Valley of Vengeance: Book Five in The Borrowed World Series

by Franklin Horton

  Buddy turned around.

  “If you were in my shoes, what would you do about last night?” Jim asked. “What would be your play?” He respected the older man and hoped he had some insight that might steer Jim in the right direction. Sometimes he reacted with a violent finality. Maybe that wasn’t the best response here.

  Buddy scratched the stubble of his chin while he thought. He nodded slowly until the gears engaged. “There was a kid I grew up with. Scrawny fellow named Carter. He did something to get on the wrong side of a bully named Kent. Kent would catch Carter on the way home from school nearly every day and either kick his ass or embarrass him in some way. Carter knew it would be pointless to stand up to the bully because he was about a foot taller than Carter and outweighed him by nearly sixty pounds.”

  Buddy shifted, hooked a thumb under a pack strap. “Then Carter finds this other kid at school who’s bigger than Kent, a guy who’s been held back three times and already had a full beard in sixth grade. Carter tells the guy that he’ll give him a dime to walk him home every day. This was when a dime could actually buy something. So the guy takes the job and walks Carter home every day. Eventually, the guy even takes the initiative to tell Kent that he’ll kick his ass from one end of the building to the other if he ever messes with Carter again.”

  Jim nodded. “You’re telling me I need to find a bigger bully?”

  “Or someone that this deputy will respect.”

  “What if he doesn’t respect anyone?”

  “Maybe it doesn’t matter if he respects them as long as his men do. He may be willing to cross lines that they don’t want to cross, like killing local folks. In the end, as long as you knock some of his people out of the fight, it doesn’t matter if you do it by killing them or by making them not want to engage in the battle.”

  “Any thoughts on who I should start with?”

  “I’d start with that sheriff,” Buddy said. “Those other deputies might not be so quick to fight him. They may have more respect for his authority.”

  After the older man left, Jim pondered what he’d said. He confirmed that the rest of his gear was squared away, then went to the kitchen and refilled his coffee cup from a thermal carafe.

  He kissed his wife. “I need you all to keep an eye on things this morning. I’m going to town.”

  Ellen regarded him, trying to gauge his state of mind. “You’re not about to do something stupid are you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not going to pay this Deputy Barnes a visit?”

  “No, I’m going to try to find the sheriff and talk to him about this,” he said. “Buddy gave me an idea. Maybe there’s a way to ease this back a notch without anybody getting killed.”

  Ellen nodded as if she didn’t exactly believe him. “Shouldn’t you take someone with you?”

  “I’m not taking anyone. I don’t want to have to look after them. Just give me a few hours and I’ll be back.”

  He went to the bedroom and threw his load-bearing vest on over a flannel shirt, lamenting the fact that he hadn’t bought any body armor over the years, despite looking at online catalogs dozens of times. He’d been wanting the new type of polyethylene body armor. It produced class III chest plates that would stop a rifle round and weighed less than three pounds. He’d been too cheap to spend the money and now it was too late. He could have borrowed Gary’s but he didn’t like borrowing other people’s gear.

  He took off his drop leg holster and stored his Beretta in the holster on the vest. It was easier to reach when he was driving. He checked the .22 mini-revolver in the ankle holster and confirmed it was fully loaded. He stuffed his vest with 30 round mags for the M4 and 15 rounders for the Beretta, confirmed that the Microtech LUDT was clipped to his pocket and his ESEE 4 was in position on his belt. He didn’t know what you’d call this kind of mission but it definitely felt like a mission.

  He started out of the bedroom and caught his reflection in the mirror. Something was off. He examined himself from head to toe and determined it was the hat. It was from a local heavy equipment company that he’d once used to repair a machine. The hat didn’t mean shit to him. He took it off, hung it on the bedpost, and looked for another. He found one from his high school baseball team. He hadn’t played baseball but the hat had been a gift from a friend who died of cancer over twenty years earlier. The hat was so old that it crackled when Jim put it on. He didn’t care. He needed all the luck he could get and maybe the hat held just a little.

  He hugged his family, topped off the fuel in his truck, and drove down the valley toward Gary and the Weatherman homes. There was another farm road on that end of the valley. He was afraid to leave by way of the road he’d used yesterday, thinking the deputies may have posted a watch on it. That’s what he would have done had he been in their shoes. He might have driven into a trap.

  This road took longer than the other route and put him about ten miles on the wrong side of town. From there, he took a circuitous route across several back roads. He didn’t want to go through the middle of town because he was afraid that might draw the attention of the cops. He also didn’t want to take any of the smaller side roads because he was afraid he may encounter roadblocks or traps of some sort. After a tense forty-five minute drive he found himself on the road by his parents’ house. A few minutes later, he was parked directly in front of the 911 center.

  He killed the engine and sat there for a moment. The large building had originally been built as an office before being picked up by the county after the business went belly-up. He stared at the dark lobby, the sunlight making it difficult to see through the reflective coating on the amber glass. In a moment he picked up movement – two figures easing up to the glass and staring at his vehicle. It was the two deputies from the other day, just as he’d hoped.

  Jim pushed open the truck door and slid out onto the ground. He left his rifle propped up in the passenger seat. The deputies watched him curiously, each with a hand on their holstered weapon. Jim threw a hand up in a wave that, if not friendly, was at least non-threatening. He went up the full glass double doors and tried the handle.

  Locked.

  “Open up!”

  Deputy Ford came and stood in front of the doors. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I want to talk,” Jim said.

  Ford frowned at him. Jim imagined it was the same look the man gave when he sat down with a cheeseburger and got a radio call before he could take the first bite. He clearly thought Jim was an inconvenience, but Jim didn’t care; he’d been regarded as worse.

  Ford twisted the thumb latch and shoved the door open, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Deputy Deel was not far behind him. Both adopted the same stance, a hand resting on the butts of their weapons. It was the kind of stance that said, “Okay, let’s hear your bullshit story.”

  “So talk,” Deputy Ford said.

  “I need to talk to the sheriff.”

  Ford bobbed his head, shaking it like he couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy. Who the hell did he think he was? “Why?”

  “That’s between the sheriff and me,” Jim said. “At least for starters.”

  Ford rocked forward on his toes, shrugged, and shook his head. “If that’s your fucking attitude, you can forget it. You can tell us what you want and we’ll decide if it’s worth the sheriff’s time or not. Otherwise, pound sand.”

  Jim sighed heavily. He looked at the concrete. He flipped through his personal inventory searching for whatever diplomacy skills he had at his disposal. “I need to know where he lives,” Jim said.

  Ford forced a laugh. “Yeah, that ain’t happening, either. You have some fucking nerve. All the attitude you gave us yesterday and now you’re here expecting us to bend over for you.”

  “Maybe we could let him talk to the sheriff over the radio,” Deel offered.

  “You stay out of this,” Ford snapped.

  “The radio isn’t secure,” Jim replied. “You can’t mention anything sensitive on
it.”

  “Yeah, the sheriff told us that yesterday,” Deel replied.

  Ford shot Deel a glance that told him he’d said enough. Jim couldn’t help but notice.

  “You guys didn’t mention what my dad told you over the radio yesterday, did you?”

  Ford’s lips tightened and he shifted uncomfortably. “Police communications are none of your damn business.”

  “I’m asking because those other cops showed up in my neighborhood last night,” Jim said, his voice rising. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I need to talk to the sheriff.”

  Ford looked away and didn’t reply. “Look, we don’t know that they heard anything,” he said. “We got caught up in the heat of the moment and maybe a few things may have slipped out before the sheriff reminded us that the frequency wasn’t secure.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Deputy Deel gesturing at Deputy Ford and rolling his eyes in that direction. Obviously, Deel wanted to make it clear to Jim that he was not the one who disclosed the existence of a fuel tanker in Jim’s valley. Ford saw Jim looking and turned in time to catch Deel’s gesture.

  “Okay, it was me, damn it,” Ford spat. “I’m not apologizing. I was just doing my job. Guy has a fuel tanker in these times he can’t expect to keep it a secret for long.”

  Jim looked Ford in the eye. “I’m not here for an apology,” he said with utmost sincerity. “Those guys are going to be back and I don’t want it to turn into a bloodbath. I don’t want anyone killed. On my side or theirs.”

  “I don’t know what you think the sheriff can do,” Deel said. “Those men wouldn’t listen to him. That’s why they’re in the store and we’re out here.”

  “I don’t care if they’d listen to him or not,” Jim said. “Do you think if it came down to it, they would be willing to shoot him?”

  “The sheriff?” Deel asked. He clearly thought the idea was too incredible to be a possibility.

  Jim nodded.

  “I think that son-of-a-bitch Barnes would,” Ford admitted. “I’m not so sure about the others. I don’t think they’re that far gone. I think they still have some respect for the badge. Some of them are just good men trying to make the best of a bad situation. Barnes, on the other hand, is trying to profit from a bad situation.”

  “But even if they would listen to the sheriff, I’m not sure he’d be willing to help you,” Deel said. “He don’t hardly come into town anymore at all. He’s got an elderly mother at home and she’s doing poorly. He’s got a wife and kids. They’re just barely scraping by.”

  Jim stared at the sidewalk. The conversation wound down. Jim wasn’t sure about what he was about to do but sometimes you just had to dive in.

  “What about you two men?” he asked. “You all have family?”

  “I had a wife but we split up,” Ford said.

  No surprise there, Jim thought, but he kept the smartass comments to himself. “Deel?”

  Deel shook his head. “I live in an apartment in town by myself,” he said. “My family lives on a farm in Tennessee. I’m sure they’re doing fine.”

  “Here’s the deal. What I’m about to tell you is between you, me, and the sheriff,” Jim said. “I’m not threatening you, but I’m willing to kill to maintain the confidentiality of what I’m about to tell you. This is strictly for your ears only.”

  “That sounds like a threat,” Ford said, bristling.

  “Yeah, it is a fucking threat,” Jim said. “But hear me out.”

  Ford and Deel were both silent, watching him.

  “I have a group. We have the resources to get through this winter. I’m not talking about a life of luxury but I am talking about surviving. I’m personally inviting you two, the sheriff, and his family to come join us. There’s an empty home for them and I know of a mobile home you two can share. Both have wood stoves and access to water. You understand, though, that if you don’t accept my invitation then I have to ask that you don’t mention it to anyone.”

  The two deputies stared at each other, then back at Jim.

  “Why would you invite all of us to move back there with you?” Ford asked.

  “I’m not giving up the tanker and I’m not giving up our supplies,” Jim said. “If those cops come back, it’s going to turn into a war. They’ve got a lot of guns but we do too. We also have a lot of women and children. I don’t want anyone injured or killed. I just want to be left alone.”

  “I’m not sure I’m willing to kill cops in exchange for food and a place to live,” Deel said.

  “I’m not asking you to kill cops,” Jim said. “It’s like we talked about earlier. The sheriff’s presence may deter some of those other cops who are supporting Barnes. If they find the sheriff is on our side, they may not be so willing to start killing us indiscriminately.”

  Ford was staring off into the distance now, lost in thought. He turned back to Jim slowly. “Let’s go talk to the sheriff.”

  “I’ll follow you in my truck,” Jim said.

  Chapter 27

  Jim

  Jim followed the Ford Escape across several desolate side streets, then on a narrow highway out of town toward Crow Town Mountain. When they hit the base of the small mountain they turned off into a farming community. After a couple of miles on the twisty back road, they turned onto a farm and eased across a sagging cattle guard that rattled beneath their vehicles.

  A tall, thin man stood by a poorly-built construction of old lumber and used wire. He appeared to be trying to cobble together a pen of some sort, though it seemed unlikely that it could even hold back the frailest of the animal kingdom. From the amount of farming equipment scattered around and the size of the structures, Jim could tell that this farm had once been the pride of an agricultural family.

  It had clearly fallen into disrepair in the hands of the current generation. Clusters of barns and sheds sagged sideways like hump-shouldered old men gathered to tell their lies. Fruit trees stood gnarled and overgrown, broken limbs trailing the ground like dogs pulling along their fractured hind legs. Fields scratched from the earth by horse-drawn plow were returning to forest and would not turn back without a fight. The farm told the story of a man who’d inherited a farm he didn’t want but could never escape, bound to it by the blood of the dead relatives buried in its soil.

  The man whom Jim recognized to be the sheriff wore faded work clothes but carried his duty pistol. Jim parked behind the Escape, got out, and followed the other men. The sheriff did not seem to be very pleased to have visitors but Jim felt the same way when people showed up at his house. He could relate to this man and wasn’t offended by the reception.

  “Who the hell is that?” Sheriff Scott asked, nodding in Jim’s direction.

  Ford took the lead. “One of the men we pulled over yesterday. I think you need to hear what he has to say.”

  The sheriff sighed. “I guess I might as well since he’s already here.” He turned around and pitched his hammer underhanded toward his project.

  Jim suspected that had the hammer struck the pen, it would have totally collapsed. “That some kind of pen?” he asked.

  “I was trying to make a pen for some rabbits and chickens,” Sheriff Scott said. “I traded for them this morning. I’m hoping they might put some food on the table. I’m embarrassed to say that we weren’t as prepared for this kind of thing as we should have been. An ice storm we could handle. This is like the ice storm that just won’t end.”

  “No one is ever as prepared as they’d like,” Jim said.

  “We pretty much weren’t prepared at all,” the sheriff admitted. “We took most of our meals in town anymore. With the hours I kept, my family would meet me in town for dinner and I’d go back to work afterward. They’d come back home without me. Pretty shitty life now that I think about it.”

  “I might be in a position to help,” Jim said.

  Sheriff Scott raised an eyebrow at him dubiously, as if he’d heard this line before. He knew that nothing came without a price.r />
  “I live in the far end of the valley on the back side of town,” Jim said. “One of my neighbors, Henry, had a son that worked in your 911 operations center.”

  “David,” the sheriff said. “I remember him. Haven’t heard from him a while.”

  “You won’t,” Jim replied. “One of those inmates you turned out of the jail killed David and both his parents.”

  Sheriff Scott flinched, stung by the remark. Jim fully intended the remark to have that effect. Releasing those inmates was a stupid move and almost got members of Jim’s family killed.

  “We didn’t just turn everyone out,” the sheriff said. “We made the hard calls on some of the more violent people. We took steps to make sure they’d never walk the streets again. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. My conscience is still burdened by it.”

  “You made the wrong call with that one,” Jim said. “He almost killed my mother and son too, before I put a bullet in his head.” Jim was curious if his admission at murdering the ex-convict would prompt any reaction but there was none.

  “Well, if that’s what you’re here to talk about, you’re wasting your breath,” Sheriff Scott said. “It’s done now and you can just join the long list of people who think I’m doing a shitty job. If the world ever gets back to normal you can vote my ass out. I’m praying for the day.”

  “That’s not what I’m here to talk about,” Jim said. “I’m sorry I got sidetracked. The reason I’m here is that we had a run-in last night with a group of cops that I assume come from the superstore. A Deputy Barnes?”

  Ford nodded. “He’s one of them. He’s in charge of that bunch.”

  “He’s a son-of-a-bitch is what he is,” the sheriff spat. “He never was a good cop. I should have fired him years ago.”

  “We turned him and his men away at gunpoint,” Jim said. “I expect he’ll be back. They were in UTVs and there were about six or seven of them, though I couldn’t be sure in the dark. They all seemed to have his back.”

  “He stole those UTVs from the department,” Ford said. “That and a bunch of other stuff. That’s gear that’s supposed to be used for enforcing the law, not breaking it.”