Switched On: Book Six in The Borrowed World Series

by Franklin Horton

  Jim considered. “Just Mrs. Fairlane, I guess.”

  “She a miner?”

  “Not that I recollect,” Jim replied.

  “So this could have been going on under our noses, really, and us still not see a thing,” Hugh concluded.

  “I guess so,” Jim shrugged. “We might need to lay eyes on it.”

  “What possible benefit could there be to us verifying this plant is either operating or ramping up to operate? I’m not sure any action on our part will affect the speed at which power is restored to this valley.”

  “Maybe not but, for one, I’d like to make sure that some of that power produced there goes to our local communities and isn’t all funneled northeast to aid in the recovery of Washington, D.C. and its suburbs.”

  “I guess that’s a possibility,” Hugh admitted.

  "So do you feel like a little recon mission?" Jim asked. “Nothing crazy. Just verifying what you saw last night.”

  Hugh regarded Jim. "I understand you may not want anything crazy to happen but you do understand that you have no control over that, right? Crazy shit happens despite everyone’s best intentions. It happens despite how much care you take. It happens despite your level of preparation.”

  “Trust me, I completely understand that,” Jim said. There was an honest gravity to his expression that made it clear to Hugh that Jim had seen a lot, had gone through a lot, since shit got real.

  Hugh shrugged. "I guess we could just walk up to the gate and ask them when they intended to steer some of that power toward town, couldn’t we?"

  “I guess we could.”

  “Just who do you want on this mission?" Hugh asked.

  "How about just you and me. Let me radio Randi and make sure she doesn't have any problem with us taking a couple of her horses. After the way our last trip went, she’s probably okay with staying home."

  “Have at it,” Hugh said.

  Jim picked up his radio and keyed the mic. “Randi, this is Jim. Jim calling Randi."

  Jim checked his watch and saw that it was around 8 AM. Randi was probably up by now, probably having a cigarette from some secret stash of hers.

  "This is Randi. Go ahead, Jim."

  "Hey, sorry to bother you but Hugh and I need to take a little trip this morning. We need to check out something. Do you mind if we borrow two of your horses?"

  "I don't mind. But I don't want to go. That last trip to town did me for a long time. I’ll just stay here."

  "Thanks, Randi."

  "You got it. Be careful."

  “Hey, Randi!” Jim said quickly. “One more thing.”

  “What is it?”

  “Is that a banjo I hear in the background? Are you at Lloyd’s again?”

  “Fuck you and the horse I lent you to ride in on,” Randi said.

  Jim put his radio down and was preparing to get up when it chirped again. "Jim, this is Ford."

  Jim picked it up and replied. "Go ahead, Ford."

  “When you guys leave the valley, swing by my place a second."

  "Roger that. It may be about thirty minutes before we get squared away here."

  “No problem. See you then.”

  Jim left Hugh by the fire and went to his bedroom to retrieve some gear for the trip. His intention was to be back in one long day but things didn't always work out as planned so he would gear up for two. Jim woke his wife and explained to her what was going on. This wasn't the kind of world anymore where you took leaving home lightly. Every little trip could be the last trip. Every good-bye could be the last time you spoke to that person. With that fresh in his head, he kissed each of his children goodbye.

  When Jim returned to the living room, he was dragging an armload of loose gear. He put on his base layers, his snow pants, his vest, and his fleece. He stepped into his boots, then put on his coat and web gear. He threw on his Go Bag and retrieved a spare pack to strap onto the horses. In the basement, he cracked open a case of MREs and shoved half of them in the pack, along with a half dozen freeze-dried Mountain House meals. Back upstairs, the two men gathered their gear and moved to the porch.

  They went around back to the outbuilding where Jim stored his camping gear. The kids called it The Daddy Shack. He grabbed two heavy winter sleeping bags and a 10 x 20 tarp. The tarp could be used to rig an assortment of shelters if it came to that. Jim crammed each sleeping bag into a kayaking dry bag, sealed the top, and then grabbed a rope for attaching them to the horses.

  "I'm assuming you need one of these?" Jim asked, holding up the sleeping bag.

  Hugh nodded. "Pretty much brought everything else. Hadn't planned on an overnight trip though."

  They hauled all of their gear to the barn, saddled Randi’s horses, and packed their animals. Despite Jim being a total amateur at both saddling and packing horses, they were out of there in a few minutes. In another ten, they were in front of Ford's mobile home. Ford came to the porch and waved them inside.

  "We ain't got time to bullshit around," Jim mumbled to Hugh. “Let’s try to make this short.”

  His mind was already on the journey ahead. He assumed Ford was wanting them to make some side trip for him or perhaps even to tag along. If he was interested in going, he was shit out of luck. Jim and Hugh had not brought another horse with them and they were not interested in waiting while Ford fetched another.

  The two men stomped off their boots on the porch and went inside Ford’s sparse trailer. Ford greeted the men and without much preamble led them to what must have been the spare bedroom for whoever had once owned this place. There they found a bare mattress covered with the gear that Ford had brought from the weapons locker at the emergency operations center.

  "Oh shit!" Hugh’s mouth involuntarily curled into a smile.

  "I’m not sure where you guys are headed, or what you’re headed into, but after what happened on our last trip I wondered if you might want to borrow some of the good stuff. Notice I specifically said borrow."

  Jim gestured at the bed. "This is what was in all those duffle bags we hauled back?"

  "Yep. I assumed all this gear was long gone. Most of the good stuff was at the Sheriff’s Department office and this was only a secondary locker. They kept it there in case anything crazy happened. I guess nobody bothered checking it."

  As Jim continued to stare wide-eyed, Hugh was efficiently checking each weapon.

  "There's body armor too," Ford told them. "Now you can stick a pair of real plates in that plate carrier."

  Jim picked up a plate from the small stack on the bed and examined it.

  “It’s a level IV composite. The pair adds about fifteen pounds to your loadout so it sucks if you’re walking long distances. Since you guys are riding, it sucks more for the horse. But that particular plate is rated to stop a 30.06 with armor piercing rounds.”

  “Maybe that’ll save our asses if we come under sniper fire,” Hugh said. “I feel pretty exposed sitting on the back of a horse.”

  “Unless he’s a skilled sniper with a good rifle,” Ford added. “Then he might take the head shot.”

  “That’s comforting,” Jim said.

  “What about any of these weapons?” Hugh asked.

  “Some of this stuff was confiscations and I haven’t had a chance to check it out thoroughly. What are you guys carrying already?”

  “M4s and pistols,” Jim said.

  “Then why don’t one of you take the select-fire M4? It’s burst, not full auto. The other can take the MP5. It’s got a four-position safety so make sure you familiarize yourself with it before you pull the trigger. I’ve got loaded mags for each of those but you’re sticking to the same calibers you’re already carrying for consistency.”

  “Good plan,” Hugh agreed. He wasted no time grabbing up those weapons and mags.

  “I appreciate this,” Jim said. “We owe you big time.”

  “Don’t get all mushy,” Ford said. “Just wear the fucking plates and come back alive. I don’t want to have to take care of your fam
ily because you did dumb shit.”

  Jim smiled. “I think we’re going to get along after all.”

  Ford helped them carry the stuff out to the living room. He assisted each man in slipping the composite armor into the carriers each was already wearing. With that done, Hugh and Jim headed back to their horses, stowed the new gear, and mounted up.

  It felt like the sun had already pushed the morning above freezing. Hugh pulled a blue bandana from a pocket and tied it around his head, then inserted a dip of tobacco into his lip.

  “You ready?” Jim asked.

  “Just waiting on you,” Hugh replied.

  ON THE TRAIL, Jim powered up his Garmin backpacking GPS. He hadn’t used the thing in months and was pleased to find that the GPS satellite network was still available. Jim had a paper map, but the various maps and overlays in his GPS contained a lot more information than the paper map did. This could be important since his plan was not to follow the roads but to head cross-country. While this might add to the distance they would travel, hopefully it would reduce the possibility of unplanned encounters with other folks, particularly hostile encounters.

  The town sat directly between the two men and the power plant they wanted to see. There was no way for Jim to head toward the power plant without crossing through town unless he was interested in making a broad swing around it, which could add hours to the trip. After their last experience in town, after the loss of Buddy, Jim wanted to minimize those periods of exposure. They would cross directly through town at one of its narrowest points.

  Jim had uploaded a variety of local map data into his GPS over the years. The GPS could read various map sets as long as they met certain data parameters. One particular topographical map set not only showed secondary roads but also certain farm and logging roads. It even contained abandoned roads for which the public right of way was still in place. It was one of those old abandoned roads Jim hoped to take out of town.

  They approached the small town by means of a farm road and crossed Main Street without incident. They immediately steered their horses through the old town park and the untouched snow indicated that no one had been there since the storm. They plodded past rusting swing sets, jungle gyms, and picnic shelters.

  Jim eyeballed the WWII 155mm Howitzer that had been on display at the park since his childhood. He remembered the barrel being packed tightly with the shattered glass of beer bottles. “If I could improvise some shells for that thing, it might be a nice addition to the valley.”

  Hugh regarded the cannon skeptically. “You could probably build something equally effective for less trouble.”

  At the far end of the park was a yellow pipe gate that was padlocked shut. The gate blocked access to an old right of way that had been used since the town was established. As happens with modernization, some of those old pioneer-era paths become official roads and some never do. With the advent of car traffic, people continued to use the rough, unmaintained road as a shortcut from the northern corner of the county. When county officials failed to develop and maintain the road the landowners realized they would never profit from the inconvenience of having people cross their property. They lobbied the county and succeeded in having the road closed down, much to the consternation of those that relied on the road as their shortest route to the feed store.

  Jim pulled a pair of folding bolt cutters from his pack and cut the lock open. Once they were through, he closed the gate behind him and arranged the chain to hide his handiwork. Beyond the gate, they had a peaceful hour on a quiet farm road. They saw a lot of birds, including a hawk. They saw a red fox scurrying in the distance and rabbits padding across the melting snow. Although there was plenty of life along the road, there was no sign of people, and that was okay with both of them.

  The farm road eventually brought them to a paved secondary road. There were several sets of tracks on this road including ATV, people, and horses. Some folks back in there were still getting around and getting by. This was the area of the county that Hugh had grown up in and he knew it well. Since this part of the county was only sparsely populated, Hugh encouraged Jim to stay on the paved road, which would save them a lot of time and take them more directly to their next route, a dirt road leading to an even more remote section of the county.

  Jim was pleased to see signs of life along this road. There were farm dogs still guarding their homes, which made him hope there was life inside them. Some homes had smoke coming from chimneys while others appeared to be burning old seasoned wood that produced very little smoke. Jim couldn’t see smoke coming out of those houses but he could smell it. Country people were resilient. They were used to making their own way in the world.

  In the remote community of Pickshin, they passed beneath a railroad trestle. The track was supported by foot-square beams and x-bracing fastened with long bolts. Creosote was slathered on the structure to act as a preservative. A change in the wind brought the scent of death to their nostrils. Neither man commented on it, both recognizing the scent, and hoping it was an animal. Still, they gripped their weapons a little tighter and scanned their surroundings warily, pleased that the snow provided something of a muffling effect to the hooves of their mounts.

  On the backside of the trestle, Hugh was the first to see the extended arm. His heart immediately surged, assuming it was a threat, but before he could warn Jim he determined there was no threat there. The arm was not held in a menacing gesture but with fingers curled in the supplication of death. Once they’d fully crossed beneath the trestle, they turned their horses. There were ropes wrapped around wooden cross-members, holding aloft the devastated body of a young man who'd wronged the residents of this community.

  The words thief and looter were spray-painted on the beam over his head. The body was bloated and blackened. Crows had removed the eyes with the jagged chiseling of their beaks. One hand had been cut off, as well as both feet. The man was stripped of his clothing and the discoloration of his body made it clear that he had taken a severe beating for his poor judgment.

  Neither Hugh nor Jim sympathized with the man. He got what he deserved. If there was anything to be regretted it was that the man had been so dumb as to steal from honest people who worked hard for what they had. Yet perhaps he served more of a purpose in his death than he had in his life, acting as both a warning and a cautionary tale to anyone else entering into Pickshin with bad intentions.

  It was two more hours before they reached the town of Cleveland, sitting on the muddy banks of the Clinch River. What Jim had hoped would be a four hour trip had taken nearly six, slowed by slick conditions and their own caution. The town sprouted from the sandy soils at a time when being located on the railroad meant something. When the emergence of the automobile meant that men were no longer bound to those two steel tracks, the town withered like the banded testicles of a goat. Yet the railroad did not die completely. Coal still traveled on those tracks and it was partly for that reason that the power plant was built there.

  Jim had driven by the old Carbo power plant several times. He’d even passed it in a canoe twice, so he knew how to access it. Despite traveling through a small town, despite being on a main road, Jim was excited they were so close to their objective. His exuberance overpowered his caution until they hit the railyard at Carbo. One moment they were riding along in the snow, uncertain as to whether there was any human occupation around them at all. Then they turned the corner and found evidence of the massive snow clearing operation. Jim was so taken aback that he just sat there on his horse staring at it. It took him a moment to realize Hugh was urgently calling his name as he steered his own horse off the road and up into a stand in the trees. Suddenly it occurred to Jim that they were standing there in plain sight in what was obviously an occupied, populated, active zone of operation.

  Once Jim reached the trees, he found Hugh on foot, scanning the area with a pair of binoculars.

  "Looks like they've been using those 900 Cats for snow cleanup," Jim said, climbing off his own
horse and tying it off to a cedar tree.

  "It's not the yellow machines the concern me as much as those other ones."

  Jim followed where Hugh was pointing out a row of neatly parked front end loaders in desert tan and woodland camo. Some were equipped with scraper blades for clearing snow while others had standard loader buckets. "It looks like somebody's opened this place up."

  “That may be one of the reasons they chose this power plant over some others. It has tracks going right to it. That’s probably an easier way to get fuel than trucking in the coal or trying to make sure the natural gas pipeline is intact. I’m just guessing.”

  They scanned the railyard, examining graffiti-covered cars. There was a lot of evidence of activity but neither spotted any people moving around.

  Hugh gestured to the road with a nod. "My guess is that if we proceed along this road we’re probably going to hit some kind of manned guard post.

  "The question then is whether or not we want to encounter the guard post.”

  "That's up to you, my friend," Hugh said. "This is your operation."

  Jim twisted up his mouth in thought. "I don’t want to take a chance on getting my horse and weapons confiscated.”

  "Then how about we find some place safe to tie these horses up? You can stay on the road and I'll shadow you in the woods. We find this guard post, you can ask them whatever the hell you want to ask them. If they don’t kill you, we’ll load up and head back home.”

  Jim shot Hugh an eat shit look. "I would like to talk to somebody. Even a little information about the power situation would be nice."

  "If you want information, you may have to offer something in trade. These are hard times and information may be all these poor bastards have. They’re not going to give it away out of the goodness of their heart."

  "What would you suggest?" Jim asked.

  Hugh dug around in the chest pocket of his jacket came out with half a crumpled pack of Newports. "Cigarettes usually work. They’re a universal currency."

  Jim took the smokes and stared at them for a moment. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, let's do this."