Valley of Vengeance: Book Five in The Borrowed World Series Read online

  Except for feeding the remaining animals, they spent most of the day sorting their possessions into piles. There were things they would take with them, things they would bury on the farm, and things that didn’t matter to them. They would take what guns and ammunition they could, but some would have to be cached. It was the same with clothing, farm tools, kitchen stuff, and family mementos.

  They packed storage totes with photo albums and family photos. When they were full, the used duct tape to seal them tight. They lowered these into the abandoned cistern and stacked them. Kitchen goods were placed in garbage bags and stacked on top of the storage totes. Unsure of how else to store them, Charlie used lithium grease from the barn to coat the weapons they couldn’t take with them, then wrapped them in plastic. Adding a layer of tape, he stored those in the cistern as well.

  “Are we taking the livestock?”

  Alice was sorting clothes, deciding what to take and what to store. “I had thought we might but I think it will just slow us down,” she said. “I don’t want to die for a pig.”

  “We can turn them out in the back pasture,” Charlie said. “It’s fenced and you can’t see it from the road. Maybe they’ll be there when we come back. Maybe they’ll have babies and there will be more of them when we come back.” Charlie swallowed. “We will be coming back, won’t we?”

  Alice was folding a flannel shirt. It had been her dad’s. She was taking it with her, both for warmth and for emotional support. “I would say so. Things will get back to normal one day.”

  “Can we live here?” he asked. “I like this place better than our old house.”

  “Sure,” she said. “It’s practically yours now anyway.”

  “Really?”

  Alice nodded.

  Charlie looked around, seeing it all differently now. “When are we leaving?”

  “I had hoped tomorrow,” she said. “I don’t know if we’ll be ready or not.”

  Chapter 31

  Randi

  When Randi first moved her family from her parents’ home to Jim’s valley, the trip over had taken longer because of her grandchildren. With nothing to slow them down but old bones and soft posteriors, Randi and Buddy made good time on horseback. Randi also had the opportunity to correct a few navigational mistakes she’d made on the first trip that caused her to add miles and lose time.

  Despite the grim nature of the journey, it was a beautiful day to travel through the country. The sky was clear and the first leaves were beginning to turn yellow and drop. No one mowed anymore and previously shorn patches of ground were returning to wild. It was as peaceful a day as she ever remembered. It was the perfect preamble to the mission she had planned. When she returned this way, she hoped to do so with the blood of her enemy beneath her fingernails and a burden lifted from her heart.

  They reached the shell of her family’s old home by late afternoon. She thought she’d come to terms with much of what had happened. At least it felt like she had while living in the valley so far away from the source of her pain. Yet returning here reopened the wound in the most violent of ways. It was like the tearing away of a bandage glued to a wound with blood and fluid. Upon sight of her home, a sob forced its way from her and she relived the whole experience in a flash. She saw the worst day of her life running before her eyes in a rapid loop that she could not turn away from.

  Buddy, no stranger to pain and loss, allowed her the dignity of her grief. When the worst of it subsided, she looked at him. He took the cue and rode alongside her, throwing an arm over her. She cried into his shoulder for a long time, until the horses shifted, forcing them apart.

  “We can sleep in the barn,” she said.

  While Buddy rode over to it and tied his horse off, Randi went to the spot where they’d buried her parents. She slid from the horse and tied it to a fence post. She had cigarettes again from the bounty found in the Glenwall trailers. She lit one, finding a small degree of peace in the ritual. It was too soon after their deaths for grass to have begun growing on the graves. In a yard already scarred by the burned-out shell of her home, the dirt patch that marked their graves was yet another reminder of why she was here.

  She settled into a thick patch of grass at the edge of the graves and let flow what tears still needed to come. When she ran out, she talked to her parents and told them where they were now and how their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were doing. She told them she was sorry about not finding her brother’s body but that she hoped he was with them now. She apologized for what she was about to do because she knew they wouldn’t approve of her putting herself at risk. She reminded them that if they understood her at all, they would understand why she had to do it.

  When she was done, she walked her horse to the barn and tied it alongside Buddy’s. She found an upright bucket that had filled with rainwater, put it in front of the horses, and let them take turns drinking. When they’d emptied it, she went to the spring and brought back more.

  Hearing the sounds of life returning to the mountain farm, a chicken came from the woods, perhaps hoping someone had finally returned with grain for it and that the chicken’s days of scrounging for bugs were over. Randi stared at the bird for a moment before snatching it up and wringing its neck with a rubbery snap. She looked over at Buddy and found him staring at her wide-eyed.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “I guess for some reason I just thought you were going to pet it.”

  “I’m hungry. I need to eat a chicken more than I need to love on it.”

  Buddy shrugged. “Me too.”

  Randi plucked the bird while Buddy built a small fire. The feathers didn’t come loose as easily without having scalded the chicken but Randi didn’t care. It occupied her mind. When she was done, they singed the remaining feathers off in the fire. Buddy gutted the bird, stuck it in a pot of water, and hung it over the fire.

  “How far is that girl’s house from here?” Buddy asked.

  “Their land joins up to the back of our place,” she said. “Probably takes thirty minutes of walking through the woods to get to their house. It’s rough ground.”

  “She got other kin in the area?”

  Randi nodded. “Some. She’s also got a bunch of druggie friends that she might take up with.”

  “We need to figure out if she’s still in her house or moved in with someone else. That’s the first step.”

  Randi watched the fire. “I’d like to see her spitted over my campfire,” she said. “I’d like to burn her alive.”

  “We’ll see what opportunities present themselves,” Buddy said. “You’ll just have to keep yourself open to what you can get away with and not expose yourself to undue risk.”

  Randi scrounged around in the garden and found a few remaining potatoes, which they sliced and threw in the pot with the chicken. When it was done, Buddy sliced off some of the meat and put it on a plate with the potatoes. While they ate, Buddy described to Randi some of the basics of observing a target. His training had been in the jungles of Vietnam but he felt it was still relevant to the jungles of the central Appalachian Mountains.

  “Can we start tonight?” Randi asked. “I hate to be this close and not be doing something.”

  Buddy shook his head. “I’d prefer we didn’t. If we go at first light, we can learn the path. We can clear it of sticks so stepping on them doesn’t give our position away. Then we can find our hide. Once we’ve established the hide and learned the trail, going at night won’t be a problem. We’d be stumbling blind tonight.”

  The light faded around them, color leaving the world. Birds changed shifts, the day birds tagging out and going home, leaving their night brethren to send their strange sounds out into the darkness. The small fire crackled and the pair stared at it, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “We should turn in,” Buddy said. “I’ll get us up before dawn. We’ll head out then.”

  Randi took up a bucket of horse water and tilted it
over the fire. It hissed and popped, faded, and left them in darkness. The two clicked on their headlamps and made their way to the hayloft.

  Chapter 32

  The Valley

  Jim drove like a madman over the short distance between the creek and the gate that entered his property. The road was really just a path through the field. It was full of ruts, rocks, and bumps. Jim drove way too fast, wanting to get to his home and arm up in case he was being followed by Barnes and his men. He didn’t have to worry about Deel at this point. He was pretty sure nothing could be done for him. Even if the guy still had a pulse he needed emergency surgery and that wasn’t happening.

  He pulled his radio out of his vest. “Pete!” he said, ignoring any attempt at call signs.

  “Yes, Dad?” came the reply.

  “We’re coming in hot, little buddy. I’ve got the sheriff with me and a deputy named Ford behind him. I need someone to open the gate for us. I also need you guys to arm up in case the bad cops are following us.”

  “Got it,” Pete replied. “I reopened Outpost Pete while you were gone. I’m up there and on the rifle.”

  “I’m on the gate, Jim,” Pops said. “I’m heading there now.”

  “Gary, you hearing any of this?” Jim asked into the radio.

  “Affirmative,” Gary replied.

  “You guys be on guard,” Jim said. “This went south in a big way.”

  Jim knew Gary would want to know what that meant but now wasn’t the time.

  “Will do,” Gary said.

  Jim came within sight of the gate and Pops was there holding it open. Jim shot through it, barely slowing down. Pops kept it open and the other sheriff’s department vehicles pulled through behind Jim’s truck. Pops shut the gate and relocked it, tucking the key in its hiding place under a rock.

  They kept up their speed until they reached Jim’s house. When Jim got there, he slid to a stop on his lawn, springing out the door of his vehicle. He ran around to the passenger door and flung it open. Deel’s body sagged toward him and Jim caught it, lowering the man to the ground and stretching him out. The round had caught him below his body armor, obviously hitting an artery. There were massive amounts of blood soaking the man’s shirt and pants. He didn’t have a chance. Regardless, Jim felt again for a pulse.

  There was none.

  He rested his hands on his thighs, his head sagging. Deel’s attitude had pissed him off the other day but he’d come to like the man. He was smarter than Ford and cool-headed. Jim heard the other vehicles stop, doors opening. He paid them no attention until he was blindsided, a body slamming into him and knocking him over. His head struck the open truck door.

  Jim grunted from the impact, too stunned to even curse as he went down. Then a fist connected with his head before he could even piece together what was happening. Jim’s eyes focused and he saw it was the sheriff, his face a bright red mask of fury.

  “You son-of-a-bitch, what the hell did you drag my family into!” the sheriff said, spit flying into Jim’s face.

  Jim was still reeling from the blows to his head. His first thought was to go for his gun but it was mounted to the vest and he couldn’t reach it with the man sitting on him. The sheriff drew back for another blow but Jim got a hand free and throat-punched the man. The sheriff’s eyes bugged out and he grabbed at his throat with both hands, his breath not coming. He started to fall backward and Jim helped him with a stiff shove.

  The sheriff’s wife bolted from the Tahoe and dropped to her husband’s side, calling his name over and over. Staggering to his feet, Jim moved toward the sheriff, actually planning on checking his wellbeing but he didn’t make it.

  “Freeze!” It was Ford and he had his service weapon leveled at Jim.

  Jim did freeze and in the silence heard the click of a revolver’s hammer being drawn back. It was not Ford’s gun. Jim and Ford both looked sideways to see Pops training a shiny magnum revolver at the deputy. The hammer was cocked, his finger on the trigger. Ford was a hair away from dying too.

  “You sure you’re up to this, old man?” Ford spat at Pops.

  “I haven’t shot anyone during this whole mess,” Pops said. “I kind of feel like I’m not pulling my weight. I’ve got catching up to do.”

  In the midst of their standoff, Ellen stepped out onto the porch, an AR levelled at the deputy. A red laser beam bounced on Ford’s brown shirt. “Pete radioed me. He’s got his .270 and he has a clear head shot on the deputy.”

  Ford screwed his mouth up in anger. He was mumbling to himself, unsure of what to do.

  A gasp from the ground interrupted them, the sheriff finally sucking in a lungful of air. His wife was still stroking his hair and repeating his name. The sheriff began coughing violently.

  “Put your gun down, Ford,” Jim said. “You all chose to come out here. Deel confronted that man on his own. I told him not to go. He didn’t die at my hands. He died from trusting one of you, from trusting another deputy.”

  Ford angrily shoved his Smith & Wesson into his holster. “I still say his death is on you.”

  Jim probed his swelling cheek. That sheriff packed a punch. “Think what you want, but it doesn’t matter either way now. We’re on the wrong side of a bad cop and we need to figure this out before someone else gets hurt.”

  “Jim, a little hospitality goes a long way,” Ellen spoke up. “How about we show them to the houses where they’re going to be staying? If they want, we’ll help them unpack. Then everyone can rest a little bit and cool off. You folks can come back here for dinner tonight if we can eat together without guns coming out.”

  The sheriff’s wife looked at her coughing husband with uncertainty. She looked like she was ready to jump back in the vehicle and go back home. The sheriff couldn’t speak but he met his wife’s eyes and nodded.

  Jim stepped toward the sheriff and reached down to grab his hand but Ford pushed him to the side. It was an assertive but not necessarily aggressive gesture.

  “He don’t need your help,” Ford grumbled. “You’re the reason he can’t stand up on his own anyway.”

  “Did you miss the part where he jumped me?” Jim said in his own defense. “Or the part where he punched me?”

  Ford didn’t respond. He helped his boss toward the passenger seat of the Tahoe and the sheriff’s wife slipped behind the wheel.

  “Pops, you and Nana stay with Pete and Ariel,” Ellen said. “Radio us if you see anything unusual.”

  “Will do,” Pops said, only then lowering the hammer on the revolver and tucking it back in the pocket of his vest.

  “I can show them to their house,” Jim said, rubbing his temple.

  “No,” Ellen replied. “I’ll show them to their house. You and the other deputy there can give your friend a decent burial.”

  Jim looked at Deel’s body, realizing that in all the chaos he’d forgotten the dead body lying in their midst. He nodded groggily.

  “Not sure you’re fit to drive anyway,” Ellen said. “You look a little addled.”

  Chapter 33

  Randi

  Randi had a hard time going to sleep there in the loft, dropped back into the midst of her old life and the loss that was still too fresh. She must have eventually dropped off, because she was dead to the world when Buddy shook her awake. She jerked up, disoriented and briefly terrified, but calmed at the sound of his voice. Things came back to her.

  In the light of his headlamp, Buddy removed two sets of camouflage clothing from his pack. They were for turkey hunting and blended well with the local foliage. Hunting turkeys required more stealth and invisibility than hunting people, who were the least observant and situationally-aware animals. When Buddy had changed into his clothes and Randi had slipped into her coveralls, Buddy smudged their faces with charcoal from the remnants of their fire.

  They readied their weapons and gear. Buddy handed a chunk of deer jerky to Randi. “Eat.”

  “I can do that on the trail,” she said, starting to shove it in her p
ocket.

  “If you’re eating on the trail, you’re not ready to fight. A hand is occupied and you’re not fully paying attention. If you eat in the hide, the food has an even better chance of drawing animals to us.”

  Randi shoved the jerky in her mouth and started chewing. She was carrying a pump shotgun Buddy had lent her. Buddy was carrying his lever-action rifle with iron sights. They were a plain-talking, plain-shooting, low-tech hit squad. Buddy slung on his pack and began taping a Gerber Mark II to the shoulder strap with black electrician’s tape. The knife hung upside down and would be easy to reach.

  “That’s a big knife,” Randi said.

  “I got it in Vietnam,” Buddy said. “Lots of the men carried them. I haven’t touched it since the war except to oil it occasionally and check the edge. It’s not something you use for cutting the twine on a bale of hay. Knife like this only has one purpose really.”

  “That why you’re wearing it now?”

  He nodded somberly. “You come to kill, you bring the tools for killing.”

  They started off, Randi in the lead. She made no great effort toward silence until they reached the edge of her family’s property. At that point, she began to draw on the methods Buddy had mentioned to her. She began to watch every step for where her foot would land and what would happen when it did. Would she kick a rock? Snap a twig? Was there something there that would make her stumble? Walking in this manner took much longer.

  “You’re not walking, you’re stalking,” Buddy had said. “Once a noise is made, you can’t take it back.”

  It occurred to Randi that they timed this right. In another month, they would not have been able to walk this path without the crackling of dry leaves under their feet. For now, the poplars and oaks still carried their leaves but they would fall soon. After that, the cold nights would come and life would become harder for all of them. Randi needed to get this done before then. She could not spend the winter in a quiet house, staring at the fire and thinking of her failure to avenge her family.