One of the horses looked familiar. It was the same Chestnut he’d ridden into town one night ago. The animal looked up and snickered as he walked toward it.
“You miss me?” Smith asked.
The horse looked away and shuffled its feet.
Guess not, Smith thought as he untied the horse from the streetlight, then walked it out of town.
He climbed into the saddle about ten yards later, then turned the Chestnut north.
“Ever been to Canada?” he asked the animal.
The horse didn’t reply but did respond when he tapped its flanks with his boots. It quickly picked up pace and was in a full trot out of Gaffney a few seconds later, apparently just as anxious to get the hell out of town and back into the open countryside as him.
Then they were in the fields, with nothing between them and whatever was out there but clear blue skies and wide-open grass. The road was visible to his left, but Smith angled the Chestnut away from it.
His body ached and his wounds throbbed, but he closed his eyes and sucked in the clean air.
Smith smiled and rode on.
After The Purge, AKA John Smith (Book 3): Shoot Last Page 19