The Borrowed World Series | Book 8 | Blood & Banjos

by Horton, Franklin

  He’d worked up a good sweat by the time he reached the river. On the grassy bank, he pulled his boots and socks off as he’d done many times and waded into the river. The moon reflected off the dark water, the image rippling with the current. The cold felt good on his hot feet. This time of year the river was low, less than a foot deep at this crossing.

  On the far side, Charlie sat down and used a bandana to dry his feet, then put his socks and boots back on. When he stood, he was facing the cornfield where his mother had died. He thought he could feel her out there and wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d walked right up to him. He didn’t know what he’d do if that happened.

  Would he run? Scream?

  He knew what she’d say; she’d tell him to go home. She’d tell him to be careful and not do stupid things.

  “I love you, Mom,” he whispered.

  He was not comfortable running in the dark here. As far as Charlie was concerned, he was in enemy territory now. The superstore wasn’t far off and there could be people staying there. He hadn’t been there at night but he’d heard stories. He gave the place a wide berth, walking slowly along the access road and stopping frequently to listen.

  Then, on one of those pauses, he heard voices.

  He scanned the parking lot and spotted a low fire at a far corner of the parking lot, near the storefronts. Men were talking there, laughing at some story a man was telling. A year ago he’d have assumed these men were drunk but alcohol was in short supply these days. It was more likely they’d been smoking marijuana because it was a lot more common than a bottle of liquor.

  Charlie used the moonlight to watch his path, careful not to step on any garbage. Crunching an aluminum can or kicking a glass bottle would certainly catch these men’s attention. He didn’t relax again until he’d lost sight of their fire. When he was safely past the superstore, Charlie cut across the four-lane highway. It was odd to stand there in the center of the road without a car or electric light in sight. It truly felt like the end of the world.

  He stood there for a moment and took it in, listening to the sounds of the small town in the darkness. It was easy to think the place was empty and abandoned, but it wasn’t. There was life and there were sounds. Somewhere in the distance a bottle broke and a guitar played, loud voices struggling to harmonize. A woman yelled but it was unclear if she needed help, wanted to fight, or was just crying out against the injustice of her circumstance. A dog barked, calling upon his brethren, and soon more joined in. The sounds didn’t come from any single place within the town, but were the collective utterances of a dark and broken community.

  Charlie got moving again, hurrying beneath the powerless stoplight, and crossing the guardrail at the far side of the road. He cut around an old cornfield that someone had spent the last two decades trying to sell as “prime commercial real estate”. Neighbors had spent the summer planting gardens there, though Charlie couldn’t imagine how well that worked with so many desperate, hungry mouths around. Thievery had to be rampant. You’d need a live, armed scarecrow to keep a garden here.

  He skirted the field with plenty of room to spare just in case there was a sentry on duty. He didn’t want to be mistaken for a corn thief or catch a bullet over a cucumber. Once past the field, he entered a neighborhood he’d never been in before. It was only a few streets deep and he understood the general layout. He hurried along in case anyone noticed him. Again, he didn’t want to be mistaken for a thief.

  Although it only took him five minutes to pass through the neighborhood it felt much longer. When he was finally through, he paused at a wall of hedges and sat down. It wasn’t so much to catch his breath as to calm himself for a moment and collect his thoughts. He tried to relax and slow down his pounding heartbeat. That anxiety wasn’t just because of what he’d come through but because of what lay ahead of him. This had been the easy part. The worst was yet to come.

  Charlie dug into his pack and came out with a cheap pair of binoculars. They’d only been around fifteen bucks in the best of times and weren’t anything fancy, but they did collect light better than the human eye. He scooted away from the hedge to look down Main Street.

  He was far from the center of town, on the eastern side. Directly across from Charlie was the cemetery where Buddy had been killed while visiting his daughter’s grave. He wondered if that old man was watching out for him tonight, same as his mom. Most of the structures along the street were businesses with a few old homes scattered between them. He saw a tire shop, a couple of fast food places, and a bank. There was a hotel with a Chinese restaurant that had been empty long before the collapse. Stuck in the middle of it all was an older two-story storefront with an apartment upstairs, Willie’s What-Nots. Charlie had never been in that store but he’d passed it when he’d driven through town with his mom and dad.

  There were no lights inside that Charlie could see. No candles or lanterns. A green canvas awning imprinted with the store name stretched across the front. In the shadowy recess below the awning, Charlie thought he could see that the front windows were boarded up with plywood. He stashed the binoculars in his pack and headed toward the store.

  As he walked, he stoked the fires of hatred and anger within himself. He took long, determined steps. He’d lost everything in the world that meant something to him. His grandmother, his dad, his mom—they were all gone now. Then strangers had taken him in, making a place for him in their lives. Now, it was all threatened because of people like Willie. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He couldn’t lose everything for a second time.

  There was no hesitation in Charlie’s steps. He approached the store with razor focus, his head on a swivel. Exposed metal stairs ran up the side of the building to the apartment above. Aware that everyone was sleeping with their windows open right now, Charlie went slowly on the steps. He placed his feet carefully and made certain nothing banged against the railing.

  He listened as he climbed. There was no talking inside. No sound at all. Charlie’s mind raced as he covered those final steps, trying to come up with a plan for how to do this. In his mind, he’d only got this far and no further. He didn’t know what happened next.

  When he reached the top landing, he knocked firmly on the door because it was all that he could think to do. It wasn’t an aggressive cop knock. It sounded more like a neighbor. Like someone needing something. It took a couple of knocks before he heard movement inside the apartment. As soon as he did, Charlie ran down a couple of steps, turned, and flattened himself out. He was angled upward, his rifle aimed at the door, waiting for it to open.

  The footsteps paused at the door and Charlie imagined someone inside trying to stare out the peephole. They wouldn’t be able to see anything, though. Only blackness. He heard the sound of a chain, then a deadbolt, and the door cracked open just enough for someone to peer out. Unable to see anything, they opened it wider

  Charlie triggered the weapon light on his AR. Willie was caught in the harsh glare of the light, standing there in stained boxers and nothing else. Willie slapped a hand up across his face, trying to block the powerful light from his eyes. That hand held a revolver. Charlie didn’t hesitate. This was the man he was here to kill. He pulled the trigger and the shot boomed in the night, the round penetrating up through Willie’s chin.

  There was a scream from inside the house. Willie dropped his revolver and wrapped both hands around his face, trying to hold it together. Blood sprayed everywhere. Willie was choking and his legs went. He slumped in the doorway, spluttering and gagging.

  Charlie started to put another in him but there was no use. Willie couldn’t speak and he’d bleed out in minutes. Hell, the bullet was probably lodged in his brain. This was done. It was over and it was time to get out of there. Charlie started backing down the stairs on wobbly legs. He heard the voices of people coming to life in the neighborhood around him so he killed his light, not wanting to present himself as a target, not wanting someone out there in the darkness to start firing at him.


  He reached the first landing, halfway to the ground, and glanced back over his shoulder. He spotted a light shining out the door of the apartment. A figure raced out and wrapped a towel around Willie’s neck, trying to staunch the flow of blood. A second figure came out behind the first, this one holding the flashlight. He aimed it down the steps, trying to find who’d shot his father, and caught Charlie in its beam.

  “You!” Duane screamed.

  He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything more. Charlie silenced him with a gunshot to the chest. Duane dropped his light and tumbled down the steps, rolling right into Charlie’s legs. Charlie couldn’t see him since his weapon light was off, but a desperate hand clutched at his leg. Charlie dropped the barrel of his rifle and shot blindly into the body at his feet. There was a wheeze and the grip loosened.

  There must have been more people in the apartment because there were more cries from the top of the stairs. A female voice was screaming for help. Charlie threw his rifle back up in that direction. He didn’t dare turn his weapon light on but loosed a handful of rounds at the top landing. There was splintering wood as the rounds hit the doorjamb and more screams. Charlie scrambled down the remaining steps, leaping when his momentum outpaced his ability to keep his feet on the steps.

  There was a sharp pain in his ankle when he landed and he gritted his teeth. The screaming at the top of the steps was louder now. Neighbors were calling out, their voices getting closer. People wanted to see what was going on. They wanted to help. Charlie knew some of them would have guns. They would want to kill him for what he’d done. They would tear at his flesh with the same fury as his clan would if someone violated the sanctity of their valley.

  He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He ran behind the store and blindly scrambled up a weedy bank. At the top, he ran as hard as he could, making no attempt to keep a low profile. He was more interested in speed than stealth at this point in his operation. Cutting across a yard, he was knocked flat on his ass when he ran headlong into the guy-wire supporting a power pole. Although rattled and seeing stars, he was back on his feet before his vision had even cleared, charging headlong into the darkness.

  He didn’t travel the same route he’d used on his way into town and had to pause several times to get his bearings. He was soon on the four-lane again and ran full-tilt down the northbound lane. At the familiar superstore stoplight, he slowed, hoping the sound of his steps wouldn’t carry to the men he’d seen around the fire earlier.

  Charlie focused on calming his breathing. As he walked, the loudest thing reaching his ears was his own heart, pounding like a train in his ears. He stayed on grass when he could, sticking to the concrete-wrapped medians with their decorative trees. It seemed to take forever to get past the superstore, but he was soon beyond it, speeding up to a run. If anyone heard him now, they’d never catch him in this darkness.

  At the river, he didn’t stop to remove his boots this time. He charged in, slowing only enough so that he wouldn’t fall on the slippery rocks and soak all his gear. When he emerged on the far side of the river, he ran again. Out of breath, he slowed to a walk at the river outpost, the log structure his people used to keep a watch on this trail into town. No one had been stationed here since they faked Jim’s death.

  Charlie was in home territory here. He felt safer and stopped for a moment. His rapid breathing had dried his mouth until it felt like it was lined with flannel so he fished his water bottle from his pack. When he tipped his head back to drink, a hand came from nowhere and wrapped around his neck.

  Charlie hadn’t heard a thing.

  38

  Jim’s Valley

  Before he even knew what was happening to him, Charlie was flat on the ground and a bright light was in his face. He squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding light, unable to throw a hand up to shield them because of the person sitting on his chest.

  “What have you been up to, boy?” a voice growled.

  Only then did Charlie know he wasn’t going to die. It was Hugh.

  The hands released him and the light shut off. Hugh got off him. Charlie’s ability to see in the dark was shot now and he couldn’t make out anything but tiny starbursts in his vision.

  “You nearly scared me to death,” Charlie muttered, sitting up. “I didn’t know who you were.”

  “I knew exactly who you were,” Hugh said. “I could see you in my nightvision goggles, but I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

  “Consider it taught. I think I might have pissed in my pants.”

  “Serves you right. What the hell were you doing in town this time of night? Did you meet a gal when you were in town the other day?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?” Hugh pressed.

  Charlie avoided the question. “I dropped my rifle and I can’t see it.”

  Hugh found the weapon and stuck it in Charlie’s hands. “Better clean it before you use it. There might be a plug of mud in that barrel from when I took you down. But back to my question...”

  “I had some business in town.”

  Hugh plucked a hand-rolled cigarette from a metal tin in his pocket and lit it with a zippo. “At this hour?”

  Charlie’s vision was returning after the blast of light to the face. He could see the glowing cherry at the tip of Hugh’s cigarette as he inhaled, the pale red glow of Hugh’s face above it. “It ain’t nothing I can talk about.”

  Hugh was silent for a moment, smoking and thinking. “You know, I’m not asking as an adult. I don’t intend to tell anyone. You’re not in trouble, but I need to make sure you don’t get yourself in trouble. It’s not safe in town. None of us ever go there alone, especially not at this time of night.”

  “I know,” Charlie admitted.

  “Then why did you go?”

  “Like I said, I had business in town. It’s nothing I want to talk about.”

  Hugh took another draw off his smoke. “And it wasn’t a girl?”

  “No.”

  “That doesn’t leave much, Charlie. I could almost understand if it was a girl. Anything else it might be is probably something you best stay out of. I’m not sure how people would handle it if something happened to you. Randi loves you like a son. You and Pete are best friends. Hell, even Jim likes you and he probably doesn’t like ten people in the whole damn world.”

  Charlie smiled at that. “There’s nothing for you to be concerned with.”

  “That all you’re going to tell me?”

  “Reckon so.”

  Hugh stood. “I can’t make you talk, Charlie, but I’m here for you if you need me. Just be careful. I don’t want to have to bury you.” He extended a hand and helped Charlie up.

  “I’m going to be fine,” Charlie groaned, tiring of the interrogation.

  “Can you promise me you won’t go into town again on your own?”

  Charlie considered his response. “I can’t promise you that but I will say I don’t have any immediate plans to go back. I’m done there.”

  They walked back to the valley in silence, guided only by the moonlight and their familiarity with the terrain. They were each in their own heads, Hugh wondering what it meant that Charlie “was done” there.

  Charlie was wondering if his work in town was indeed done. Were those killings enough to keep his tribe safe? What if it was only the beginning? Maybe it was only the first of many mouths that would have to be shut in order to preserve the life they had. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  He had no revulsion or guilt over what he’d done tonight. His conscience would not plague him later as he tried to sleep. Indeed, he felt an odd sense of satisfaction. He done what was required of him. In the end, how was keeping his friends safe any different than gardening or hunting? Safety was as critical to survival as food.

  If there was a part of him that was supposed to be experiencing remorse it was gone. His emotions had been so battered by loss that they probably didn’t work like they were supposed to. He felt love a
nd a sense of duty to those who loved him. He understood those emotions. Remorse and guilt he had more trouble with.

  This awareness of his emotional shortcomings wasn’t something he was going to lose sleep over. He was a product of this new world and there were going to be many more like him. Possibly millions. They felt different. Their values were different. He hoped the world was ready for it.

  39

  The Camp

  When Sharon woke at the camp, in the cabin she’d stayed in for so many years, she wondered if she’d ever spend the night there again. She had no way of knowing what the future held for her and these children, or even for the nation itself. She knew her mind went to these dark places because she’d not slept well. That was unfortunate because this was to be the big day. They were moving. She’d need all the energy she could muster and she had no means of artificially boosting it with caffeine.

  Her rough night was entirely due to the confrontation at the funeral service. Oliver’s niece had been a bit of unexpected nastiness at the ceremony and Sharon knew it wasn’t over. They hadn’t heard the last of Kimberly.

  When the last Oliver story had been told and the children had played their last song, the mourners retreated to the dining hall to enjoy the food everyone had prepared. It was amazing to have such variety, considering the things that everyone had run out of after a year of deprivation. There were missing spices and sauces since a lot of the staples had disappeared from kitchens. People were improvising with substitutions, some of which were effective and some of which were questionable.

  Out of their favorite spices, some used the odd ones from the back of the cabinet that never seemed to run out. Others were using the fancy spice mixes they’d received in gift baskets and never opened. The cayenne sprinkled on the deviled eggs may have looked like paprika but it wasn’t even close. Same with the Italian spice mix in the Southern yellow potato salad. Yet everyone ate heartily and enjoyed the socializing despite the circumstance.