The Borrowed World: A Novel of Post-Apocalyptic Collapse (25 page)

“Bubby four-wheeler,” Lawrence said.  “Not Bubby.”

“You saw Bubby’s four-wheeler going into town with someone else driving it?” the old man asked.

Lawrence grinned and nodded.

The old man returned to his beans, thinking over what his son had just said.  If there was another man on his son’s four-wheeler then it meant he was probably dead, because Bubby would not have given up his four-wheeler without a fight.  If his son was dead, they were probably all dead.  He watched Lawrence silently strumming the string-less banjo that he held across his lap.  Saliva pooled in the toothless maw of his mouth and ran freely down his chin and neck.  The old man knew that he could not care for his child on his own.  Even at sixty-four years old, Lawrence was still his child and required every bit as much care as he had when he was four.

The old man would pay town a visit tomorrow and see what he could find out.  If a man went through town on his son’s four-wheeler, someone would have seen something.  He would start with the barber, the one who was always asking questions about the old days.  The one who played music.  The one who had given Lawrence his banjo. 

When he found his son’s four-wheeler, he would kill the man riding it. 

Franklin Horton lives and writes in the mountains of southwestern Virginia.  He attended Virginia Intermont College and Virginia Commonwealth University.  He holds a B.A. in English from Virginia Commonwealth.  In his spare time he pursues outdoor adventures with his wife and two children.  His obsessions include camping, kayaking, backpacking, mountain biking, and shooting. You can visit him online at
www.franklinhorton.com
.