Blood Bought: Book Four in The Locker Nine Series

by Franklin Horton

  Who else would've done this to his granny? Who had an ax? Who was always fighting with Granny? It could only be one person.

  His granny told him a few days ago that his mother was dead and wouldn’t be coming back. He never believed her. It wasn’t that he held out hope out of love. No, it was because he knew his mother was too mean to die. She was like a rattlesnake whose severed head could still bite.

  His mother was truly dead to him now. Just like his granny in her current state, his mother was a thing; cold, lifeless, and incapable of ever providing for him again. There was no need to stay here with her. He couldn't live with the woman who’d killed his granny. He couldn’t forgive it as long as he might live.

  Outside of his granny’s embrace, there was only one other place he'd ever felt safe in the world. That was with Blake's family. They never should the left. He’d never understood it. Never understood giving up movies, video games, popcorn, and all the Kool-Aid you could drink. Every time he’d asked his granny why they were leaving she just shushed him and said it was grown-up business.

  He leaned over and picked up the man's pack. He slung the heavy load onto his back and the awkwardness of it made him stagger. It didn’t fit him very well, hanging halfway down his back. He saw it had straps that adjusted just like the backpack he took to school. He tugged at the loose ends of the straps and sure enough they adjusted, sliding smoothly within the buckles.

  Before his mother could come looking for him, he slipped out of the yard and ran for the Creeper Trail. He’d overheard Blake's dad telling Granny that if they needed to get out of town they should go back the way they'd come. Dylan might be a kid but he was good with directions. It wouldn’t be easy and it wouldn’t be fast, but he could do it. At least he hoped he could.

  He thought about his granny and his eyes stung with tears. Struggling against the heavy pack, his pain blossomed into a powerful and profound hatred for the woman who had caused this turn of events. If he ever had the chance, he’d kill her. He didn't know how, but he’d find a way. Blake's family had guns, lots of them. Maybe Blake could show him how to use one. Besides getting to the safety of Blake's house, killing his mother was the only thing Dylan wanted in this world.

  17

  “You mentioned it might be helpful to have some of our neighbors along the road keeping an eye out for unwanted guests,” Grace said. She practically had to yell to be heard over the whine of the ATV engine. They were past the halfway point between town and home but still had a distance to go.

  “Yeah. I’m afraid to stop at any houses though. If they don’t recognize us they may start shooting. I wish I'd taken more time to get to know the neighbors before it really mattered," Robert said. “It’s a little late to organize a neighborhood watch.”

  "Well, you'll know for next time," Grace said, grinning at her dad.

  Robert grimaced. "There will only be a next time if we survive this time. The jury is still out on that.”

  “Maybe we should go see Donnie, the guy Tom and I got the wheelchair from. It’s only one set of eyes but that’s better than nothing. He lives along the road to our house. Maybe he’d even spread the word to any neighbors he knows.”

  “You think he’s someone we could ask to do that?”

  “I feel like we connected,” Grace replied. “Apparently I have a way with crotchety old men.” She cast a sideways glance at her dad.

  “Hey, I saw that.”

  “You saw nothing,” Grace said. She enjoyed their banter as much as he did. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she missed it while she was away at college. It was a playfulness that connected her to her childhood.

  They reached an intersection and Robert followed the road as if he was going home the normal way instead of by way of the logging road on Karen’s farm. He knew where Donnie’s house was, estimating that it was probably a half-mile or so from the first log barricade.

  “There,” Grace said, pointing to the elongated ranch house.

  Robert stopped the ATV in the road, not daring to actually pull into Donnie's driveway. He didn’t know the guy. He could be one of those old men who shot first and asked questions later.

  When Grace moved to hop out Robert placed a hand on her arm. "Maybe I should do this, sweetie."

  Grace threw a wary glance his way. "I don’t know about that. He doesn't know you and he doesn't think very highly of writers in general."

  Robert was puzzled by that remark. How could anybody not like a writer? "Then be careful and take your hat off so he can see your face."

  Grace slid out of the ATV and leaned her rifle against the door. She went to the front of the machine and faced the house. "Hey, Donnie, it's Grace! The woman from the future!"

  Robert puzzled over that. Woman from the future?

  "I'm here with my dad. We need to talk to you a second."

  "Then talk," came a gruff voice. “Ain’t nobody stopping you.”

  Grace jerked in surprise. She'd been watching the front door and Donnie had come from around the side of the house, the shotgun butt raised to his shoulder. It was pointed away from her but held in a way that he could wield it quickly if he needed to. Donnie was the cautious sort.

  She wondered for a moment if he recognized her. He was old enough that she wasn't certain what his cognitive faculties were. Maybe he got up and started each day anew with a fresh slate, writing over all the data from the previous day. She'd known old people like that.

  "Donnie, do you remember me?"

  "How could I forget? Girl from the future, wandering up the road with a robot handing out soup. Ain’t like you see that every day."

  Grace laughed. She turned around and gestured to her dad. "Come on, he's okay. He remembers me."

  Robert cautiously exited the ATV. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, not wanting to appear threatening, though not ready to leave it behind. He gave a wave, partly to demonstrate friendliness and partly to show that his hands were empty.

  "So that’s your dad, huh?"

  Grace nodded and approached the gate separating the yard from the road. "Is it all right if we come on up?"

  "Suit yourself."

  Grace shoved her way through the gate, made easier since she had already wrestled it from the entangled grass on her previous visit. She waved behind her to urge Robert forward. They slipped through the gate and approached Donnie.

  Robert extended a hand, which Donnie reluctantly took. "Good to meet you. Sorry it didn't happen earlier, under better circumstances."

  Donnie shrugged. "Times ain’t what they used to be. Neighbors don't get out and meet each other anymore. People got too much nonsense to do and being social ain’t part of it."

  "I'm afraid that's true"

  Donnie cocked an eyebrow at Grace, a gesture she now recognized as somewhat playful. "What you doing bringing the liar around here?"

  Grace frowned and looked at her dad but he was taking it stoically. If he was offended, he hid it. An armed society is a polite society.

  "When I was here earlier my dad wasn't home yet. He got stuck on the road and it took him a while to get home. The reason I’m here is that we think there are some people who might come looking for us."

  Donnie shot Robert a serious look. “Piss somebody off with them lies of yours?”

  “No,” Robert shot back. “It’s a congressman.”

  “The government?” Donnie asked. He pronounced it gub-ment.

  Robert nodded.

  Donnie frowned and looked back at Grace. "Why would anybody come after you? Girl from outer space, robot man, and a liar? What so special about you all?"

  “There’s a congressman whose plan to survive the hard times is by stealing the homes and supplies of folks more prepared than him,” Grace offered. "My dad writes books about survival and the congressman thinks that means he must have supplies hoarded up. He plans on taking them."

  "Well, you did have that extra soup. Don’t you got a few more cans?"

  "Donnie!"
Grace admonished. “It’s more than that. They want everything. The house, the land, the supplies. That’s what we’ve been led to believe.”

  "So you’re a survivalist?” Donnie asked. “I read about them people.”

  "That's what they seem to think I am," Robert replied. "In reality we just have a small farm. I like to look at us as homesteaders. We may be a little better prepared than the next guy but that's just because my job makes me paranoid."

  "Paranoid and a liar? Ever thought about getting the old noggin checked out?" Donnie asked, spinning a gnarled finger against the side of his head, a gesture meant to indicate that not everything under Robert’s hood might be hitting on all cylinders.

  "That's not the issue," Grace said. "I need you to listen. This is serious."

  The smile faded from Donnie's face and he nodded. "Okay. No cracking wise. What do you need?"

  Grace took a deep breath. "We've taken steps to barricade the road between your house and ours but they may still show up looking for us."

  "So you want me to lie and say your daddy doesn't live up here? Say I've never seen him?"

  Grace shook her head. “You can say whatever you want to say, Donnie. I won’t ask you to lie since you apparently have an issue with liars, but if you hear anyone asking about us we’d sure appreciate a heads up. Likewise, if you see anybody strange lurking around, let us know if you can."

  Donnie looked appalled. "Walk my ass all the way up to your house? Hell, I'm old."

  Grace broke out in laughter. "You may be old but you're not feeble. I've seen the way you get around. It's not that far.”

  Donnie smiled back. "Well if you’re gonna flatter me, I reckon I can do it.

  Robert began fooling with a pouch on his plate carrier. “He doesn’t even need to walk, Grace. I have a radio he can use. I have more of them at the house.” Robert pulled a sharpie from a pocket and wrote the number “10” on the back. He handed it over to Donnie.

  “Channel 10?” Donnie asked.

  Robert nodded. “We monitor it twenty-four hours a day. Just give the word.”

  “You got it,” Donnie said.

  Grace moved forward and hugged the old man. He was taken aback and didn't know what to say. Grace had to admit the old guy was growing on her. He was like the grandfather she’d never had and she liked his sass.

  Robert extended a hand and shook Donnie's again. "Really appreciate it, sir. I promise not to tell any lies about you."

  "Hell, I want you to tell them,” Donnie said. “Make them good’uns. Build a legend.”

  Robert laughed. "I’ll do my best."

  With a wave, Grace and Robert headed back to the ATV. Robert paused at the gate and turned around to face Donnie one more time. "Donnie, are you a beer drinking man?"

  “Does the tin man have a metal ass?”

  "Can I take that as a yes?”

  “It’s a big ten-four.”

  "Then I might have an extra six-pack I could bring you. Might taste good on a hot day. If you could find a spring somewhere to let them sit for a day they’d chill real nice.”

  "Not gonna be some of that weird microbrew shit, is it? Like Bolivar’s Pumpkin Sprout IPA or something?"

  Robert laughed. "No. I'm sure I've got some you'd like."

  "Then bring it. I'll drank it."

  “It’s a deal.”

  Back inside the vehicle, Robert reached for the ignition.

  “Dad?”

  He paused and looked at Grace. She was looking back at him seriously.

  “I can’t remember if I ever thanked you for what you did, but I appreciate all of it. I appreciate the weapons training, the first aid, and the survival skills. I appreciate you for making me tough and teaching me to think on my feet. It saved my life. It’s made me brave enough to go up to people like Donnie and know that I can handle them. You gave me that and I want you to know how much it means to me.”

  Robert stared at his hand hovering over the ignition key, tears welling in his eyes. He shook his head. “I love you, Grace. All I wanted was for you to be safe. I wanted you to be brave, strong, and capable. That’s all that ever mattered. As it turns out, I’m probably a pretty lousy role model, but I appreciate what you’re saying.”

  Grace looked at him confused. “Why would you say that?”

  Robert shrugged. “I didn’t do so well at Arthur’s compound, sweetie. I couldn’t keep my head in the game. All I could think about was getting back to you guys. I thought that was my strength. I thought that staying focused on that would motivate me—would save me—but it didn’t. While I preached about adaptability and flexibility, I couldn’t follow my own words. I failed, Grace.”

  “Oh, Daddy, you didn’t fail. I’m alive. You’re alive. Our family is alive. Tom and Sonyea are alive. I think everyone at the compound made it. Everything is fine. You have to let all that go.” Her voice was sweet and sincere, reassuring in a way that portrayed an emotional maturity beyond her years.

  “If things are fine, it’s no thanks to me.”

  Grace shook her head. “That’s not true at all. If anything, you were scared and worried. You were thinking with your heart and your head fell behind. Those kind of things happen to everyone but you learn from it and go on. If you spend the rest of your life kicking yourself over that one mistake you’ll never go forward. You’ll be stuck here forever.”

  Robert turned and hugged his daughter. “I am so proud of you, Grace. You impress me every day. I am truly blessed.”

  His shoulder became damp as she started crying. That pushed him over the edge and soon he was sobbing. They only stopped when they sensed they were being watched. They both turned forward to see Donnie staring at them through the windshield, hands on hips, shaking his head slowly as he tried to figure out what the liar and the girl from the future were up to.

  18

  Muncie didn't make it inside the house. When Debbie opened the screen door and stepped out of the way to allow him to enter, the wave of toxic fumes hit him in the face like a hammer. As locals were fond of saying, the smell was bad enough to knock a buzzard off a shit-wagon. Already nauseous from the deep bone pain that radiated through his hand and up his arm, the smell was the final straw for Muncie. He spun around and violently heaved his guts over the porch rail.

  "It ain't that bad," Debbie scolded, shaking her head. "Quit being dramatic.”

  Muncie didn't reply. He couldn’t. He staggered down the steps, clutching his hand to his chest, and sat down in the grass. He leaned backwards against a support post and tried to clear his head. Between the pain and nausea, his mind was reeling. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He needed to get this back on track. He needed to suck it up if he wanted to live.

  If he entirely forgot his mission, all this would have been for nothing–Asbury’s death, losing half his hand, and whatever else happened to him today. He needed to focus. He needed the information this girl had about the Hardwicks.

  He spat, then smacked his crusty lips together. He wished he’d brought his water bottle. The taste in his mouth was nearly as bad as the smell in the house. "This place I was asking about," he moaned. "You say you been there?"

  Debbie let the screen door shut and climbed down the steps. She stood in front of Muncie, hip cocked defiantly, hand resting on it. "I told you I’ve been there. I've been inside. When you’re there, you don’t even know the power is out. They got everything. Movies, cold beer, air conditioning—everything you could want."

  Thinking of his own needs for a moment, of his pain and suffering, he considered the idea of taking the place for himself, as Asbury had suggested. He relished the pure selfishness of it. "If we got there, could you get me inside?"

  She laughed. "No way, dude. There wasn't nothing but women and kids home last time I was up there and they still killed everybody who tried. Everybody! They got all kinds of guns and they know how to shoot. A man in your condition, missing his hand, don't stand a chance."

  Muncie actually snarled at her. “A
nd whose fault is that?”

  Debbie wasn’t intimidated. “I could have killed you, but I didn’t. Where’s the appreciation for that?”

  Muncie took a deep breath, trying to calm his roiling gut. The foul aroma from the house hit his nostrils again and he gagged. A surge of pain from his hand shot through him, threatening to swallow him. "Hey, I know it's a longshot but you wouldn't have any pain pills in the house would you? This…hurts…bad."

  Debbie shook her head automatically. No way was she sharing any of those precious little pills with this guy. He would have to scrounge for them on his own, just like she did. "No. Why would I have any pain pills?”

  Muncie bored into her with that cop look. "Just a thought. Asbury was right about you not being a hiker. I thought he might be right that you used drugs too."

  She choked down a fleeting a moment of panic, squirming under his cop radar and shaking her head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don’t hang out around those kind of people."

  Although Muncie’s gut told him she was lying, there wasn’t much he could do about it at the moment. He couldn’t search her. He probably couldn’t even restrain her in his current condition. He couldn’t threaten her at gunpoint because he wasn’t even sure he could draw it in this state. If he tried to fight her, all she had to do was touch his throbbing stump and he’d squeal like a cat under a rocking chair.

  To hell with saving the mission. He was practically defenseless at this point and there was only one way to salvage it. He had to take her back with him. His mission had been about retrieving information after all, and she was that information. Her brain, impaired and limited as it was, might contain more intel on the Hardwick property than he could have obtained from any records source. She had more than the location. She had visual confirmation. She could guide them there, and provide information on what awaited them when they got there. He just had to make the proposal appealing enough that she would want to go.

  "So what your plan?" he asked.