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

by C. A. Rudolph

  “I’m sorry,” said Lauren. “And I’m even more sorry you had to find out this way.”

  “Oh, dear…it’s not your fault. Mother had been sick for some time, and I’m certain Father did everything he could, in light of the circumstances. I do wish to thank you for providing me with this letter. Believe it or not, right now it means the world to me.” He paused. “But I feel as though I should ask…exactly what were you doing inside my parents’ home?”

  Lauren looked away at first. “We were looking for a doctor, and your father’s name was first on our list.” She spent the next few minutes explaining the predicament in the valley to Dr. Vincent and his wife as they keenly listened to her heartfelt story. Then Lauren posed a rather straightforward request, one she hadn’t found time to rehearse.

  The doctors both drew back, offering her puzzled looks.

  “I imagine my parents’ home was in quite a state of disarray,” Jim Vincent said, “being vacant and uncared for so long after a disaster like this one.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t. Everything looked in place, as far as I could see.”

  “Really…”

  Lauren shrugged. “Mm-hmm. The floors, walls, even the windows were all nearly spotless. I think the front door might need replacing, or at least some new hinges, but other than that…”

  “Interesting. I take it the intolerant jackass who decided to kick it in didn’t take a few moments to look for the hide-a-key under the porch?”

  Lauren felt embarrassed. The time when Christian had been so adamant in searching for the key to Sugar Knob Cabin months ago came to mind. She didn’t respond.

  Dr. Vincent smiled as his wife whispered something into his ear. “Young lady, I’m only pulling your leg again. Your friends here just rescued us from this hellhole and those appalling ingrates. God only knows what they would’ve had in store for us. Simply put, my wife and I both feel as though we are in your debt. I assume, if we join you, there will be accommodations for us?”

  Elated, Lauren nearly jumped for joy. “Sure…I’ll let you have my room if need be. Thank you. Thank you both so much.”

  Both doctors continued on, waving as they walked off.

  “Well, wasn’t that altogether serendipitous,” Dave said wryly with an irreverent smirk. “You might wanna find some wood and rap your knuckles on it, Janey. Things typically don’t come to pass in that fashion without divine intervention or some added luck.”

  “Yeah,” Lauren said, shrugging. “I’m…blown away, actually. I can’t believe any of this is happening.” She peeked at her forearm. “It’s giving me goose bumps.”

  “Well, it may be giving you goose bumps, but it’s making my stomach growl. I’m so hungry right now, I could eat a Clydesdale.” Dave glanced downward and tapped Lauren on the belly. “I think I heard an echo in there, kid. I know you haven’t exactly been taking the best care of yourself, by the looks of you. When’s the last time you put any food in that diminutive stomach of yours?”

  “I honestly can’t remember.”

  “Then it’s been too long.” Gently, Dave put his arm around Lauren and pulled her in tightly to him. “Come on. The men are setting up a DFAC not too far from here. Let’s go find you some chow.”

  Chapter 10

  Allegany County, Maryland

  Saturday, December 4th. Present day

  Lauren paced through the camp, making her way through hordes of lifeless bodies and piles of rubble, searching for a comfortable place to sit down and eat. As she strolled, the savory aroma of a freshly cooked freeze-dried entrée tugged at her nose from the confines of a mylar bag she held in her grasp.

  She found an older 4x4 wagon parked among several others and took a stroll around it, giving it a good once-over, noticing a set of keys still dangled from the ignition. Moving to the rear, she opened the tailgate, then propped open the windowed rear upper door and slid herself in to take a seat with her feet dangling inches off the ground. With each oversized spoonful of beef stroganoff she placed in her mouth, she swung her legs back and forth merrily with youthful eagerness, in a way reminiscent of her childhood, suspended in a swing set.

  The spot Lauren had chosen sat up higher than most of the camp and provided her with a good vantage point. The truck was an antique, painted in a nearly flawless baby blue, and it stood out to her from the other vehicles in proximity.

  Lauren inspected the insides of the mylar bag, regarding the nearly purged contents of her meal and scraped free one last spoonful. Then, from the far corner of her outlying vision, she caught sight of a slender man in MultiCam ACUs approaching from the passenger side of the truck to her rear. She turned to see who it was, recognizing him instantly as the youngest member of Dave’s original unit, someone she remembered well and, for reasons only she knew, had long ago tried her best to forget.

  Upon realizing he’d been spotted, Richie strolled up to Lauren casually without pause. “LT told me to bring you another one of these. Told me you might want more,” he said, reaching out to hand Lauren another mylar bag of beef stroganoff, and steam wafted from the top while his eyes probed her. “You must be special. The troops only get one serving of chow per sitting. It’s not entirely clear to me why you’re entitled to two, but here you go.”

  Lauren squinted her eyes at him before reaching for the food, managing to take possession of it only after a pedantic game of cat and mouse. She gestured her thanks. “Not special. Just hungry.” Dismissing him, she started shoveling portions into her mouth with little affection.

  “Hello to you, too. Still a woman of very few words, I see.” Richie took a few steps forward while arranging his rifle to his side and out of the way. He moved closer and widened his stance in front of her, puffed his chest out and obstructed her view. “I guess some things never change.”

  Lauren continued to nourish herself while doing what she could to ignore Richie, but she knew from prior experience if she didn’t give him even the slightest bit of recognition, he would never leave her be. “Can you move out of the way, please?” she asked. “You’re blocking my view.”

  “What view? There’s nothing to look at down there anyway except a bunch of men working.” Richie jutted his chin. “Is it too much to ask for some undivided attention from you?”

  “At the moment, yes.”

  He rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”

  Lauren shot her eyes at him, her mouth half-full of food. “You know something, Richie? You’re right. Some things never change. Like you, for instance. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen you. And you’re still a dick.”

  Richie guffawed. “And boom! Like a grenade…there she is. It never has taken much effort to crack that shell.”

  “Well, maybe if you hadn’t pulled the pin…”

  He knelt on one knee after noticing a boot lace had gotten loose. While re-tying it, he looked Lauren up and down. “So, seriously. How’ve you been? I know it’s been a while. You look…I don’t know…good, by the way. All things considered.”

  Lauren coughed, gagged, and nearly spit out her food. Recovering, she glared at him coldly. “What the hell did you just say to me?”

  Richie shrugged. “I just said you look good. It’s been like what…a year? You just look like…I don’t know…like you’ve matured. Like you’ve turned into a woman or something.”

  “Richie, do yourself a favor. Stop fishing. This isn’t the time or the place, and I can assure you, right now I’m really not in the mood.”

  “Oh Jesus, stop it. Come on. Why do you have to act like that? Just let the past die already.”

  “The feedback you’re getting from me in this moment has nothing whatsoever to do with the past,” Lauren barked.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. For some reason, here you are again, somehow trying to insinuate that I’m not over you. Same as always.”

  “Why deny it?” Richie poked. “It’s obvious you’re not.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. Like I’ve told you
countless times before, there’s nothing for me to get over.”

  “Well, I beg to differ.”

  “Beg all you want,” Lauren jeered. “You can even grovel and genuflect…like you did when you wanted that second date we never had.”

  Richie rose and stood over her after he finished arranging himself. “Ha, very funny. Fine, explain the hostility, then. What reason do you have to be so combative with me?”

  “You’ve never seen me be combative.”

  “Whatever. We planned this assault for an objective unrelated to you…and wound up rescuing you and your friends in the process. We’ve quartered you, and now, we’re feeding you—hint, we’re taking care of you.”

  Lauren tilted her head, pursing her lips. “Do you intend to arrive at a point?”

  Richie tried his best to appear irritated. “My point is, in view of your position, I expect some gratitude. I even decided to offer you a compliment just now, in spite of the fact that you really…don’t look good. What you really look like is hell warmed over, and you could definitely use a bath. Maybe even two.”

  Lauren set her food to the side and jumped down from the tailgate. She pushed her chest into Richie, cutting her eyes at him and forcing him to back away. “You know, Richie, it has been a long time since we’ve seen each other. And while some things never change, the declaration isn’t universal. I’m not the same person I used to be. Watch what you say to me.”

  Richie held up his hands and backed several feet away as his expression contorted and turned. “Okay, okay. Obviously, somebody is down in the dumps today. I’ll give you what you want, as usual. It worked then, so maybe it will work now. I’ll leave you alone. Maybe when you’re not so bitchy, we can talk again.”

  “Or maybe not.”

  “Have it your way,” Richie shot back. “I’m out of here, but I’m going to leave you with some words of advice. When people go out of their way to be nice to you—and, well, save your life, you should be thankful for it—you know, show some appreciation. Someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do might not find your behavior this amusing. You really never have known how to take a compliment.”

  Lauren shook her head and laughed herself into hysterics as she scooted back onto the truck’s tailgate and reached for her food. She placed a spoonful of stroganoff into her mouth and spoke mannerlessly as she chewed. “You might find this amusing, Richie…but, there’s a chance you and I might be even now.”

  “Even? How in the hell are we even?”

  “Because the last person who implied that I didn’t know how to take a compliment died suddenly.”

  Richie laughed. “And let me guess. You killed him, right?”

  Lauren hopped down again and strolled nonchalantly over to him. She contemplated him, then pursed her lips and nodded. “I pushed a blade through his throat and shoved it into his brain stem…after I dumped a magazine of eight rounds in his chest.”

  Richie scoffed, his expression denoting he was unsure whether to believe her. “And that somehow makes us even, huh?”

  Lauren gritted her teeth as her gaze turned virulent. She nodded. “It does. Because twenty seconds ago, I just saved your life.”

  Chapter 11

  With Richie deciding to take his leave of her, Lauren enjoyed a few minutes to herself to eat alone and undisturbed. It wasn’t long, though, before Dave Graham joined her, bringing along with him a meal of his own, along with several bottles of water and a stainless-steel thermos.

  He handed a bottle to Lauren, motioning to the truck bed. “You good and comfortable, young lady?”

  “About as good and comfortable as my fourth point of contact can be.”

  He grimaced, then smirked. “Cute. Mind if I cop a squat?”

  Lauren shrugged and tossed her tousled hair over a shoulder. “It’s a free country.”

  Dave grinned and slid himself onto the truck’s tailgate about a foot away, and it creaked under his weight. “I think calling it a free-for-all is more accurate.” He took a bite of his meal with a long plastic spoon similar to the one Lauren was using. “So. You wanna start giving me the scoop on how you all wound up here? I think I can theorize the gist, but you know me, Janey, I’m recklessly meticulous. I prefer to hear the nitty-gritty when and if I’m able.”

  Lauren swallowed a mouthful and nodded, then took a drink of water to wash it down, only now beginning to feel even slightly reenergized. “Dr. Vincent’s house was in Wardensville, not far away from the valley. We were just going to head straight back if we found him there and worry about everything else later. Since that didn’t work out, the next stop was Moorefield using Corridor H the whole way. We wouldn’t encounter many overpasses on that route, and Fred seemed to appreciate that aspect…he said that overpasses were predisposed for ambushes…and ambushes get people killed.”

  She paused a moment, wiping her mouth on her sleeve while recalling the point in time when she’d seen Bo Brady fall. “As it turned out, his concerns were justified. Moorefield was just a part of our itinerary. One of the guys in our group had access to an underground bunker he claimed was full of food and rations—something we needed desperately. So, before continuing our search for the doctor, we went there first…and he wasn’t exaggerating. There must’ve been enough food to feed a city of people for years down there. But we didn’t have the means to transport it all, so we planned to return on our way back home and make additional trips as needed.”

  Dave turned his head to her. “You know, Janey, forgive me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression at least two people involved behind the scenes, namely Fred and your father, had both prepared long in advance for this sort of…disaster.”

  “Both of them did, but there have been a lot of…extenuating circumstances since then. Many of the variables changed—just as variables tend to do,” said Lauren. “Sometimes they exceed your expectations, no matter what you plan for. And in our case, they got a lot more arduous.”

  Dave bobbed his head. “I get that,” he said, digging into his food. “And I’m sorry for interrupting your story. Please continue.”

  Lauren smiled grimly and leaned forward. “We took Route 220 north out of Moorefield. Fred took the lead in his Humvee, and we followed in Norman’s truck. Fred was nervous about the trip, and he had every right to be. I remember driving on that road years ago with Dad. It has tight turns, hills, switchbacks…you name it. In addition to overpasses, there’s about a hundred places to get ambushed in the thirty miles between Moorefield and Keyser.”

  Lauren paused, taking another drink of water. She twisted the top back on and set the bottle down, a fretful look settling in as she recounted the fateful day. Had it not been for the man sitting beside her, it surely could have signified the end for her and those closest to her. Those thoughts weighed on her immensely, and she would be certain never to forget them.

  She continued. “About ten or twelve miles north of Moorefield, Fred radioed back to us when we came to the first overpass. He said to drive under in one lane and change lanes underneath, so we’d be in the right lane going in and the left lane coming out. I took that to mean he was worried someone could toss something at us from above.”

  “Generally,” Dave inserted. “Not always, though. It’s still a judicious practice.”

  “The first overpass made us all jumpy. Me, Austin, and Bo were in the back of Norman’s truck. I had my rifle trained on the bridge the entire time. If I saw somebody pop their head out, I was going to shoot it off. But I didn’t, and it was an amazing feeling to get out of there unscathed. Then, about a mile later, the next one came, and once again, we went under and did our lane change. And then, it felt amazing again—for about forty-five seconds until we got to the next overpass. After that, the mood went to hell in a handbasket.”

  Lauren paused again as she put the pieces of the story back together in her mind. “Fred swerved to the left, and Norman swerved right, and everyone jumped out of their vehicles to find cover. Fred went weapons ho
t on the bridge in a microsecond—yelled at the rest of us to do the same. There were so many men up there, I couldn’t count them all at first glance, and all I saw were muzzle blasts. I ducked behind Norman’s truck and pushed myself against the rear wheel. They unloaded on us for several minutes before any of us could even return fire.”

  “They were disabling the vehicles,” said Dave. “Fire was concentrated on the engine blocks, radiators, tires, and so on.”

  “Yeah. No human targets at first. They just peppered the living shit out of the vehicles. The Humvee took it well—guess it was made for that sort of thing. But they turned Norman’s truck into Swiss cheese…as if his poor Dodge hadn’t seen enough abuse already. It died on the road that day in about five minutes…before Bo did.”

  “Was he the boy’s father?”

  Lauren nodded. “Yeah. When we were finally able to return fire, it was mostly in panic. We were shooting back just to keep them from pinning us down, even though they’d already accomplished that. I couldn’t get any clear shots. They were hiding behind the concrete barriers and angling their guns over top, shooting wildly. In fact, most of their shots were wild, except for the one that hit Bo in his head. That one was well placed. It happened right beside me.”

  Lauren paused, closing her eyes a moment. “At first, I thought it was me who got hit. All I saw was blood on my shoulder. I thought I died and I was looking at myself…after…from some other perspective. But when I heard Austin’s cries, I knew it wasn’t, and for a moment, I was thankful it wasn’t me. Then I saw Bo’s body. Things kinda went into a blur from there on out. I really don’t recollect much of anything until Fred started screaming my name.”