“That comment would piss me off if I wasn’t already pissed off. Randi with you?”
Lloyd shook his head. “She’s taking this gardening thing seriously. That’s all she does anymore. Then she passes out around dark.”
“She’s living the farming life.”
“I call it ‘hoeing around’ but she doesn’t think that’s funny anymore. Farming ain’t for me, though.”
“Well, not everyone’s cut out to be a drunk, banjo-playing fool either.”
“It’s about damn time someone appreciated that fact,” Lloyd said, climbing the steps to the porch. He pointed to the front door. “Inside or outside?”
Jim wavered for a moment before replying. “How about back porch? It’s too damn hot to be inside but I can’t risk sitting here by the road. It’s too public.”
Lloyd went inside and Jim followed him through the door. Lloyd made a detour to pick up a banjo, then a second detour to pick up a jar of red liquid packed full of cherries.
“For medicinal purposes only,” Lloyd said, holding the jar aloft.
“What’s the ailment today?”
“I claim allergies. What’s the matter with you?”
Jim faked a cough. “Asthma.”
“That’s a good one. I used it yesterday.”
“Don’t you ever run out of ailments?” Jim asked.
Lloyd shook his head seriously. “They’re all chronic, recurring conditions. It’s a tragedy really.”
“Indeed.” Jim held the back door open for him, then took a seat on a metal glider.
Lloyd settled into a wooden ladder-back chair. It had once been painted white and the paint was now peeling off to reveal the past lives the chair had lived, one in green and another in blue. “You pass those people headed down the road? I saw them when I was headed to the johnny house.”
Jim plucked a cherry from the moonshine jar with his fingers and tossing it into his mouth. “Yep, but I kept my face hidden. I’m going to have to quit using the road. It’s so much faster than going through the fields with everything grown-up, but I just can’t risk running into people.”
Lloyd took the jar and fished out his own cherry. He washed it down with a sip from the jar. “You could have run into the Wimmers or someone else who hated you. It’s a long list. I always thought you should have tried to be a nicer person. Being an asshole has caught up with you.”
“It’s caught up with me many times in my life. This is only our latest visit.”
“It’s going to get worse,” Lloyd said, settling back into his chair and giving the banjo a strum.
Jim gave his buddy a curious look. “Why?”
Lloyd adjusted one of the tuners, repeatedly twanging a single string until he had it where he wanted it. “The Wimmers are fixing the bridge to town.”
Jim sat bolt upright. “Excuse me?”
Lloyd nodded. “One of them told me yesterday. They’ve been cutting logs off the hillside above the road and using horses to get them in place. It may even be done already.”
“Well, that’s just great. What’s the point of that?”
“They said they’ve got more cattle than they can manage. They want to sell some off before winter. They’ve got corn planted and tobacco in the ground they want to sell too. It’s hard to blame them for that.”
Jim picked the cherry jar up off the floor and helped himself to another, his mind racing as he chewed. “I understand from an economic standpoint but it sure makes this valley harder to keep secure.”
“Maybe they think there’s less of a need for security. Maybe they think the worst is over and they’re ready to start rebuilding what’s fallen apart.”
Jim looked grim. “I have no confidence that this is over. Part of me feels like it’s only the beginning. What we’ve seen already, with the government wanting to attach aid and power to turning in guns, is a sign of things to come. I’m not ready to accept that kind of America.”
Lloyd grinned. “You just going to keep blowing shit up until they come up with a version you like?”
“If I have to.”
Lloyd was afraid his friend was a lost cause. “You aren’t done pissing people off, are you?”
“Not by a long shot.”
2
The Valley
Jim left Lloyd sitting on the back porch, playing his heart out to a field of cows, birds, and the odd rabbit. The couple of moonshine-spiked cherries Jim had eaten did nothing to improve his mood. In fact, they only enhanced his irritation with the state of things. He was walking home through a field of waist-high grass and that pissed him off because it filled his shoes with grass seeds and made his sweaty arms itch. A variety of burrs clung to his clothing. A scowl on his face, he stomped through the grass as if he could scare it out of his way. As he walked, he pondered his situation.
Should he pull up stakes and move his entire family somewhere else? He couldn’t imagine doing that. His farm wasn’t perfect but he’d spent years putting things in place that made life easier for them. The entire house could be heated with his wood stove. The home had a gravity-fed water system that kept water flowing through the pipes, even if it didn’t have a lot of pressure. They could flush toilets and use the sinks, an advantage a lot of folks didn’t have.
He also had the spring house with a spring box, the closest thing available to natural refrigeration. While the home itself didn’t have solar power, he had a few solar panels that allowed them to keep rechargeable devices operating. Plus, he had the fortified cave at the back of the property.
The idea of moving was ridiculous. Even if he found a better place, how would he get there? How would he be able to make improvements to a new place under these powerless conditions? Then there was his tribe. His clan. The friends he’d surrounded himself with. Was he just going to walk off and leave them?
The valley had some people like the Wimmers, with whom he didn’t have a close relationship. In fact, their relationship was now fairly hostile. There were other families like the Weathermans and the Birds with whom he had a friendly relationship but didn’t hang out with every day. They supported each other and had each other’s backs, but it wasn’t the kind of relationship he had with the people who formed his inner circle. That was Lloyd, Alice’s son Charlie, Randi’s family, Gary’s family, and Hugh. They were his people. They were his tribe. For better or worse, they were all in this together.
But were they? Was it right to drag them down with him? The same could be said of his family. Was it right for him to risk their lives because he was public enemy number one?
He stopped and fished a water bottle from a pouch. He took a long pull, trying to replace some of the moisture the high-octane moonshine had pulled out. The water was warm and he’d have much preferred a dipper straight from the spring. That would be his first stop when he got home. Maybe he’d hold his head under the pipe and see if that did anything to extinguish the fires raging in his head.
He was mid-drink when a shotgun blast destroyed the midday calm. A flock of starlings erupted from a maple tree ahead of him. There was a second blast and then Jim was running. At the edge of the field, he entered an isolated forest, an island of trees surrounded on all sides by pastures. Logging roads laced through the remaining timber. Jumbled slash piles of stumps and trash logs were scattered along the path.
The roads had once been maintained but now weeds were taking over. Scrappy wild roses with their pink and white flowers tore at Jim’s legs. Blackberry vines raked across his upper body. He tried to brush them out of his way but one caught his cheek. Another snagged his neck, the cut burning as sweat ran into the torn flesh. Stinging nettles grew thick, nearly at the height of Jim’s elbows. Each time he brushed against a leaf, he felt the burn. His arms grew red and irritated, the outside of his body becoming a reflection of the turmoil that was going on within him.
There was another shotgun blast. Jim was certain it came from his place now. He wanted to use the radio and ask what was going on but he d
idn’t chance it. What if it was a snake or a rabid skunk they were dealing with? He couldn’t expose himself for something that trivial. What if it wasn’t though?
He topped the low ridge and started down the far side. In winter, he could see his house from here but now the thick leaves of poplars, maples, and oaks formed a green wall through which he only caught snatches of the world beyond. He kept to his jogging pace, his rifle held across his body to keep it from beating him to death as he ran.
In another eighty yards, he was halfway down the hill and a gap opened in the tree canopy. He paused and squinted. Sweat ran into his eyes, burning as he tried to blink it away. He pulled out a cheap monocular and studied the scene in his yard. His family was standing in the front yard with Hugh, studying something on the ground. Jim couldn’t make out what it was, but he was less alarmed now. Everyone appeared safe. If there had been a threat, it either passed or they’d dealt with it.
Jim stowed the monocular and got moving again. In about three minutes, he was crossing his yard like a lost prospector staggering into an oasis. The humidity and exertion had done him in. He’d sweated through his clothes and was gasping open-mouthed, trying to breathe through the soupy air.
Ellen hurried toward him. “You okay?”
Jim took off his wide-brimmed hat and dropped it. He paused in the shade of the maple that dominated the front yard. He gasped one question. “Shooting?”
Ellen took Jim by the arm, apparently more concerned with him than whatever had taken place in his absence. Hugh pointed to something on the ground. Jim stared at it but couldn’t figure out what it was. It looked like a kid’s toy that had been run over by a car. Pete and Ariel were walking around the yard picking up more pieces and adding them to the pile.
“What is it?” Jim asked.
“Honey, it’s a drone,” Ellen said.
Jim looked at Hugh for confirmation.
Hugh nodded. “It was a drone. I was on my way down here to check in and see if you guys needed any help in the garden. I thought I heard a hummingbird but I didn’t see one. Then I decided it must be a swarm of bees. It wasn’t. When I caught sight of it, I could tell it was a drone hovering over this general area of the valley.”
Jim moved closer to the pile and studied the pieces. He dropped to his knees, set his rifle to the side, and picked up a few of them. “You know anything about this stuff?”
“It’s a consumer-grade drone,” Hugh replied. “You can get them anywhere but they’re not cheap. It could be someone that lives in the area or it could be the cops. It could have been something some kids stole and were playing with. It doesn’t look military but who knows. It could have been anyone.”
“You think it could be coincidence?” Pops asked.
Jim was shaking his head in disgust. “It was in my yard.”
“It could have been looking for you,” Hugh conceded. “But we don’t know that for sure.”
“It might be coincidence,” Ellen said. “Like Hugh said, we don’t know that it was here for you.”
“But we don’t know that it wasn’t,” Jim said. “I don’t like it. I don’t like this at all. Does it mean there are people still looking for me? Was our production in town not convincing? Did we go to all that trouble—all that risk—for nothing?”
“The fact this thing went missing might draw some attention,” Hugh pointed out. “The owners might come looking for it. The good thing is that no one likes a drone flying over their place. With the state of the world, they can complain all they want and no one is going to be able to do a damn thing about it.”
“Are these pieces trackable?” Jim asked. “Have you destroyed everything?”
Hugh nodded. “I checked it. Everything is dead. I’m going to bag the pieces and hang them on a fence post on the road into town. Thought I might also leave some menacing message in the bag with them. Maybe that will scare them off.”
“It could have been random,” Ellen said.
“I can’t take that chance,” Jim said.
His wife stared at him. “What can you do any differently than what you’re doing now? You’re already living like a prisoner on your own property.”
Jim stared at the pile of shattered electronics in his yard. “It’s just going to get worse.”
“How do you know that?” Ellen asked.
“The Wimmers are rebuilding the road into town. I just found out from Lloyd. The road is going to be open any day now and more people will be coming through the valley.”
“But why?” Ellen asked, her voice pleading.
“Commerce obviously,” Pops said. “It was only a matter of time before farmers wanted to get things moving again. They’ve got a product and there’s demand. They might as well sell it.”
“You could blow the bridge up. Again,” Pete said with a wicked grin.
Jim smiled back at his son. “There’s no point, Pete. They’d just build it back. Plus, they think I’m dead. Intentionally sabotaging their efforts would either make them suspicious or they’d blame someone in our group. We can’t risk that. We have to let them keep going with it.”
“More people in the valley means more theft,” Ellen said. “There will be sightseers. There will be people scoping out things to steal. That’s why we blew the bridges in the first place. That’s why we put guard posts along the road.”
They’d quit manning their observation posts along the valley road since Jim’s supposed death. Mostly because they needed all hands working on the various crops they were trying to raise. Pops and Randi were in charge of the gardens but they had every able body working in them. It took a lot of hands to keep deer fencing in place and the weeds down. Then there was the harvesting, processing, and preservation of the vegetables.
“We could put people back in those lookout posts?” Pete suggested.
Ellen shook her head. “We can’t spare the people. We need everyone in the gardens.”
“Speaking of which, I have rounds to make,” Pops said. “Where’s my assistant?”
“Here!” Ariel said, dumping the last of her drone scraps in the pile and taking Pops’ hand.
When Pops and Ariel were gone, Jim looked around. “Where’s Nana?”
“We have canning going,” Ellen said. “She’s watching it.”
“Well, let’s clean this drone up and go to the barn. We need to talk.”
3
The Valley
Jim dumped his Nalgene bottle of lukewarm water onto the ground as he walked, then swung by the springhouse to refill it. A plastic pipe jutting from the wall dumped fifty-eight-degree water into a concrete basin in a constant stream. Jim took a long pull from the bottle, then refilled it before joining Hugh, Ellen, and Pete in the barn.
Pete and Hugh were sitting on upturned five-gallon buckets, talking about deer they’d seen lately. Ellen sat on a rusty folding chair, her arms and legs crossed anxiously. Jim took a perch on a hay bale with one broken string. The rolling doors on both sides of the barn were open to catch the faint breeze moving on the sweltering day. With its dirt floor and cavernous spaces, the barn always felt cooler than the rest of the world and it was appreciated on the August day.
Jim liked the barn. He took it in as he sat there, like a man revisiting the old neighborhood where he’d grown up. He’d always felt comfortable there with the tractor, the mower, and the animal feed. A blue barrel held shovels, rakes, and other implements of destruction. The poplar interior walls were decorated with old pulleys, pieces of hand-wrought hardware, and a few hubcaps from antique cars. There were buckets of chains and a shelf with the various things needed to keep equipment running—lubricants, starting fluid, fuel treatments, and grease. A pile of old doors leaned against one wall. Hooks on another wall held tractor pins, a big hammer, and a roll of air hose.
“I need to get out of here for a while,” Jim said.
The group stared at him blankly but he waited patiently, giving them time to process what he’d said.
“What
exactly do you mean by that?” Ellen said after a long moment.
Hugh was the only one who seemed to know where this was going. He looked unsurprised, watching Jim with an owlish expression. Jim knew the look. Hugh was waiting to see how Jim was going to talk his way through this without his wife smacking him upside the head.
“It’s unsafe for me to be here right now,” Jim said. “Unsafe for me and for all of you. There are too many people out moving around, too much activity. Inevitably, unless I stay in the basement like some kind of troll, someone is going to recognize me. Word is going to get out and you’ll all be at risk again. I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to go back to the way I felt earlier this summer, wondering if we were going to be attacked at any moment.”
Ellen had that look on her face. She didn’t like what she was hearing. “It could be months before life slows down here. When the days get shorter and the air gets colder people will start staying inside more, but not until then. You’re talking two or three months.”
“I realize that,” Jim said. “Two or three months is probably what would be required.”
Ellen didn’t want to have this conversation. She wanted her husband to stay at home, wanted her family to stay together. “And what are we supposed to do without you? How are we supposed to get by?”
“You’d be fine. It’s not like the early days of the collapse when you all were struggling and alone. You have a community now and everyone here knows the routine. You guys know how to run the house, you know how to respond to situations, and you’ve got all these folks who are part of our family now—Hugh, Randi’s family, Charlie, and Gary’s people. All of them would help.”
Pete held up a finger. “You didn’t mention Lloyd.”
“I’m not sure he’s any help,” Jim said.
Ellen raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “He tries. Sometimes. Bless his heart.”
“You’ve got a houseful of people,” Jim said. “Charlie’s been staying with Randi’s family a lot but I’m sure he’d be willing to stay up here more if you needed him to.”
The Borrowed World Series | Book 8 | Blood & Banjos Page 2
