Legion of Despair: Book Three in The Borrowed World Series (11 page)

Gary nodded. “What about the town itself? Are things pretty calm?”

“The night guy says there’s a lot of shit going on after dark,” the man said. “Shooting, fighting, all kinds of carrying on.”

That didn’t surprise Gary. If anything surprised him, it was that the days were any calmer than the nights. “Well, I’ll leave you alone. I’m on my way to the police station.”

“Good luck with that,” the man replied. “I hear there’s one cop there guarding the equipment and working the radio. He’s locked up tight and armed to the teeth. He probably won’t even answer the damn door.”

“I would be armed to the teeth too.”

“You reporting a crime?” the man asked. “There’s not much the police can do for people now.”

“No,” Gary replied. “I guess I just want to see if the cops are still an option for handling things. We’ve got a little situation that’s going to get out of control pretty fast if something isn’t done. I’ve got some visitors who need a deterrent.”

The guard slung his M4 back over his shoulder and lit a cigarette. He leaned back against the car. “You want some advice?”

Gary hesitated a second before replying. “Sure.”

“If you got a problem that won’t go away, don’t involve the cops,” the man suggested. “Just do what needs to be done and go on with your life. Make sure that once this mess has all blown over, nothing can be traced back to you. The cops aren’t arresting people right now because they can’t take care of prisoners. They had to let them all go. They won’t be able to help.”

“That’s an idea,” Gary said. “I was hoping there was a better way.”

“You probably already know how your situation is going to end anyway, don’t you?”

Gary hesitated. “Probably.”

“Then why plant a seed in a cop’s head? If some worried old lady shows up at the police station next week complaining about her missing lowlife son, do you want the cops to remember the guy who was down there asking for help? No, you don’t. You don’t want the cops to have any fucking idea what happened to said lowlife. Just keep yourself off their radar. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

“You might be right,” Gary said.

“I am right,” the man replied with certainty. “I used to be a cop. I know how cops think.”

Though Gary briefly wondered why the man wasn’t a cop anymore, it wasn’t any of his business. “By the way, what’s your name?” he asked. “If you get stuck up here, we could always use someone who knows their way around a weapon.”

“Esposito,” the man replied. “Steve Esposito. And I hope like all hell that I don’t get stuck here.”

“Well, I’m Gary. Good luck,” Gary said. “I hope you don’t either.”

“Good luck to you too, buddy,” Steve said.

Gary’s feet felt heavier as he walked back across the parking lot, stepped through weeds and a small ditch, and rejoined the road. In the short walk back to the road, he’d realized that the security guard was absolutely right about his problem. If one of those guys on the dirt bikes went missing, there were probably dozens of people with reasons to make that happen. Unless there were witnesses, it might be hard for anyone to narrow down who killed anyone.

He turned left, away from town, and began his walk home. He would have to handle this himself.

*

When Gary, Jim, and Randi had parted ways a few days ago, they had made plans to reconnect by radio at a particular time to make sure everyone made it home safely. Gary’s plan had been for everyone to go to a high hilltop near each of their homes and make contact using the good VHF radios they’d taken from the ranger station at Mount Rogers. Gary thought that in a pinch he could probably radio Jim without leaving home. He needed to talk to Jim and see what he thought about his situation, from the lack of security to the lack of any water source.

The high point that Gary had chosen was on Kent’s Ridge. It was a hilltop that had a line of sight connection to the valley where Jim lived, which was about twelve miles away as the crow flies. Neither of them had been sure if Randi would be able to connect with them, since she lived in a more mountainous area that could be walled in by rocky ridges, possibly preventing her from getting a signal out.

After a quick dinner, Gary grabbed the same pack he’d carried to town and slung it over his back. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said. “You all keep an eye on things and be careful. I’ll radio you before I come through the gate. I’ll also pop a green glow stick and hang it off me, in case I can’t get you on the radio. If you see green, don’t shoot. I don’t want to be shot by accident.”

His family hugged him and swarmed him with goodbyes. He’d not been home long enough for them to forget what it was like for him to be gone and to not know his fate. The constant worry, the fear that he might not make it home was still fresh. Earlier, planning on a walk to the police station, Gary had not taken a rifle with him for fear of drawing the wrong kind of attention. This time, part of his journey would be on the road and part of it would be through the woods. He would carry the same Glock .40 caliber pistol that had gotten him home, and he would also carry his AR. With the stock retracted, most of the weapon could be hidden in the backpack. If he tossed a jacket over the exposed end, it would be concealed, although not very discreetly. There were times that he wished he’d bought an AR or AK pistol for ease of concealment, but he’d never done it. This was one of the times he wished he had.

It took two hours of strenuous walking to reach the location that he was going to radio from. It was on a large cattle farm with thousands of acres, not on his property. He’d accessed it through a circuitous route that he hoped had allowed him to come in unseen. When he finally got out his radio and established contact, it was a relief to hear Jim’s and Randi’s voices and know that those two had made it home. Neither of them went into much detail about how the last day of their journey had gone, and Gary was certain there were dozens of stories beneath the surface of their words. Perhaps he would hear them one day.

When Jim asked him how things were at his home, Gary hesitated. While his plan had been only to infer that he was having some doubts about his location and may need to consider moving, the idea of vague allusions went completely out the window. Too much had gone on between them for him not to be honest. He ended up spilling the whole story: the trouble with the masked visitors, his concerns about being able to adequately guard his property, his concerns that his entire plan of being able to bug-in was flawed, and that they may have to bug-out after all.

“There are some empty houses around me, Gary,” Jim said. “I think I could talk to the relatives of the people who owned them and see if we might be able to borrow some for a while. I don’t think I’d have any problem finding someone willing to do that. At least the house would be looked after while you were living there.”

“That might be a good idea,” Gary agreed. “I’ll need some time to talk to my family, though. I’m not sure this is going to be an easy sell.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Jim agreed. “Remind them that it’s temporary.”

“How about we agree to meet up here on the radio in forty-eight hours?” Gary asked.

“Not a problem,” Jim said. “I’ll be here.”

Randi finalized her arrangements to come check on Jim’s mother, who’d been pretty sick, and then they all signed off.

Gary had a lot to think about. His family would not be happy about leaving the homes they’d worked so hard to build. While he wasn’t happy about that either, he wanted security for his family beyond all things. He continued to beat himself up over his lack of attention to some critical details. The water issue was going to wear on them if the power remained off, as he fully expected it would. Security at his house could possibly be worked out. He could contact some people he knew in town and offer to let them move into his daughters’ homes in exchange for helping guard the property, but still there would be no water. It would not be a viable long-term plan.

He also knew enough now to understand that he was too close to town to operate a sustainable property. Further back in the country, there would be a buffer of distance that would keep some folks away. It would be too far for most to walk. How many people were within a one mile radius of where he lived now? He didn’t have Google Maps to refer to, but if he imagined the satellite view of his home and drew a circle reaching one mile out from his home he couldn’t even guess the number of folks who might live there. There would be thousands. Thousands of folks with no power, no water, no gardens, no livestock, no game, and no prospect for an end to this disaster.

Gary thought of the river passing through the center of town. The town had been built on the headwaters of the Clinch River, renowned as being one of the cleanest rivers in the state, but the water was not clean enough to drink unfiltered. How many people were drinking it now without treating it with bleach, boiling it, or filtering it? The results would be apparent soon.

Without treatment for the chronic diarrhea that would come from drinking untreated river water, folks would become dehydrated and die even faster than the starvation would have killed them. It was a grim prospect indeed.

The light was failing, and Gary hoped he could get home before dark. He didn’t want to have to strap a headlight to his head. He imagined it as a target that some unseen reprobate might aim for just out of boredom and because the threat of arrest was non-existent.

Walking toward his home, weaving his way through game trails and cattle pastures, he knew that there was really only one option. He had to convince his family to join forces with Jim. There was also the whole issue of how to get all their stuff to the valley where Jim lived. Gary had outbuildings and a garage full of preparations he’d made. There was food, ammunition, and all kinds of long-term survival gear he’d not even used yet. Some of it hadn’t even been opened. He’d been so occupied with his return and getting all the kids under one roof that he’d not had a chance to square away his home for the long haul. At this point, maybe it was best not to even get started if they couldn’t stay there.

He thought of his stash of heritage survival seeds. How could he ever plant a garden at his home and guard it? He’d basically need an armed scarecrow stationed in there at all times to keep thieves away. The whole idea of moving made him sick.

However, how could he have known that it would come to this? Just because he’d prepared didn’t mean he really expected or wanted anything like this to happen.

When he was halfway home, the sun had settled behind the horizon and Gary walked through the gloaming, picking his steps more carefully. He knew that a truck was really the only way to get their gear moved. They didn’t have enough fuel for multiple trips, so it had to be one trip in a large truck. The problem was that he didn’t have one and he didn’t know anyone that did.

Even if he did know someone, could he just expect that they were going to lend him the truck and the fuel to drive to Jim’s? How would he get the truck back? What was the price of fuel now if he were to find someone with fuel to trade? Could it be bought with ammunition or food? Then what kind of hell might rain down on them if the community found out he had food on hand? If people knew he had enough food that he could be trading it off for fuel, would word get out and they instantly become a target?

Within a mile of his home, Gary was far enough along in his thinking that he had come up with the possible location of a truck that could be used. The agency where he and Jim worked had once owned a box truck that was used for moving office furniture and picking up deliveries. It was the size of a large U-Haul or Ryder truck. If they moved without furniture, they could possibly get all of their gear in it, although he couldn’t imagine it was just sitting there with fuel in the tank. He knew where the key was located because he’d borrowed the truck once before. If the key was still there and if he could secure fuel for the trip, this might just be the ticket for them.

Gary was stepping lighter by the time he reached the base of his hill. Figuring out the truck scenario had been a milestone. Now he just had to convince his family to go and hope that Jim could line them up with a home. There was also the matter of securing the truck and getting it back home safely, but that was a problem for tomorrow. For now, Gary was tired and looking forward to getting in bed early, sleeping like a log, and rising in the middle of the night for guard duty.

He started the steep climb toward his home. Even though he’d only been gone a couple of hours, he missed his family. He couldn’t believe that he used to be away from them while at work nearly every day without so much as a thought. After his journey home, he’d never take their presence for granted again. As he climbed, he heard the high-pitched whine of two-stroke dirt bike engines. The sound could only be coming from his property.

*

Gary was furious that these idiots on their machines were back at his house again. He dropped his pack, retrieved his rifle from it, and slapped a magazine home. He re-shouldered his pack, chambered a round, and started running up the hill. Though the hill was steep, his conditioning was better than it had been a few weeks ago. Walking hundreds of miles could do that to you.

He could hear the engines winding up, dropping off, then whining again as they accelerated. That told him that whoever was up there was just racing around his property being a jerk. At the top of the hill, he slowed to a walk to regain control of his breathing, sweat pouring from his forehead into his eyes. He raised his shirttail and wiped it from his face.