What's Left of My World (Book 3): We Won't Go Quietly

by C. A. Rudolph

  “Norman?” she asked, her voice halved, broken, and raspy.

  “Hey there. Welcome back to the world of the living,” he said solemnly, the corners of his mouth turning up. “I’ve always known you to be a tough little bird, but you had me worried there. I didn’t think you were going to wake up. Looks like you took quite a hit to your noggin.”

  Lauren rotated her beating head, trying to get a better view of and acquaint herself with her surroundings without drudging up more pain. Towering wooden poles smelling of coal and tar, their top ends hand-carved into daggers, were arranged around her in a circular pattern, their bottom ends tamped solidly into the ground. Looking the other way, Lauren saw roughly thirty other people, mostly men, with several women scattered in their midst. Some stood, others sat, and they stirred and lingered close together, brandishing sullen, disenfranchised looks upon their faces.

  The poles surrounding them formed a cage that reminded Lauren of makeshift stockades used to hold prisoners of war. They were robust, barely moveable, and were doing a respectable job of holding those placed inside in captivity. Only inches separated them, leaving just enough space for a hand and maybe even a forearm to penetrate. They stretched high into the air above, possibly twenty or so feet, and had been tied together with a combination of rope and wire lashings.

  Lauren inhaled through her nose and detected the smell of wood smoke, which was barely enough to overpower the more unpleasant scents lurking nearby. She spotted a large fire some distance away and a large group of people, mostly men, standing near and around it, some in groups, others alone.

  Everything she gazed upon was soiled, filthy, or otherwise polluted, and even mangled. The men all had long, unkempt hair and coarse, disheveled whiskers on their faces and necks. Any women she saw amongst the men were wearing mostly men’s clothing, looked as though they hadn’t showered in ages, and didn’t care to maintain their femininity.

  There were broken-down, abandoned, charred, and even fully burned-out vehicles strewn about, some wrecked and overturned, others not. Trash and refuse was scattered everywhere, having been provided the gift of life by the blustery, autumn winds, which tossed and hurled it from one place to another, littering every square foot of visible landscape. Piles of human waste were noticeable and sporadic. The behavior of the populace was outlandish at best, an ominous cacophony of haunting voices echoing garbled nonsense into the adjoining evening air. The entire environment looked positively frightening, like a backdrop seen or imagined only in the worst of bad dreams, replete with harbingers of a society gone astray and of a world that had devolved.

  Lauren looked away from the chaos outside the cage and tried uprighting herself to reach her friend. “Norman—where are we?”

  Norman put a strong hand to her shoulder, gently holding her down on the wooden bench she’d been resting on. “Easy there, babes,” he said, using the most familiar term of endearment he had in his vocabulary, one that Lauren identified without delay. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to move right now—you look a little beat up. They must’ve done a number on you. That’s one hell of a goose egg on your head.”

  Lauren put a finger to it inadvertently. “It sure feels like it.” She heeded Norman’s suggestion and remained horizontal, even though she wanted nothing more than to get up, move about, and explore her surroundings.

  She studied John’s father a moment, discovering he had endured injuries as well. There were cuts and fresh bruises on his face, and one of his eyes was discolored and swollen. A host of other abrasions and lacerations existed on his neck, arms, hands, and fingers. Dried blood was present in blotches on his skin, and it covered portions of his clothing. Lauren looked upon him thoughtfully, trying hard to emit a grin. “Do I look as bad as you?”

  Norman shook his head in the negative. He smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder. “Not a chance.”

  Lauren moved her hand to his, curling her fingers around it. “What happened to your face?”

  Norman’s smile dissolved. “The folks we ran into turned out not to be the nicest people in the world,” he explained, his focus moving to the escalating commotion outside the cage. “We had a few disagreements on the way here—wherever the hell this is.”

  She glanced away again, her attention being pulled in the direction of the men nearest the fire, all of whom were taking turns yelling, chanting, and laughing, almost hysterically at times. “So you have no idea where we are?”

  “Sorry, sweetness. I wish I did, but I can’t say for sure. No idea who these people are, either. None of us have been able to figure out much.”

  Lauren raised her head, her eyes meeting Norman’s. “Did you say none of us?”

  He nodded, barely able to put together a smile. “I did.”

  Lauren began to tremble with delight. “So the others are here—with you? All of you made it?”

  Norman nodded somberly. “Not all of us—most of us. We’re one man down.”

  Lauren blinked her puffy eyes sluggishly. “I know. I remember it happening.” She paused. “It all went down so fast…what happened after I left?”

  “There wasn’t much else left to do. We were outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded. We surrendered.”

  Lauren’s eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head to the side, flinching at the pain.

  Norman went on. “It was all Fred’s doing, believe it or not. Personally, I think he would’ve been just fine going down with his ship—doing the whole death-before-dishonor routine. But I think he made his move with us in mind. A few minutes after, when he knew you were far enough away, he was the first one to throw down his guns. It’s something I didn’t think he would ever do. He told us to do the same, and the shooting stopped not long after.”

  “So Fred’s okay, then?” Lauren asked, then hesitated. “What about Christian?”

  Norman nodded his head as he spoke. “They’re both here.” His brow wrinkled, and the circles under his eyes became more pronounced. “We’re all alive. But barely—and when I say barely, I mean only by the grace of God and the skin of our teeth.” Norman paused, his voice cracking, his palm rubbing against his chest in a rare show of emotion. “We had to leave Bo in the middle of the road. That was pretty gut-wrenching. I know his brother wasn’t happy about it. Not exactly a fitting burial for him.”

  Lauren peered around, looking for the young man who had accompanied her during their short-lived escape. “What about Austin? Did he make it back?”

  Norman gestured behind him. “Yeah. He’s here. He’s with his uncle…hasn’t said much, though.”

  “That’s surprising,” heckled Lauren.

  “We started asking him things…about how you two got caught and especially what happened to you. Christian was pretty hard on him at first—practically interrogated the poor kid. When Ricky got in his face about it, I thought Christian was gonna kill him, but I got him calmed down. Now the kid just sits there. Stays clammed up. He seems pretty traumatized by all this, if you ask me.”

  “I think at this point we’re all traumatized,” Lauren said. She pushed Norman’s hand away and reached for his shoulders and neck, pulling him close to her and into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  Lauren sniffled. “I’ve been imagining the worst ever since we separated. I kept hearing shots—I assumed they were just going to kill all of you.” She paused, fighting the relentless tears away. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I thought all of you were dead.”

  “No, not dead. Not yet, anyway. I’m not so sure being stuck here is much better. Our survival timeline is kind of up in the air.” Norman’s trodden facial expressions turned gray. “The man who brought you and Austin back must have beat him up pretty bad—he’s got bruises all over his back and a couple of bruised or cracked ribs.” He paused, casting his gaze on Lauren with the level of concern only a father could muster. “They didn’t…hurt you, did they?”

  Lauren sm
iled at first, pleased at the notion of Norman’s concern for her welfare. She could still detect the soreness from being smacked in the face, and her smile distorted into a scowl. “Not as bad as I hurt them.”

  Christian approached from behind Norman, and Lauren looked to him, noticing that he too had taken a beating, the damage to his face, neck, arms, and even his knuckles evident. Blood dripped out of a fresh wound under his sleeve from the fingertips of his left hand.

  Lauren gave him an emotionless stare. “You made it.”

  Christian shrugged. “I could’ve sworn I told you before that I wasn’t an easy person to kill.”

  Lauren slowly rose to her feet with Norman’s assistance. “You did. I haven’t forgotten. I remember the exact moment you told me.” She paused. “And I hope you haven’t forgotten that I still hate you.”

  Christian nodded, turning his head away. “Unfortunately, yes. I remember.”

  “Good. Don’t ever forget it. Because it’s going to take everything you have to regain what you lost with me.”

  Christian’s voice was heartfelt. “Yeah. I know that, too. But I’m willing to—”

  Lauren suddenly ran to Christian and enfolded him with her arms as his words halted. After a short delay, he gently enclosed her in his.

  “I’m sorry,” Lauren said, her voice barely above an exhale. “God—I am so sorry, Christian.”

  Christian latched on while recalling the first time he had received a hug from her. Lauren was holding onto him now, the same as she had then, as though she would never let go. It had been awkward the first time, but it wasn’t now, not even in the slightest degree. Was Lauren really this happy to see him after the falling-out they’d had? Christian didn’t care—she was here now, and he was elated to see her. Maybe she had worried for him, just as he had for her. Maybe Grace had been right.

  “Hey, relax. I know I screwed up,” Christian said. “You had every right to be pissed. There’s nothing to apologize for—I mean, my jaw still hurts like hell, but I promise you, as far as things go between you and me—we’re good. All is forgiven.”

  Lauren nodded her head, rubbing it into his chest. “Thank you.” She pulled away and placed a soft hand to Christian’s face. “Sorry I’m being so sentimental—but I thought I lost all of you. It’s really good to see you, Christian.”

  “I’m glad you made it. Granted, I’d much rather we had our reunion somewhere more welcoming, but I’ll take what I can get. You know the saying, ‘when life hands you lemons, y—’”

  “You send the bastard screaming back to hell,” Lauren blurted out.

  Christian gave her an irregular look, his hands finding their way to Lauren’s shoulders. She turned her head shyly away. “I was going to say ‘set fire to their house’. Maybe one day you’ll enlighten me where that came from.”

  “Maybe,” Lauren said, her expression hardening. “Do you have any idea where we are? Or who these people are?”

  Christian took in a deep breath, exhaling from his nose. “It’s a freak show. From what I’ve been able to gather, they call this little rabble of theirs the absolved. They look like a bunch of rejects from the B-rated, post-apocalyptic movies I used to watch on my jailbroken Roku. They’re all, well, for lack of a better word, unique. They act like a bunch of cornflakes…very simple and undereducated, rough around the edges. They remind me of a bunch of…”

  “What?”

  “Ex-convicts,” Christian said. “The leader is a strange one. He’s skinny compared to the rest—actually looks like the end of the world has taken a toll on him. Either that or he’s got a high metabolism, a nasty parasite, or something. He’s bald like a cue ball and he wears a pair of thick black glasses.”

  “You just described half of the males in the known world,” Lauren remarked. “What’s so strange about him wearing glasses?”

  “Nothing. Other than the fact there’s no lenses in them.”

  Lauren turned to see if Christian was serious.

  Christian continued. “He’s always humming or whistling some tune—it’s something I’ve heard before, just haven’t been able to place it. But it’s always the same one…you’ll know him when you see him—or rather, hear him. As far as where we are exactly, I’ve been doing the math in my head ever since we got here.” Christian paused and pointed to a group of structures in the distance. “Just past those buildings is what looks like a railroad freight yard,” he said. “There’s tracks, a switching station, and about a thousand rail cars parked and linked up beyond the visible horizon. There’s a few diesel engines, too, most of which have ‘CSX’ stamped on them. That tells me we’re not too far away from where they ambushed us. There’s a river not far to our southeast. If I gambled, I’d bet that it’s a branch of the Potomac.” Christian paused again. “We were blindfolded on the way here, but I tried my best to keep an improvised pace count. We were only on the road for about thirty minutes. I’m not a hundred percent certain, but I think we might be somewhere near Cumberland.”

  Lauren nodded, her eyes darting around. “I tend to question most things, but your intuition isn’t one of them. If you think we’re near Cumberland, I’d bet money on it, if I had any.” She paused, ruminating a moment. “But why a railyard?”

  “Why not? Some of the cars I saw had their doors wide open. Most of the garbage I’ve seen on the ground has brand names on it. A lot of those cars were probably loaded to the brim with food of some type, ready to ship out before the collapse. That might be how they’ve survived here for as long as they have.”

  Lauren nodded her agreement, noticing that Norman had stepped away. “Christian, Norman said that Fred was here, too. I would’ve assumed he’d be in my ear by now, talking about our rules of engagement and his plan for a prison break, but I haven’t seen him anywhere. Where is he?”

  Christian hesitated and his expression dulled. He appeared to be struggling to find the right words. “He’s back there,” he said, pointing to a spot in the far rear recesses of the holding cell. “Do me a favor, don’t bother him right now, okay? He needs rest.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “He’s seen more abuse than the rest of us have. A lot more.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lauren asked, her body tensing.

  Christian looked away. “Look, something’s been going on here…for a while now, that’s been positively riling these guys up.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as, they’ve been taking it in the ass lately—getting their butts kicked by a group of military types. Militia, a paramilitary unit, or private army of some sort, I presume. Whoever it is has hit them pretty hard lately and killed several of their men. And they’re not thrilled about it.” Christian paused and dug the toe of his boot into the dirt. “After they captured us, Fred’s ACUs were the first tip-off, and that glare of his and the tone of his voice didn’t help much. Of course, neither did the fucking Humvee he was driving.”

  Dread overtook Lauren’s face. “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah. It was like pouring gasoline on a brush fire. They marked him—assumed him to be associated with the groups that’d been attacking them.” He hesitated. “They’ve been…hostile toward him, as a result.”

  Lauren waited a moment to respond. “How bad is he hurt?”

  Christian closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. “I’m not going to lie to you, Lauren. He’s in bad shape. Fred’s a warrior—there’s never been a doubt in my mind. But there’s only so much a man can take. I don’t care what you’re made of or what your background is—we all have a breaking point.”

  Lauren hesitated again, sensing the gravity in Christian’s tone. “So what…are you saying? You think he’s going to die?”

  “I’m saying he needs a doctor,” said Christian. “And in light of our situation, I don’t see us finding one anytime soon. It doesn’t look good, Lauren. Not for Fred, not for you, me, not for any of us.”

  Lauren turned away from him. “What timeline are
we living in now, anyway? How did things get so awful for us so fast?”

  “I’m sorry. I know I usually have all the answers, and most times by now, I’m smiling and handing out one-liners like it’s going out of style. But this is one predicament that’s beyond even me. If there’s a way out of here, damned if I can find one.”

  Lauren sighed. “Well, when you do find one, be sure to pass it along, will you?”

  Christian nodded. “Ten-four. You have my word on it.”

  A cloud of dust stirring up at their feet, three tall men closed in and worked to unfasten a chain, soon pulling open the stockade’s wire-wrapped wooden gate. While one stood guard at the entrance with a rifle in his grasp, two others shoved their way through the crowd of defeated, wide-eyed, gasping prisoners. By the time Lauren had turned to see what they were up to, they had Fred Mason’s limp, beaten, and bloodied body held tightly in their clutches.

  Lauren studied Fred’s battered face with marked concern as the men dragged him over to a large creosote-covered pole nearby the fire. They hoisted his arms above him and tied his wrists to the pole with twine and remnants of wire.

  Watching the scene play out, Lauren quickly became incensed. “What the fuck are they doing?”

  Christian gripped the wooden bars tightly and shook them as much as their give would allow. He sighed and looked helplessly on. “Exactly what they’ve been doing.”

  “No. No! This isn’t right! They can’t—”

  “Keep your voice down!” Christian ordered in a forced whisper. “Listen to me. Nothing good can come from you making a scene right now.”

  “I don’t give a shit!”

  “Keep it down over there,” a man shouted, amongst assorted whistles and laughter. “We’re trying to concentrate.”

  Christian put a hand over Lauren’s mouth before she could retort. “Lauren, don’t!”