Blood and Banjos by Horton Franklin

Author:Horton, Franklin [Horton, Franklin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian
Amazon: B08LQV99J8
Goodreads: 56022163
Published: 2020-11-25T08:00:00+00:00

33

Tazewell County, Virginia

The ride through The Cove went exactly as Jim expected. Dogs barked and drew glaring farmers who weren’t excited at the sight of unfamiliar interlopers. Some watched from their porches, armed and ready to shoot strangers for the crime of appearing where they were not welcome. Jim fully understood the sentiment. There were times he’d been that man on the porch. He didn’t react any better when strangers traveled through his valley.

The ominous sense that this might inevitably lead to a confrontation encouraged him to consult his GPS and find an alternative to the more populated Thompson Valley. If they went that way, closer to town, they were bound to butt heads with someone. Instead, they headed southeast on Route 91, which soon turned into a dirt road. There were farms, farm dogs, and armed farmers, but fewer of them. People here, perhaps less accustomed to travelers, were not so aggressive in their response. Some waved and even spoke. A few asked of any news from the outside world. When prodded for information, Jim relayed what he knew of things, as if the road required a toll and information served as payment for his passage.

The route wound over Clinch Mountain and it was a beautiful ride. Farmers had warned them that trees frequently fell across the road but they’d done their best to keep it open. Many had family or farmland on both sides of the mountain and had an interest in keeping it open. The riders saw plenty of evidence of this. There were rotting piles of sawdust from the days when there had been chainsaw gas in the farmers’ barns. As cutting firewood burned through their supply of fuel, they fell back to old bucksaws and axes, cutting only enough clearance to allow a wagon through.

Jim and Lloyd stopped for a meal on the peak of the mountain, tying off their horses and sitting in the middle of the road, although perhaps “meal” was too glamorous a word for it. It was only sustenance to keep their bodies operating, to keep them upright in the saddle until they reached their destination. Jim removed two MREs from the packhorse and tossed one to Lloyd.

“I don’t get to pick?” Lloyd complained.

“They’re the same.”

“Sure they are. You’re keeping the best one for yourself. Greedy bastard.”

Jim rolled his eyes and showed Lloyd the label, then sat down on the road. He used the heat pack to warm the meal and stared off through the trees while it worked its magic. He found as much sustenance in the view as he expected to derive from the meal. “Beautiful country here.”

Lloyd nodded.

Jim studied the package his MRE came in. “You know where these MREs came from?”

“No.”

“They came from that chopper that landed in town. The one that hauled us back to the valley. This was supposed to be part of the bounty paid to whoever turned me in. Even though MREs suck, these are more satisfying because of that. I’m eating my own bounty.

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