you live in group areas separated by gender and age for the most part, although there are some exceptions. Once there, you’ll fill out a questionnaire and you’ll be assigned a job based on your skills and physical condition. You work in exchange for food, room, and board. The groups you see heading south are going to either the farm or the gardens. There are two large fields on the south side of the camp where we have vegetable gardens and we also raise livestock.”

  “Karen, can’t I just leave?” Faith asked, “If I’m technically not being held in detention any longer, can’t I just go back home?”

  “Unfortunately, Faith, no one can leave until we are ready to begin relocation and resettlement, and that cannot happen right now. There are too many unsecured areas outside of the camp—but we’re working on it.”

  Faith took a seat at the foot of her bed, which she had made perfectly upon rising this morning. She had a habit of making her bed every morning, and had done so since childhood. She hardly ever allowed a wrinkle. Karen took a seat beside her and placed her hand on the back of Faith’s neck.

  “You’ll get to wear your clothes again,” she said. Faith looked up at her, astonished.

  “Come again?” Faith said.

  “Yep. All of your possessions that we had to take from you when you were placed in detention will be returned to you—with some exceptions. The clothes you had when you got here will be yours again.”

  “Wow,” Faith said as she pulled on the pants leg of her jumpsuit. “That would be a Godsend.” Karen smiled and patted Faith on her back. Faith continued, “I hope they still fit me.”

  “So, are you ready? I’ve got several transfers to do today and with that, quite a few new inmates I have to indoctrinate.”

  Faith paused. “Karen, do you have an idea where my husband is?” she asked. “I know I’ve asked you before and you’ve told me that you can’t answer me—but I really need to know.”

  Karen stood up from the bed and walked over to the window. Turning to face Faith, she said, “Your husband is alive, Faith. He’s still in detention, so that’s really all I can tell you at the moment without chancing losing my job.”

  “At least that’s something,” Faith said with a sigh. “Knowing he is alive will keep me going for the time being.”

  Faith stood up from the bed and reached for her Bible.

  “I’m taking this with me,” she said as her eyes narrowed.

  Karen smiled at her and picked up her clipboard.

  “By all means,” Karen said.

  Once outside the room, the two other guards joined them and Karen led the group down the hallway to the elevator. A guard noticed that Faith’s handcuffs had been removed and looked confused.

  “My responsibility,” Officer Mitchell said firmly. “Carry on, please.”

  The elevator brought them to the ground floor, they exited and walked through the lobby and to the double doors that led outside. One of the guards swiped a key fob onto a wall sensor, and the doors swung open. The four then walked outside. Faith immediately looked to the sky and smiled, feeling the sun hit her skin. It was a bit cool outside, but that didn’t matter to her. The fresh air revitalized her and lifted her spirits.

  As they approached a large four-seater Polaris ATV, Officer Mitchell nodded to Faith and she got into the back seat. Officer Mitchell sat beside her and both guards sat up front. Faith sat back in the seat once again and lifted both arms up, rubbing her wrists.

  “Sorry about that,” Karen whispered, “We had to follow protocol.”

  The driver started the engine and it roared to life. He backed it up out of its space, then moved forward to the end of the parking lot before turning right and reaching the gate. The driver waved to one of two armed guards on the other side of the fence, and the guard quickly unlocked and opened the gate to allow them to pass. Faith noticed a green street sign that said Motel Drive. She couldn’t remember if she had seen it before. They turned right onto Warren Drive, and as they did, to her left Faith could see the remains of several old fast food restaurants out along Route 42. The buildings were beyond dilapidated, but she was able to recognize the McDonalds, the Wendy’s, Pizza Hut and what was left of the old KFC. The KFC building was burned badly. As the old CVS Pharmacy with boarded windows came into view in front of them, Faith looked ahead and to her right, and noticed several residences that had been burned to the ground. She also noticed that the group of townhomes directly in front of her had a large number of ATVs and automobiles parked around the circular road that led to them.

  She leaned over to Officer Mitchell and asked, “Do people still live there?” She nodded her head forward, indicating she was referring to the townhomes. Karen smil
ed.

  “Staff residences,” she uttered.

  “Oh,” Faith replied. She began to wonder what happened to the previous residents, but decided not to ask.

  The Polaris turned right down Ox Road and the Woodstock water tower came into view, as did more residences. Faith could see two men on top of the tower walking around, and assumed they were DHS agents, helping to keep an eye on things. To her right and left were a row of several small homes, including some in a cul-de-sac.

  “The higher ranking staff live in the single family homes,” Karen added as she pointed. “The apartments and condos at the end of this road past the water tower are where the most of the lower ranking staff live.”

  “I assume you have your own home,” Faith said.

  “I do. I’m in one of the duplexes, just down the road from here,” Karen replied.

  “What about the assisted living facility?”

  Karen turned to Faith and looked at her quizzically.

  “Royal Harbor?”

  “Yes,” Faith replied.

  Karen paused. “It’s no longer in operation.”

  Not completely satisfied with the answer, but having a good idea what her response had meant and what it in turn, meant for the previous occupants, Faith turned her head and remained silent for the remainder of the trip. Something told her not to press for any more information. The Polaris took a left hand turn onto Falcon Drive and soon the high school came into view, followed by the elementary school. After passing a large parking lot to their left, which was full of old school buses that had been painted black, they took a final turn onto Susan Avenue and finally pulled into the parking lot in front of the elementary School. The sign out front that used to read “W.W. Robinson Elementary” had been replaced with a wooden sign that read, “FEMA Resettlement Camp Bravo - Senior Quarters.”