“Nah, honey, I know it ain’t a date. If it was a date I’d have worn underwear.”
“And I was just wondering why a prize like you hadn’t been snatched right up.”
Lloyd chuckled and poured Randi’s glass half-full of the blackberry moonshine. He filled his own glass half-full of the clear stuff.
Randi took a sip of her drink and stared off. She could see now why Lloyd favored the stuff, though she knew the blackberry was not as strong as the clear. With the formal introduction between the liquor and her taste buds out of the way, Randi drained her glass. She licked her lips and placed the glass back on the porch, noticing that Lloyd was staring at her wide-eyed.
“What?”
“You just moved up a notch in my estimation.”
She huffed. “Like I give a damn.”
Lloyd sipped his drink while Randi took the liberty of refilling her own glass. The first glass worked its way through her body, soothing her nerves and hammering down the sharp edges. She enjoyed a more relaxed pace with the second, taking measured sips.
“Seeing the way you sucked down that shot of liquor makes me inclined to ask again if you’re feeling okay but I’ve already asked once. If you want to talk, the ball’s in your court.”
She bit at her lip. “I can’t let it go,” she finally said, carefully annunciating each word.
Lloyd took a sip and smacked his lips as if the crude gesture so was the only way to explore the intricate bouquet of the homemade liquor. “Can’t let what go?”
“That the bitch who killed my family is still walking around. She got away with it. I let her get away with it.”
“Now wait a minute,” Lloyd said, shaking his head as if trying to erase a bitter taste from his mouth. “I thought you chose not to pursue this matter right now. I remember you saying that somebody had to call an end to the war and it was going to be you. You said you needed time to mourn and to heal.”
She took a sip of her drink and nodded in agreement. “I did. I said all those things. I meant them too. The person who said those things is the person that I want to be, not the person I am.”
Lloyd nodded in understanding. “You tried to get above your raising.”
Randi laughed. “I guess you could say that.”
“I do understand. Just because a decision seems like the right thing to do doesn’t mean you can live with it.”
“That’s where I’m at,” she said, looking Lloyd in the eye. “I don’t know where to go from here. My family needs me to be one thing. I need to be another. What should I do?”
Lloyd narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re seriously asking me?”
She nodded.
“I say you have to do what gives you peace. What lets you sleep at night,” he said.
“That means I have to go kill Lisa Cross.”
“Then so be it,” Lloyd said, raising his glass to her. “Here’s to decisions made.”
She raised her glass to him, feeling a burden lifted from her. She smiled to herself, finding surprise in the realization that the decision to kill someone could feel so right.
Chapter 13
Pop’s House
Just before they reached his parents’ house, Jim pulled his truck onto the shoulder of the road.
“Why are you stopping?” Pete asked.
“I’m going ahead to make sure no one has moved in.” Jim hopped out of the truck and slid an AR pistol from beneath the seat. He’d left his M-4 at home, opting for the smaller and more easily concealed weapon. Jim switched on the Vortex optic and raised the weapon to verify that the optic was functioning. He smacked the magazine to make sure it was seated and checked the chamber, seeing the glint of brass just where he wanted to see it.
“I don’t think you’ll find anyone up there,” Pops said. “We’re close to the state police substation and the 911 center. There are cops in and out of here all the time.”
“There used to be,” Jim said. “We don’t know if they’re still moving around here or not. We don’t even know if they got desperate themselves and decided to take a look in your house since it was sitting empty.”
Pops furrowed his brow at that, clearly not liking the thought.
“You want me to go with you?” Buddy asked from the back seat of the crew cab.
“No,” Jim said. “When I’m sure it’s clear, I’ll wave you up. One of you just scoot over and drive the truck up.”
Jim slipped on his plate carrier with its pouches of spare mags and trudged off up the hill toward the house. Halfway up the long drive, he slipped off into the weeds, disappearing quickly among the cedars and underbrush. There were trails in the woods around the house he’d used as a kid. Years later, Ariel and Pete used the same trails. They led to various spots along the property, including to the back of the house.
Pops watched Jim disappear onto the trail, his own mind having trouble processing everything. His old life in the home where he’d raised his son, and his new life living in his son’s spare room, were clashing.
“I don’t know if we’ll ever get to live in this house again,” Pops said out of the blue. It was spoken without bitterness but with resignation.
Buddy and Pete looked at him, unsure of how to respond.
“Nana and I are both getting older, and who knows how long it will be before this mess gets straightened out. It may not happen in my lifetime. I don’t like the idea but I’m trying to be practical.”
Buddy and Pete looked at each other, not exactly sure what to say. “I’m sure that’s difficult. Is there something we can do?” Buddy asked.
“I’d like to take as much back with us as we can,” Pops said. “I’d like Nana to have as many of her things as we can fit in the vehicle. I might make it back here again but I want to pack like this is the last time.”
“We can do that,” Buddy said. “Right, Pete?”
Pete nodded. “I bet Nana would like some of the stuff out of her flower garden. If we have time, I could even pull up some of her bulbs and take them back.”
“I think she’d like that,” Pops said.
“You just tell us what to do,” Buddy said. “We’ll do it.”
“I’ve got an open utility trailer here at the house,” Pops said. “We can hook it to this truck. I’ve also got a smaller trailer that hooks to the UTV.”
“He’s back!” Pete said, pointing. “There’s Dad.”
At the bend in the driveway, Jim was visible, his gun lowered. He was waving them up.
“Pete, can you drive us in?” Buddy asked.
Pete had been driving a lot around the farm and was pretty good at it. He climbed eagerly into the driver’s seat and started the truck. They eased up the hill. Jim walked ahead of them.
“Good job, Pete,” Jim said when he parked.
Pete smiled. “Can I drive back?”
“We’ll talk about it,” Jim said.
“Does that mean no?” Pete asked.
“Probably,” Jim said.
“You can drive the UTV,” Pops said. “You’ve been driving it since you could reach the pedals.”
Jim looked at Pops questioningly but Pops shrugged. “I’m going to be riding shotgun,” Pops said. “I’ll be keeping an eye out for trouble.”
Jim nodded, but without conviction. Pops was not always aware of the places danger lurked in the current state of the world but he wasn’t going to argue with him. Jim would just have to watch his own back as well as theirs.
“Any signs of damage?” Pops asked. “Has anyone broke in?”
Jim shook his head. “Looks like you were right. The yard needs mowing, the flowers need weeding, but otherwise everything looks fine.”
“Pete, how about you and Pops go hook that trailer up to Jim’s truck,” Buddy suggested.
“What trailer?” Jim asked.
Buddy gave Jim a look and a gesture that told him to hold any questions until the other two were gone. Pops slid into the driver’s seat and started off around the house, Pete wa
lking behind him to help guide him as he backed up to the trailer.
“What’s up?” Jim asked.
“Coming back here seems to have shaken your dad up a little,” Buddy said. “He says he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live here again. He wants to hook trailers up to both vehicles and haul some more stuff back. He wants to take things that are important to your mother so she’ll be more comfortable there.”
Jim nodded as this sank in. “That would be hard. In his shoes, I’d be feeling the same way.”
“Glad to hear you’re okay with taking the extra time,” Buddy said. “I know you’re not always real patient about these things.”
“I’m working on it,” Jim said with a smile. “This will be my act of patience for the day, then it’s back to being an asshole.”
Buddy laughed.
They heard the roar of the diesel engine and Jim’s truck came around the house, the empty trailer bouncing and clanking loudly. Pops parked it in the yard, close to the front door. He got out and looked at Jim. Pops assumed that Buddy had told Jim that he wanted to take things back. He wasn’t sure how Jim would react and he tried to read his son.
“Do you have a plan?” Jim asked.
“I’m going to fuel up the UTV with the diesel you brought. I’ve got a trailer to hook up to it. I’ll take care of that. I want you to take this trailer to the outbuildings and look for any tools or building materials that may be of use. Put them in the trailer. I want to save the back of the truck for the things I’m bringing out of the house. Buddy will help me in there. Pete is going to work on getting a few things out of the flower gardens.”
“That your idea, Pete?” Jim asked.
Pete nodded proudly.
“That was a good idea,” Jim said. “Let’s get started then.”
Chapter 14
Pop’s House
They worked for about three hours, which was nearly three hours longer than Jim had planned on being there. He found patience, though. For whatever reason, the thought was in his dad’s head that this could be his last trip to the home that he’d built to raise his family in. Jim could relate to that and wanted to help his dad do what he needed to get done there. They worked fast and efficiently.
Pops had been in a rush when he left his home the first time and his subsequent visits home had just been to check on the place or pick up a few odd items that he needed. He had always assumed he’d be returning home eventually and for whatever reason he wasn’t feeling that now. If the first time had been a bug out, this was more like a move out.
Jim looked through the outbuildings trying to find things that the group might have a need for. He took all the fasteners– nails, screws, and bolts. He grabbed wire, electrical fittings, odd lengths of rope, and all of the plumbing supplies he could find. He looked for hand-powered tools that would have been stored here because they’d been replaced with more efficient gas or electric versions. He found several axes and splitting mauls, even taking the ones with broken handles, knowing they could be fixed. There was a coffee can of hammer heads, placed there after their handles broke. They went in the trailer also.
He pitched in old lengths of water hose, every bucket he could find, and a spare set of posthole diggers. He stacked in every board and sizeable scrap of plywood he saw. He packed everything as neatly as he could, wanting to maximize what could be fit into the trailer. In the weeds around the outbuilding he found partial rolls of various types of fencing, a small pile of metal fence posts, and a complete roll of barbed wire.
At a different outbuilding that was used more for storage than a workshop he found some metal folding chairs, folding plastic tables, and two storage totes of old bedding. He took all of it. There was also an older mattress that he tied onto the roof of his truck. With the camper shell on the back, there was plenty of room up there for hauling gear. Gary and his family were still pretty crowded in their house and an extra mattress might help a little. In the same outbuilding, he found several bicycles that had belonged to different members of the family. He threw those on top of the mattress and tied them down. As much as he enjoyed bikes, he didn’t relish a day where they might be the primary transportation. Still, he wanted to have as many as possible and a supply of spare parts if that day came.
When he’d found all he felt he needed for this trip, Jim drove the truck around to the front yard. Plastic totes, boxes, and garbage bags were lined up on the sidewalk. He stopped the truck beside the stacks and started packing things tightly into the covered bed of his truck. Pete came along in a moment, soaked in sweat. He was carrying two buckets of flower bulbs, any remaining stalks snipped off and discarded.
“Go ahead and put those in the trailer,” Jim instructed. “You have anything else that needs to go?”
“I thought about taking some of the knick-knacks Nana put in the flower garden,” Pete said. “Some of the decorations that Ariel and I made. I’d like to take the garden bench if there’s room.”
Jim had made the bench himself as a gift. It was probably twenty years old and he was pleased that it was still around. “We’ll find room.” While Pete and Jim were tilting the white garden bench into the trailer, Pops and Buddy came out, each carrying a garbage bag. Pops paused when he noticed the garden bench being loaded.
“Your mother will like that,” he said.
“You guys putting a dent in it?” Jim asked.
“A few more loads,” Pops said. “It’s mostly sentimental stuff but I think it will mean a lot to her to have it. She needs things of her own around her.”
“I understand,” Jim said.
Soon both trailers, Jim’s truck, and the UTV were full. The men sat on the porch and drank spring water they’d bottled at Jim’s farm. When they were ready, Pops went inside and checked all the windows and doors to make sure they’d locked them. He went inside by himself and was gone a long time. Jim wondered if he was saying good-bye to the house or just trying to imprint it into his memory in case something happened.
When Pops came out, he locked the front door behind him, took up his shotgun, and tossed the UTV key to Pete. “You driving?” he asked.
“You bet!” Pete said, springing to his feet.
“You guys go in front,” Jim said. “We’ll follow. Pete, chamber a round in that handgun.”
Pete did as he was told, slipping the weapon back in his holster.
“Let’s roll,” Jim said.
The house was on the fringe of an office park. His parents had been there long before the office park was built. Businesses came and went. Two of the empty buildings were purchased to house law enforcement agencies. One was a Virginia state police substation. The other became a 911 operations center and provided office space for both county and town law enforcement.
As they left, Jim didn’t notice anyone at any of the offices. They noticed him though. Two cops within the operations center watched the heavily-laden vehicles heading out of the office park.
“Somebody has fuel.”
Deputy Willard Ford was scrawny and balding, with a thick mustache that attempted to make up for what wasn’t growing on his head. He’d been with the sheriff’s department for twelve years and people would describe him as loyal.
“Maybe we should let the sheriff know,” said the other man, Bruce Deel, also a deputy, though he’d been with the sheriff’s department less than a year. He was fresh out of the law enforcement academy and looked more like a high school student than a police officer.
Deputy Ford nodded.
Deputy Deel removed a radio from his belt and thumbed the transmit button. “Unit Sixty-two calling Unit One. Sixty-two calling Unit One.”
Deel waited for a response. When nothing came, he transmitted again.
Still no response.
“Sixty-two, Sixty-two calling Unit One.”
“Unit One,” the sheriff replied, irritation clear in his voice.
“Sorry to bother you, Sheriff,” Deel said.
“It’s okay, Deputy. I
was just feeding the stock. Damn goat snatched my radio right off my belt and took off with it.”
“Sorry about that,” Deputy Deel said. “Just wanted to let you know that we had a couple of civilian vehicles moving around out here by the 911 center. They seem to be moving stuff out of one of the houses. Whatever they’re doing, they have fuel and I haven’t seen any civilians with fuel in about a week now.”
“We’re about out too.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” the deputy said. “Should we follow them? Maybe they have access to resources that we could use?”
“Just pull them over and make sure they’re not stealing that stuff. That’s Mr. Powell’s house up there by the office. That’s all the excuse you need. Pull them over and make sure they’re not stealing stuff.”
“Roger that, Sixty-two out,” Deputy Deel said. He looked at Deputy Ford. “Let’s roll.”
Chapter 15
Town
The diesel utility vehicle that Pete was driving could barely manage fifteen miles per hour so they’d only gone two miles when the sheriff’s department cruiser fell in behind Jim’s truck. Jim couldn’t see out the back of the truck with it so full but it was part of his paranoid nature to continually monitor the side mirrors for any approaching concerns. It seemed ridiculous with no other cars on the road but it was a habit ingrained from years of interstate driving. As soon as he saw the cruiser, the hair on the back of his neck went up. Then the flashing lights came on.
“Shit,” Jim mumbled, checking his mirror.
“What is it?” Buddy asked, craning his neck to catch a glimpse in his own side mirror.
“Cops.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
Spotting the approaching vehicle, Buddy shook his head. “I found it a lot easier to respect them when they were driving Plymouth Furies,” he said. “Man in a Ford Escape doesn’t have nearly so commanding a presence, regardless of what’s painted on the outside.”
Valley of Vengeance: Book Five in The Borrowed World Series Page 7
