The Borrowed World Series | Book 8 | Blood & Banjos

by Horton, Franklin

  Sharon tucked the glass between her thighs and headed for the front porch. She unbolted the door, swung it open, and moved out onto the porch. It was different from the camp porch. The view wasn’t as expansive, but it was still nice. It was also covered, which would allow her to sit out there in the rain.

  She lost herself in her thoughts, her mental list-making running rampant. There was so much to do to get ready for another winter. They needed to get the garden in, preserve what they could, and start rounding up firewood for winter. That made her think about the chimneys in this house. When were they last cleaned? With that high metal roof and its steep pitch, how could she ever check? There was no way she was sending one of the children up there and she wasn’t about to try it herself. She wondered if she could enlist someone from the community to help with that.

  As often happened, one thought ran into the next and she lost track of time. The next thing she knew, the golf cart was coming into sight followed by the children. She smiled, thrilled to see them. It was exactly what she needed after this draining day. Still, it was hard not to notice that they resembled a group of refugees straggling through the apocalypse. They were sweaty and bedraggled, their faces smudged with dust as they led the herd of goats on leashes. Some wore backpacks or walked with pillows tucked under their arms. They trudged along at a weary pace as if they’d been walking for days. If the novelty of bringing the goats along had lifted their spirits, the effect had long since worn off.

  “Hey!” Sharon called to them, waving her arms.

  It was just what the children needed. They perked up at her voice, some of them eagerly waving back to her, others breaking into a run. Sharon moved toward the porch rail and leaned forward. She folded her arms, resting them on the rails, and dropping her chin onto her forearms. This was the silver-lining behind the tragedy of losing Oliver. This would be their new home and they would be happy here. They would make it work.

  The first to reach the porch carefully negotiated the high steps, one hand on the old wooden railing. The rest tied their goats off to the fence and climbed onto the shaded porch. Each hugged her in turn, then collapsed onto the floor as if they’d completed a marathon. They detailed their woes and ailments to her—exhaustion, blisters, cramps, bug bites, and sunburn. Some even told her they already missed camp and wanted to go home.

  It wasn’t lost on Sharon that they now considered camp to be their home, rather than whatever home they’d been part of before coming to camp. It was a statement to the adaptability of children. “This is our new home for now,” she said. “It’s a regular home, not a cabin or dining hall. We can do all the things we did at the camp, but we’ll probably be more comfortable here. There are nice big rooms and comfortable furniture and running water.”

  “Will we have our own rooms?” Tara asked.

  Sharon smiled at her. “There are not enough rooms for everyone to have their own. For now, until we get things settled, we’re going to do a girl’s room and a boy’s room. Once we get things figured out, we’ll spread out a little.”

  No one had any complaints about that. It was the way they were sleeping now and it was familiar to them.

  Sharon spotted Nathan turning into the driveway. He’d be at the back porch shortly. She headed for the door and rallied the troops. “C’mon guys. We need to put the goats in the pen and unload the cart, then everyone can take a rest break. Okay?”

  The kids who weren’t leading goats followed Sharon through the unfamiliar house, taking in their surroundings. They were subdued, sensing the gravity of the situation, understanding in their own way what had happened to make this possible. In the kitchen, Sharon unlocked the back door and headed out onto the porch just as Nathan was setting the parking brake on the cart.

  “That it?” Sharon asked. “Are you glad to be done?”

  Nathan wiped his face with the tail of his shirt and shook his head. “We couldn’t get it all on this load. Kay stayed back with the last of it. After we unload this, I’ll go get the last load and she’ll ride back with me.”

  Sharon nodded. “At least it’s close. What’s left?”

  “Musical instruments. Everyone is exhausted but Kay thought the children would be happier if they had their instruments. We’ll go ahead and get them tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow.”

  “That’s very thoughtful,” Sharon said. “I’m sure the children will appreciate having their stuff here with them. I can’t tell you how proud I am. You’ve done an amazing job today.”

  She caught Nathan grinning at the compliment as he untangled the miles of rope holding everything onto the golf cart. Sharon looked around, searching for that sensation of being watched again, but things felt better now. She wasn’t sure it was the presence of the children that made her feel more comfortable, or if whoever was watching her had gone. Pleased to no longer feel that she was being spied upon, Sharon failed to ask herself an important question.

  If her watcher had left, where had they gone?

  44

  The Camp

  Kay was comfortable with being alone at the camp. She’d been attending since she was seven years old. She was twelve now and wanted to be a counselor there one day but you had to be fifteen before you could be considered. Even though she wasn’t old enough to be a counselor yet, Sharon had let her come to her session a day early this year. She’d arrived on a day when the camp was empty and the staff were preparing for the next session. She’d gotten to help out with all of the things that went into preparing for a camp session.

  She’d enjoyed the experience and hoped to do it again when she returned the following summer. What she hadn’t expected was that she’d never get to go home from her session last summer. It was already the “following summer” and she still hadn’t made it home yet. Becoming a camp counselor now seemed a very distant goal.

  She tried not to think about why her parents hadn’t picked her up. There was the underlying fear that something bad had happened to them, but she tried not to look at it that way. They lived in Colorado and maybe they simply couldn’t make it out there to pick her up with no gas available. That had to be it. Most of the kids who’d been able to leave and head home were from the East Coast. That was a lot different than coming in from the Rockies.

  As she’d watched the last of the stranded children leave for Oliver’s house, waving at her before hurrying to catch up with Nathan, she noticed how different the camp felt without people. It still felt like a magical place. There was a special feeling that came from everything around her but she was uncertain if it came from her personal memories or instead from the energy that the place absorbed from those who came here.

  Sensing that she’d become depressed if she dwelt too hard upon the empty camp, she put herself to work. All of the instruments were stored in a special section of the dining hall. This was where some of the jam sessions took place, though they certainly weren’t limited to the dining hall. They had a nice stage in the woods, an informal amphitheater, and several other places where music happened.

  Kay grabbed a big old suitcase that contained spare strings, picks, and straps. She carried it out onto the broad front porch, down the steps, and placed it in the grass. She went back inside and grabbed two banjos in hard cases. She hauled those out and placed them beside the suitcase of strings. Over several more trips she ferried out the last of the instruments. It was a big pile, but she thought they could tie it onto the golf cart.

  Her work done, Kay climbed back onto the porch and reclined on a wooden bench. Her back ached and her arms felt limp as noodles. She didn’t believe she’d ever worked as hard in her life as she’d worked today. All the carrying and packing. Helping children carry and pack. It had been a lot and she was ready for a break.

  She closed her eyes against the sun and draped a forearm across her forehead. She was enjoying the feeling of the sun on her skin when the sound of shattering glass caused her to bolt upright. For a moment, she wondered if something had fallen in the k
itchen or dining hall. A bottle? A glass bowl?

  She stood and peered through the window screen. The dining hall was empty and she didn’t see anything out of place. She angled her head, looking toward the pass-through into the kitchen. A figure stepped into view and stood there for a moment, a look of disgust on her face. Kay recognized her immediately as the woman who’d disrupted Oliver’s funeral.

  Kay ducked, flattening herself against the porch wall. Terror constricted her chest.

  “Any of this shit we can use?” a voice asked. It was male. Probably the son she’d had with her yesterday.

  “I don’t see any food,” the woman said. “This is all cooking stuff. Pots, pans, and spoons. Plastic cups and cafeteria trays. Doesn’t do us any damn good at all.”

  Kay’s mind raced. They were there to rob the camp. Had they been waiting out there for everyone to leave? They must think the camp was empty. They needed to continue thinking that. She had no idea what they’d do to her if they caught her.

  A door clattered shut inside. Kay recognized it as the swinging door between the kitchen and the dining hall. They could show up outside at any moment. On her hands and knees, she scrambled across the weathered porch boards. She couldn’t take the steps. Getting to them would require passing by a full-length screen door that would expose her to anyone inside the dining hall. Instead, she crawled toward the opposite end, rolling beneath the rail and nimbly dropping the six feet to the ground. With no steps on that end of the porch, it was a shortcut all the kids used.

  She huddled beneath the high porch, trying to figure out her next move. Should she disappear into the woods? The tall grass? Should she head for the farm road and run to Oliver’s house as fast as she could? Then she spotted the pile of instruments sitting in the grass and was hit with a wave of indecision. She couldn’t leave those instruments behind to these people. The music was all they had to keep them going over the long, dark winter. It was what kept them occupied so they didn’t miss their families every waking moment. Above all, it was the reason they were here in the first place and they couldn’t lose that. Those instruments tied them to this place and each other.

  She listened carefully. She heard steps moving around the dining hall and kitchen but they were still inside. She crouched and ran the length of the porch, coming out from underneath it near the steps. Without even a look back, she bolted for the stack of instruments. She swooped up two cases and ran for the high weeds near the garden, a distance of nearly seventy yards. She dropped the cases there and ran back for the rest of them.

  It took several trips. Her heart was pounding from fear and the exertion of lugging the heavy cases. She told herself that if she was spotted she’d drop the cases and run for the woods. She’d have a head start and there was no way they’d catch her, but somehow she managed to go undiscovered. The intruders must have been too busy scouring the building for things to steal.

  When she had the last of the cases hidden in the weeds, Kay took cover behind the garden shed and watched. Through the open windows she heard more crashing, the sound of things being overturned and broken. Kay hated these people for trashing her camp but she knew it could be cleaned up. With a few hours of cleaning it would be good as new. She’d already gotten all the important stuff out. This would be okay.

  As her breathing started to calm, she kept repeating that message to herself. This will be okay. This will all be okay.

  Then, just as she began to believe it, a massive whoompf filled the air. Two of the kitchen windows blew out from the pressure. There was a cry from the rear of the dining hall and two figures, Kimberly and her son, came running around the corner, coughing and rubbing their eyes. Whatever they’d done, they’d not allowed themselves sufficient time to escape.

  “We gonna burn the rest of it?” the boy gasped.

  Kimberly was shaking her head and coughing, still unable to speak. Spittle strung from her mouth to the ground.

  “Momma, you okay?”

  She straightened and choked out, “We better go. They’ll see the smoke.”

  The boy took her by the arm and led her off into the woods. Kay’s eyes flickered between the fleeing figures and the burning building. Flames were now licking at the windows. The exposed framing and wooden interior was a tinderbox, the crackling fire quickly engulfing the interior.

  When she lost sight of the arsonists, Kay ran for the garden hose and dragged it toward the dining hall. It was gravity-fed from a spring near the road. When she squeezed the sprayer nozzle, a pencil-thin stream arced for about ten feet before hitting the ground. It was enough to water a plant but would be pointless against a structure fire. Kay threw the hose to the ground in frustration and began crying.

  Arms wrapped around her from behind. Kay didn’t even scream. Every combative instinct in her body came to life and she was instantly fighting, scratching, and clawing. She tried to break away but the arms only held her tighter.

  “Kay!” a voice said. “Kay, it’s me!”

  Then she recognized the voice. It was Nathan. She quit fighting but her crying intensified. “You have to help me! We’ve got to put it out!”

  “We have to get back,” he said. “It’s not safe. What happened?”

  “We have to put it out!”

  “Kay, we can’t put it out. The fire’s too big. It’s too late.” He backed away, leading the sobbing Kay by the wrist.

  “It was those people,” she sobbed.

  “What people?”

  As she said it, she was hit with a wave of paranoia. They could still be out there in the woods watching her. They could be coming for her and Nathan. “It was those people that came to Oliver’s funeral. His niece and her son.”

  Nathan quit pulling on her wrist and turned to face her. “They did this? They started the fire?”

  Kay bobbed her head. “I was on the front porch and I heard them break a window. I hid and watched them. There was the boom and then everything was on fire.”

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  Kay swiped at the tears on her face. Her eyes were stinging from the smoke. “Just a few minutes. They just left. They couldn’t have gotten far.”

  Nathan scanned the woods. “They could still be out there. They could be watching us. We need to go!”

  She yanked away from him. “Bring the cart to the garden. I need to load the instruments.”

  Nathan looked confused. “What are they doing at the garden?”

  Kay looked at him as if the answer was obvious. “I hid them. I wasn’t going to let them destroy the instruments.”

  Nathan shook his head as if he were having difficulty processing this.

  She pointed toward the horse-drawn cart. “Go! Get it so we can get out of here.”

  Nathan sprinted for the cart, tied to the fence a good distance from the fire. He was back in less than a minute and they stacked all of the instrument cases in the cart’s cargo rack. While they secured the load, Nathan continued to shake his head. “I can’t believe you risked your life for these instruments.”

  Kay didn’t answer, focusing on tying knots. Perhaps she couldn’t believe it either.

  45

  Oliver’s House

  The exhausted crew at Oliver’s house was trying to put together a simple meal. It wasn’t easy because the children were distracted by their new surroundings and couldn’t focus. Sharon had to sit them down as soon as they came in the house and establish some ground rules.

  “For now, don’t open any closed doors. Don’t touch any of Oliver’s personal items. You can look but don’t touch. You can go outside on the porches, but I don’t want you running around the yards or exploring any of the outbuildings until I have a chance to make sure they’re safe. Everyone understand?”

  There were scattered hesitant agreements. Sharon knew she was taking away all of the things they most wanted to do. They wanted to explore buildings and peer behind closed doors. For now, they’d just have to wait.

  “Stay togeth
er,” Sharon added. “You can break into groups but no one goes anywhere alone. Okay?”

  More reluctant nods.

  “I’m going to try to put together dinner. Anyone want to help?”

  For a change, not a single hand went up. Everyone was more interested in exploring their surroundings than assisting her. Sharon wasn’t surprised.

  “Okay then. Dinner may be something simple if I’m doing it myself. We’ll probably just have vegetables, hard boiled eggs, and leftover flatbread.”

  When that menu didn’t produce any volunteers or complaints, Sharon dismissed them and they scurried away like rowdy kittens. This was a meal that wouldn’t require any cooking, only some slicing and prep work. After the long day, that was about all she had in her.

  The laughs, shouts, and shrieks of the children made it easy for Sharon to forget their circumstances. They were kids exploring and having fun. Even the kids themselves were lost in play, adventuring into the only new place they’d experienced in a year.

  Sharon was just laying out the dinner ingredients when Stevie wandered in, a concerned look on his face.

  “What is it?” she asked, immediately thinking that he or one of the other children had broken something.

  “Something is on fire.”

  Panic raced through Sharon. “Here in the house?”

  “No, outside.”

  “Where?”

  Stevie walked off, beckoning Sharon to follow him. He headed for the front porch, holding the screen door open for her to follow him. He walked to the rail and pointed off toward a rising column of black smoke in the distance. Sharon knew exactly where that smoke came from. It had to be coming from the camp.