EMP: Return of the Wild West Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  They can’t actually live like this, can they? he wondered.

  When he’d picked up the curing salt from them, they’d insisted on meeting him off property, pushing the bags of salt in a wheelbarrow. Now, he understood why. The smell in the living room was twice as bad.

  Just leave the brisket on the coffee table and get out of here, he told himself. This place is a cesspool.

  He started to turn back toward the front door, intending to grab the bag of meat from the porch, but something caught his eye. Another shoe, he thought, tipped on its side just beyond the coffee table, but then he saw a rolled sock, the blue end of a denim pant leg.

  “Hello?” he said a third time, a plaintive sound. He could scarcely believe it came from his own throat.

  Darryl eased deeper into the living room, moving toward the far wall. As he did, he saw the other foot, then the legs folded at uncomfortable angles, and finally the body. The woman lay on her stomach, twisted at the hips as if she’d gone down hard while trying to turn around. Her arms were stretched out, hands curled against the baseboard, and her gray hair was spread out on the floor around her head. A large amount of blood had soaked through the back of her shirt, and he saw three distinct holes punched through the fabric—entry wounds from large-caliber bullets. The blood had darkened enough that he knew she had been dead for at least a few hours.

  Justine’s mom. He recognized her, even though he barely knew her, and she’d been shot in the back. Darryl felt suddenly terrible exposed. Though the house was dead quiet, every shadow and every pile of trash seemed to be hiding a threat. He turned to leave. When he did, he spotted the second body. The man was folded up in a narrow space between the couch and the corner. It looked like he’d fallen backward and slid down the wall, leaving a streak of blood on the dusty plaster. His chin was pressed against his chest, one hand raised as if he’d tried to block the shot, but most of his face was a mask of blood from the hole on the left side of his forehead.

  Mr. Carmichael. Darryl found himself unable to move and was just standing there staring at that mask of blood, when he realized he was hearing noises coming from upstairs. It sounded like at least two people, and they were moving fast, as if they’d burst suddenly out of hiding. Darryl staggered toward the front door, kicking the corner of the coffee table in passing. The burst of pain in his shin made him stumble, but he caught himself against the wall and launched himself at the open door.

  “Wait. Wait.” The voice was right behind him, at the bottom of the stairs beside the television. “Darryl Healy, don’t run. Please.”

  He knew that voice, and it only made him want to run that much more. But they came fast, two people, one moving around in front to block off his escape. Mayor Filmore, wearing the same oversized sweater and toque from the night before—he looked disheveled and pale.

  “Can you believe this?” he said. “It’s shocking. Such a nice family.”

  Darryl turned to head for the kitchen, but the second person was standing in his way. It was the police officer with the short black hair. She wore a long black coat and black jeans.

  “Do you happen to know anything about this?” the mayor said, gesturing at the body of Mr. Carmichael.

  “Me?” Darryl replied, his heart leaping into his throat. “Why would I know anything about this? I just got here. You’re the one lurking in the house.”

  “Investigating,” the police officer said. “They’ve been dead for a while. Did you hear the gunshots?”

  “No, I didn’t hear anything,” he said.

  “Where were you two or three hours ago?”

  Darryl found this line of questioning so ridiculous, he was tempted not to answer. Were they actually trying to pin this on him? “I was working on a root cellar at my grandma’s ranch.”

  “Root cellar,” Mayor Filmore said, rolling the words around his mouth as if they tasted good. “Well, somebody knows what happened here, and we’re going to get to the bottom of it.” He thrust a finger in Darryl’s face and held it there strangely for a second. “This is Officer Pam Grasier. She’s heading up the investigation, so if you know anything, if you’ve seen or heard anything suspicious, I hope you’ll tell her what you know.”

  The desire to flee was so intense, Darryl’s legs felt like pins and needles, but he didn’t see any easy escape, not now. “Why would I know anything? Like I said, you guys got here before me. If anyone knows anything, it’s you two.”

  “As Leo told you, we are investigating the killing of this family,” Officer Grasier said. She had a mean little voice, sharp as a pushpin. “The bodies of the children are in an upstairs bedroom. It seems they were killed first.”

  The children? That meant Justine and her sister. It was too horrible to think about. Suddenly, Darryl was on the verge of tears, but he refused to cry in front of these two weirdos.

  “Who…who did it?” he asked. “Who would have killed the entire family?”

  “Sadly, there’s a very good chance it was a murder-suicide,” the mayor said, “performed by the father. Based on reports from individuals in town, Reggie was having trouble supporting his family. I gave him a chance to work with me a week ago, but he turned me down. I guess he couldn’t make ends meet, and he saw this as the only way out.” He sighed and shook his head. “I feel partially responsible. I knew they were struggling, but I should have kept a closer eye on them. I didn’t realize how bad it was. Had you seen Reggie lately? Did he give any indication that he was troubled?”

  “I mean…I saw the guy a few times, sure,” Darryl said. “He was kind of goofy, but I definitely didn’t think he was capable of something like this.”

  He glanced at the body in the corner. Bullet wound in the forehead? Not a likely spot for a suicide, and the body had fallen in such as awkward way, it looked more like he’d been surprised. He didn’t believe the mayor for one second. Still, Darryl was all too aware of how precarious his situation was. He had to find a way to get out of there, and that meant he needed to divert the mayor’s attention somehow.

  And then it came to him.

  “Actually, I don’t think he was having trouble providing for his family,” Darryl said. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but the guy had a huge stash of supplies hidden behind a fake wall in his barn. Did you know about that?”

  Filmore’s eyes widened, and he got a weird, hungry look on his face. “Oh, really? How do you know about this?”

  “His daughter told me,” Darryl said. His voice was shaking—he was finding it harder to keep lying—but he hoped the mayor would chalk it up to fear or grief. “Justine wasn’t supposed to tell me, said it was a strict family secret. Reggie didn’t want anyone to know, not even you, but she told me anyway. It’s probably enough to feed the whole town.”

  “Very good.” Mayor Filmore seemed like he was struggling not to smile. “Son, could you show me the way?” He waved toward the back of the house.

  “Sure,” Darryl replied. “Follow me.”

  As he started toward the kitchen, he felt the mayor’s hand on his back. It almost seemed like an affectionate gesture, but it made his skin crawl.

  “You know, Darryl, we had an unpleasant interaction the other night,” the mayor said, following him through the kitchen toward the back door. “I’m sorry about that. I let my temper get the better of me. So much stress these days, you see. But after this, I’ll call it even. I don’t know why poor Reggie went off the deep end, but maybe his loss can be the city’s gain.”

  Through most of this, Officer Grasier had been staring hard at Darryl’s face, as if trying to read his expression. Now, she fell in beside him, walking so close that they brushed shoulders.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner,” Darryl said, “but Justine made me promise to keep it a secret, and…well…I’m a pushover, I guess.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re doing the right thing now. It’s just a shame that this terrible tragedy happened to the family. I wanted better for
them.”

  The kitchen was an absolute dump, just like the rest of the house, but Darryl saw that many of the drawers and cabinets were wide open. The refrigerator door and pantry were also ajar. At least some of the mess was the result of someone rooting through the house, and not just the accumulated filth of a troubled family. As he made his way to the back door beyond the kitchen, he tried not to think about poor Justine—poor, weird Justine.

  The barn was a dilapidated building that looked like it had been hastily repaired on numerous occasions over the years, creating a patchwork look that was almost charming if not for the rotten places and holes in the walls that had yet to be fixed—and now, perhaps, never would be. The barn door was missing, and the rusted husk of an old tractor was visible inside.

  “There’s a hatch hidden in the back of the barn behind the tractor,” Darryl said, trying to shape the lie as he walked. “I’ve seen it, but I’ve never been down there. However, I know for sure there’s stuff down there because Justine brought up some big cans of food. Beans, I think.”

  “Just show me the way in, son,” Mayor Filmore said. “I’ll take it from there.”

  The roof of the barn was collapsing, with some of the beams hanging so low that they almost touched the tractor. Of course, Darryl had never been inside. It didn’t look safe. The whole thing seemed like it was one stiff breeze away from crumbling in on itself.

  “It’s near the back,” he said. “We have to squeeze past the tractor, but take it slow. I scraped myself on a sharp edge the last time I came back here.”

  The old Versatile tractor had been parked at an angle—or maybe it had died in that spot and never been fixed—which left only a narrow gap on either end between the vehicle and the barn walls. Darryl chose the narrower of the two and slipped through, but when he brushed the wall with his back, he heard and felt a shudder go up the wall and ripple across the collapsing roof.

  The air was so dusty, he almost felt like he could push through it, and he fought an urge to start coughing. Fortunately, when he moved through the narrow gap, Mayor Filmore and Officer Grasier were forced to get behind him.

  “Right over there,” Darryl said, pointing into the back-right corner, where a mound of rancid old hay had clearly been disturbed at some point. That was to his advantage. “They keep it covered.”

  “Well, if you’re going to hide a bunch of stuff, this is the place to do it,” Mayor Filmore muttered. “Nobody would think to look in here.”

  “Exactly,” Darryl said. “I guess Mr. Carmichael was an old hand at this sort of thing.”

  He was still pointing into the far-right corner as he passed the tractor, but his attention was actually drawn to the near corner on his left where a fence board had fallen out of the framework, leaving a small gap. He could see the forest just a few feet beyond the opening.

  “It’s under all that hay there,” Darryl said. “We just have to sweep it—”

  He stopped speaking mid-sentence, hoping to catch his followers off guard. Letting the fear drive him, he took off running toward the hole in the back wall. The mayor let out a startled cry, but he was still moving through the gap beside the tractor. As Darryl raced toward the opening, his feet slid on the hay-strewn floor. He leapt at the back wall and did an awkward somersault through the hole. As he spun, he heard the explosive sound of a gunshot.

  He rolled through the hole in the wall, wound up on his belly, and scrambled to one side. As he rose, he heard a second gunshot from inside the barn, and a chunk of old, soft wood exploded near a corner of the barn. He didn’t pause to consider how close he’d come to getting shot. His whole body tingled with desperation as he ran as fast as he could into the forest, tracing a zigzagging pattern and aiming for the thickest underbrush. The mayor was shouting somewhere behind him, but he didn’t bother to look back. He just ran, moving in a great arc through the forest and toward the back of the ranch property.

  As he ran full out, his breath rasping in his ears, he allowed himself to think it openly for the first time.

  Mayor Filmore killed them! He killed the entire Carmichael family! He killed Justine and her little sister! He gunned them down in cold blood right inside their own house!

  It was too much, and as he ran, his vision blurred from the tears. He had to warn his mother and grandmother. What if the Healys were next?

  27

  “We’re taking absolutely as much as we can take,” Greg said, pulling open the cabinets above the sink. “He was going to rob us, possibly kill us. Turnabout’s fair play.”

  “Hey, I’m not disagreeing with you,” Tuck said. “I’m just saying we need to prioritize food and water. That silverware in your pack’s not going to do much good.” The old man had tried to help with the looting, but he was still too weak. Finally, Greg had insisted he take a seat and relax.

  “Fair enough,” Greg replied, digging the forks and spoons out of his pack and setting them back in a drawer.

  Emma picked her way through the MREs, selecting the foods she liked best and stuffing them into her pack. Greg was impressed with how fully she seemed to have recovered from the previous night’s harrowing events. Emma was all business now, moving methodically as they looted the way station.

  As she loaded up on MREs, Greg went through the drawers and cabinets. The cabinet above the sink was full of small cardboard boxes. He grabbed the first one and opened it, revealing a container of hospital-grade bandages.

  “Well, what do you know?” he said. “John told me they had no first aid supplies.” He dumped the bandages on the counter. “Look at that.”

  “He wasn’t about to waste a bandage on a man he planned to kill,” Tuck said.

  In the next box, Greg found small tubes of antibacterial ointment. In a third box, he found a big bottle of painkillers. “It’s like a clinic here. Dad, we need to clean and rebandage your wound. We’ve got the means to do it properly now.”

  “Finish what you’re doing first,” Tuck replied. “I’m fine for now.”

  Indeed, he seemed about the same as the night before. He wasn’t worse, which Greg took as a good sign, and he was more clearheaded today. Still, his body was clearly fighting an infection, and antibacterial ointment wasn’t what they needed. It was, however, all they had to work with.

  He loaded up as much of the medical supplies as his pack would take, while Emma filled up her pack with MREs and bottles of water. Then they went to work on Tuck’s infected leg. When they peeled back the cloth bandage, Greg inadvertently gagged at the smell. Emma gave him a disapproving frown as she uncapped a new tube of antibacterial ointment.

  “Come on, Dad,” she said. “It’s not that bad. You can’t throw up when you’re treating someone. That’s not good bedside manner.”

  “Sorry,” he replied. “Guess I wouldn’t have made a good nurse.”

  They cleaned the wound thoroughly and slathered it in antibacterial ointment, then bandaged the whole bottom half of his leg. It wasn’t enough. The man needed serious medical attention, and the meager supplies in a first aid kit weren’t going to cut it.

  “We have to get you to a doctor, a real doctor,” Greg said. “Can you walk?”

  “I’m going to walk, whether my right leg likes it or not,” Tuck replied. “I’ve got my hiking staff. Load me up on those pain pills, and I’ll be good to go.”

  They decided to leave Tuck’s pack behind. It was just too much, but Greg dumped a bunch of pain pills in his jacket pocket. After that, he finished rooting through the closets. In the cluttered office, he found a large map of the area tacked to the wall. The way station was marked with a red arrow sticker. Greg traced the pipeline with his finger. Suddenly, his finger brushed the edge of a name that he recognized.

  Glenvell.

  Home. Was it really that close? He couldn’t believe it. Had they really already hiked that far? He tore the map down and went back to the other room, where Emma was rolling up the sleeping bags.

  “Guys, we’re not that far from hom
e,” he said, pointing to the map. “Just a few more kilometers and we’ll be out of the wilderness and crossing farmland. Then it’s just a little bit farther and we’re home.”

  Emma stared at him, as if she could barely process what he’d said. “Home,” she said, as if it were a strange, new word.

  “That’s right,” Greg replied. “I mean, we still have quite a trek ahead of us, but the end is in sight. Dad, you just have to put up with this for another couple of days.”

  “I’ll manage,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  A final pass through the office turned up mostly paperwork, though he found a small clear-plastic compass, which he slipped in his jacket pocket. Greg briefly considered taking the map, but it was large and unwieldy. It was also ancient, brittle paper that probably wouldn’t last long. The pipeline would take them where they needed to go.

  He helped Tuck stand, gave him the hiking staff, then shouldered his heavy pack. Emma was dwarfed by her MRE-filled pack, but she gave him a thumbs-up. At least they wouldn’t go hungry. He pocketed John’s Ruger, picked up the Remington rifle, and headed outside. The morning air was blustery and cold, and he pulled his toque down a little lower to cover the tops of his ears. As he turned to circle around the building, he saw the body of Eustace’s worker. The man had been uncovered in the night. At first, Greg assumed a wild animal had been at him, but then he realized the knots on the blanket were untied. Furthermore, John’s jacket had been removed. He decided not to say anything about it, hoping they could just walk past the body without drawing attention to it.

  “Eustace looted his own guy,” Emma said. “Can you believe it? He came back in the night and robbed the corpse of his own employee.”

  “Well, that seems in character, doesn’t it?” Tuck said, limping along with his hiking staff. “We best keep an eye out for him. He seems capable of just about anything.”

  “Will do,” Greg said, gazing off into the woods.