Legion of Despair: Book Three in The Borrowed World Series (2 page)

Chapter 1

Gary’s House

Richlands, VA

As Gary walked the last miles home, his hometown was as quiet as he’d ever seen it. It was the only small town for nearly an hour in any direction. If people wanted food, liquor, or building supplies this was where they came. It was always busy. There was always traffic. As a large coal town, it never closed. In the middle of the night, men in dirty work clothes with reflective safety stripes were driving service trucks, fueling up, stopping for cigarettes, or changing shifts. The sound of trains, the sound of coal trucks, were ever-present.

With the Executive Order that limited the available fuel to authorized emergency vehicles, most folks had already used up the limited supply they kept around their homes for mowing or running generators. Only a few vehicles moved on the streets now. There was a golf cart disappearing into a neighborhood. A shirtless man in shorts and flip flops rode a gas-powered scooter with a cigarette hanging from his lip. It was the kind of scooter that didn’t require a license and was favored by drunks who had lost theirs. In some ways the town had shifted backward a century, making it okay again to walk in the center of the streets or ride a horse through town. Yet the congenial atmosphere of those long-gone days, even the hectic efficiency of two weeks ago, had departed. Even the twenty-four hour grocery store was closed, as was every all-night convenience store that Gary passed.

When Gary was a child, his family had moved from their home into one a little larger in another part of town. Years later, he’d had the opportunity to go back to his childhood home. There was a sense of deep familiarity at seeing the home where he’d grown up, yet there was also a slightly alien feel, and the awareness that it was not his home anymore. Things may have looked the same, but they were different too. That was exactly how his town felt now. The same, with a disturbing undercurrent of…
different
.

Gary’s route took him through the downtown area where hundred-year-old brick buildings stood three stories tall. The upper floors were typically apartments. With no lights or any air conditioning, folks sat in backyards or brooded in shadowy doorways. Only the children seemed without worry, playing as children always do even in the worst of times. The adults had little to say. Some he passed met his eye or nodded, but none spoke. Even in this southern town where friendliness came naturally and everyone spoke to everyone, the people seemed dispirited. The state of the nation hung over everyone like a dark cloud.

Gary plodded the concrete sidewalk, seeing his town as he’d never seen it. The sound of his steps echoed between the buildings. After two miles, he crossed the railroad tracks and walked by the fire station. A group of volunteer firefighters sat in folding chairs in front of a garage bay. He nodded at them and they watched him pass, their conversation halting while they tried to figure him out. He wondered if they had the ability to respond to fires or if they were just unsure of where else to go. With no phones, unless they saw smoke they would not even have any means of being alerted of a fire in progress.

Beyond the fire station stood the vacant parking lot of a shopping center. A half-dozen kids were weaving on skateboards, feeling free to ignore the NO SKATING signs at this point. No one cared. They ignored his passing, which was the way he preferred it.

He approached the community food pantry and found it burned to the ground. He wondered why it had been burned. To conceal that the food had been stolen or run out? Perhaps it was because thieves were infuriated that there was no food left to steal. Gary recalled how this small town had seen so much change in his lifetime, from the boom of coal to the bust, yet they’d never needed food pantries here until recently. The media kept saying that the economy was recovering, but the lines at the pantry kept getting longer and longer and there was never enough food to give away.

Gary had not grown up with much money, but his family’s food pantry had been in the backyard. He and his brothers had to help his parents plant it in the spring and early summer. Then they helped water it when the days were hot and dry. They harvested it together and they helped preserve it for winter. It was what had to be done. It disappointed him that the once-proud people of his community now preferred this handout of stale and outdated food to raising a garden of their own. It was discouraging that such was the world his grandchildren would inherit.

He was less than a mile from his house when he could stand it no longer and the anticipation of his homecoming made him start jogging. His feet were so sore from the journey that it felt as if the small bones within his shoes were broken and grinding together, but he didn’t care and he didn’t stop. His pack pulled at his already aching shoulders and he felt lightheaded from burning more calories each day than he had consumed. Still he ran.

In ten minutes, he was at the foot of the driveway that his family shared with a few neighbors. He tried to continue running up it, but the half-mile road was too steep and he was too spent. He climbed as quickly as he could. In the years he’d lived here, he couldn’t recall ever walking this driveway and he was impressed with the effort it took. Halfway up, he was sucking wind. His legs were cramping and his side ached, but he knew the top of this hill was all that stood between him and his family. He started running again. He could not stop himself. Emotion welled up in him, threatening to spill over.

In the exhausting blur of his journey home, Gary had dreamt of this moment. There were many times when he, Jim, and Randi had sunken into the dark pool of their thoughts and he knew they were all thinking of the same thing: home. In his mind, he had pictured a reunion worthy of
Little House on the Prairie,
him ambling out of the woods near his home into a field of wildflowers and being spotted instantly by his wife. She would drop the basket of laundry that she was preparing to hang on the line and cry his name. He would step through the high grass toward his family as they spilled from the house.

He pictured his wife, his daughters, his sons-in-law, his granddaughters, all running toward him in slow motion, their arms outstretched, love radiating from them like a sunny day at the beach. He imagined he would shed his pack into the deep daisy-filled grass and run toward them. They would collide in an enormous hugging mass and his depleted body would absorb it all, the love he’d been missing on those hundreds of miles when all he could think about was the family he’d left behind. He knew it was a little sappy and over the top, but distracting the mind helped the body cope, and that was how he endured the many miles he’d come. It was one of the games he played in his head to make it home.

Gary had three daughters and two of them lived next door to him. He’d cut building lots off his larger parcel of property and gladly allowed them to build homes there when they were married. It was a small price to pay to keep his children and grandchildren within arm’s length. A third daughter had not yet married and still lived with them.

As he crested the hill, one daughter’s house came into view, then the next one, then finally his own. He stopped and panted, attempting to regain control of his breathing. His heart was pounding in his ears like an oncoming train. It would suck to make it this far and go into cardiac arrest within sight of his home.

He scanned the grounds of the three houses, looking for signs of life. The homes looked abandoned. There were no laughing children. Then he saw his son-in-law out walking around, an AR-15 cradled in his arms. Gary smiled.

“Will!” he called.

Will froze in his tracks, looking around. Gary yelled again and this time Will spotted him. Gary waved, wanting to make sure that the armed young man knew who he was before he started walking toward him. After a moment of shock came recognition. Will waved back and Gary started trotting toward him. He could hear Will shouting toward the house, but couldn’t make out the words.

Will must have been announcing his arrival, though, because the front door flew open and his family spilled out. It was like a hole punched in a bag of sugar, an unstoppable pouring forth that spread uncontrollably in all directions. They were all there, all the grandchildren, all the daughters, the young men who’d married his daughters, and finally his wife. While it wasn’t the bucolic scene that he’d imagined, complete with golden light, flowers, harp music, and a chorus of angels, it was still a beautiful moment.

He was home. He was finally home.

His youngest daughter reached him first and nearly toppled him over backward with a hug that was closer to a tackle. Gary shrugged out of his pack, dropping it to the ground. His daughter was crying and holding him tightly while his other two daughters plowed into them. They all sagged to the ground at that point, Gary smiling, his daughters crying, then Gary crying too.

At the rear of the pack Gary’s wife, Debra, approached with a granddaughter in her arms. Gary’s other son-in-law, Dave, was with her, carrying a child in one arm and leading another by the hand. As all the grandchildren got their feet on the ground, they joined the mass, giggling and laughing. It was more than music to Gary’s ears, refilling the void within him with warmth and life. It put back nearly everything that he’d left on the trail home. It filled the holes created by the death he’d both seen and the death he’d wrought. He felt himself becoming a human again, becoming all the things these people needed him to be.

Debra dropped to her knees, her face streaked with tears, a sob breaking loose despite all her efforts. Gary pulled himself gently free of his brood and crawled toward his wife. He took her in his arms and she lost all the composure she’d struggled to maintain in his absence. She no longer had to be the only thing that held this family together.

Throughout the reunion, Will, Gary’s oldest daughter Sara’s husband, stood back from the hugging mass. He held an AR-15 in a ready position and was nervously scanning the tree-line around the property. When Will turned his back to them, continuing his perimeter check, Gary noticed that he carried a pouch on his belt with two spare mags for the rifle. Anyone could sling on a rifle for looks, but the extra mags indicated the expectation of a possible fight that would precipitate the need for reloading. The rifle had been a present from Gary the first Christmas after Will had married into the family. The young man’s actions made Gary nervous. Will was not a high-strung kid. He was coldly practical. If he was concerned, there was a reason.

Lana, the oldest of Gary’s granddaughters, climbed into his arms and covered his cheeks in her little kisses. She crinkled her nose at him.

“You smell bad, Papaw,” she said.

Gary laughed. “I know, sweetie. Trust me, I know. I’ve not had a bath in a long time.”

He let her slide to the ground and she ran back to her mommy. Everyone laughed as she whispered to her mother, “Papaw’s stinky, Mommy. He need a bath.”

“Let’s move it back inside,” Will said. “We’ve been out here long enough. I don’t like everyone being exposed like this.”

Everyone groaned. It was a beautiful day and with the stress of Gary’s absence lifted from them, they were ecstatic and enjoying the moment.

Gary knew that Will must have good reason for his instructions. “Will’s right,” Gary said. “Let’s move toward the house. I’m starving and need something to eat.”

Everyone began happily strolling toward the house. Gary hung at the back, while Will continued to scan their perimeter, his weapon held at the ready. Whether it was from stress, sleeplessness, or something else, Gary had no idea, but Will was clearly ready to swing around and open fire at a moment’s notice. Something
had
happened in his absence. Will would not be demonstrating that level of paranoia if there weren’t a good reason.

“What’s been going on, Will?” Gary asked.

Will kept his eyes moving, his focus intense. He was tall and had never served in the military but was experienced with firearms. He’d trained with Gary on a regular basis. His movements were practiced and efficient. He scanned the tree line, the road, and then his eyes landed again on the backs of his family, silently urging them to pick up the pace and get inside. His attention never wavered.

“We’ve had visitors,” he said. “Folks on dirt bikes. They came up the driveway at first, like they were lost. They looked around and then they left. That was a couple of days ago.”

Gary could sense there was more to the story.

“That night, the garden got raided,” Will continued. “They took as much as they could carry and trampled most of what was left.”

“Dadgummit,” Gary said. It was about as close to swearing as he normally got. “That’s aggravating. Not just the theft, but the waste.”

“I know. There’s still a few things left but not much,” Will said. “The tomatoes in the planters didn’t get taken. It was too much of a coincidence, though, that those guys showed up and then the garden gets wiped out.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t have a guard posted?”

Will shook his head. “Up until that point we didn’t think we needed one,” he said. “We were just a few days into this whole thing and people were pretty much treating it like the aftermath of a snow or ice storm. Everyone was walking around socializing and the mood was halfway friendly, like a town sharing a crazy experience. Then the mood turned sour after the grocery stores closed and people realized this might be serious. There’s been a lot of shooting. It doesn’t sound like hunting, it sounds like gun fighting.”