by Bobby Akart
“I believe their leadership was lacking,” said Colton. “The scoutmaster’s bad judgment resulted in him paying the ultimate price. As much as I admired the interaction I just observed, I think we’ll drive around, just in case.”
Madison squeezed her husband around the waist and gave him a peck on the cheek.
“I agree,” added Madison, releasing their hug and looking around at their desolate surroundings. “After the collapse, out here, it’s better safe than sorry because too much of the time, sorry means you’ll be dead.”
Chapter 22
DAY SIXTEEN
6:20 p.m., September 24
Highway 99
Perry Hollow, Tennessee
Alex found them a suitable highway that circled around the Laurel Hill Wildlife Area and dropped them just west of the Natchez Trace Parkway–U.S. Highway 64 intersection. Once they picked up Highway 64, they were only a couple of hours from Shiloh.
Colton drove along the Buffalo River, one of many small tributaries that crossed the mid-state and fed both the Tennessee River and the Duck River. Farmland was abundant along these river bottoms, evidenced by several farmhouses and barns, which began to appear on both sides of the road. Fires could be seen near the homes, as people on these backroads didn’t seem to worry about passersby coming onto their property. Once again, Colton questioned his decision to take even a secondary highway like the Trace out of Nashville, but that leg of the journey was behind them.
The road opened up into the middle of a huge cattle farm with hundreds of head on both sides of the highway. For over a mile, they drove past the enormous source of food, not once thinking about killing a steer for themselves. It never crossed Colton’s mind, perhaps because they weren’t hungry enough to take such drastic measures.
Before they entered the woods again, Colton spied a barn well off the road and outside the fenced grazing pasture containing the cattle. As it was getting darker, he thought they could pull off the road, park behind the barn, and get a good night’s sleep without being threatened.
“Hey, let’s go camping again.” Alex laughed. “This time, we can sleep with the cows and mules in the barn instead of the bugs and the snakes by the lake.”
“We wanted you to have a well-rounded experience while on the road, young lady,” said Colton.
“Yeah, well-rounded,” chimed in Madison. “Listen, this is less of a camping trip than it is a homeless family pulling over for the night.”
Colton parked the truck and then walked around the barn to make sure they weren’t seen. The Wagoneer was well-hidden, so he was comfortable with his choice. He helped the girls unpack the tent and get set up. Although they could’ve found a place to sleep in the barn, they chose not to run the risk of trespassing in the event the property owner showed up. There was no need to antagonize people who were already on edge.
“Daddy, do we need to set up the perimeter security?”
“You know, Alex, I think we’re okay here. Let’s keep one person awake to stand watch. We’ll eat first and then get some rest. I wanna start just before dawn in the morning.”
“We’re really close now, aren’t we, Colt?”
“Thirty miles to Savannah,” he replied. Madison ran and gave him another hug. She was ready to get settled in somewhere, anywhere.
They built a small fire and enjoyed their favorite camp food, Vienna sausages and sardines. This time, they had peanut butter and crackers for dessert. The Rymans actually enjoyed rehashing the day’s events, although they didn’t bring up the killing of the scoutmaster.
Alex told her parents a little more about the young man they’d encountered back in Williamsport. She wondered aloud what it would be like to date a country boy. That quickly shifted into what it would be like to date a country star, which got Colton’s hackles up. No way, no how, he’d insisted. The teasing of Colton accelerated as Alex created an imaginary list of country music personalities she’d bring home to her daddy, just to gain a reaction. She’d just suggested Kid Rock as a possible beau when the whinny of a horse sent them scrambling for their weapons.
“There’ll be no need for those, folks,” said a gravelly voice out of the darkness as a man sitting high on a quarter horse overlooked their camp. Colton continued to reach for his pistol when the sound of the hammer cocking on a rifle caught him by surprise.
“Let’s not do that, young man,” said an elderly woman, who walked her horse around the Wagoneer into their view.
The man eased closer and Colton could see he had a double-barreled shotgun pointed at his chest. He slowly stood with his arms spread away from his body.
“We don’t want any trouble,” said Colton sheepishly. “My family and I are just passin’ through. We thought this was a safe place to sleep for the night.”
“Yes, sir,” added Madison, who also stood to shield the man’s view of Alex. “We’ll clean up our mess and be on our way.”
“There’ll be no need for that,” he responded gruffly. “All of y’all stand up where I can see ya. Keep your arms spread away from your body. You too, young lady. On your feet.”
Alex obeyed the man and the Rymans stood in a huddle with their arms held wide. For a minute, nobody spoke as the fire continued to send dancing flames into the sky, casting a shadow of the family on the broad side of the barn.
“What’s your name, son?” asked the man.
“My name is Colton Ryman, and this is my wife, Madison, and our daughter, Alex. We’re really sorry.”
“You kin to Cap’n Tom?”
“Yessir,” replied Colton. “My family was part of the Rymans who went out west with Davy Crockett in the late eighteen hundreds. They settled in Texas.”
“You’uns from Texas,” asked the lady behind them.
“I was born there, but Madison is from Nashville,” replied Colton. He intentionally referred to Madison and Alex by name, hoping to personalize them in case these people had plans on killing them. He hoped it would make it harder for them to do so.
“What brings you way out here from Nashville?” asked the man.
“The city became too dangerous,” replied Colton. “We’re making our way toward Shiloh to join up with some friends. It’s been, um, rough going so far.” Colton dropped his arm and took Madison’s hand in his. She became emotional and spoke up.
“Please don’t shoot us,” said Madison, sniffling as she held back the tears.
“Whadya think, Ma?”
“Well, your granddaddy did work on Cap’n Tom’s riverboats back in the day. That makes this young man practically family.”
“Yes’m, I agree,” said the man as he stuffed his rifle into a scabbard attached to his saddle. His wife did the same and the man quickly dismounted. He approached Colton and extended his hand.
“My name is Richard Linn, but you can call me Dick.”
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Colton, shaking the man’s hand heartily after wiping the sweat off his palms onto his shirt.
“My name is Shirley,” said the lady as she dismounted and tied her horse to the bumper of the Wagoneer.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Madison laughed, wiping the tears off her face as she gave Mrs. Linn an unexpected hug.
“Well, okay, dearie, we’re pleased to meet y’all as well.” Mrs. Linn laughed.
Colton turned to comfort his wife and said, “She, I mean, we’ve had a rough day.”
“Yeah, my mom had to—”
“Alex,” Colton quickly interrupted, “why don’t you get these nice folks a bottle of water. Or we have some Cokes, but they’re warm.”
“No, young lady, don’t you bother with that,” said Mr. Linn. “We’re only gonna stay for a moment. Colton, you seem like good folks, but I trust you’ll be hospitable and not make a mistake and reach for those weapons. I’m pretty fast on the draw.” Mr. Linn patted the pearl-handled revolver sitting in a leather holster on his hip.
“No, sir. We appreciate you being kind to us. If we could just stay the
night, we’ll be out of your way first thing in the morning.”
“Okay then,” said Mr. Linn. “You’re headed to Shiloh, you say?”
“Yessir,” replied Colton. “A friend has some property on the river and it’s kinda secluded. We thought it would be safer than what we experienced in Nashville.”
The Linns and the Rymans spent the next couple of hours trading stories. Shirley gave them a big sack of beef jerky that she kept in her saddlebags. Dick shared the news that the Pickwick Dam to their south was closed and heavily guarded by the military. Apparently, the power outage was creating concerns about the Tennessee River spilling into the valley below.
He also told them it was a wise move avoiding Interstate 40. Refugees fleeing Memphis and Nashville were being rounded up and placed into FEMA camps in Jackson. Vehicles and guns were being confiscated, and people were dying within the confines of the camp due to the deplorable conditions.
Finally, they learned a little bit about Savannah. The Linns hadn’t run across anyone coming out of the town, so they presumed it must be pretty safe. There was a former civil defense radio station broadcasting that you could pick up as you got closer to the town.
They were also told that the mayor of Savannah was one tough old bird who ran the town on the straight and narrow.
“What’s the mayor’s name?” asked Madison.
“Betty Jean Durham, the daughter of former Sheriff Buford Pusser. Folks round these parts call her Ma Durham.”
Chapter 23
September 20, 1984
Home of Leroy & Betty Jean Durham
Adamsville, Tennessee
Over the last twenty-five years or so, tiny Adamsville, Tennessee, had seen more than its share of violence. In the sixties, many argued that Sheriff Buford Pusser should’ve left the criminals alone to make their money. After all, liquor, prostitution, and gambling were victimless crimes. In a free country, they’d said, these things would be legal everywhere. All a man had to do was drive to Las Vegas and they could get their fill of all of the above without breakin’ the law.
Sheriff Pusser had walked tall, carried his big stick, and made it his life’s mission to clean up McNairy County. After the spectacular crash that took his life in ’74, violent crimes died down. This respite in the murder rate did not result from superior law enforcement, but rather agreements reached with the criminal element via handshakes and envelope exchanges.
Then there was the murder of the Tindles in ’76. No one suspected Betty Jean of being the shooter, although her grandmother had been the target of the investigation for a while. The crime remained unsolved, officially, but everybody in the county knew it was one of the Pusser women.
After the brutal rape of ’78, Betty Jean became pregnant. A failed attempt to end her pregnancy by ingesting a bleach and gunpowder mixture landed Betty Jean in the hospital for three weeks, after which her grandmother insisted that she carry the child to term. For the remainder of her pregnancy, she watched over Betty Jean like a hawk.
A healthy baby boy, Buford Pusser II, was born on Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday in ’79 and life went on for Betty Jean. She raised her child with the help of her grandmother until she met Leroy Durham, the newest addition to the McNairy County Public Works Department. The two wed and soon thereafter Betty Jean gave birth to another boy, Leroy Durham Junior. Newly minted Papa Leroy immediately took to fatherhood but insisted that Betty Jean’s first born become a Durham. So, Buford Pusser II became Roland Durham, nicknamed Rollie, as in Rollie Durham—the birthplace of that illiterate fool Leroy Durham’s favorite cigarettes.
Leroy was a heavy drinker and frequently abused the small-framed and somewhat frail Betty Jean. Betty Jean took her licks, but she made up for her inability to fight back with a mouth that absolutely wore Leroy out. Their arguments were legendary around town as the neighbors frequently called 9-1-1 in fear for someone’s life in the Durham home.
Thursday, September 20, 1984, started out like most days except the big news was the bombing of the U.S. Embassy in Beirut, Lebanon, by the terrorist group Hezbollah. While most of the town was talking about the third such attack in two years, Betty Jean was looking forward to the debut of The Bill Cosby Show that evening. She was none too happy when Leroy came home, cracked open a bottle of whisky, and announced they were going to Selmer for a patriot rally to show support for three young men who’d enlisted in the service that day.
Initially, she refused, but Leroy, of course, showed her the error of her ways right quick like. Betty Jean, who’d been forbidden to allow her grandmother to be alone with the boys by Leroy, hastily arranged for a sitter to watch over the youngsters.
The night in Selmer was full of bravado and alcohol-fueled speeches as McNairy County celebrated sending three pimple-faced teens off to join the Army. Leroy got drunk, Betty Jean got mouthy, and the return trip to Adamsville was a WWE event on four wheels.
Betty Jean immediately went to bed, barely speaking to the fifteen-year-old girl she’d labeled a hussy when she’d arrived to babysit earlier in the evening. Betty Jean always resented the girls who could fill out a pair of Daisy Duke shorts and a crop top like some pin-up chick in a magazine.
The news of what happened didn’t reach Betty Jean until she showed up for work the next day at the Pickwick Electric Cooperative office. Leroy, who took the sitter home, had been caught having sexual relations with that hussy in the backseat of the Durhams’ car parked in the girl’s driveway. As the story went, the hussy’s father discovered the two and his daughter immediately cried rape, despite Leroy’s arguments to the contrary.
Because Leroy was drunk and the girl was only fifteen, rape charges were levied and a trial date was set. The family lived in shame, as Betty Jean was ostracized and her boys were ridiculed at school.
It was a miserable period for Betty Jean, but things brightened up when the hussy got pregnant by a black fella in Selmer and ran off to New Awlins or Birmin’ham or some such. It didn’t much matter, as Leroy was off the hook without a witness to prosecute him.
But he wasn’t let off the hook in the court of public opinion. A few days after the charges were dropped, a mob of locals showed up in the front yard of their modest, split-level home. They began to shout at the Durhams and then hurled Molotov cocktails at their house. Three of the fire-bombs found their way into the living room, where a drunk, passed-out Leroy Durham occupied the sofa.
Amidst the flames, Betty Jean scrambled around and gathered up her two sleepy-eyed boys in their matching Scooby-Doo pajamas and ran out the front door. She was about to turn and wake Leroy when the boys were pelted with eggs. Dozens of rancid eggs, allowed to spoil for this special occasion, rained on top of their heads.
Betty Jean gave the house another look; it was fully engulfed in flames.
He weren’t no good anyway. He weren’t no ’count.
“Git!” shouted one of the mob.
“Yeah, go on now, Betty Jean. We’ve had ’nuf of ya!”
“Git outta McNairy County!”
The mob was closing in on them and Junior started to cry as he clutched his momma’s leg. It was her five-year-old, Rollie, who made the decision.
“C’mon, Ma. Let’s go.”
That night Betty Jean Durham and her boys drove across the Tennessee River on the Harrison-McGarity Bridge into Savannah, leaving McNairy County behind forever.
Chapter 24
DAY SEVENTEEN
9:00 a.m., September 25
Highway 64, Savannah Highway
Waynesboro, Tennessee
Anxiety isn’t ordinarily a condition associated with positive feelings and emotions. Most often, anxiety causes you to focus your attention on negative thinking and creates a mental environment that’s prone to noticing only negative events in your life while overlooking the positive aspects that surround you.
It can be hard to believe that many times anxiety is diagnosed when a person is exhibiting periods of euphoria, excitement and happiness.
Happiness is always considered a positive emotion and runs contrary to everything we know about anxiety.
In the post-collapse world, highs and lows are amplified. Small setbacks seem insurmountable. Minor advances appear to be leaps and bounds. In the world of psychobabble, euphoria can take over one’s psyche as the natural result of a temporary absence of negative emotions. During this brief period of euphoria, it’s natural for humans to trigger such complete feelings of relief and happiness as though you’re ready to take on the world. Unfortunately, this euphoria can cloud your judgment, resulting in obvious danger signals being ignored.
“On the road again,” sang Colton, turning the Wagoneer westbound onto Highway 64. The drive through the intersection at Waynesboro was uneventful, as the small town, which was located primarily south of the turn on to Highway 64, appeared to be either abandoned or folks were staying inside their homes.
“C’mon, Daddy, it’s too early for singing.”
“How ’bout another song, one of your mom’s old favorites,” said Colton. “Highway to the danger zone—”
“Colton, I’m gonna have to agree with the kid,” interrupted Madison. “Zip it!”
Colton ignored them and kept up the fun. “Hey, Allie-Cat, did you know that your mom used to have a thang for Tom Cruise from when he was in the Top Gun movie? She even had a poster of him in her room.”
“A thang?” Madison chirped. “You had a Sports Illustrated poster of Christie Brinkley in yours. What were you thinking when she smiled at you every day, young man?”
“Ewwwww!” groaned Alex.
“You can thank your grandmothers for sharing these two tidbits about our teenage years with your parents,” said Colton. Colton slowed as they passed Kelly Mobile Homes. Several of the trailers in their inventory had become temporary lodging for travelers. Clotheslines were stretched between the mobile homes, and fires were smoldering in fifty-five-gallon drums from last night’s activities.