A Powerless World | Book 4 | Outlive The Darkness Hunt, Jack (feel good novels .txt) 📖

buy it. Shady operations like that only stayed quiet if there was a second person to cover up for the other. The only way they’d caught Jameson was because one of the inmates had given up the information in exchange for an early out. Now had they not caught Jameson with drugs on him, they would have assumed it was an inmate talking shit, trying to stir up trouble, but he was right.

Johnson clenched his jaw.

He didn’t need this. Not now. After all that had happened, this would muddy the waters. It would make folks think he couldn’t do his job. He’d seen the way the community had turned on Dan. He could hide it, dispose of the bodies and say nothing, but that wouldn’t help. A resident already knew. The community was already opposed to releasing low-offenders. They wouldn’t buy that these men had been released. They were known killers. Their names had made headlines in the local papers, barring Alby’s, but news of his capture had spread faster by word of mouth.

He’d only had to contend with those inside the fence, not beyond. Johnson thought of ways of bending the truth. No. He could come clean. He had nothing to hide. He was doing his job. It wasn’t like he wanted this any more than the community. If he had his way, they would all still be locked up but it couldn’t remain that way because they had become a drain on community resources. “Graham. Hold off telling the community. Just for twenty-four hours. Let me talk to Colby and see if Alby’s shown up. Maybe if he returned to the farm, he’ll tell us where the rest went. Chances are they’ve fled the county but…” He pursed his lips. “Yeah. Just hold off for now.”

“Sure thing, sheriff.”

Not one to let his men do the dirty job of cleaning up the mess, he unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. “All right, guys, help me load them into the back of the truck. We’ll cover them with a tarp and bury them in Humboldt. They deserve a proper burial.” He had a good mind to toss their bodies over a bridge and let the river take them. It would have been easier. Faster. But if they became snagged on rocks or trees, he’d never live that one down. He was beginning to understand the razor’s edge that Dan had operated on. It wasn’t black and white. There was this thin edge, a sharp line between sharing what he knew and deciding which cards were best kept close to his chest.

He made a note to drop by Dan’s place. Talk with him. If only to catch up with an old friend. He was beginning to regret taking this position.

Martha returned to the empty nest with a heavy heart. As much as she was good at concealing her true feelings, it was hard to hold in the pain. Mentally, she knew that her kids had every right to go out on their own, to leave her and make something of themselves, but accepting it was tough. It stung.

As she drove the ATV up to the farmhouse, she figured Miriam would be awaiting her return but instead she saw a face she didn’t expect to see.

A face she didn’t want to see.

Alby.

He was casually rocking back and forth on a porch chair, a beer in one hand, a joint in the other. She shut off the engine and made her way up the steps. He wasn’t wearing prison garb to indicate he’d escaped. He had on a pair of Bruce’s blue dungarees, and a white shirt. His huge frame stretched it all out of proportion. “Help yourself, why don’t you?”

He raised his beer.

“How did you get out?” she asked.

“What? No welcome home?”

“This isn’t your home.”

“And by the looks of it, it’s not yours either. Where’s the family?”

She stopped for a second and regarded him like a foul smell that wouldn’t leave. Instead of answering him she stormed into the house, tossed her bag down and headed straight for a bottle of bourbon. Martha heard him enter while she poured two fingers. She knocked it back, feeling the gold liquid burn her throat. She poured another. Anything to take the edge off the day.

“Nice to see some things haven’t changed,” he said, now standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing here, Alby?”

“I’m free. This jailbird has flown the coop.”

She stared at him with curiosity. “The last time I heard, they weren’t letting out lifers.”

“Ah, that’s where you’d be wrong.” He smiled.

“So you here to kill me?”

“Kill you? Why would I do that?”

She crossed the room and glanced outside just to check that he was alone. It also allowed her to reach for a revolver that she had taped below…

“Looking for this?” he said, holding out the gun. “Man, Martha, you are too predictable. Here,” he said, offering it minus the bullets. She didn’t take it. “I’m not here to kill you, but I am a little pissed that you didn’t get me out earlier as we agreed.”

“Yes. About that.”

“But I won’t hold it against you… if…”

“Oh here it comes. What is it? What do you want?”

“Oh, you know, a place to stay, my dog and um...” She stared at him. “My pallet of gold.” He snorted. “Did you think I wouldn’t go home and check? Where did you put it, Martha? Huh? Where is everything? Is it with one of your boys?”

“It’s in a safe place.”

“Really. And let me guess, only you know where.”

“I had to move it. Couldn’t have anyone find it. Certainly not the militia. In fact you should be thanking me. They came looking for it.”

“Right. Okay, well what about my rifles? Where are those?”

“They’re here.”

“I want them.”

“We’re using them.”

He exhaled hard and took another hit off his joint then scratched his head. “Are you and I going to have problems, Martha? Because if we are, tell me now.”

“While I’m at a disadvantage?” She snorted.

He