No Time For Mourning: Book Four in The Borrowed World Series

by Franklin Horton

  “When we get to where we can see that house, we’ll split up,” Valentine said. “You two split off the road. One of you will watch the front and the other will watch the back.”

  “What if we can’t see anything?” Grayson asked. “What if they’re all in bed?”

  “Then you keep watching until morning. You got somewhere else you need to be?” Valentine asked. “I need intel. We need to know what we’re up against. Don’t come back with nothing.”

  “Where are you going again?” Grayson asked.

  “I’m going to see if any of the other houses on down the road are lit up,” Valentine said. “Then I’ll come back and meet up with you guys.”

  After another quarter mile of walking, they rounded a bend in the road and crossed a low bridge.

  “I think the house was up there,” Parker said.

  On the hill ahead of them, nearly six hundred yards in the distance, Gary went on alert.

  “I’ve got movement on my night vision,” Gary said. “Coming up the road.”

  “What do you see?” Mack asked.

  “Can’t tell much. They’re grouped up and I’m only using star light. I’m not gonna hit the IR illuminator in case they have night vision too.”

  “Give me a second,” Mack said. He shifted his rifle, punched some buttons on his scope, and peered at the display. “Got’em. Crystal clear.”

  “What do you see?”

  “Three men. Looks like they have packs and rifles. I don’t see any night vision goggles. I’m guessing they’re the bad guys.”

  “You think I should try my IR spotlight?” Gary asked.

  “I don’t see any optics,” Mack said. “Go for it.”

  Gary had an add-on IR spotlight mounted to his weapon that could flood the area with infrared light and improve the image quality of his night vision device. He reached forward and activated it. Warm green light flooded the display of his night vision scope. “That’s a lot better,” he said. “I’ve got a shot now.”

  “Me too,” Mack said.

  “Should we take them out?” Gary asked. “We should probably let Jim know so he doesn’t panic when he hears the shooting.”

  “Get him on the horn,” Mack said. “I’m not taking my eyes off these guys.”

  “Jim, you there?” Gary asked into the radio.

  “Jim here,” came a reply.

  “We’ve got three armed men on the road. They’re coming in our direction. We can make out packs and guns,” Gary said. “Both Mack and I have a shot.”

  “Give me a range,” Mack said.

  Gary looked for his IR light sticks. “Just this side of the four hundred yard marker.”

  “They’re splitting up now,” Mack said. “We need to do this.”

  “Take them,” Jim whispered.

  “I’ve got the middle man,” Mack said. “You take right.”

  “Count it down,” Gary said. “On one.”

  “Three…two…one.”

  Mack pulled the trigger and the 7.62x51 boomed in the darkness. At the same time, Gary pulled the trigger, his .338 Lapua emitting a deep boom. Two men dropped.

  “Got a runner!” Mack said. He shifted position, tracking the fleeing man, a ghostly white visage on the display of the thermal scope. Mack banged out three more rounds, the reports ringing off the hills and echoing down the valley.

  “”You get him?” Gary said. “I lost him in the weeds.”

  Mack hesitated. “I can’t tell. I can’t see him. I don’t know if I dropped him or if he found cover.”

  “Tell me something!” Jim said over the radio.

  Gary thumbed his radio. “Two down and not moving. One unaccounted for.”

  “Gary, you get down here to your house,” Jim said. “You, Will, and I are going to look for the missing man. Mack, you stay up there on overwatch. Use the thermal but do not shoot. If you see a target, relay the position to us.”

  “Got it,” Gary said.

  Chapter 56

  The Valley

  It was darkness and dumb luck that saved Valentine’s life. Moments before the shots rang out, Valentine and his men had crossed a concrete bridge. When he heard the shots and the wet smack of rounds hitting meat, he knew what had happened. He’d shot enough deer in his life to know that sound. Instinct kicked in and he was running before the other men’s bodies even hit the ground.

  He charged through the deep weeds and across the field. More shots rang out and he could hear the thud of the impacts hitting the dirt behind him, then his feet were pedaling air. He threw his hands out and landed hard on wet rocks. Pain shot through his body. He rolled over onto his side and cold water soaked into his clothes.

  Another shot rang out. He scrambled to his knees. His pack had soaked up water and it dumped out on his back. He felt his chest. His Saiga 12 was still there, the sling thrown across his neck. What little moonlight there was reflected off a creek, and he was at the rocky edge. He took off at a jog, stumbling every other step.

  He didn’t know where he was going but he knew he couldn’t stay where he was. Whoever they were dealing with had some kind of advanced optics. The men beside him were taken out with kill shots in the pitch black of night. That was not amateur shit, nor was it luck.

  The bank smoothed from rocks to mud and he increased his pace. He actually felt like he was putting some distance between him and the shooters when he found himself on his ass again.

  “Fuck!” he hissed.

  Several strands of barbed wire were stretched taut over the creek and he’d been clotheslined. At first he thought it was some cruel booby trap laid out just for this situation, then he recalled that this was cattle country. Barbed wire fences were everywhere.

  He was totally disoriented. He’d entered woods and lost sight of the night sky. Less moonlight was reaching him. He could barely see his hand in front of his face. He felt around for the strand of wire and followed it up the bank. He stood there in the darkness and listened. He could feel a raw wound down his neck, burning from his sweat. He was breathing hard and the sound of it filled his ears. He’d be lucky if they didn’t track him down purely from the noise of his heaving lungs.

  He heard no footsteps and saw no flashlights. He kept a hand on the fence and followed it a little further. There was a trail along it and the walking was decent. Much better than the creek bank. He heard a laugh and froze.

  It couldn’t be the people pursuing him. He assumed those to be men. This was not a man’s laugh. It was a child’s.

  He crept along the wire and detected a glow in the distance. The farther he walked, the more the glow evolved into a square of window. The interior of the house was lit by candles and lanterns.

  He moved closer and could see several women standing around. One woman was speaking into a radio. The rest of the women were listening. The clatter of a wooden door startled him and he froze. A flashlight cut through the darkness again. The same laugh rang out. A woman holding a child’s hand was walking from what must have been the outhouse. They returned to the house and went inside.

  Valentine watched and saw no men. Was this where the locals left their women while they looked for him?

  That was a mistake.

  Chapter 57

  The Valley

  Jim relayed the situation to the women staying at his home.

  “You listening, Lloyd?” Jim asked over the radio.

  “That would be a yes,” Lloyd replied.

  “Pull back to the house. We need to circle the wagons. I don’t want anyone out where they may be confused for the man we’re looking for.”

  “Got it,” Lloyd said. “You girls don’t shoot me. I’m on my way.”

  “No promises,” Randi muttered.

  “Jim, have you checked the bodies of the people that were shot?” Ellen asked.

  “Yes,” Jim replied.

  “They armed?”

  “Heavily.”

  Ellen looked at the other women, saw the concern in their eyes. �
�You guys be careful,” she said. “Keep us informed every step of the way.”

  “Will do,” Jim said. “We’re going to comb this property and then work our way back toward their camp at Rockdell Farms. We figure the guy probably retreated to his camp. We’ll let you know what we find. Jim out.”

  Ellen set the radio on the counter. “I don’t want to take any chances. Let’s get the kids down in the basement. It’s below ground and there’s no chance of stray rounds coming through the walls. You ladies brought guns, right?”

  “I have a rifle,” Brenda said.

  “I have a pistol,” Randi said.

  “I have a pistol too,” Charlotte said.

  “What about your daughters, Randi?” Ellen asked.

  “They know how to shoot but they don’t have weapons,” Randi replied. “We lost most of what we owned in the fire.”

  “Once we get the children in the basement, we’ll put the older girls down there to watch after them. The rest of us will arm up and keep an eye on this place.”

  “We need to lower the lights,” Brenda said.

  “The basement is light tight,” Ellen said. “There’s plastic over the windows. Let’s move them all down there with the kids.”

  “Ellen, do you have another gun I can use?” Randi asked.

  “Did you have something particular in mind?”

  “You have a shotgun? I’d like to set up outside. I can’t stand the thought that there might be someone creeping around outside and us not know about it.”

  “I’ve got a Remington 870 you can use,” Ellen said. “It’s pump-action.”

  “Is there one I can use?” Charlotte asked.

  Ellen looked at Brenda, who looked at Charlotte and then Randi. Randi nodded. “She needs this. I think she’s ready. She wants to help.”

  “Then I’ve got another shotgun you can use,” Ellen said. “It’s a Remington 1100. It’s an automatic so there’s no pump to work. Just snap off the safety and start pulling the trigger.”

  Charlotte smiled. “Thanks, Ellen.”

  Ellen returned her smile. “Let’s get these kids situated and we’ll get down to business.”

  Chapter 58

  The Valley

  Lloyd crawled out of the tangle of Pete’s outpost. It was clearly built for a younger man with its low clearance and maze of tangled logs. When he made it out, he straightened his stiff back and stretched for a moment. He’d brought a banjo with him because that’s what banjo players do. He slung it over his shoulder and took up his rifle for his trip back to the house. With word from Jim that they assumed the strangers to be heading in the other direction, Lloyd wasn’t too concerned and let his guard down. He was not a tactical-minded person anyway, preferring to describe himself as a lover and not a fighter. He’d made the mistake of saying that in front of Randi once and she’d laughed until she cried.

  His eyes were well-adjusted to the darkness at this point. In the distance, he could see Jim’s home and the warm light emanating from its windows. The shortest trail from the outpost to the house was not the easiest. It was straight down the steepest part of the hill and made old knees ache. Lloyd preferred the easier, indirect route. It was smooth dirt and took several switchbacks down through the wood, by the creek, and then back up to the house.

  The trail was easy to walk in the dark. With his banjo over his back, Lloyd imagined himself as a musician of the nineteen thirties walking home from a barn dance. He’d kept his distance from the liquor jar that night though he knew that had he been playing a barn dance he’d be weaving his way home for certain. He pictured himself playing with the likes of Uncle Dave Macon and his Fruit Jar Drinkers or Gid Tanner and his Skillet Lickers. They were only about fifteen miles from the home of the Carter Family at Hiltons, Virginia. Lloyd knew he wouldn’t be a good fit with those folks. They didn’t approve of drinking and didn’t allow it around them. He sure loved their music though.

  He began humming “Dixie Darling.” Before long, the words formed on his lips and he was singing it into the darkness as he walked. While he sang quietly, it was the loudest of the night sounds.

  He was confused when the shadow of a tree split as he passed. It took him too long to recognize it wasn’t merely the play of shadows. It was the movement of a man. By the time he realized this, the butt of a gun smashed into his head, stunning him. He fell, the banjo ringing out in the night as it struck the ground.

  A man stood over him and punched him hard in the face. With his head pressed against the ground, it couldn’t snap back and disperse the energy of the blow. Lloyd was disoriented. A strong man yanked him back to his feet and shoved him against a tree. His hands were pulled back around the trunk of the tree and flex cuffs were zipped onto his wrists. Valentine punched him in the stomach. Lloyd sucked in air, choked, then vomited.

  A hand grabbed his hair as he threw up, wrenching his head back. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know.”

  Unable to breathe, Lloyd couldn’t answer.

  “Who are you people?”

  Lloyd still didn’t answer.

  “How many of you are there?” He released Lloyd’s head and it sagged down against his chest. “Are you the people who killed my men?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lloyd croaked.

  “You tell me what I want to know or it’s gonna suck to be you.”

  Lloyd could see that his attacker was huge. Still, he would not disclose anything if he had a choice. “Fuck you!”

  Valentine chuckled. “There was a joke when I was a kid—ask me how my grandmother plays the piano.”

  Lloyd remained silent.

  Valentine fired out a foot, catching Lloyd in the groin. He grunted, then threw up again.

  “Ask me how my grandmother plays the piano,” he repeated.

  “How does your…your grandmother play the…piano?” Lloyd choked out.

  “She doesn’t,” Valentine said. “She doesn’t have any fingers.” He yanked a heavy tactical knife from its sheath. He pinned Lloyd’s pinky against the tree, placing the blade over the knuckle. Without warning, he tapped the blade hard with the butt of his shotgun. The joint separated and the pinky dropped into the thick moss at the base of the tree.

  Lloyd screamed.

  The sound carried through the night. In Jim’s yard, his two new Great Pyrenees pups, bartered from Thomas Weatherman, perked up at the sound and began growling. Beside them, Randi and Ellen stood, chills running down their spines.

  Chapter 59

  Rockdell Farms

  “Just like old times,” Jim said. “Walking through the dark toward some kind of trouble. Didn’t we get this out of our systems coming home from Richmond?”

  “I hoped we did,” Gary said. “I was hoping for a future that was more like The Waltons than The Walking Dead.”

  The two were creeping through the dark toward the camp on Rockdell Farms. Buddy and Lloyd explained to Jim earlier where it was located and Jim knew the exact spot. He’d driven by it hundreds of times. They left Mack on watch at the observation post with his thermal scope. Will and Buddy remained at Gary’s house keeping an eye on things. They’d both wanted to come with Jim and Gary but Jim felt it was important to keep another line of defense in case Mack picked up something on the thermal.

  When they neared Rockdell Farms, Jim tugged on Gary’s sleeve and pointed to a low hill. “If we get up there we should be able to get a good view of their camp. With your night vision we can get the lay of the land.”

  They climbed through the strands of high tensile fencing and tried to hike quietly through the tall grass. When they crested the hill, they dropped to a knee, hoping to keep themselves from being silhouetted against the sky.

  “Looks like night vision won’t be necessary,” Gary said.

  “I know. Can you believe that guy?” Jim said.

  About seventy-five yards below them, a younger man sat on a camp chair. He had a roaring fire going beside him and was
sipping coffee, a rifle across his lap.

  “You think he’s a decoy?” Gary asked.

  Jim shook his head. “No, probably just an idiot.”

  “What do we do with him? I’m not sure I want to take him out like this. It’d be like shooting fish in a barrel.”

  “I’d like to ask him some questions,” Jim said. “Maybe I can verify some of the information we got from the other men.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Gary asked.

  “Stay up here. Keep watch. Let me know if there’s anything I need to be concerned about.”

  “Got it,” Gary said, settling onto his stomach. He flipped out the bipod on his rifle and took a comfortable position where he could watch the scene through his scope.

  Jim retreated back the way they came, then swung in a wide circle to approach the camp. His plan was to come up on him from behind and give him no choice but to drop his weapon. Jim moved slowly and methodically, carefully placing his feet and trying not to brush against anything that would make noise.

  When he reached the camp he ducked beneath a semi trailer, flattened himself against a camper, and listened. There was no sound other than the crackling of the fire. He crept around that camper and behind another, still concealed from the man at the fire. He had his short barreled rifle at a high ready position, both eyes open, the red dot sight visible through one.

  He skirted the camper and ducked behind a pickup truck. Reflected firelight flickered off the windows of the cab. Hoping the cab would shield him from view, he rose up and peered through the cab, seeing that the man was still where he expected him to be. If Jim went around the bed of the truck and took five steps, he would be upon him. The guy would have no choice but to drop his weapon and surrender.