Episode 75: Logistics and Provisions

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breaker breaker this is kodiak

hey good Shepherd.

You got your ears on, buddy.

Over.

Cody Blevins and Cowboy Absher sat in the work van that had been stashed a short way from the Walker property.

They'd spent the previous hour wringing all the information they could out of Bryce Adams and his now-conscious paramour, Crystal Blankenship.

The latter of that dynamic duo had remained mum.

glaring daggers at what Cowboy assumed was her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend as he gave up everything he knew about her Uncle Scotty and his merry band of followers.

Once they were convinced the boy had told them everything he knew, they'd zip-tied the two lovebirds and left them under the watchful shotgun-wielding eye of Archie Stallard.

It had been a short walk to the old brown Chevy that Cody had discovered earlier that evening, and when they tried the doors, they found the pair had left it unlocked.

Cody Blevins had wedged his considerable form behind the wheel and held the CB's microphone in his massive paw.

Cowboy sat shotgun, trying to ignore the stomach-swirling bouquet of stale weed and mildewed camping equipment that permeated the van as the two men waited for a response.

I said, Breaker-breaker, this is Kodiak.

Come on, good shepherd.

Come on back now.

I know you're out there, Scotty.

Little boat Pete done clued us in on your handle.

There was another long silence, and then a bored, almost lazy voice crawled out of the river of static.

I like copy Kodiak.

That's you, Bear.

Been a long time.

Since what?

Playoffs in 72?

Over.

Something like that, Good Shepherd.

So, uh, we got your brother's kid out here towards our house with her little filler.

Seems like they might have partied a little too hard.

Maybe trespassed on somebody's property they shouldn't have.

Either way, they ain't no shape to drive home.

You want to come get them?

Or should I just call the law?

Over.

Not sure what you're talking about, Kodiak.

You been getting into your papa's shine again?

Over.

Oh, don't be bashful, Good Shepherd.

Seems like a bunch of your kinfolk was out here this evening having a big old time.

Might have took something that wasn't theirs.

Probably by mistake, right?

Now they bring it back.

We'll be happy to give Bo Peep and her little lost sheep a ride home.

I

believe I can find my way up to Peter's branch easy enough.

Over.

There was a pregnant pause as Scotty Blankenship processed the revelation that Cody Blevins knew exactly where he'd been doing business.

If the leader of that grim congregation was concerned, however,

his voice did not betray it.

Oh,

there ain't no need to come all the way up the branch, Kodiak.

No reason to come along, neither.

I'm betting if you're looking for something that got took,

you might have an out-of-town friend helping you look for it.

I think he knows where y'all could meet us.

And if he don't, well, he could ask his big brother for...

Oh, wait.

I I guess he can't now, can he?

We'll be out here till first light, Kodiak.

Y'all come see us.

Over.

When the walls close in

and the light gets swallowed

and there ain't no place that feels like home

The ones you love

turn into strangers

And you cast your eyes to the winding road

Keep your foot on the gas, your eyes straight forward Clear your heart and mind

Best leave them ghosts behind

when the hearth grows cold and home is nowhere,

then you might as well

when darkness calls, run like hell.

Scotty Blankenship returned the CB Radio's handset to its clip on the dashboard and sighed.

The air in the cab of the pickup was rank with too many cigarettes smoked and too many days gone without a proper share, and

he was over it.

It was a rare treat to find himself alone out here on this old access road without a single member of his flock nearby.

Scotty loved those that followed him as best he could, but damn it.

They were a needy bunch sometimes.

He was almost done, though.

The end game was afoot, and all of his hard work and sacrifice was about to pay off.

They were so close.

He just wished he felt energized and on fire with the spirit of the good mother.

Truth was, though,

he was tired.

Scotty had never wanted to be a leader or a prophet or the person people looked to for answers.

If you'd asked him when he was little what he wanted to be when he grew up, he would have said an astronaut.

At least if he was being honest.

He would not have let his mamma hear him say it.

Esther Blankenship had been Esther Campbell when she found the truth of the Good Mother Ministries back in 1927.

She had moved to Baker's Gap from the dying town of Ernie, Tennessee, in search of a new community and a fresh start and buddy.

Did she ever find one?

Esther had been brought to the faith by blessed Sister Triplett, who had served as the right hand of Mother Darla herself.

Both of those August saints had helped assure the rise of Speaker Timothy and grown a small clutch of followers into a bona fide congregation.

A congregation that had ultimately lost their faith and abandoned their ministry.

While Sister Triplett had given her life to serve the good mother, Miss Darla and Scotty's mamma kept the faith alive in Baker's Gap even after the closing of the way, as true believers referred to that dark time.

The first age of reckoning was a time of just retribution that had come to an abrupt end when a wicked coven of grannies, harlots, and other abominations came together to prevent the ascension of their matriarch.

The exact details of what had happened that year were lost to fading oral tradition and the ravages of time on memory.

Scotty's mamma, however, was adamant that they had been on the cusp of deliverance.

The good mother had walked the world, performing miracles to dispense injustice, and Mother Darla had prophesied that she would soon come to dwell in their midst and accept them as her faithful children.

The world would be theirs then,

because with the good mother at their side,

who could stand against them?

Scotty dreamed of that world often.

A place where those victimized by the wife beaters, landlords, and cold hearts would be vindicated.

A place where those who had starved, bled, and died at the hands of them with money and power would be resurrected, returned to the living by their mother's loving hand.

It was a well-known and documented fact that the dead leapt from the earth to answer her call.

In that version of the world, Scotty's mommy and daddy might not have traveled to Jacob County, Kentucky on what Esther Campbell called missionary work.

According to his mamma,

Scotty's parents had gone up the mountain to the Kentucky border to meet with a supposedly like-minded congregation.

Other folks looking for answers and maybe a little bit of vengeance if they were honest.

It hadn't gone well.

Norman Blankenship had called from a payphone in Jenkins, Kentucky, to let his mama know that this congregation did not follow the good mother, but instead put their faith in an old black stag,

rumored to wander the hills up that way, doling out blessings and favors of its own.

Scotty's daddy said these folks were crazier than dog shit.

He and Scotty's mama were heading right back down the mountain and should be home late that night.

It was three three days before state troopers knocked on Esther Campbell's door, asking her to come identify the smashed pickup truck and the two bodies inside it.

Norman and Brenda Blankenship had never made it out of Kentucky.

The accident report said that the skid marks indicated that Norman had swerved, most likely to avoid an animal.

Though that was pure speculation and lost control of the truck.

Over the guardrail and off the side of the mountain they went.

This left three-year-old Scotty and his older brother Gregory in the tender care of his mamma and Papa, who had channeled their grief and rage into the boy's upbringing.

Now, the blanket chips attended church at Rising Creek Baptist, but the real sermons were saved for the sweltering afternoons in the old barn on Peter's branch, where Scotty learned the gospel passed down from his mamma and the other women who had been part of that age of reckoning.

Mother Darla, in her furious hand sign, would tell stories of the good mother's great deeds and the bad folks she had put in the dirt.

There were accounts of the Good Mother's angels rising from the earth, all bones and dark earth fused into one holy body to rain down judgment upon evildoers.

These tales were riveting,

and Scotty could recount most of them by heart.

Though if he had to pick a favorite,

Scotty had most loved the story of the good son.

According to Miss Darla, an unknown family, their name a mystery even to the most faithful, had willingly offered up their own flesh and blood as a sacrifice to free the good mother from her bonds so that she might walk the earth once more.

Among their number, Memo Esther would begin, her eyes fixed on Mother Darla's flashing fingers, translating so Scotty might understand, was a young boy, no older than ten years, and it was this child that the good mother spared as thanks for his family's offering offering of blood and bone.

She hid within him a piece of her power, so that her angels would watch over him, and he might never know harm nor death.

But lo,

this child was feared and ungrateful.

He understood not the mercy of our mother.

He fled into the wilderness and was lost to us.

Mother Darlow would go on and on and on about this boy.

According to her, if the good mother could not come back to them,

then he would.

The prodigal would see the error of his ways and return to the flock flanked by her angels to become the good son he was always meant to be.

If he did not return willingly,

it would be up to Scotty's generation to find him, to take from him what was given and place that power in a more worthy vessel.

Mamma Esther would smile at this and take Scotty's hands.

If he worked hard and did what he was told and kept the mother's words in his heart, she told him, he could be that vessel.

His older brother wasn't strong enough in his faith, had too much of his mama's people in him, Esther sniffed disdainfully.

But Scotty could be the good son his people needed.

He knew he could not disappoint his mamma or the rest of those who clung to their shared faith, so he worked hard, did what he was told.

He learned the unwritten scriptures word for word, burning them into his heart so that he might pass them on to others.

Whereas Memo and other elders of the faith came off as reclusive backwoods holler dwellers, often living apart from the rest of the world, Scotty was determined to be different.

He grew into a bright, charismatic young man, an athlete.

A good student, handsome and popular with his classmates.

No one would have guessed that after winning the state football championship in 1972, Scotty Blankenship spent the evening naked in a circle of animal bones and burned roots, giving thanks to the dark goddess he believed had guided him to victory.

They definitely didn't understand why he turned down a full ride to play football for East Tennessee State over in Tipton.

According to his coach and his teacher, Scotty had thrown away a bright future.

After graduation, he kept his profile low.

Just another jock who peaked in high school and settled down to do manual labor in his hometown like so many others.

Ain't nothing wrong with that.

Still popular and affable.

A good old boy among good old boys.

Folks around the gap would never dream of the things he asked of his friends as he drew them deeper into his world of revenge and righteous fury.

The bodies they'd buried, the terror they'd inflicted in secret upon the violent and dangerous among them, and

later upon the innocent yet undesirable folks who existed at the fringes of Johnson County society.

They'd cycled their kills, pacing them out over the years and throughout the region.

Scotty had felt such righteous purpose when they'd committed to the bloodshed, but after they'd done what they had to do to the dog lady and old Possum, things

had begun to feel pointless.

They'd observed the rites and rituals for so long, yet they'd had no sign of the good mother's return, not so much as a shadow under a hawthorn tree.

Then, his niece, Crystal, had taken a work-study job at the college, for she was assigned to a local history project about the founding of Baker's Gap.

Genealogy and family trees were all she would talk about for weeks, and it was within those twisting charts, census reports, and ultimately Johnson County school records that the roadmap to finding the good son began to take shape.

If their mother wasn't going going to answer him, maybe it was time to seek out her chosen son.

Wheels had been set in motion, and now here they were.

Scotty pulled his truck into a rutted parking space meant for county maintenance vehicles and got out.

The air was heavy and sweet this close to the water.

The scent of ancient pines picking up as he walked to their base of operations for the evening.

Despite the darkness, he was confident in his footing as he navigated the winding trails and climbed over the very rocks that Floyd Abshir had died trying to traverse.

It was strange.

For all of his mamma's teachings and his own lifetime of worship and sacrifice to the good mother, Scotty had never experienced so much as a tingle within himself that couldn't be explained away as religious fervor or high emotion

but here

on this little outcropping of land at the lake's edge a place where generation of kids in baker's gap had gathered to play and party and do things they didn't want the world to see

he felt what he could only describe as power

there was a hum under the earth

something ancient and alive that made the air of the place feel like the breath of some great beast.

When he stepped onto the island proper, he could feel that sense of presence intensify.

Five of his most loyal followers were already there, preparing the graves for the rite he hoped would finally secure his place at the mother's side.

If all went according to plan, then his years of prayers and rituals would finally pay off.

He would become her new son.

Her good son.

The key to his ascension sat slumped and bound on the ground in the midst of hard men doing dark work.

Scotty hunkered down in front of her and offered his most charming, half-apologetic smile.

I.

I am truly sorry for this, Miss Calloway.

I don't think you're going to like what's coming, seeing as how you and your kind have spent most of your lives standing in our way.

But if it's of any comfort at all, this shouldn't take long.

Young man, I don't know what, I don't know what in the world you're talking about, but you're already on the hook for several serious charges once the sheriff catches up to you, breaking an entering, assault, kidnapping.

Why don't you just cut your losses and let an old woman go?

Scotty Blankenship's contried expression melted into a snarl.

You think my people hadn't been watching you and them two old whores that live out the end of Big Gap Road since before I was even born?

You don't think we know that every seven years y'all go out in the woods and consort with spirits and haints and rituals meant to keep power from the rest of us?

You think we don't know what happens in the secret graveyard?

Don't look at me like that.

We all know about the secret graveyard.

I don't know how y'all keep it hid, but I know it's real.

And I know it's where you keep our blessed mother locked away, but that don't matter no more.

What's coming tonight is going to balance the scales.

Oh, yeah.

You will witness the glory of her power, whether she can reach us or not.

You might want to close your eyes, Belle Calloway.

This power might be too much for you to see.

Belle Calloway barked a laugh.

Secret graveyard.

Boy, you're dumber than you look if you think anything good is going to come of the things you've done here.

You're messing with with things you don't understand.

Don't tell me what I can and can't understand.

You ain't nobody's teacher anymore.

What would you know about?

But Belle Calloway had heard enough.

Reaching deep inside for her teacher's voice, she snapped.

Mr.

Blankenship, your pretty boy smile and football heroics might have fooled everybody else when you were younger, but I know what you and your people are.

I try not to judge somebody by their kin, but you are living, breathing proof that the apple don't even have to fall from the tree to be rotten.

As for what I know,

you ain't seen a fraction of the things I have, little boy.

So shut your mouth and untie me before you get us all killed.

Scotty Blankenship shook his head sadly and took a deep, calming breath.

You just sit tight, Miss Calloway.

Your friends will be here soon, and then we'll get this party started.

If you'll excuse me.

With that, Scotty Blanketship turned and walked toward the water, leaving the gap's most beloved retired school teacher to contemplate her fate and wait for her former pupils to find her.

On the other side of town, Cody Blevins had taken charge of strategizing those students' students' next move.

Transporting Crystal Blanket Chip and Bryce Adams would be a simple matter, it seemed.

Borrowing from the would-be kidnapper's own stash of equipment, they threw pillowcases over each of their prisoners' heads and zip-tied their hands and ankles.

When Bryce complained about having his head covered, Cody kindly informed the boy that he could make this trip conscious or unconscious.

It was all the same to him.

Bryce considered this for a moment, then nodded as cowboy threw the pillowcase over his head and secured it so it would stay in place but pose no danger of suffocation.

Then Cody threw Crystal over one shoulder, Bryce over the other, and loaded them into the bed of his Hulken 1986 Ford F-350 crew cab, whose campertop would both conceal and protect them from the elements.

Y'all keep your mouth shut and don't try nothing stupid.

We'll have you back with your people in no time at all.

Try something stupid, and well, you'll see what they get you out here after dark.

Just lay still.

This will be over shortly.

Cody closed the tailgate and locked the camper top, then motioned for Cowboy and Archie to get into the cab.

The two old friends climbed in, and Cody got behind the wheel.

It was a short drive to the glowing outpost of the Roadrunner Market that lay just off Big Gap Road, right before the on-ramp onto the four-lane.

Cody pulled to a stop and got out of the truck, leaving Cowboy and Archie to wait in the cab and Crystal and Bryce to keep their silence in the back.

The flickering lights above the gas pumps threw the mundane island of concrete and commerce that lay between the countryside of the town proper into stark relief.

These way stations between the old places and the new were all the same.

Places to fill up one tank and empty another, with a friendly face behind the counter to take your money and provide you with whatever provisions you needed for your journey.

Gas stations like this often functioned as a combination social hub, diner, and supermarket for outlying communities where folks didn't always want to make that long drive into town.

It was getting late, and there wasn't another vehicle in sight.

In the darkness of the cab, the silence grew heavy

until Cowboy could stand it no longer.

Arch?

Yeah, for what it's worth.

I am sorry that I didn't come back.

Or Kurt or Dallas, I mean.

I had to stay away because there were things in my life that I just couldn't bring back here.

But I'm sorry I missed being with y'all when they passed.

It's not like any of us had your phone number or address, kid.

To be fair, Kurt had a heart attack and went within a couple of days, so it was quick.

Dallas was even quicker.

Stroke.

Just didn't get up one morning.

Probably never knew what hit him.

Lucky bastard.

If there had been any way for me to have gotten here and it not causing more harm than good, I would have been, Arch.

I

missed y'all more than I could ever put into words.

But it just wasn't safe.

The things I've seen, the stuff I've been running from my whole life.

After what we went through as kids, I couldn't put y'all through anything like that again.

Archie did not offer Cowboy his forgiveness.

He didn't say that he was there now and that was what mattered or dole out any other well-intentioned but ultimately insincere platitudes.

Truth was, he didn't know how to feel about seeing the kid again.

A small part of him had already let Cowboy go along with the others.

Archie huffed out a small, bitter laugh and stared out the window of the truck.

He didn't want to talk right now,

but it seemed like Cowboy was determined to keep at it.

You talked about being with Kurt in the hospital and burying Dallas, but what happened to Shane?

You acted like the way he died was somehow worse than the others.

You said the island left him haunted?

That the way he died was somehow different than everybody else.

What does that mean?

Arch.

Did Shane take his own life?

Archie squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

We think so, kid.

I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but hell, who else has left?

Like I said, we went back to the island the year after you left and saw some wild stuff.

Face down something that had to do with that thing that said it was Kurt's daddy, but we handled it.

Well, Dallas's old dog did.

And for a while, Shane got better.

For a time.

Then his mamma and papa died died within two years of each other and Shane went dark again.

Didn't leave the house, didn't talk to nobody, not even Dallas.

You'd see him if you went down to the lake just standing on the south shore staring over at the island, hair all growed out and beard like a caveman.

Floyd went and talked to him at one time, but said he wasn't making no sense.

Just rambling on and on about things not being done and how he couldn't look away.

And your brother tried to get him some help, but then he just disappeared.

We found him living over toward Model City, and he seemed to be doing better.

Had him an apartment and a girlfriend.

Then Kurt died.

And next thing we know, Shane's girlfriend is calling Floyd asking if he'd seen Shane because he hadn't been home in three days.

Police picked him up walking down the middle of the highway, nothing but sweatpants and a sock feet, and they took him to the hospital.

Doctors thought he had some form of dementia.

Happens with folks our age, you know.

But I don't think it was that at all.

It was the island.

That place did something to him.

I mean, hell, it did something to all of us, right?

With Shane, though, it was

personal for some reason.

Anyway, a couple years ago, Shane took off from the assisted living facility he was in during a big old thunderstorm.

They managed to track him down to the lake over around where Copperhead's Den used to be, and they

found a grocery bag with his wallet, medicines, clothes, shoes, his glasses even, but no shame.

They searched all around the island and never found him.

They sent divers into the water.

They never come up with nothing.

That was over two years ago, and nobody's seen or heard from him since.

It was a mess of a storm.

It would have been easy for an old man to slip and fall.

The island took him, kid.

Hell, maybe he gave himself to the damn place.

Same difference, I suppose.

But to answer your question,

yes.

For all intents and purposes, I believe he chose to leave us.

As if to punctuate the end of the conversation, the driver's side door swung open and Cody Blevins slid back into the driver's seat.

Sorry about that, Joe.

Nature called and I had to answer.

You and ready?

Ready when you are, Mr.

Blevins.

Archie Stalard took a long, slow breath and then blew it out through his nose.

Let's go, boys.

Expedition

Ho

There is a curse upon my

everywhere.

Well,

hey there, family.

The stage is set.

The players are all in place, and that leaves one more episode in our first story arc of season five of Old Gods of Appalachia run like hell.

Remember, this season is a true anthology with multiple standalone stories that will unfold as the season progresses.

What's going to happen when the boy who could not die comes face to face with the man who wants nothing more than to be the good son?

I guess you'll have to come back and find out, won't you?

I think you will.

Family, if you're all caught up on our current seasons and are starving for more old gods' goodness and you haven't already, we'd love for you to join us over in The Holler, our very own subscription service where, for a reasonable sum, you can access hours and hours of exclusive stories set in the world of old gods of Appalachia.

Build Mama a coffin, door under the floor, blackmouth dog, familiar and beloved, strangers, and all kinds of other goodness produced exclusively for the folks who help us keep the lights on.

Head on over to old godsofappalachia.com slash the holler today.

You'll find that link down in the show notes.

This is your who in the world thinks they've seen more messed up stuff than Belle Calloway, a reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of Deep Nerd Media and distributed by Rusty Quill.

Our theme song is by Brother Landon Blood, and our outro music is by Those Poor Bastards.

Today's story was written by Steve Schell and Kim Collins, and the voice of Cowboy Absur Absur is Brandon Bentley.

Talk to you soon, family.

Talk to you real soon.