No Time For Mourning: Book Four in The Borrowed World Series

by Franklin Horton

  “Have we got something to carry it in?” Randi asked.

  “We’ll pack it into the old feed sacks and tie them in pairs. Hang one over each side.”

  They stared at each other awkwardly. They were a loving family, yet not an affectionate one. Feelings were present while never discussed.

  “Then I suppose there’s not much more to do except load everyone up and get out of here,” she said. “It’s going to be a long day. None of us have ever ridden that far. It’ll be hard on the little ones.”

  “How are you going?”

  “We’ll go out the back side of the farm and follow the river for a while. I’d like to cut across some of those big farms along the highway. If I can go across them instead of around them it will save a lot of miles.”

  “Just be careful,” Tommy warned. “People may be pretty aggressive about how they handle trespassers.”

  “I will,” she said.

  Randi needed to get everyone saddled up, she needed to get the canning, she needed to get her Go Bag. She couldn’t stop staring at the farm though. At the burned out rubble of the home she’d grown up in. “I always thought this was the safest place in the world,” she said. “No matter what happened to me in my life, this was the one place where none of it mattered. I knew I could always come home and it would be okay.”

  Tommy nodded. “That’s why I never left.”

  “Bullshit,” Randi said. “You never left because you were too damn sorry to cook for yourself.”

  Tommy grinned. “That too.”

  Chapter 18

  Wallace County

  When Don and Hodge pulled up to the gate of the Glenwall golf course, it was nearly dark. The two had not been out much at night, and certainly not out of their own local community. Darkness made the powerless state of the world that much more peculiar. Places like Glenwall, which had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on accent and area lighting, were never intended to sit in the dark. The two had learned on their last visit that some of these million dollar homes didn’t even have functioning windows. It was assumed that the air would be conditioned, regardless of the time of year. There would never be a need to actually open a window and let outside air in. Some people had been forced to break their own windows out of desperation, trying to get some relief in the summer heat.

  The guards at the gates were the same ones as last time and they recognized the two approaching men. One spoke into a radio. Don shifted the truck into park and killed the engine. The guard that had called out on the radio approached. Although his rifle was raised, he was not so on-edge as last time.

  “You guys know the drill,” he said loudly. “Any weapons?”

  Don shook his head. He thought the guard’s loud commands were for show. “No.”

  The guard laughed. “Better be getting some then. Shit is dangerous. We hear shots popping off all day long.” He walked to the trailer, glanced in. “They’re good! Nothing but cows!” he called to the other guard.

  The same golf cart as last time whizzed up to the gate and Baxter, the Emergency Management Coordinator they’d spoken to last time, hopped out. He was accompanied again by the same menacing bald man.

  “Fucker looks glad to see us,” Don commented to his co-pilot. “Reckon they ate all those cows already?”

  Hodge shook his head, a single thought on his mind. “Ask about the liquor?”

  “Hellfire,” Don said. “You either going to have to cut back or learn to make it, Hodge. You can’t count on it to keep turning up.”

  “It don’t always turn up,” Hodge said.

  “Yeah, no shit,” Don said. “I know you were the asshole that drank my Aqua Velva aftershave.”

  Hodge didn’t deny it. “Where you gonna wear aftershave anyway?”

  “Don’t matter,” Don replied. “It was a gift from a lady friend. It had sentimental value. Didn’t expect I’d have to be on guard against some damn boozer sucking it down his pie-hole.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, it tasted like shit,” Hodge said. “You got to strain it through a slice of light bread before you drink it. Supposed to filter out the bad parts.”

  Don shook his head in disgust. “That’s about the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

  Don recalled that at one time Rockdell Farms had employed nearly a thousand people. Now all they could keep were alcoholics who couldn’t hold another job. It was a sad state of affairs.

  “Good to see you,” Baxter said, approaching the vehicle and extending a hand to Don through the window. “You had me a little worried.”

  “Said I’d be back,” Don stated.

  “You eat all them cattle already?” Hodge asked.

  “They aren’t simply for eating,” Baxter laughed. “We trade them for medicine, fresh vegetables, ammunition, and fuel.”

  “Pay those guards with meat too?” Don asked.

  “Sometimes. Our guards come from a variety of different backgrounds. They work under a special arrangement. Their compensation is commensurate with what they bring to the table in the way of skills and experience.”

  Don nodded. That sounded like some kind of boring shit he wasn’t interested in sitting through. “We planned on being here hours ago except some son-of-a-bitch took it on himself to blow the road up that we used to get these cattle. We had a time backing the trailer out of there and coming around to our farm from the other side.”

  Baxter looked concerned. “Someone blew the road up? Who?”

  Don shook his head, spat out the window. “No fucking clue. Reckon one of those people that lives back in there.”

  “Why would they do that?” Baxter asked.

  “They got a good place to live,” Don said. “Reckon they don’t want any company.”

  “What’s so good about it?” Baxter asked. “What makes it any better than what we got over here?”

  “They got plenty of good water,” Don said. “Springs and creeks. They got a lot of cattle and grazing land, good fields for crops, plenty of game. It’s a hard spot to get into.”

  “Damn sight harder now,” Hodge pitched in.

  “How many folks even live back in there?” Baxter asked. “I don’t know much about that area.”

  Don shrugged. “There were probably two dozen families before shit got bad. Don’t know how many are left. I heard they had some trouble a while back with an escaped convict or something and a few folks got killed.”

  Baxter nodded, processing. “Well, we better get these cattle unloaded,” he said. “When they get the gate open, you all pull through to the tennis courts, same as last time.”

  Don nodded and restarted the engine. Baxter stepped back, called to one of the guards to follow the truck to the tennis courts and help them unload.

  Hodge leaned awkwardly across the cab and stuck his head out Don’s window. “Reckon a feller could get another bottle of that liquor? I think the last one evaporated or something.”

  Baxter smiled. “I’ll take care of it.” He wanted to keep these guys coming back.

  Hodge grinned. “Appreciate it, buddy.”

  Don pulled through the gate, giving Baxter a nod as he did. Baxter smiled and waved back, continuing to watch the truck and trailer as it wound its way toward the tennis courts.

  Baxter jogged back to his golf cart where his head of security was waiting. The man’s name was Valentine and he’d been on the campus security staff at the local community college until Baxter recruited him. Valentine appeared to know a lot about survival in these situations and had impressed Baxter. If he had any bad qualities, it was that he was perhaps a little too gung-ho. Baxter had to monitor him closely. There was a dark bend to him that Baxter tried not to think too much about.

  He jumped in the cart and leaned toward Valentine. “I need you to drop me off at the clubhouse, then I need a favor. Don’t say a word on the radio but I want you on a motorcycle ready to go in ten minutes. You’ll need a compact weapon, night vision goggles, a satphone, and food for a couple
of days.”

  Valentine nodded and sped off, Baxter holding onto his hat. He’d have to drop Baxter off at the clubhouse to get cash and it wouldn’t give him much time to get ready.

  Chapter 19

  Wallace County

  Don drove carefully. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven at night by headlights. In his normal life, he didn’t go out much at night. He’d driven this particular road many times over the years since it led to the cattle market, and it was in the worst state he’d ever seen it. With the highway department no longer working to maintain the roads, no one cleaned up the debris that found its way onto the road. There were branches of all sizes, trash, dead animals, and disabled vehicles in abundance. Driving required a moderate speed and full attention.

  He was afraid now, due to the reminders from the guard at Glenwall, about the dangerousness of being out at night. Though he’d heard stories about increasing violence, somehow it never occurred to him that he could fall victim to such a crime. He’d never been paranoid in his normal life because he wasn’t the kind of person people robbed. He didn’t have anything worth stealing most days. Now that was probably not the case. He had an operable vehicle with a full tank of fuel. He and Hodge both had pockets bulging with cash. If Hodge didn’t drain it before they hit Rockdell Farm, they even had a decent bottle of liquor in the vehicle with them.

  “I wish to hell you’d help me keep an eye out,” Don said. “This drive is giving me bad nerves.”

  Hodge threw his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know what else you think I could be doing. It ain’t like I’m playing the damn ukulele. I’m staring straight ahead just like you.”

  “You’re drunk as a boiled owl. You ain’t no help at all. What I need to do is hire a new farmhand that knows how to stay sober.”

  “You best be thanking the Lord for drunks because when we run out there won’t be nothing left but pill-heads and they don’t take to farm work. They’d rather stay home and collect disability,” Hodge said.

  “Pretty damn sorry world when drunks represent the top tier of the labor pool,” Don muttered.

  Hodge laughed. “You think you’re pretty fucking funny, don’t you? Ain’t just anybody that would put up with a bastard like you.”

  Don locked up the brakes on the truck. The dually truck screeched to a stop, the trailer slewing sideways. Hodge flew forward, hitting his head on the passenger window. Had he turned loose from his bottle, he might have been able to throw his hands up and lessen the impact but he didn’t. It was a natural reaction for him to clutch the bottle, the same way a mother would throw her arm out to the side to brace a child seated beside her if she had to stop suddenly.

  “What the hell?” Hodge bellowed, rubbing his head. “What did you do that for? Was it a deer?”

  “Take it back,” Don said, looking at Hodge with a stare cold as the February wind.

  “Take what back?”

  “You called me a bastard and nobody calls me that,” Don said. “There’s joking and there’s serious. This is serious. You can take it back or take an ass whooping right here in the middle of the damn road.”

  Hodge threw his head back and laughed, then cringed and grabbed his forehead. “If it didn’t hurt so bad, that would be pretty fucking funny.”

  “How about I throw your ass out on the road here and make you walk home?” Don said. “An old drunk like you, it wouldn’t take much. I could do it.”

  Hodge could now tell that Don wasn’t joking. His smile faded. “You serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?” Don reached forward and turned off the key. Silence cinched tight around them. The dash lights faded and darkness filled the cab.

  “This ain’t right, Don. We’ve worked together for a long time. This how it’s going to end?”

  “Yeah, we’ve worked together a long time and I’ve hated every fucking minute of it,” Don said. “I ask myself every day why I don’t get to work with someone with a decent personality instead of a damn drunk that don’t say more than five words an hour. I could prop an inflatable Santa up in that seat and get the same amount of conversation out of it.”

  “You know how low you are? You’re so low, you have to look up to see Hell,” Hodge said.

  Don shook his head in disgust. “You getting out of the truck or am I coming around and pulling you out? ‘Cause this is the last time I’m asking.”

  In the darkness, Don heard fumbling, then a distinctive metallic click. Even in blackness, he knew the sound. Shit. “That a gun?”

  “Damn right it is,” Hodge said. “And I got it pointed right at you.”

  “Thought we didn’t have no guns on us?”

  “Just because you’re too stupid to carry a gun doesn’t mean I am,” Hodge said. “I’m a hell of a lot smarter than you are. Ain’t that obvious? Now start the damn truck and drive me to the house.”

  Don didn’t move. A fly in the cab flitted against the glass window. It wanted no part of what was going on either.

  “You may be prone to repeating yourself, but I’m not,” Hodge said. “This truck ain’t running by the time I’m done talking I’ll shoot you and take it. I know where you’re taking the cattle now so I’ll start making my own runs. Who needs you anyway?”

  Before the words could even settle out of the air, the truck was started and lurched into motion.

  Don had realized he had no choice but to give in. Still, he was angry and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “You know you’re fired, right?”

  The pistol shot exploded in the cab of the truck, shattering Don’s window, and leaving both men with ringing ears. Don jerked and cried out. The truck swerved, then straightened.

  “What the hell, Hodge?”

  “I know you were wondering if I’d do it. You were also wondering if the gun was even loaded. I thought it best to address that before there was a misunderstanding of some sort.”

  “You’re still fired,” Don said. “You show up at my house for work tomorrow and I’ll kick your ass.”

  Hodge laughed. “You know the gun is loaded, you know I ain’t scared to pull the trigger, and you still won’t shut up? You best remember that I’m drunk and irrational. I’m also a career alcoholic and the folks at the detox say I potentially have organic brain disease due to drinking.”

  Don locked his mouth in a grim line and looked straight ahead.

  “That’s what I thought,” Hodge said. “Bastard.” He laughed.

  Neither man had any idea they were being followed. Had the motorcycle been using its headlight, they would surely have noticed it due to the lack of other vehicles on the road. The rider, Valentine, was operating the bike using a night vision device that attached to a helmet and pulled down over his eyes.

  It was a third generation military-grade device owned by the Wallace County sheriff’s department. With some of the deputies now working for Baxter and the residents of Glenwall, Baxter had access to all sorts of law enforcement and military hardware. That included body armor, some night vision and thermal equipment, and several select-fire Law Enforcement Only weapons.

  Valentine had no idea what was going on when the truck slid to a stop on the dark highway. The trailer blocked his ability to see the cab of the truck. He had been concerned that they may have somehow detected his presence so he stopped and turned off the bike. He listened carefully and no one got out of the truck. After several moments of indecision, wondering whether he should turn back, the truck started again and continued on its journey. He had no idea where they were headed, only that it was in a nearby county. He was to do a recon of the area and then call a report in to Baxter tomorrow on his satellite phone.

  When the gunshot blasted out the side window ahead of him, Valentine flinched, assuming they were firing at him. He swerved off the road and stayed put for a minute, but there was no follow up shot. The truck continued on its way as if nothing had happened. Satisfied that they were not firing at him, he pulled back in behind them.

&nb
sp; Valentine wasn’t sure what he was doing out here though he knew that Baxter was always a step ahead of everyone else. Baxter had sized up the scale of this disaster and realized that there were more resources in the hands of the Glenwall folks than in hands of the county government. While not everyone knew about it, including the county administrators, Baxter didn’t work for the county anymore. He’d taken a more lucrative position with the folks of Glenwall.

  Baxter had been persuasive to the group that he assembled, a collection of folks he knew from his work for the county. Among the residents of Glenwall were many retired executives. Those men formed the Board of Directors of the private golf course community. They were very wealthy men who built their wealth by nature of being forward-thinking and proactive. When the disaster hit, they were quick to see the writing on the wall. They knew that this situation would be no different than a stock deal. It was critical to get in early. In this case, getting in early meant securing as many local resources as they could—food, security, fuel, and weapons. The Board of Directors was quick to point out to Baxter that the residents of Glenwall collectively had more money than the county did. Significantly more.

  Chapter 20

  Tommy

  For much of the morning after Randi and her brood departed, Tommy traced lines in the dirt with a stick and pondered the smoldering shell of his home. He considered various ways he might make the Cross family pay for the death of his family and the destruction of his home. His natural inclination was to rush the home and shoot everyone in sight. He worried that he wouldn’t be able to kill everyone before he himself got shot. He didn’t particularly worry about the dying part of getting shot. He didn’t want to die while any of the Crosses remained alive. He thought of setting their house on fire and shooting anyone that ran out. Somehow he didn’t find that idea…satisfying. Vengeance was about more than just killing.

  It was about feeding a hunger.