Blood Bought: Book Four in The Locker Nine Series

by Franklin Horton

  When they were ready, Leslie and Dylan piled out the kitchen door carrying Dylan's belongings to the ATV. It was mostly clothing and a few of the toys the child had brought with him. Robert settled those into the cargo bed with the bags Leslie had already brought out and the two buckets of food he’d promised them. Robert left room for Grace to sit in the middle of the gear and put down an old sleeping bag to cushion her ride.

  Leslie and Theresa embraced like relatives who didn’t know when or if they would see each other again. They shed some tears and Theresa tried one last time to talk Leslie out of leaving but Leslie ignored her pleas. She was adamant about wanting to get back to her life even if it would not be the same. Though he’d been told he was leaving, it was only as he loaded into the ATV that it all settled in for Dylan.

  He suddenly understood that he wouldn't be playing video games once he got home. There wouldn’t be popsicles, cold milk, and chocolate chip cookies. It wouldn’t be safe to play in the yard. There would be no electric lights and no movies. When it hit him, he raised his voice in immediate, desperate protest.

  When gentle, soothing reassurance didn’t work, Leslie became stern and called him down. She didn’t need to be reminded of the things they’d be giving up. No one was more aware of the consequences of this decision than her. She’d barely slept that night, worried about their future. Still, she felt she had no choice. She was certain of that. It was not just a matter of her pride but of their independence.

  She hadn’t liked feeling like she was in debt to the Hardwicks. She didn’t like feeling like she had to work as their servant to keep her tab paid to a minimum level. Of course they didn't treat her that way. They never demanded anything from her. They treated her like one of the family. Part of the problem was that the whole living situation felt artificial to her. Despite all their efforts to make her feel welcome, it was not her home. She didn't know how long this whole mess with the country would last but if was going to last much longer she needed to find her own way in the world. She needed to find some way to make her own home sustainable, and find a way for her family to survive.

  Her and Dylan. Two against the world. Two survivors.

  “I feel bad about you riding in the back, Grace,” Leslie said. “Why don’t you hop up front and let Dylan and I ride in the back?”

  Grace shook her head. “No way. I’m fine back here.”

  “We’d be fine back there too,” Leslie insisted.

  “It’s not about comfort,” Grace said. “I’m the tail gunner. Someone has to watch our backs. That’s my job.”

  Leslie didn't appear convinced but slid Dylan into the bench seat and then sat down beside him. Robert and Grace said their own goodbyes, which Theresa was none too happy about it. Seeing this made Leslie experience a surge of guilt that she was again exposing Robert to danger such a short time after he got home.

  "Seems like I'm always saying goodbye to you two," Theresa said. "When do the goodbyes stop?"

  "One day at a time. That’s how we do it."

  Theresa wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

  “The sooner we get on the road, the sooner we get back,” Robert said.

  She kissed him and then shoved him away. “Then get out of here.”

  He smiled at her, settled into the driver's seat, and instructed his passengers to buckle up. He didn’t buckle his own seatbelt, wanting to remain free to fight if things blew loose on the road. He settled his AR in beside him, the butt stock pointing upward and sandwiched between his and Dylan's legs.

  Dylan was wide-eyed at his proximity to the weapon. He didn’t have the shooting experience that Blake had, nor the familiarity with weapons in general.

  "You understand that in this situation we don't touch that, right?" Robert asked

  Dylan nodded seriously and Robert patted him on the back.

  "You’re a good little man, Dylan.”

  Dylan beamed back at him.

  Robert started the ATV and drove toward the far corner of the property, to the gate he’d gone through with Sonyea yesterday. Grace hopped down from the bed to open the gate, waited for Robert to drive through, then latched it behind them. When she was back in the vehicle Robert made a right turn and cruised steadily through the woods. He was less concerned about the condition of the road now. He knew from his trip yesterday that it was passable, with no downed trees.

  When he passed Karen’s house, we watched for signs of life but no one was moving around. Sonyea had spent the night there last night and Robert suspected it would be a regular thing. They needed her and Sonyea wanted to help them. Tom, to ease his mind, had visited her with Grace last night to offer her a ride home but she declined. Robert and Grace planned on stopping by to check in on the family on the way home.

  The fact that he was moving through their property unimpeded and unquestioned made him a little concerned. He knew someone could come through here to access his property just as easily as he was leaving it. Logically, he knew that anyone intent on visiting his property from this direction would have to know that the logging road existed, and that was unlikely. Any person with access to the Internet and Google maps could look at an aerial photo from the last couple of years and might spot this road from the air if the forest didn’t obscure it, but it wasn’t on any printed maps. Robert was counting on no one knowing this road existed other than the handful of people who used this property.

  One more gate separated the pasture from the gravel road that served as the family's driveway. Grace again hopped down to work the gate. When they were through, they continued down the gravel driveway, drove over a concrete cattle guard, and emerged onto a paved county road. What had taken roughly ten minutes in an ATV would've been around twelve miles of driving on the public roads. Just as they hoped, this route put them beyond the log barricades that protected the entrance to their own property.

  Robert called out his door, "Stay on guard, Grace. We could run into people at any point. Make sure your weapons are ready."

  Grace was aware of this. Her weapons were already good to go, but Robert was her dad and that was what dads did—they double-checked their kids. She was okay with it once she was old enough to understand that it was simply a dad thing and it didn’t mean he doubted her. Better to double-check her than to take a chance that her hammer might fall on an empty chamber. Sometimes you only got one chance to shoot back. It had to count.

  Although Robert didn't regularly drive this road, it wasn't altogether different from the section he and his family lived on. Mountain farmland alternated with sections of dense forest. Steep mountains rolled out into cattle pastures cleared by two centuries of hardscrabble mountain folk intent on living in a place few people were willing to live.

  Normally on a late summer morning like this one, people would be out working in their gardens, trying to beat the heat of the day. Farmers would be feeding cattle or mowing hay. Loggers would be fueling saws, sharpening chains, or attempting to start their abused heavy equipment. Passenger vans would be pulling trailers of bicycles along narrow mountain roads, on their way to disgorge riders onto the trail systems.

  That was how things should have been. The way things actually were was significantly different. Even in this secluded backwater of rural America, people behaved as if they were in a war zone. The folks in the ATV only caught brief glimpses of people as they scurried out of sight. There were no other vehicles moving—no ATVs, no pickup trucks, no tractors. Curtains flickered as people watched from the dark wombs of stuffy houses. Ghostly faces caught light behind the mesh of screen doors, peering at the moving ATV, already a novelty since most gas tanks held more fumes than fuel.

  It was still early on in the disaster and it was shocking, but not surprising, how fast things had declined. Robert had researched events like this extensively for his books. While writers were often accused of simply making things up for the sake of fiction, there was a lot of research out there on how civilization fell apart. Not everyone believed it. There we
re always doubters who said it would not happen quickly, that everyone would maintain civility and help each other out. Kindness would prevail. Order would reign.

  Unfortunately, history and experience did not support that argument. Robert had talked to hundreds of first responders who had experience with natural disasters. Looting began immediately, not days later, as people became desperate. Looters didn’t know how long their window of opportunity was going to be so they often started looting before the disaster even hit. It was the same with theft of supplies and black markets. Those events did not begin months post-disaster. They began as soon as relief started rolling in. Anyone glamorizing a national collapse as something similar to a blackout-inspired block party was just dead wrong.

  Most of the people they passed would still be living out of their pantries at this point. Even if they may not be eating the foods they preferred, they would not be dying of starvation. People requiring meds would either still have a few left or their conditions were not yet so drastic that they would be dying from a lack of them. Unfortunately, the same would not be true for those who required electrical devices such as oxygen generators or suction pumps to live. Times were not good but they were nowhere near as hard as they would get.

  Recovery was not around the corner. Instead, the conditions awaiting them were too horrible to consider. In fact, unimaginable to most people unless they happened to be writers who had extensively researched this topic. In that case, the ghastly visage of the future was well apparent to Robert. It haunted him with each house they passed.

  This road was more populated than the one he lived on. It was a primary route between two communities. Robert’s road was a secondary road that looped though the mountains but didn’t really lead anywhere. Most of his neighbors were farmers with large parcels of property that put a little more distance between their homes. Many of the homes along this road were surrounded by small yards boxed in by chain-link fencing and the houses sat right at the edge of the road.

  The farmers didn't concern Robert as much because many of them had livestock to fall back on. They also raised gardens and canned food. Farming was a lifestyle that, by its nature, integrated a degree of self-sufficiency and preparedness into it. Many of the small roadside properties had backyard gardens but they wouldn’t keep anyone alive indefinitely. Those people would eventually become as desperate as the town folk.

  As they got closer to town the outlying communities were populated by brazen groups that displayed none of the caution and wariness the farming families did. They sat on their porches like angry gargoyles, glaring at the audacity of Robert to motor through their still world, practically bragging that he had fuel when they did not. This increased attention was not lost on Robert. He dropped a hand from the steering wheel to his rifle, seeking the reassurance of its presence.

  Leslie and Dylan appeared more nervous too. Wide-eyed, they silently scanned their surroundings. If Robert was in Leslie’s shoes, he would be second-guessing his decision to return to town. Part of him understood he should respect her decision, while another part of him wanted to ask one more time if she wanted to change her mind. He didn’t know what to do but he never asked. That was a decision he would revisit for the rest of his life.

  They passed a convenience store with looted merchandise and trash spilling out of the shattered windows like entrails. There were more abandoned vehicles that were, fortunately, either parked on or had been pushed onto the shoulder of the road. Some of the vehicles had out-of-state tags indicating the drivers were tourists or visitors to the area.

  Another intersection, a left turn, and they were on the main highway heading into Damascus. Robert stayed on the road for several minutes, his tension ratcheting up from the sheer proximity to town. The Virginia Creeper Trail, a bicycling and hiking trail built on an old railroad bed, ran parallel to the highway. When the trail began to diverge from the road, Robert made the decision to ride over the curb and enter town by means of the trail. The highway continued on toward Main Street while the Creeper Trail crept through the small town like a back alley, taking them closer to Leslie's home.

  Before he lost sight of the main road, Robert slowed and looked toward town, wanting to see if there were any visible indications of turmoil or violence. The town appeared abandoned. He knew from Grace and Tom that this was not the case. There were people congregated in town, the remnants of the hiker festival. The fact that he didn’t see any residents around their homes concerned him. Maybe they were hidden, or perhaps, as Grace suggested, they’d all moved to the campground outside of town to avoid the hiker army.

  "Leslie, I would love to help you get settled in at your house but I'm afraid to spend too much time in town. The sound of this engine could draw unwanted attention. We’re going to pull into your yard and leave the engine running. We’ll get your bags to your door then you're on your own. Is that okay?"

  Leslie nodded, nervous, her lips taut. Even if being dumped off like freight wasn't okay with her, what was she going to say at this point? “That's okay. You’re right. I know you can’t be hanging out. People will hear this vehicle."

  "I know and I—"

  Leslie held up a hand and cut him off. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Robert. I appreciate your bringing us into town. I know this is a big risk."

  Robert took a deep breath and let it out, aware that his nerves were affecting him. "You have a gun, right?"

  "I have a gun and the extra ammo you gave me. The gun is in my pocket, loaded, and ready to go."

  “Gunshots will draw attention here in town so only use it if you have to. If you have to shoot someone, aim to kill. Don't threaten people with it because they may take it away from you. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  Perhaps to dissipate some the seriousness of the moment, Leslie patted Dylan on the leg. "You’ll be home with all your toys soon. You'll be able to play with all your favorites. You and your granny might even be able to play a game once I get the house cleaned up."

  The thought raised a spark of excitement in Dylan's eyes for a moment but it was not enough to overcome his anxiety and fear. Perhaps he was only afraid because he sensed everyone else's discomfort. Maybe he was smarter, more aware, than they gave him credit for.

  Robert felt bad for the boy, for not asking one more time if they wanted to come back to his place. He just couldn’t overcome the nagging at the back of his mind, the twinge of guilt that perhaps this wasn't entirely about supporting Leslie's independence and autonomy. Perhaps it was also about making sure his own supplies lasted longer. He couldn’t admit that while he was nervous about leaving his passengers in town, maybe he was a little relieved too.

  He had prepared for many things, but not for taking in outsiders. Technically the same might be said of him taking in Sonyea and Tom, though that was different. They had been part of a loose mutual assistance group. Beyond that, Sonyea sacrificed nearly everything she owned in a fight to save his daughter when she was taking shelter at Sonyea’s home. That Sonyea and Tom could stay with him indefinitely was without question. They were bound like family.

  The one thing he did question though—the question he didn’t even want to ask himself—was whether people like Leslie were his responsibility. He always said they weren’t, adopting a tough attitude toward the unprepared, but it was harder in real life. It was harder when they had names and familiar faces. It was harder when they were children.

  "There it is, Granny! The house! There it is!" Dylan had spotted the house and the sight of something familiar wiped the look of nervousness off his face.

  Robert tried to assess the state of the house while also keeping an eye on his surroundings. The sleepy, small town felt like an urban warfare setting at the moment. Too many windows, too many fences, too many walls. There were numerous places where people with bad intentions could be lurking. To make matters worse, it wasn't like he’d made a silent, stealthy approach either. Their ATV engine advertised their presence loud and clear in a
world where operable gas engines were becoming fewer and fewer every day.

  Seconds later they were pulling into the driveway. Leslie started to open her door but Robert halted her, swinging the ATV into a U-turn and backing it up close to the porch. He wanted to be ready for a quick getaway if it came to that.

  Grace hopped out of the vehicle.

  “I’ll unload,” Robert told her. “You keep watch.”

  Robert leaned his rifle against the open driver’s door, within reach if he needed it. He hauled Leslie's bags from the pile in the cargo bed and carried them up the porch steps. Leslie had the screen door propped open with her back and was fumbling with her key. Dylan stood at her side, his teddy bear clutched under his arm. When she had it unlocked, she shoved the door open and stepped back to allow Robert to enter.

  He didn’t make it.

  The stench nearly made him spill his guts right there on the porch. He dropped the bags and staggered backward, coughing and gagging. He clutched at the porch rail, his eyes watering. He hadn’t been to Leslie’s house since the first days of the collapse. He didn't know that Debbie and her boyfriend Paul continued to use the house for days with no utilities, eating what food remained in the pantry. He didn't know they continued using the bathroom long after the water quit running, essentially turning the bathroom into an open pit toilet. That smell combined with the summer heat and the stench of rotting garbage was too much for him. He tried several times to say something but couldn't form words with his stomach heaving as it was. He gave up and retreated off the porch.

  Leslie wore a mixture of disgust and embarrassment. "You stay here, Dylan.”