The Borrowed World Series | Book 8 | Blood & Banjos

by Horton, Franklin

  “Sure, Hugh.” There was nothing usual about the request. There was no shortage of projects either in the planning stage or the doing phase.

  Hugh helped himself to a ham biscuit and found a seat outside around Jim’s backyard fire circle. The grass was dew-soaked, the air so humid and still the entire valley felt like a terrarium. Pete joined him a few minutes later with a heaping plate. No one ate like teenage boys. They burned calories just sitting still.

  Seeing no reason to interrogate Pete in an artful and elaborate manner, Hugh just came out with it. “Anything unusual happen in town yesterday, Pete?”

  Unaccustomed to deception, the guileless and good-natured young man gave himself away immediately. The change in the tension of his cheek muscles and the flicker of his eyes away from Hugh’s told the story. “What makes you think something happened in town?”

  “I’d prefer that your mom and Randi not hear about this, but I caught Charlie sneaking back into the valley last night. He’d been to town for some reason.”

  “Town?”

  Again, Pete gave himself away. Hugh could tell that Pete wasn’t aware of his friend’s late-night foray into town and was trying to process that information.

  “Yeah, I wondered if he might have been going to see a girl or if he had some business that, for some reason, had to be conducted in the middle of the night. He doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go there to steal so I’m at a bit of a loss.”

  Pete shook his head adamantly. “Charlie wouldn’t steal. He’s not like that. Did you ask him why he went into town?”

  Hugh took another bite of his biscuit, chewed a while, and let Pete simmer. “Yeah, I asked. He said he couldn’t tell me but it was nothing to be concerned about. Not sure I believe that. Town isn’t safe, especially at night, and I can’t imagine he’d go for no reason.”

  “I can’t believe he went without me,” Pete said. “Not that I’d have gone, but I’m surprised he didn’t even ask.”

  “Yeah, that surprised me too. So back to my original question, did anything happen in town yesterday that might have made him want to go into town last night?”

  Pete couldn’t lie to Hugh, wouldn’t lie to him even if he could find the words. He looked around to make sure no one was nearby. “I didn’t want to say anything when it happened because I didn’t want Randi to flip out, but the guy running the corral was a real asshole.”

  Hugh looked confused. “A corral? That wasn’t there last time I was at the market.”

  “The guy must have seen the need and acted on it. He set up a corral at the farmer’s market and charges people to watch their horses. Turns out he’s the dad of a guy I knew from school. He has a business in town, one of those variety stores that sell discount junk.”

  “How was he an asshole?”

  “We left the horses at the corral so we could all look around. When we were ready to go, I went back to pick the horses up by myself because Randi and Charlie were still trading with some guy. The kid I knew from the corral had told his dad who I was and the guy started giving me shit. He said we didn’t have any business being in town after what Dad had done. He threatened to tell everyone at the market who we were, and he said they’d kill us. Then he started questioning whether Dad was even dead or not.”

  “How did you leave it?”

  “His sons started coming at me,” Pete said. “I didn’t know what they were up to so I had to turn my rifle on them. I had the safety off and my finger on the trigger. They knew I was serious. He didn’t hand my horses over until I turned a gun on him. That’s when he started mouthing off.”

  “Sounds like you did what you had to do. You handled yourself well. Now, you said Charlie wasn’t there when this happened. Did you tell him about it later?”

  “Not at first but he kept badgering me. Said he could tell something was wrong. I eventually told him.”

  “You don’t have much of a poker-face, Pete. Just saying.”

  Pete frowned. “I’m going to have to work on that.”

  “But you don’t have any idea where he might have gone last night?”

  “No, honest. I told him what happened and he didn’t say much about it, just said he knew something had been bothering me. I have no idea what he did but I intend to ask him this morning.”

  “Well, Pete, I hope you have better luck than me. He wouldn’t tell me a damn thing last night.”

  “How did you even catch him?”

  “I was just out wandering around, walking a patrol, and spotted him coming across the river with my nightvision. I waited on him to come back and ambushed him.”

  “You probably scared the crap out of him,” Pete said.

  Hugh grinned. “Probably.”

  Hugh let the topic die and they discussed other things. After a while, he patted Pete on the shoulder and got up. “I’ve got things to do. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  With his mouth full, Pete could only nod in response.

  Hugh made his way to the kitchen and thanked Ellen for the breakfast.

  “You’re welcome, Hugh. Anytime.”

  “I’m going to ride a patrol around the perimeter of the valley and check on things. I might be out of range at times, but if you need me try the radio.”

  Ellen waved him off. “We’ll be fine. Do what you need to do.”

  Hugh headed off to Jim’s shop and got his gear together for the day. In a well-worn plastic baggie, he collected some deer jerky, a couple of fat carrots, and a handful of cherry tomatoes. That should tide him over until dinner. He collected his horse from Jim’s pasture and saddled him, double-checked his gear to make certain he had everything he might need, then headed out.

  He rode down the driveway and picked up the road through the valley, headed for the house where Lloyd had been staying. Randi had been keeping an eye on the place in Lloyd’s absence. She and Charlie had both been staying there on occasion just to keep the place looking lived in. With the sheriff gone from the valley, having moved back to his place on the other side of the county, Mack Bird’s home was the only consistently occupied dwelling between the Wimmers and Jim’s farm.

  Hugh stopped at Lloyd’s place and took a look around. He saw nothing out of order so he took a shortcut through a back pasture and intersected the farm road from Jim’s house to the river. It was humid, but a beautiful day. Shortly, he was passing the outpost where he’d nabbed Charlie last night, then he headed into the river.

  His horse paused in the water, enjoying the swirl of the cold river around its legs. It lowered its head to drink and Hugh let it. His attention was on the superstore complex in the distance. The place had memories for nearly everyone in the valley. Jim had been taken prisoner there. Alice, Charlie’s mother, had been killed there. Gary’s family had become involved in a gun battle there. Hugh’s memories were different.

  He’d been living there when he and Jim had crossed paths for the first time in quite a few years. The cops who’d chosen to live there, a rogue group by most standards, had secured a trailer of radio equipment belonging to the county. They needed someone to operate it and that’s where Hugh had come in. He’d been living at the superstore for several weeks, trying to find any news of the outside world, when some of the cops had taken Jim prisoner. Fortunately, Jim escaped and offered Hugh the opportunity to come join them. When the threat at the superstore was neutralized, Hugh took the radio equipment and moved to Jim’s valley.

  When his horse had drunk its fill, Hugh nudged it on across and it clambered up the bank. Hugh switched his rifle from his back to laying across the saddle in front of him. There was a round in the pipe and his hand was wrapped around the grip, thumb on the safety.

  He steered his horse up the approach road and examined the scene as he moved by. It was all cars, chaos, and destruction. There was garbage everywhere. Some folks, likely residents of the empty stores, were selling goods beneath the canopy of the fuel pumps. There had been a market scene growing here until the farmer’s market
in town got going. There were fewer vendors and fewer customers than Hugh had seen here in the past.

  The vendors watched him warily as he rode by them. Hugh offered a nod but it wasn’t returned, which was fine with him. He wasn’t there to make friends. He simply wanted to do some snooping and not get killed in the process. Once past the superstore he crossed the highway and took the southbound lane to the next exit. The stretch of road was empty except for a mangy coyote that boldly trotted across his path, a limp orange housecat in its mouth. Hugh descended the off-ramp into town and in twenty minutes was closing in on the farmer’s market.

  The place appeared even more bustling than last time. As he neared the crowd, he dismounted his horse and led it into the vast parking lot. There were vendors selling produce, eggs, and baked goods. Homemade cages held rabbits, chickens, and piglets. The smell of roasted meat hung in the smoky air.

  Looking for the source, Hugh found a booth where a man and his daughter were selling strips of cooked meat on thin skewers. A handwritten sign listed prices for chicken, goat, raccoon, and groundhog kabobs. Squirt bottles at their table allowed you to apply a sauce to your treat before you left. One held homemade ketchup, another a jalapeno and honey concoction. They also offered jerky made from the same animals. Many of the people around Hugh would have turned their nose up at such dishes a year ago. Now, with the tantalizing aroma filling the air, he expected these folks would have no trouble selling out.

  Another vendor sold hard-boiled eggs, the multi-colored bounty laid out on a towel like they were precious gems. Dozens of other sellers displayed a variety of merchandise at the post-apocalyptic flea market. There was clothing, batteries, and spices. One man had been buying up his neighbors’ old medicines and was operating a pharmacy of sorts.

  A young couple in their twenties sold marijuana and homemade pipes. You could also buy a pinch and smoke it there if you preferred, using their pipes. One man sold improvised weapons, offering several varieties of bludgeons, cudgels, and clubs. Hugh raised an eyebrow and headed in that direction, intrigued to see what the man had to offer.

  Around him, transactions were being negotiated. Without a standard currency, every sale was an adventure. Offers were made, a little of this and a little of that. Terms were volleyed back and forth until a consensus was reached. Some transactions resulted in handshakes and smiles. Others disintegrated into threats, raised middle fingers, and curses when an agreement couldn’t be reached.

  Hugh led his horse through the crowd and stopped at the improvised weapons booth. A stocky man with a beard and long ponytail sat on a milk crate filing on a piece of steel. Behind him was a bicycle with a trailer for carrying children. The trailer had been repurposed to hold the inventory not out on display. The man wore homemade leather wristbands and a grubby top hat. He had rings on both hands and a variety of piercings. He seemed like one of those people who’d been waiting all his life for this moment and now he was relishing it.

  He caught Hugh’s eye and nodded a greeting. “Morning.”

  Hugh returned the gesture. “Just checking out your wares.”

  “Make them all myself,” the man said, paying attention to Hugh’s gear. “You appear to have your weapons game on-point, but a lot of folks don’t. That’s my typical customer. The guy who’s late to the game and has to settle for what he can get.”

  Hugh extended a hand. “My name’s Hugh. I’m a big fan of the homemade stuff. Always have been. What you got?”

  He stopped filing and shook Hugh’s hand. “I’m Ian. Good to meet you. I’ve got a forge and I make knives, but they take too long. I can’t turn them out fast enough. Most folks are just looking for something cheap and stabby.”

  Hugh grinned. “Cheap and stabby. I like it.”

  “What’s not to love about it, right? Icepick type weapons are one of my specialties. That whole stack of icepicks there is made out of welding rods I pounded the flux off of. I cut up wooden closet rods and stair balusters to make the handles. A little glue, a little sanding, and they’re pretty comfortable in the hand. I sharpen them with a file and make the sheath out of a piece of rubber tubing. They’re cheap and easy. I sell the hell out of them.”

  “Impressive. What’s that?” Hugh pointed to a selection of longer items.

  Ian smiled. “Not everything is for stabbing. Some things are for beating. I got a bunch of heavy nuts from a construction site. They go on the big bolts that hold the steel structure together. They just so happen to have approximately the same inside diameter as a closet rod. I cut off about two feet of closet rod and thread it into that heavy nut with a pipe wrench.”

  “Can I take a look?”

  Ian gave his blessing so Hugh leaned over and picked up the club. He tapped it against his palm a few times, unable to control his grin. That heavy steel nut would crack a skull with a single blow. It was an impressive weapon but would suck against a gun or knife.

  Hugh laid it back down. “That’s vicious.”

  “Part of my home-defense line.” He grinned. “For that bump in the night.”

  Hugh recognized some of the other items. There was a baseball bat with nails driven in the end. There were a couple of slingshots made from tree branches and surgical tubing. Then something caught Hugh’s eye. “Knucks?”

  He crouched down and tried on a set of brass knuckles, relishing the comfortable fit. He made a fist and they felt like they belonged on his hand.

  Ian nodded. “I make those knuckles by hand, like the knives. Takes a while because there’s a hell of a lot of drilling and filing involved in making a good set. I make them out of aluminum and brass that I cast myself. The two knuckle kind are cheaper. The ones that cover four fingers, like that set in your hand, are more expensive.”

  “How expensive?”

  “Dunno. What you got on you?”

  “How about 9mm rounds?”

  “I’ll take ten rounds for that big set of aluminum knucks you’re holding.”

  “How about four?” Hugh countered.

  Ian pondered, scratching his chin. “I can do four. I’ll take it.”

  Hugh figured he would. Ammunition was in short supply for most folks. The people in the valley were sitting on a good supply thanks to their own preparedness, a delivery from Scott and the energy people they’d met last summer, and their battlefield pickups. Hugh pulled a spare mag from his battle belt and thumbed out four rounds. He replaced the mag on his belt and extended the four rounds to the seller, dropping them into his open palm.

  While Hugh stashed the aluminum knuckles in his pocket, the seller tipped his hat. “Thank you and come again. Tell your friends. I’ve got new shit every week, depending on what I can scrounge up.”

  “I’ll definitely do that.” Before leaving Ian’s booth, Hugh scanned the area. He crinkled his brow. “Someone told me there was a place here to corral your horse. I was hoping I could do that so I wouldn’t have to lead him around the whole time. You know where that is?”

  Ian gave a regretful shake of his head. “Rumor is that fucker got killed last night. Not surprised really. He was kind of an asshole.”

  “You know what happened?”

  “I heard someone went to his house and shot him. Killed one of his sons too. Might have been a robbery or he might have run his mouth to the wrong guy.”

  Hugh nodded, the pieces falling into place. “Dangerous times. A man has to be careful.”

  He waved at Ian and wandered off. He was so lost in thought that he had no interest in any of the other booths. He mounted his horse and started home. He had a lot to think about.

  43

  Oliver’s House

  Sharon was exhausted. Had she thought this through, she would have had the children come to the house earlier so they could help her put things away. As it was, Nathan brought each load from the camp to the back porch and unloaded it. Sharon immediately sent him back, determined to haul the loads in herself to save time.

  Nathan made her promise to leave the b
ig stuff for him, but that went totally against her nature. She didn’t leave things for other people unless there was no other option. It required a lot of effort and ingenuity, but she got nearly everything. Unpacking and stowing it away in the house was an entirely different story. She would save that for when she had the children’s help.

  Several times Sharon emerged onto the pack porch only to feel like she was being watched. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and a creepy sensation settled over her. She scanned her surroundings but it would be difficult to spot a person in this setting. There was a barn and several outbuildings surrounding the house, their dark recesses offering no shortage of hiding places. Despite the cattle and horses, much of the grass around the house and barn was high too. A person could be laying on their belly in that thicket and staring right at her. To her right and up a slight hill, the forest began and a person in plain sight would be difficult to pick out of that greenery.

  She’d always been aware that being in a wheelchair put her at a disadvantage if a confrontation got physical. She understood she couldn’t let that happen so she carried a gun when she traveled. At least she had back in her other life. She never traveled with one when coming to the camp because it seemed like the last place in the world she’d need one.

  While that may have been true under the previous circumstances, it wasn’t any longer. Now, the presence of the gun in the side pocket of her chair was natural and necessary. It was reassuring. She reached in to touch it, to confirm that it was there, and it provided her with a level of comfort. If there was someone out there, she could do nothing about it now. If they showed themselves, if they insisted on being unpleasant, she would “do unto others” and be unpleasant right back.

  When she had everything she could budge off the back porch, she locked the kitchen door. It felt silly but she didn’t want to take any chances. She didn’t want to be somewhere else in the house and have someone slip in without announcing themselves.

  She retrieved a plastic cup from the dish drainer and filled it from the faucet at the kitchen sink. Even the simple luxury of having water emerge from a faucet was a miracle in these days of deprivation. Maybe she should have taken Oliver up on his offer to move into the house earlier. This was so much nicer than the camp. It was too late to quibble over it now, but she knew part of it had been her stubbornness. She wanted to do it on her own. She wanted to survive the winter in the camp with those children, just to show she could do it. She understood now how selfish that had been.