Chapter 8
Trout Run Valley
Hardy County, West Virginia
Saturday, January 8th
Lauren arose from bed hours before dawn. Shrouded by her bedroom’s darkness, she slipped off her flannel pajamas and let them fall to the floor. She located a pair of 5.11 Tactical pants on the edge of her bed, a gift from her bearded friend Santa, and an expedition-weight wool crewneck, the type typically worn as a base layer by skiers beneath their parkas. She’d chosen this one because it was both breathable and warm and would keep the valley’s near-Arctic early morning temperatures at bay, even when worn as a single layer. But it also permitted freedom of movement; she could articulate her arms in all directions with very little restriction.
She tiptoed her way to the front door in her socks, careful not to create any unnecessary noise. Lauren then knelt and laced her boots, tied them in double knots, rose, and efforted the door open. Out she went into the cold darkness, slowly at first, allowing time for her eyes to adjust organically. A small day pack of supplies clinging to her shoulder, she jogged a parallel route with the driveway to the gate and the road beyond.
Lauren hadn’t brought her sidearm along and had left her pocketknife at home. She’d done this on purpose, preferring not to have any weapons on her person. She didn’t want to risk what she was about to do escalating beyond the point of no return.
Richie’s actions had been inexcusable and, for all Lauren knew, had been done for no other reason than to spite her for having refused him in the past. Things he’d said had been overheard, subsequently misinterpreted, and had ultimately caused more harm than good. She and John were no longer a couple. She’d reflected on how it had gone down and had thought of him every day since their breakup. It couldn’t be helped; John was all she knew, all she had known. He had been the only person Lauren had ever furiously loved, the only man to whom she had willingly and consensually given her heart. Even so, John had slipped away from her almost as effortlessly as he’d drifted into her life.
Richie had acted as a catalyst, a facilitator at best, but he hadn’t been the root cause. Lauren knew she was the one solely at fault. Richie’s actions had added more fuel to the fire, but hers had set it alight, and finding a way to smother it now didn’t seem possible.
Her feet carried her along Trout Run Road until the point of making a right-hand turn into a rural subdivision of previously abandoned homes, several of which had been converted into barracks for Richie, Neo, and the remaining members of Dave Graham’s unit ordered into the valley. The group had been prepared to assemble a temporary encampment and sleep in bivouacs or canvas tents inseparate of the elements, but Michelle wouldn’t hear of it. If permanent shelter was available, they were to use it, no questions asked. It was the least the valley’s residents could do in return for delivery and distribution of much-needed supplies and provisions and its newly bestowed security detail.
Richie, as one of the unit’s junior NCOs, or noncommissioned officers, had taken the first house on the right along with a handful of other soldiers. On fire watch this morning was Private Second Class Will Sharp, a twenty-something infantryman Lauren had met years ago while training at Point Blank range. Will had been one of Richie’s friends at the time, but he’d never made a habit of openly admitting it. The two clashed over practically everything. Richie’s moral compass had always been skewed, whereas Will’s had remained fairly calibrated. He was also easy on the eyes and had a set of charming mannerisms that Lauren appreciated, but Will had always given off an air of reservation for reasons she hadn’t yet deciphered.
Will was standing sentry at the edge of the driveway, and Lauren slowed her pace, adding caution to her steps. She clicked her tongue to garner notice, then called to him in a succinct, forced whisper. “Will!”
The soldier snapped to attention, his head yoking in Lauren’s direction, NVDs soon finding and locking on to her. He held up a halting hand at first and took a quick look around before warily waving her in, his other hand meeting his chin, index finger perpendicular to his lips.
Lauren made her approach. Still whispering, she asked, “How goes it? All parties counting sheep?”
“Yeah, that’s affirmative,” Will said with a quick nod. “No one’s set to rise for at least two hours.”
Lauren peered away from him, to the house. “Perfect.”
Will studied her. “It sounds as though Lauren approves.”
“I do. Very much so.”
“Well, that’s good, and I’m glad, I guess. This is a bit difficult for me to gauge. You never told me what this was all about.”
“I haven’t for good reason.”
Will angled his head inward. “And that reason is?”
“Plausible deniability,” Lauren crooned. “It’s better you don’t know.” She slipped her pack off and reached inside, extracting three packs of Marlboro Light brand cigarettes, each one encased in shiny cellophane. “Anyway, per our agreement. A deal’s a deal.”
Will stowed his night vision and leaned in, taking hold of the prize. “Damn, you weren’t kidding, were you? Where did you get them? And please tell me there’s more where they came from.”
Lauren grinned. “I know someone with a doomsday stash who’s recently given up the habit. It’s no bottomless pit, though. Supplies are limited.”
“Ration protocol
