Silver Valley: The Complete Collection: Silver Valley, #4

By Noah Porter

The complete collection of the Silver Valley series!

This boxed set includes all three volumes. Follow the survivors in the New West through:

Volume One:
A decade of storms, droughts and wildfires have ruined the nation's infrastructure and left most of the country dry and shattered. The end of oil has stopped food distribution, and America has returned to a horrifying state of nature, where the strong prey on the weak.

The New West is every bit as wild and lawless as the Old West, and Anna Lansing rides through, looking for a new place to call home. She finds a tranquil valley with a peaceful cottage and hope for a quiet life and the possibility of love.

But a ruthless gang of thugs call the same area home, and no matter what Anna might want, there will be no peace in the valley...

Volume Two:
The new American landscape is harsh and unforgiving. Anna thought she had found a place of peace and quiet, but her rest is short-lived when bandits invade her home and carry off Sophie, her new-found love. How will she ever track them down and rescue her one love?

Volume Three:
Anna and John have rescued Sophie from the clutches of Corbett's crew, but no one is out of danger yet. Corbett and his crew are soon on the trail, hunting the trio down and doing whatever it takes to find them.

While John is pursued across the countryside, the two girls return to the small town of Meridian, only to find that Corbett has brought his entire gang for a final showdown.

And Wayne, Corbett's psychotic second-in-command, has his eyes open for the girls...and is willing to do anything necessary to finally get them.

Will they be able to survive the deadly threats, both from humans and from Mother Nature??

The wind gets worse and the storm arrives for everyone in this explosive final chapter!

Follow the journey from beginning to end. Get started today!

Praise for Silver Valley:
"I’ve read the whole series and loved it...I loved that it’s full of thrills that have nothing to do with the supernatural, terrorists, etc. It’s kind of an old-fashioned story set in modern times. Great story. Great characters. Great thrills and pacing throughout. Loved it."

"I’m a big fan of Noah Porter. He has a great writing style that is really engaging and easy to read. I especially love this series because of the juxtaposition of old and new...the whole series is a quick, engaging read and well worth your time."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Our Pack Press
• Release date: Jan 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781497756892

Book preview

~ Volume One ~

John Cairns rode over the crest of the hill and surveyed the land spread out before him. It was endless grass, baked yellow by the sun. Squinting in the harsh light, he could see a farmhouse in the distance. Like most of the houses in Tornado Alley, it was ruined. The frame still stood on one side, but most of the structure was blown away. Trash was scattered around the house, but Cairns knew better than to expect anything useful. Everything would have been picked over by the farm's former residents, and a hundred times over again by passers-by like him.

All the same, the standing piece of structure would provide some shade, which was scarce in the region. Between the tornadoes and the fires, there weren't many trees around. As well, there was always the slight possibility of water in the farmyard.

Nudging the sides of his horse, Cairns began moving toward the ruined house. He pulled the reins and halted when he spotted a figure on horseback in the distance approaching from the East, also heading in the direction of the farm. Making a quick decision, he started moving again. If there had been more than one, he would have turned around and ridden half the night to avoid possible pursuit. The old adage of strength in numbers was especially true these days. So was the one that said only the strong survive.

He reached the farm first and dropped out of the saddle, bending and stretching to loosen up his sore muscles. He led the horse around by the reins but didn't see any standing water the horse could drink.

There was an old pump-handle well behind the house. He checked the progress of the lone rider. The figure was still distant. Cairns led the horse to the well. There was a plastic ice cream pail amid the scattered rubbish and he brought it to the pump. He gripped the handle and began to work, pumping up and down until he could hear the liquid gurgling up. He continued to pump until the water burst forth, gushing out of the nozzle and splashing into the pail and all over the cement pad in which the pump was set. John Cairns and his horse began to drink.

The water was ice cold and tasted of iron. When John had rinsed off and drunk his fill, he tied his horse in the shade, and walked out to meet the approaching rider.

Hello, he called, when he thought the rider was close enough to hear his voice. In the bright sun he could see a rider dressed in black on a small grey horse. He couldn't see the rider's face under the brim of a broad black hat. He knew the rider had spotted him though, because the horse was walking straight toward him.

At a dozen paces, the rider stopped the horse, and tipped back the brim of the hat. A beautiful woman with clear blue eyes looked down at John Cairns.

Well, hello, said John, surprised to see a woman traveling alone. Pleased to meet you. Um, there's fresh water here. There's a well. You need water for your horse?

The rider didn't respond. She looked around the yard, taking in the debris scattered around. Between John Cairns and the rider lay a white porcelain bathroom sink.

Cairns looked her over. She was wearing a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to above the elbows, black jeans, and leather riding boots. Her hat and even her gloves were black. She had long straight brown hair falling around her shoulders. He could see she had a fine figure under all that black material. Although the shade of her hat had kept her face fair, her arms were tanned a deep brown. Her skin shone.

She looked around and still didn't speak. John began to feel uneasy.

You wouldn't be interested in some marijuana, would you? he asked. I've got a bunch of it, figuring it would be good for trading, but I haven't had any luck. I don't use it much myself. You interested?

She finally looked directly at him, sizing him up. I don't trade, she said at last.

Everybody trades. And I'm not looking for much, he said. Any food?

Nothing to spare, she said. But... I could share a meal. She looked all around, surveying the horizon. Maybe you and I could pass the time.

That would be great.

*****

Anna Lansing watered her horse at the pump and tied it in the shade next to John's. The two animals snuffled at each other and stood, quietly nosing through the dry grass for anything edible. While John busied himself clearing an area for them to make camp, Anna took her pack from the horse and headed to the well.

After checking to make sure he wasn't watching, Anna started pumping water and washing herself. She tossed aside her hat and stripped off the black shirt. It was stiff with dried sweat and trail dust, and it clung to her sweaty body as she tugged it off. The white bra she wore underneath had become discolored from too much wear.

She looked over her shoulder and saw John watching her. I'll um, go around, he said, and she watched as he stumbled around to the other side of the wall.

The young woman stripped naked and laid her clothes on the cement pad, then cranked the pump handle, soaking the dirty clothes with the ice-cold water. She washed herself, trying to scrub off the layer of dirt that coated her. Trail dust had crept in so deep that she was surprised to see the color of her skin change as she scrubbed.

With her washing complete, the young woman dressed in a fresh outfit of blue jeans and a red button-up shirt. John came back around the corner. All done?

Did you peek?

No, he said quickly, but she saw his cheeks redden. She wondered how old he was. Early twenties probably. She carried the mass of wet clothes at arms length, and with a length up rope from her saddlebags, she jury-rigged a clothesline to hang her things.

You seem pretty handy, John observed. He'd collected some wooden debris to build a fire.

You need to be handy now, she said. Her voice was even and guarded.

The sun was setting. As John got the fire going, Anna got out her cooking equipment. She set down a cast iron skillet, a bag of utensils and a canvas bag that held her food. With water from the well, she put together a meal of cooked vegetables and unleavened biscuits, which they ate by the light of the fire. The biscuits stuck in John's throat, but he washed them down with well-water. It wasn't a delicious meal, but it was food, and food was hard to come by.

Where did you find your horse? she asked him as he rolled a marijuana cigarette. Her top was tied in the front instead of being buttoned, and each time he looked at her she noticed his eyes heading for the cleavage of her breasts.

I stole him, John said, A group was rounding them up for slaughter. Meat is meat.

They lay on blankets and smoked the joint and talked about what they had seen. He'd been to the south, which was mostly a wasteland from the hurricanes. The people there no longer bothered to try and clean up from the destruction. They just breathed a sigh of relief that they had survived one storm and dug in for the next.

She'd been out east when the gasoline ran out, and from that moment on everything was a nightmare of fight or flight until she got free of the major cities. With no gas, there was no food transportation, and as the saying goes, society is always only three meals away from regressing to a state of chaos.

It took her a year to make it back home to California, which by then had been completely devoured by the wildfires.

Hard times, John said.

The young woman, who had not given John her name or asked for his, sat up and ran her fingers through her wet hair. John looked appreciatively at her body. He sat up and slid closer to her. She watched him. Her hands moved down to the knot at the front of her shirt. She tugged it loose, and the front of the garment fell open, allowing John to see up close what he had stolen glances at earlier. Her breasts were large and full. He reached forward and put his hand inside the front of her open shirt, cupping one breast. He gave it a squeeze and leaned forward, putting his lips to her cheek.

She turned her mouth to meet his. They kissed there for a moment, his hand resting gently on her breast. Finally she disengaged from the kiss and pushed him onto his back. She pulled off her shirt, exposing herself to the star-filled sky and pressed against him, her mouth on his. With rough movements she pulled up his shirt, revealing the stomach and chest that had grown hard from running and riding. She ran her fingers through the browning blond hair on his torso and pushed herself against him.

John watched as she pushed her blue jeans down over her hips, wiggling them down her thighs. This girl, this phantom rider appearing out of the desolate prairie was like something from of an erotic dream. Moments later she had his jeans off as well, and they were tangled together, their bodies lit by the firelight.

Afterwards they washed in the well's cool water and lay down together. He talked for a while as they lay looking up at the stars. She listened in silence until the fire died down, and they slept under the night sky.

*****

In the morning Anna was up and had her horse ready for travel before John had even stirred. He got up, clutching his blanket around his waist, watching as she tightened straps on her horse's saddle.

So, he said, blinking in the sunlight. You're ready.

Yeah, she said. She was dressed and ready to ride. She pointed toward the fire pit. There are some biscuits in that plastic container. I wouldn't mind having some of that weed to take with me.

Right. Sure. He went to his own saddle, and holding the blanket around him with one hand, dug into his kit with the other, eventually bringing out a large plastic bag filled with smaller bags. He took out two small bags, each holding a quarter-ounce of marijuana, and then stuffed the large bag back in with his belongings.

She took the two small bags from him and slipped them into a saddle bag.

What's your name? he asked.

Anna, she said as she buckled up the bag.

I'm John, he said. It seems funny to say now, after last night. So is this it? You don't want to carry on together for a while?

No thanks, John. But good luck. She put a foot in a stirrup and stepped up, swinging a leg over the horse's back and coming to rest in the saddle. With that, she nudged her blonde and brown palomino into motion and rode away in the prairie morning sunshine.

*****

After three hours of riding north, Anna stopped next a slow-moving prairie river. The banks showed how wide and deep the river had once been, but years of drought had shrunk it to a trickle. Near a bluff of leafless poplar trees, she dismounted and led her horse down to the drink before tying the animal to rest in the thin shade of the trees. With deadfall branches she built a small fire and took out one of the bags of marijuana. Anna had never liked smoking tobacco, but marijuana was something she enjoyed every now and again, before it all had happened, and she set about brewing herself some tea with a pinch of the weed.

It was still early. The sun was warm but wouldn't grow dangerously hot for a few more hours, so while the tea steeped she lay down a blanket. With her notebook and pen at hand she sipped the pungent drink and looked up at the clouds.

The notebook was possibly Anna's most valuable possession. As a child and teen, it had been her dream to be a writer, but many dreams died when society started devouring itself. Simple consumer items like a notebook were now very hard to come buy. With no oil, no gasoline, the distribution of cheap luxuries was finished. The notebook was slowly filling, but not with the novels and stories that Anna had once planned. Instead she'd learned how to focus and distill her thoughts into just a few words. Epics became haikus.

She looked up into the slowly drifting clouds and waited for the tea to take effect. She thought about John Cairns and the love they'd made the night before. Why not stay with him? He seemed gentle, timid, but maybe useful. Maybe a good road companion for a while. But no. She preferred the road alone. The road was dangerous, and she felt safer unattached.

As her mind began to wander, she thought about the first man she'd loved. That was before everything really went to shit, back when all the signs of the coming disasters were there for everyone to see, but nobody bothered looking. Back then, everyone was walking around with blinders on, thinking everything would keep going on forever. After all, who needs to look up and see the firestorms in the sky when they can look down at the latest phone instead?

The man. Was he a man? A boy really. Barely a man. Probably not as old then as she was now. What was his name? He worked at the used book shop. She was in there a few times a week, hanging around, reading the books on the shelf and looking for new things, different things then the trash her classmates were reading. At fourteen years old, most of her friends were reading books that did little more than tell them how to dress. She wanted something more. Something dangerous.

He had a common name. Steve? Mike? Maybe it was Kevin. He talked about books with her. He was in college and knew a lot of good books. She thought he was gorgeous and smart, but it wasn't until she caught him peeking down the front of her shirt at her budding breasts that she thought he might be interested in her as well.

She started coming around even more, and sometimes waited for him to come out of the store after closing time. She knew her attention was making him uncomfortable, but she wanted him to like her. She started coming into the store in low-cut tops and leaning over the counter to talk to him. She wanted him to look. She remembered his cheeks getting red.

Anna smiled at the ridiculous memory. The marijuana tea was making her feel pleasantly silly, but the silliness passed and was replaced with melancholy when she wondered suddenly if the boy, the man, was still alive. It was hard to know anything about anywhere else, or how anybody was doing. Most of the nation's infrastructure had crumbled. The power grid was ruined. Communications were fractured. Media was gone. Everything was screwed up, and it was everyone for themselves.