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

by C. A. Rudolph

  Lauren didn’t see anyone else she knew, and she didn’t know if this man was the only remaining agitator in the crowd. But she could sense after what she had done, she had a red bull’s-eye painted on her, and anyone choosing to side with him who had seen him fall would be next to strike.

  She wasted no time in preparing herself. Lauren returned the M70 to a firing position while scouring the angered faces within the mob, gauging them with scrutiny. Soon, she was relieved to see several of Dave’s men approach with weapons at the ready, providing her friendly nods and confident looks.

  Lauren placed her boot on the man’s right wrist, now finally having the chance to see what his choice of weapon had been. She shuddered at the sight of a large-diameter hypodermic needle in his grasp. She could only guess what the contents inside the cylinder were, and there was no telling what would’ve happened had the needle made contact with her friend.

  The man lay there writhing in pain, using his free hand to survey the damage levied on his face.

  “I suggest you play nice from here on out,” Lauren hissed, pointing the barrel of her AK mere inches from him. “What’s in the needle?”

  The man started struggling under the weight of her boot, and Lauren didn’t think she’d be able to subdue him much longer. As she pushed down hard, ready to repeat her question, Woo Tang approached from behind and relocated her, motioning in earnest for her to back away.

  Pushing his carbine to the side, he knelt and removed the syringe from the man’s hand. “You are not one for following orders, are you?” Woo Tang asked, reaching for a set of zip cuffs. “I could have sworn I told you to remain with the convoy.”

  Lauren backed away a few steps. “Orders? I didn’t know you were pulling rank on me. I didn’t even know I had a rank.”

  “One does not need to possess a rank for one to behave sensibly.” He rose after securing the man’s wrists, adjusted his gear, then ogled the syringe. “It would please me greatly if you guided yourself at a snail’s pace into this. It truly should not be rushed. Do you understand?”

  Lauren hesitated, remembering her recent injury and reaching for the soreness in the back of her head. “Yes. I’m sorry, Jae. I do understand.”

  “Very well.” He dropped the syringe and smashed it with his boot, then eased through the crowd of former combatants to make them aware of his presence. Their eyes boggled at the sight of the sword on his back.

  “Why are you fighting us?” a male voice from deep within bellowed, vexation marking his tone. “Aren’t you guys the damn military? For crying out loud! One minute, you’re here to rescue us, and the next minute, you’re throwing punches? What kind of army are you?”

  Sanchez brushed past Lauren and pushed through the crowd to the man. He puffed his chest out, squared off with him, then banged his fists on his rib cage. “Army? Listen, brah…you have us mixed up with another crew. The military takes orders from ‘the man’. We don’t. In case you haven’t noticed, while you were busy being captured and shit, the country has fallen, homie. And if you want to know why we’re fighting you, maybe you should ask some of your peckerhead, racist friends…because if you roll back the play-by-play, it was you mofos who started it. We saw our brothers getting pushed around, so we provided an appropriate response—and opened a can of whoop ass.”

  Another man hobbled out from the group, to all appearances unhurt and unscathed, as if he had never thrown or received a punch during the melee. He was shorter than most and overweight, looking as though he’d helped himself to a few more daily meals than others in present company. “But, daddy, he hit me first, he hurt my feelings, blah, blah, blah,” the stocky man said, his tone scornful and emulating that of a younger, petulant child. “You two sound like a couple of bratty, whiney preschoolers.” He paused, moving in closer. “Who cares who started the fight? The real question is what took you guys so long to get here? We’ve been stuck here for weeks. Ain’t no reason why it should take this long for help to arrive…guess there were other pressing matters. You all really know how to take your good ole time.”

  Sanchez cocked his head and cracked his knuckles. “The hell you just say to me, fat man? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  The man skirted even closer. “You’re correct. We haven’t, until now.” He adjusted his olive green tactical cap, on which a frayed Velcro patch was attached, displaying an oak leaf. “I’m Major Frank Gardner of the Potomac Trailblazer militia, acting CO of this regiment. I also happen to be the only remaining regional commander of the patriot movement around these parts.”

  Sanchez’s dark eyes gleamed. He cackled loudly and sent along a derisive grin. “Really? Militia, huh? Puta madre—that’s friggin’ adorable. Well, Major…and forgive me for not saluting, I’m Sergeant Carlos Santiago Lorenzo Sanchez, former scout sniper…but still lean, still mean, and still very much a Marine. And while you sissy Carls were safe at home chugging PBR, bragging about how badass you were, pissing in fire pits, banging each other’s old ladies, and playing footsies, I was in-country getting my hands dirty being the badass you always wanted to be…painting the sand with the blood of my enemies, vaporizing tangos from a thousand meters out and making it look easy.”

  Major Frank laughed, his belly jiggling along. “Well, I’ll be damned. I appreciate your service, scout sniper. And don’t worry yourself about the salute…I’ll overlook it, for now.”

  “Coño…spoken like a true pendejo.”

  “And just so you know…while grunts and leathernecks like you were in-country, we stayed home for good reason…so we could take care of business, not to mention the old ladies you fellas left behind to go off and fight yet another stupid political war.”

  Sanchez’s eyes narrowed into slits, and he looked away while pointing a finger. “I’m going to warn you, fat man. I will chop your male parts off in front of you and force-feed them to you while you scream…that is, if I can find them.”

  Lauren took turns watching Sanchez jaw back and forth with the militiamen, and looking around for indications of inbound threats. Woo Tang rejoined her a minute later, and the two were eventually joined by Dave Graham, and he wasn’t the least bit pleased with what he was seeing.

  “What in the name of Sam Hill is going on here?” Dave demanded, his tone abrupt.

  “We encountered a substantial disagreement upon our arrival,” replied Woo Tang.

  “Disagreement? With each other?”

  Woo Tang shook his head. “It was more of a rescuer versus rescuee type of thing.”

  Dave scoffed. “That’s a new one. Ain’t that something.”

  The Korean-American shrugged his shoulders. “I know, right? I do not yet know the full story, but it appears there were some choice words exchanged between some of Staff Sergeant Reese’s unit and this group of irregulars. The scuffle broke out when we arrived.”

  “Not exactly what I’d call the attitude of gratitude, but whatever. Irregulars, huh? Militia?”

  “They refer to themselves as the Potomac Trailblazers.”

  “I see,” Dave deliberated, studying the crowd. “A lot of young faces over there. Looks like a damn Boy Scout troop meeting.” He paused, letting out a sigh. “I finally located Tim…he’s with the medics getting patched up. Had himself a close encounter with a thirty-caliber tracer.”

  Woo Tang peered over gravely. “What is his status?”

  “Down for the count, for now. And he’s not the only one. We lost a few on this one…places us in a bit of a pickle.”

  “I’m sorry about your men,” Lauren said.

  “Makes two of us, Janey.”

  Woo Tang pursed his lips. “Three.”

  “Is Tim going to be all right?”

  “Wound’s in his upper arm, near the shoulder blade,” replied Dave. “He got lucky…problem is, he doesn’t think a hostile shot him. Says it was one of these jokers. It apparently happened after the rescue.”

  “That might explain the exchange of words,” Woo Tang said. “We will
need to monitor these men closely, then. The fight was turbulent. Very close to getting out of hand.”

  Dave spit on the ground. “Message received. If it materializes again, shoot them, Tang. All of them.”

  “Hooyah.”

  Dave watched as the heated argument between Sanchez and Major Frank intensified and shared a glance with both Lauren and Woo Tang before finally breaking away. “Jesus. You know…I can’t take you all anywhere.”

  He then made a beeline directly to Sanchez. Grabbing him by his ear, Dave pulled the Marine aside and away from the others. “Hey, Taco! Calm your tits for a hot minute! What’s gotten into you? Whatever happened to respecting human dignity? Respect and concern for your fellow man? All that Semper Fi, jarhead-honor-code shit?”

  Sanchez pulled away from Dave in protest. “Fuck human dignity, and he ain’t my fellow man. If these guys want respect, they’d better show me some respect. These pretend go-to-war wannabes are nothing but a bunch of ingrates!” His voice bellowed loud enough for all to hear as his expression boiled. “The next camp we come to, if we find any more of these guys, I’m gonna let the tangos cook and eat them, because that’s what they deserve. Why should I lift a finger to save these unappreciative sons of bitches again?”

  Dave tried for several minutes to calm Sanchez down, but found his endeavors pointless. Sanchez ultimately stormed away, leaving all his gear behind save his rifle.

  Dave sighed in disgust, then placed his fingers between his lips and whistled. “All right! Attention, company! If you prefer to remain in my good graces, listen up! We’ve been working our butts off lately, and I know we’ve all been on edge, myself included. Today, it looks as though we’ve reached a point where it’s beginning to seriously influence our judgment. As such, some modifications are in order.” He rotated on his heels. “Change of plans, ladies. As of right now, everyone under my command is hereby placed on standby for the next twenty-four hours at minimum. Sentries and night watch will be assigned by the squad leaders, and we will rotate in and out of those duties for the duration. But the rest of you, consider yourselves officially voluntold to relax and have mandatory fun.” He paused. “There is one single proviso, so listen up, folks. Read me Lima Charlie, as I am unbendable on this. I have zero tolerance for infighting and rebellious behavior. There will not be any more of this shit.”

  Dave pointed to the group of militiamen, who had now all gathered together along and behind the rotund and seemingly foolhardy Major Frank. “And if I see any of you window lickers accosting my men, verbally, physically, or even carnally, especially after being decent enough to deliver you all from the jaws of Satan, I’ll hang every single one of you upside down by your toenails with fishhooks. You’d be smart not to test me, because I do not bluff.

  “Despite our apparent differences, we are all fighting for the same purpose, and unless I’m mistaken, or you fellas aren’t actual members of the so-called patriot movement, whatever’s left of it, that purpose is the restoration of our country to a condition not unlike our founding fathers intended. We have all spent entirely too much time in discord. A populous divided politically, racially, religiously, socially, financially—you name it…because we were all too stupid to prevent it from happening. I’m here to inform you, the time for that shit to end is here. And it ends tonight.”

  Dave took several steps forward into the group. “Make a hole,” he directed. “I see a lot of unhappy faces, so allow me to attach some good news to this. To help alleviate some of the bitterness, tonight we’ll have ourselves a little shindig, complete with fire and fellowship, and I’m providing refreshments. One of my trucks is crammed with an assortment of confiscated cans and bottles…and I’m not talking about tea, water, or Snapple, either. Maintain your virtuous behavior, show a little goodwill toward your fellow man, and you are all welcome to attend and partake. Does anyone present in the recently eradicated prison camp take issue with anything I have just said?”

  A moment of silence passed before Dave finished with, “Nothing heard. Imagine that. You’re dismissed.”

  Chapter 19

  Town of New Creek

  Mineral County, West Virginia

  Sunday, December 5th. Late Evening. Present day

  “I just don’t know what I’m gonna do,” a disheveled man repeated for the third time, his tone dispirited. He held his hands open, warming them against the fire as it crackled, sending embers soaring into the night sky overhead. “I mean…we’re free now, I guess, but at what cost? What good is it? I don’t know where to go from here. Those men…they burned my house to the ground, and they took my wife and son from me…and I have no idea where either of them is now.” His body trembled, and he began sobbing. “They’re probably dead…they were all I had, and now they’re probably both dead. And I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  Another man spoke after turning up a can of domestic-brand beer and slurping down a long frothy gulp. “Joe’s got a good point. What the hell are any of us supposed to do? Where the hell do we go? Those of us that still have homes don’t have much left to go home to. And most of us don’t even know where our families are. What kind of life is that? I’ll tell you what kind of life it is. Without our wives and children, we have no life.”

  Major Frank emerged from the group and stumbled in closer to the fire. He belched a few times and rubbed his belly before tossing an empty bottle of rye whiskey into the flames. “Well, maybe if our rescue party would’ve shown up a wee bit sooner, we wouldn’t be having this discussion,” he slurred. “And maybe Joe’s house wouldn’t be burned to the ground…and his family would still be there. Maybe everybody’s families would still be here. Maybe nothing would’ve happened…we could’ve prevented all this mess if somebody would’ve just stepped up and stopped this shit when they should have.”

  “The government is to blame!” a voice shouted. “They’re the ones that did it to us!”

  “Damn right they did. They’re always to blame,” the major slurred. “Damn politicians never did anything to help us, much less protect the homeland.”

  “And the government runs the military! They get their orders from the president! That’s why you can’t trust either one!”

  The crowd howled chants of agreement.

  “Then you-know-what hits the fan, they declare martial law, and the National Guard and military take over everything!” another highly intoxicated man groaned. “And we don’t stand a chance. Martial fuckin’ law…”

  “Sounds about right to me,” a younger man said, his contorted face bursting with alcohol-induced grief and repugnance. “I’d always heard anyone with any respect for his oath would never take up arms against the citizens. But that’s where the whole enemies foreign and domestic clause comes in. That’s us. We’re the enemies domestic. An’ they treat us no better than terrorists.”

  “Right! And if the government wasn’t involved with this EMP business somehow, why in the hell didn’t they come out here and help us?”

  “That’s easy,” another gruff, inebriated voice murmured. “Because they don’t give a shit.”

  “Speaking of giving a shit…if the damn Army and Navy and Marine boys gave a shit about the oath they took, why didn’t they do something about our government a long time ago, for heaven’s sake? They could’ve gone straight to Washington a long damn time ago and arrested all them tyrant politicians. Hell—they should’ve hanged them at the steps of the Capitol—just like Tom Jefferson would’ve!”

  “What happened to all the veterans we always heard about?”

  Major Frank spoke again. “That’s a good point, Walter. How many times did veterans, both inside and outside our ranks, brag about how they were all sitting back and waiting for the day when the shit hit the fan so they could take up arms and fight for their country again? Buuullshit! Now where are they? Because I don’t see a damn one of them. Bunch of worthless has-beens.”

  A younger man with bruises on his face stepped forward so his voice
could be heard. “They’re probably all holed up in the same place together,” he said. “Probably in some bunker underground like the one they got underneath Mount Weather or Cheyenne Mountain like WarGames, or one of those other underground places they used to talk about on TV a lot. Somewhere, they’re all hanging out, having a good time, watching all of us suffer.”

  “The government? Or our blessed military?”

  “Or the veterans?”

  “All of them!” a voice heckled. “One’s just as worthless as the other.”

  A man in the middle of the crowd shouted amongst assorted laughter, “Hey, where’s that Mexican tough guy at? Anyone seen him?”

  “Probably tryin’ to find his green card!”

  “Bring his ass back here so we can ask him some of these questions. He said he was a Marine…maybe he’s got some answers for us.”

  “Or maybe he’ll be up for round two.”

  While sitting next to Lauren several yards away from the fire and the crowd of exasperated militiamen, Dave Graham tossed a stick at the ground, his stare locked on target as the group’s verbal desecrations perpetuated. After a moment, he exhaled and rose to his feet. “I’ve had about all I can take of this crap for the night.”

  “You’re not seriously going over there, are you?” Lauren asked, still seated with her legs crossed.

  “I reckon I am.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Ordinarily, I’d think better of it. Damn liquid courage has me feeling bulletproof.”

  Lauren gave him a look of concern. “But you’re not, though.”

  “Think so, huh?” Dave handed her his beer. “Let’s find out. Keep that warm for me. I’ll be back for it in a bit.”

  Lauren nodded reluctantly, watching him stroll away. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”