Divided We Stand (What's Left of My World Book 4)

by C. A. Rudolph

  Divided We Stand

  Book Four of the What’s Left of My World Series

  C.A.Rudolph

  Copyright © C.A. Rudolph 2018. All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design

  Paperback formatting by Deranged Doctor Design

  Edited by Sabrina Jean

  Proofread by Pauline Nolet

  Featured on the cover: Darja Filipovic of Deranged Doctor Design

  ISBN-13: 978-1981659142

  ISBN-10: 1981659145

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Thank you!

  The DD12

  For Cyrus

  Luke will never replace you—no dog ever could. But he reminds us so much of you sometimes, it’s as if you never left us. We love you and we miss you, and we think of you often. You will never be forgotten.

  “The reason why the world lacks unity, and lies broken and in heaps, is because man is disunited with himself.”

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Author’s Note

  The term divided is the key expression used throughout the pages of this book. The word is used repeatedly, and it is my intention for you, the reader, to comprehend how the word applies to the story on a myriad of levels, and comparatively to the current state of our country and the world in which we live independent of the story, both of which are far from being fictional.

  The nonlinear timeline I routinely utilize to support randomly occurring flashbacks has also been divided, not only within this particular volume, but between books as well, making things a little more complex. In short, various chapters within Divided We Stand shadow the same timeline as those found in the preceding book of the same series, We Won’t Go Quietly, dating back to November 30th in Chapter 15. As such, many characters left behind or ‘missing’ scenes from book three were written into this book in parallel.

  To generate even more disunion, chapters contained within this book, while not necessarily flashbacks by any means, will alternate between current and preceding dates as the story moves forward. So be sure to watch or listen for the ‘present day’ cues.

  This note is simply a preemptive reference, written as a forewarning to some readers and listeners who might otherwise have a tougher time following along.

  Thank you for being a fan and for procuring Divided We Stand, my fourth installment in the What’s Left of My World series. Enjoy the story.

  ~ Chad ‘C.A.’ Rudolph

  June 2018

  Prologue

  It was fifteen minutes before four o’clock in the afternoon, and her bus was right on schedule.

  Lauren Russell sat in her seat, bright-eyed and resplendent, her body eagerly slanted toward the aisle, watching as her stop drew closer through the windshield. Although tempted to stand and scuttle to the front, thereby shortening the distance between herself and home, she held back, recognizing that doing so while the bus remained in transit was frowned upon.

  Lauren was known for questioning most things up to and including authority, but she didn’t want to risk it and chance being reprimanded by the driver again for ‘jumping the gun’ like she had in the past. The weather was far too agreeable today, and there were more important matters for her to attend to.

  During her half-hour ride home from school, Lauren focused on what passed by on either side through the windows and remained inobtrusive and somewhat listless while the adjacent juvenile majority carried on like a three-ring circus. In her silence, she couldn’t help but overhear the other children nearby gab and rattle off at the mouth about random topics, most of which she considered inane and petty.

  Lauren just couldn’t help it. Most of what her fellow classmates chattered about was of no interest to her. Elementary school thus far had been a breeze. Her grades had been exemplary. But the fifth grade had been a learning process for her, seemingly less concerned with education, and more connected with popularity and acceptance.

  It was one big party. A contest in which one could only be subjugated by showing off, engaging in the oftentimes cruel intimidation of others, and being the loudest, most infantile-acting member in the band. Lauren had zero interest in any of those behaviors.

  The loudest ones in the room, or bus, in this case, were the weakest. They’re the least of my worries, Lauren thought.

  At least that was what her father had told her, though not verbatim, a couple of years before—his own words entangled and aligned with cherry-picked quotes from movies. Lauren had grown to find confidence in it and accept the axiom as true, but not before finding the need to test it.

  Peering across the aisle, she flashed a friendly smile at a girl in bright pink plastic-framed glasses. Her generous blond locks were pulled into pigtails that fanned out at the ends as if static electricity were actively tugging on each strand of hair. Eliza was a grade below Lauren, and they had met earlier in the year when Eliza’s family had moved in a few doors down after her dad’s job had relocated him to the area.

  Eliza was busily darting her eyes around, passing off askance looks at the other children on the bus. She was an incredibly intelligent child, but also quiet and backward, unsure of herself, making her no match for the other first-string players in the ongoing popularity games. As such, she’d initially been bullied by several of her classmates, and Lauren had been the first to stand up for her, bloodying a boy’s nose and blackening another’s eye in the course of it, and finding herself in a bit of trouble as a result.

  “It’s the quiet ones you need to look out for, L…They will be the ones to rise up—certain to astound us all someday. So watch out for them and stand up for them, even when no one else does. God made all of us equally, and popularity is just as pedantic as it is impermanent. So be kind to others as often as you can, especially to those no one else cares to, like the quiet ones. Always root for the underdog.”

  Lauren blamed her father for her integrity and for always feeling the need to do what was right—especially if it found her in some sort of trouble as a consequence. But each time she performed a good deed, helped someone along, or defended what she felt was right and honest, she could feel herself becoming a better person. She was as
cending a stairway into an honorable maturity, unlike so many others in her generation. Lauren was merely just beginning to understand the source and significance of her undying sense of right and wrong, and regardless of her dad’s involvement or influence, it wouldn’t be long before she would learn to take ownership of it.

  The sun was shining brightly today, and the air outside was warm and comforting. A gentle breeze was blowing, offering a pleasant, ideal climate for outdoor activities, and all Lauren could think about was changing into a pair of shorts and flip-flops and heading outside to play so she could feel the sun’s warmth on her skin. But she wanted to finish her math homework first.

  At the point the bus was heard screeching to a halt at the intersection with her street, Lauren slid out of her seat and traipsed to the front of the bus while hurdling over an assortment of legs, feet, and bookbags.

  She waved bye to Eliza after hopping off, assured her she’d be back outside in about an hour, then headed for the driveway, surprised to find her dad’s car in its normal spot. It wasn’t unusual to see him home at this hour, but it wasn’t exactly customary either, and Lauren rushed to the house after briefly checking the mailbox to see if anything inside was addressed to her.

  As she approached the front door, she could hear the school bus pulling away while another similar-sounding engine was pulling up. As the noise drew closer, Lauren turned to see a UPS truck veering on to the edge of her driveway.

  She pulled her hand away from the door, turned, and hopped down from the porch as the driver stopped his engine and disappeared into the back. A moment later, the brown-uniformed man opened the rear door and jumped out, sliding several boxes to the edge and stacking them onto a dolly.

  Lauren remained wary, inching her way closer while keeping a semblance of a safe distance away from the driver and his truck. After a quick glimpse at the boxes, she distinguished a familiar yellow, rectangular logo. It contained the business name Carolina Readiness Supply in an easy-to-read, luminous, vivid red font.

  On each box, a personal note had been inscribed with a black Sharpie, thanking her father for his patronage. They were even signed by someone calling herself ‘Jan’.

  Great, Lauren thought. More prepper crap.

  After the driver had finished stacking and arranging his load, he angled the dolly and pulled on it energetically, sending Lauren a warm smile as he wheeled past her. “Afternoon, young lady. Is this your stuff? I might need you to help me with it…It’s heavier than it looks. You look pretty strong to me.”

  Lauren didn’t respond, but coldly scrutinized his stares at her arms.

  He shrugged while regarding the house and driveway. “Are your folks home? Or are you alone today?”

  Lauren knew full well never to offer a reply to such questions, no matter how innocent the situation felt or appeared. The answers provided far too much information to the inquiring person. She was a lanky eighty-five pounds, barely four and a half feet tall, and the UPS driver was every bit of three times her age and twice her size.

  Even if she was home alone, it was always best for everyone, excluding family and trustworthy friends, to be none the wiser. It was a mindset both her parents had drilled into her for as long as she could remember. The world was an expressly dangerous place for young people and was worsening by the day, even if it didn’t appear to be on the surface. All that was needed for the most unsuspecting of persons to engage in immoral acts was opportunity.

  Lauren rolled her eyes at the driver while facing him and shuffling her feet carefully in the direction of safety. She’d seen him delivering packages in the neighborhood before, and therefore didn’t consider him a danger to her. But that didn’t obstruct her from calling him out. “Don’t you think that’s an inappropriate question for an adult to ask a kid?”

  The UPS driver tilted his head, a bit taken aback. “Sorry…I was just trying to be friendly. I suppose you’re probably right about that, though. My bad.”

  “My parents work from home, by the way,” Lauren said. “They’re always here.”

  “That’s good, I guess.” The driver turned to scan the boxes with his tablet. “I’ve been making a lot of deliveries to this address lately. If you don’t mind me asking, is your dad a prepper or something?”

  Lauren didn’t miss a beat. “I do mind you asking.”

  The driver turned to her with an awkward smile, hesitating before handing her the tablet, allowing Lauren to scribble her name on the screen.

  The driver pressed a few buttons on the tablet while verifying Lauren’s youthful John Hancock. “I didn’t think you kids still knew how to do cursive.” He paused a second, smirking at Lauren. “What’s your dad’s first name? I gotta have it for my records.”

  Lauren turned away, heading back to the porch. “Alan. And you can just leave those beside the garage door.”

  After going inside and locking the door behind her, Lauren strode to the kitchen to drop off her backpack and grab a drink. A glass of her favorite pulp-free orange juice in hand, she scanned the house for signs of her father and, upon finding none, guessed he was probably in his office, where he could normally be found when no one else was home. She removed the homework folder from her backpack and cradled it under her arm, and with OJ in hand, she bounded the stairs, heading for her room.

  Along the way, she passed by the door to her father’s office. It was closed, but Lauren could hear indiscernible noises and chattering coming from the other side. She assumed he was playing with his radios again, something she didn’t fully understand and never really cared to before. The subject just seemed so way over her head and far too complicated. It was definitely nowhere near as fun or exciting as riding a bike, taking a run through the woods, playing on the swing set with her neighborhood friends, or even digging in the dirt, looking for buried artifacts or perhaps even worms.

  Placing her ear to the door, Lauren eavesdropped for a moment, trying to determine what she was hearing. It sounded akin to static or white noise of some kind, but the static was being interrupted by recurrent beeping tones, which sounded rhythmic at times. They carried their own cadence, similar to that of a human heartbeat or a pulse.

  Lauren had other things to do, but she needed to let her dad know about his packages. She took a step back and knocked on the door.

  “Friend? Or foe?” Her dad’s voice beckoned through the door’s amalgamated, hollow structure.

  “Foe.”

  “The door is open, L. Come on in. Just be mindful that I’m armed and relatively dangerous.”

  Lauren smirked at the response. This wasn’t their typical daily exchange, but she knew her father was the type of person who took pride in keeping everyone guessing, even her.

  Alan’s eyes were immediately drawn to her over top his computer monitor upon her entry. His expression became pliable, and he smiled at Lauren proudly. “Hey, you. Home from school already?”

  “I get home from school at the same time every day.”

  “Good point.”

  “And I should be the one asking you why you’re home so early.”

  “Another good point. Company meeting today. They were kind enough to send us on our way after they got done divulging how profitable we were, how awesome we’ve been for the year, and how happy our customers are with us…along with a bunch of other lies.”

  “Hmm…sounds like fun,” Lauren said. “UPS delivered a package for you—another one. It’s outside in front of the garage. I signed for it.”

  “Cool, I appreciate that, L. Who’s the package from?”

  “Some Carolina Readiness store,” Lauren muttered, a snide tone marking her words. “It’s more of that prepper cra—stuff of yours.”

  Alan nodded. “Probably that food sampler I ordered a few days ago. I want to take it with us on our next outing so we can test it out.”

  “So we can see if it’s…palatable?”

  Alan snickered. “Flavor is pretty significant, don’t you think?”

  �
��Hmm…I think you use mom and me as your guinea pigs,” Lauren mused. “The last stuff you bought tasted bland…like sawdust. Of course, I’ve never actually eaten sawdust.”

  “In point of fact, L, you very likely have, along with the rest of modern society,” said Alan. “Check the ingredients next time for something called cellulose. It’s wood pulp, an FDA-approved food additive.”

  Lauren’s face bunched up. “Eww. Gross.”

  “At least it adds fiber to your diet.”

  Her interest in what she was hearing but not able to see was steadily increasing. “So, what are you doing? Sounds weird. I could hear it from out in the hallway.”

  Alan offered a hand, waving her in. “Don’t just stand there…curiosity may have killed the cat, but not in my house. Come see for yourself.”

  Lauren circled her father’s desk and moved in closer to him. Just as she had predicted, he had a radio turned on. But instead of a microphone, he was holding a computer mouse in his hand.

  The monitor displayed a window of a brand of software she didn’t recognize. In the middle of the window was a zigzagging line with multiple colors cascading underneath in a constant moving spectrum.

  “What’s this?” she asked, pointing at the screen. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

  “That’s because you haven’t. It’s called Fldigi. That stands for ‘fast light digital modem’. It works with my computer’s sound card. You can do a lot with it, but I’ve been using it as a visual aid.”