The Heart of War: Book Seven of the What's Left of My World Series Read online

  Copyright © C.A. Rudolph 2020. All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design

  Editing by Sabrina Jean

  Proofread by Pauline Nolet

  On the cover: Darja Filipovic of Deranged Doctor Design

  Kindle edition 092020

  All rights reserved. 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.

  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.

  Preferred Readers List signup

  Contents

  Also by C.A. Rudolph

  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

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  The Story Continues

  About the Author

  ALSO BY C.A. RUDOLPH

  THE GUN PLAY SERIES

  UNTIL NOTHING REMAINS

  EVERYTHING I DIE FOR

  THE WHAT’S LEFT OF MY WORLD SERIES

  WHAT’S LEFT OF MY WORLD

  THIS WE WILL DEFEND

  WE WON’T GO QUIETLY

  DIVIDED WE STAND

  WORLDS APART

  INDIVISIBLE

  THE HEART OF WAR

  RITE OF REPRISAL (coming soon!)

  THE WILL TO SURVIVE: A CHARITY ANTHOLOGY FOR HURRICANE RELIEF

  THE WORST CASE SCENARIO (short)

  Own the Series for a Special Price - Limited time only 9/24 - 9/27/2020

  Click the image to view the bundle

  Book 1: What’s Left of My World - Free

  Book 2: This We Will Defend - Free

  Book 3: We Won’t Go Quietly - Free

  Book 4: Divided We Stand - Free

  Book 5: Worlds Apart - Free

  Book 6: INDIVISIBLE - $0.99

  Book 7: The Heart of War

  (Pricing applies to Kindle ebook format only)

  Audiobook upgrades only $7.49!

  For the fearless.

  “Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom. It is the argument of tyrants; it is the creed of slaves.”

  William Pitt the Younger

  Chapter 1

  A massacre lay before them. A contorted mangle of devastation and debris comprised of man and machine, now all but indistinguishable, lay scattered about in an uneven, adverse pattern. Smoke rose and curled hastily upward in eerie strands, flouting gravity and wind currents that wisped over the snowy field stained crimson throughout the fallen.

  The driver released the accelerator and braked hard, bringing the SUV to a sliding stop just beyond a barbed-wire fence and a corroded steel gate appearing to have been struck by something large and unyielding. It hung by thin cords of sheared metal, nearly free of its moorings. His mouth agape, he shifted into park with a trembling hand and leaned over the steering wheel. He gawked at the scene before him in sheer astonishment.

  The wintry morning air had a bite to it, though it wasn’t nearly as frigid as the look Beatrice Carter had sewn on her face. Her pupils darted from one edge of the vista to the other through squinted eyelids. She scowled while reaching for the door handle.

  “Ma’am.” The driver grasped her forearm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I feel I must advise against departure at this time.”

  Beatrice tensed and tightened her lips. “Young man, feel however you must and advise all you like, but unfasten your hand from my arm this instant—before you lose it.”

  “Eh, I’m sorry…I was only…I didn’t mean to—”

  “Shh, it’s all right. Hush now, no harm done.” Beatrice pushed open her door and slid a leg out, her boot submerging into the snow.

  “Ma’am, are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait?” the driver asked, reaching for a radio handset mounted to the dash. “The threat could still be extant—whoever…or whatever did this could still be close by. They might even be watching us.”

  Beatrice pouted. “Oh, pshaw!”

  “Ma’am, please, I beg you. We don’t know what happened here. Can we at least stand fast until I call this in? Or better yet, until backup arrives?”

  The slender, buxom blonde ignored his plea and made a full exit. “I know precisely what happened here…and trust me when I say this, the guilty parties are long gone.” She bristled as the cold assaulted her cheeks, and her voice fell to a whisper. “No way you’d stick around long after gettin’ away with something like this, Connie…now would you?”

  Slamming the door shut, Beatrice tightened her scarf and zipped her parka to the collar. She drew the hood over her head and gave the drawstrings a hard pull, then marched with purpose across the field.

  Three DHS vehicles equal to the one in which she’d departed seconds ago were parked side by side just ahead and to her right, each displaying a rendering of irreparable damage. Hundreds of holes had been punched through their chassis, and swirls of steam and smoke escaped from the engine compartments under what remained of their hoods. The smells of molten metal, charred flesh, carbon and death overtook the air. Two disabled Cougar MRAPs showing similar damage sat nearby. Strewn about were the remains of a dozen former federal agents, all appearing to have been sawed to pieces by some ungodly means.

  She continued in and studied the scene with a piercing stare. A full hour hadn’t passed since she’d spoken to her old friend. Following that dialogue, Beatrice had expected the day to continue on a more encouraging note, but somehow, someway, she’d been outfoxed. Men were dead. Vehicles were destroyed. And the perpetrators had gotten away and remained at large.

  Moving past the decimated DHS motorcade, Beatrice followed a path of deep ruts which had dug beyond the snowpack several inches into the frozen ground beneath. From where the tracks originated in an area of disturbed snowmelt, she noticed piles of bullet brass left behind by a large-caliber weapon.

  She took a knee in the snow, slipped a glove from her hand, and palmed one of the empty casings. “Lordy, lordy, now…who shot shorty?” she mused, then read the data imprinted on the case rim aloud through half-gritted teeth. “Hmm. I can’t say what irks me more, that you somehow came into possession of a fifty-caliber variety automatic weapon, or that this band of sorry idiots, all now very much deceased, lined themselves up like a picture-perfect shootin’ gallery after seei
n’ you had one.” Beatrice enclosed the empty round with her fingers, sensing its warmth. “Where’d you go, Connie? Where did you run off to this time? Guess you’ve given me the slip once again, haven’t you?”

  Beatrice rose, turned and started toward the SUV, noticing the driver had exited and was headed her way. “Stars and garters…look at you! Guess those tiny balls of yours finally dropped out from underneath your tallywacker.”

  He looked clumsily at her. “Ma’am?”

  “Sorry,” she tittered, “it’s a colloquialism…an idiolect, a figure of speech. A way of pointin’ out you gettin’ over your…fear of the unknown.”

  He looked even more clumsily at her. “Fear of the—ma’am, I’m not sure what you mean. I’m only doing my job. And a big part of that job is being vigilant…focusing on and establishing scene safety.”

  “Oh, stick it where the sun don’t shine. This scene is plenty safe.” Beatrice held a hand up and smirked. “I’m just giving you hell—though I probably shouldn’t. You’re coming across to me as the…rare diligent type. I take it, as such, you called this in like a good little meticulous subordinate?”

  “Yeah…I-I mean, yes, ma’am. I just got off the horn.” The driver’s stare revisited the bloody scene. “A response team is en route along with EMS in case anyone needs medical attention.”

  “Medical attention?” Beatrice chuckled. “Sweetie, are you blind? Stupid? Or both?” She gestured behind her. “See all that red back there on top of the snow? That’s blood. And those chunks of whatnot all over the ground? That’s a hodgepodge of muscles and organs—once vital human muscles and organs—some of them hearts. And not a dang one of ’em is beatin’.”

  “You—you’re sure of that?”

  “Hon, no one here’s been left alive—you can, of course, check for yourself, but you should probably take my word for it.” She turned away from him, frowning. “And while you’re at it, terminate the response team and flush the EMS. All we’re in need of here is a cleanup crew, some janitors…and oodles of body bags.”

  The driver nodded, looking helpless and dumbfounded. He went to turn away but caught sight of the holes peppering the MRAPs’ exteriors and pointed. “I thought Cougars were armored. What could’ve caused that level of damage to them? Aircraft?”

  “The first two letters in the MRAP abridgement stand for ‘mine resistant’ and mean exactly that: resistant to mines. Their reinforcements exist all over but are focused primarily on the undercarriage; and that doesn’t do much against armor-piercing incendiary rounds spewed forth from a smokin’ barrel at twenty-nine hundred feet per second.”

  “I…understand that,” the driver said mid-gulp. “It’s just that…I guess I’m just having a hard time putting all this together. I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.”

  “You and a lot of folks, I reckon,” Beatrice lamented, “regrettably though, I have.” She gestured at the SUV. “Go on, now. Make the call.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Observing his hurried departure for a few seconds only, Beatrice reached into her coat pockets and removed a flip phone and a pack of cigarettes, then went about lighting one while punching in a number. She then placed the phone to her ear. “Mornin’. This is Deputy Director Carter. Wake the RPA crew and gas the eagle. I need a recon flyby toot sweet. I mean it, make it snappy, now.” She inhaled a deep drag and exhaled from her nostrils. “That’s right, initiate on my position and hold. I’ll advise a course in person.”

  She ended the call and made another. “Hey there. Made it to the office yet?” A pause. “Why not? Well, pop a few of those li’l happy pills of yours and feel better, silly goose.” She huffed. “Yeah, I’m here. Survivors? Not a soul. What’s it look like? A plum mess…one big, cumbersome, sticky situation, just like I thought it would be. That’s why I’m callin’ you now and not delayin’ for later. Listen…you and I have ourselves a…problem to discuss. Yes, another one. Look, I’ll be there in twenty minutes or so; you can pitch a fit about it all you like then, okay? See you there.”

  Chapter 2

  DHS Shenandoah Outpost

  Woodstock, Virginia

  Thursday, January 6th

  Beatrice glided into the reception area external to Doug Bronson’s office and shot Tori an evil eye. The regional commander’s young, typically perky assistant was seated casually at her desk, legs crossed, her head buried in a paperback novel.

  Beatrice spared no time moving in for the kill, stopping inches before passing Tori’s desk. She rapped a set of freshly honed fingernails on the faded wood desktop and sent along a disapproving glare. “Mornin’, Tori. I see you are, once again, as usual, getting a whole bunch of diddly-squat accomplished today.”

  Tori nervously lowered her book but didn’t say anything.

  Beatrice set fire to an ultrathin cigarette. “Tell me somethin’…is it your intention to stay put in this department? Thereby remaining employed amongst its staff within the confines of this cozy li’l ole office…for the long term?”

  Tori placed a bookmark between pages and set the novel down. “Y-yes, ma’am, it is, and I’m sorry. I swear…it isn’t me…I mean, I’m not going out of my way to be unproductive. It’s just that…there’s not much to do now an—”

  Beatrice snapped her fingers. “It was a simple yes or no question, dear. Had my goal been for you to expound, I would have worded it thus.”

  Tori nodded her understanding while her head sank.

  “What sort of drivel has you so enthralled day in and day out?” Lips holding fast to her cigarette, Beatrice snatched Tori’s book and squinted at the jacket. “Charming cover. Very…up to the minute. Into which category does it fit? Dark, supernatural romance mumbo jumbo? Blood-suckin’ vampires with diamond skin, furry, salivatin’ werewolves and all that fairy-tale hogwash?”

  “N-no,” Tori emitted, shaking her head. “It’s not—”

  “You’re not into those overdramatic, gobbledygook time wasters, are you, Tori? Please tell me you have a purpose in mind…such as reading to achieve a level of knowledge. You know…learn something.”

  “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am trying to learn something,” Tori said, her voice hesitant. “And it’s nothing like those genres you mentioned at all.”

  “Well, what the heck is it, then?”

  “It’s p-post…post-apocalyptic fiction.”

  “Come again? Post-a-what?”

  “Post-apocalyptic fiction,” Tori repeated timidly. “I found a whole section of books like this one over in the Spanier Library. I was kind of surprised to find them there.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Well, this place…I mean the plantation, rather, and all the buildings within used to be a military boarding school. Spanier wasn’t…I mean, hadn’t been a public library. Finding books like this here, well, it just wasn’t expected.”

  Beatrice fanned through several pages, her tedium well on display. “Looks and stinks like any old book to me. What lies within that has you so riveted? Somethin’ second to none?”

  With a tilted head, Tori shrugged and nodded. “Not really. I just find it interesting.”

  “Um-hmm…and what’s it about, Tori? And don’t bore me to tears with a synopsis. Just give me a little plot rundown, shy of the CliffsNotes.”

  “Um, well, I guess…in so many words, it’s about the end of the world.”

  Beatrice dispatched a blistering frown.

  “Eh…I mean, the author’s take on it, anyway,” Tori went on tensely. “It’s probably better to say the end of the world as we know it…or knew it. This one portrays a clan fighting for survival after a pandemic wipes out ninety percent of Earth’s population.”

  “Really, now? And that scenario puts you under a spell, somehow?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it does, I suppose. But I really like the ones depicting solar flares or EMPs…for obvious reasons. They were written as fiction, and now probably shouldn’t be classified like that anymore.”<
br />
  Beatrice huffed. “Just as I suspected. Hogwash…a complete and total squandering of precious time.” She snapped the book closed and tossed it to the desk. “Tori dear, I’m not usually this bluff, but I feel now that I must be with you. You are here for no other reason than to work, and when you are in this office, you are to be working. The only items you should ever be caught readin’ at work are to be therefore work related. If perusing fictitious stories a collection of nobody authors conjured up in times past tickles your fancy, that’s fine, but peruse them elsewhere and on your own time. Am I makin’ myself clear?”

  Tori frowned and looked away. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, if it’s a lack of to-dos that’s plaguing you,” Beatrice went on, “I’m certain we can find ways to change that, such as supplementing or even fully augmenting your workload. There are oodles of things I can think of, both here and down the road at Shawshank…indoors or out where it’s a trifle cooler. Just say the word and I’ll make somethin’ happen for you. Copy?”