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

by Hamilton, Grace

  “Hey there, sir,” Greg said. “Looks like you’ve got a pretty good system going.”

  “I drag the chair ten or twenty meters, sit down for a little while, and listen real good,” he said. “Then I pick myself up, grab the chair, and move it again. It works for me. Nothing out of the ordinary. No mountain lion, no big red thieves.”

  “Great,” Greg said, clapping him on the back. “Get some rest. I’ll take over now.”

  “You got it. Here, use the SIG.” Horace thrust the rifle at him, but Greg waved it off and pointed at the Remington slung over his shoulder.

  “SIG’s got a better scope,” Horace noted. “You can see farther with it, which might come in handy if someone’s moving around in the forest.”

  “Good point,” Greg said. He took the SIG and handed Horace the Remington.

  Horace slung the strap of the Remington over his shoulder and started dragging the chair back toward the porch. “All this walking around in the clean air is doing wonders for me. I can tell you that.”

  Greg hoped it was true. He didn’t want to keep pushing Horace Bouchard or take advantage of the man’s willingness to work. Greg dimmed the lamp, raised the rifle to his shoulder, and proceeded to follow the track that now encircled the property along the perimeter of the fence. It was so quiet he could practically hear his own heartbeat. Fresh snow blanketed everything, glowing faintly in the moonlight.

  Show up, Eustace, he thought. I dare you. I’ll hear you coming by your labored breathing. Let me see that ugly face one more time before I blast it with the SIG.

  The theft of the cow hadn’t been an isolated event. Greg knew the man well enough. Eustace was up to something. Maybe he’d been testing the family, trying to gauge how they would react. Or maybe he was planning a series of “hit and run” attacks as he gathered supplies. Perhaps he was even trying to take the place of Mayor Filmore.

  Good. Move in permanently, Greg thought. That way I know where to find you.

  “I’ll finish Tuck’s work,” he whispered. “I will end you, Eustace. Count on it. You came against my family, and I’m coming against you.”

  He only realized belatedly that he was talking out loud, and he clamped his mouth shut. Better to pay attention and daydream about revenge later. He tried to put it out of his mind as he made a slow circuit of the property, listening for anything out of the ordinary. But it was an utterly calm night. As he circled back toward the house on the north side of the property, he saw candlelight flickering in a second-story bedroom window. Drawing near, he distinguished the vague shape of Justine through the cracked curtain. She appeared to be leaning on the windowsill and gazing out at the moonlit sky.

  Can’t sleep? he thought. I know the feeling.

  Finally, he stopped at a corner of the property and climbed the tree into the platform, wanting to see over the fence. The platform was about twenty feet up with no ladder, which meant he had to scramble up the branches like a squirrel. Fortunately, there were a few sturdy branches, so he only almost fell twice.

  Once in the platform, he gazed to the south across the narrow expanse of snowy ground toward the tree line. All of Eustace’s footprints were gone by now, and there was no further sign of him. Still, Greg stayed here, turning off the lamp to let his eyes fully adjust to the dark. With the gun perched on a branch beside him, ready to fire, he sat and kept watch. His anger was just enough to keep him wide awake as the silent hours passed, his cold breath occasionally puffing out in front of him like smoke.

  The first glimpse of morning sun had finally appeared on the eastern horizon, the merest hint of light glowing in the tops of the trees, when he heard the front door open and close. He turned and looked back toward the house, seeing a small figure descending the porch steps, bundled up in a big puffy coat and gloves. She approached the tree holding a thermos in her hands.

  “Greg, why don’t you drink something warm,” Tabitha said to him as she reached the base of the tree. “It’s freezing cold out here.”

  Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he began the delicate process of descending the tree. “This tree climbing business is for the young,” he said. “Darryl and Justine scramble in and out of the platform like it’s nothing. I need to install a rope ladder.”

  He finally hopped onto the ground and took the thermos from his mother. He unscrewed the lid, and steam gushed out. Pouring a bit of the liquid into the cup lid, he took a sip and realized it was herbal tea. Not bad, but not sweetened. He would’ve preferred a little cream as well. Actually, he would’ve preferred coffee, but they’d run out of it weeks earlier. Still, he wouldn’t complain about an act of kindness.

  “Thanks for the tea,” he said, feeling the steam against his cold cheeks.

  “Drink it before it gets cold,” she said, turning toward the lightening sky in the east. “I was sort of hoping you’d wait for me up on the platform. I was planning to sit up there a little while.”

  “That’s another reason I need to build a ladder for the thing,” he replied. “It’s not safe.”

  “Oh, I can make it.” Tabitha waved him off and approached the tree.

  “Are you sure, Mom?”

  “Watch me.”

  She reached up, grabbed a sturdy limb, and proceeded to pull herself up into the tree. Though she was in her sixties and diabetic, he watched as she clambered up the branches and pulled herself into the platform with a grunt.

  “You’re making me look bad here, Mom,” he said, screwing the lid on the thermos and following her up. “Maybe we don’t need that ladder, after all.”

  He joined her on the platform, and they sat quietly, Greg sipping his tea, as they gazed off at the snowbound trees that encircled the ranch. Slowly, the faint light in the east became bright, early morning sunlight casting long shadows across the property.

  “Tuck used to love cold mornings like this,” Tabitha said, “when the sun is bright but the air is so crisp it feels like it might just take a bite out of you. In the dead of winter, I’d find him on the porch with no hat and just a thin coat, soaking it in. He said it was invigorating, that it made him feel like the master of his domain.”

  She made a soft sound and bowed her head. When Greg glanced at her, he realized she was trying to discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes.

  “I miss him,” she said, after a moment. “I can’t stop wishing he was still here. He would help you shoulder the burden of keeping the family safe. Too much has fallen on you.”

  It should, perhaps, have been a touching moment, a chance to connect over their memories of Tuck, to bond through grief, but mention of Tuck instantly sent Greg spiraling into a very dark place. Of course, he had very few touching memories of his father because they’d spent so many years estranged. They’d finally managed to patch things up a little bit in the days, in the moments, before his death, but any long-term relationship with Tuck had been stolen from him.

  Greg felt a potent mix of guilt and anger. It burned like poison in his guts.

  I never should have let Eustace live, he thought. I should have killed him at the waystation. If I had, Emma would never have been injured, and Tuck would never have been killed.

  While he couldn’t bring Tuck back, he could certainly correct the problem. Eustace had practically presented himself on a silver platter, as if to say, “Here I am. Finish the job.”

  And I will, he thought. I swear to God, I will.

  “You can head inside now,” Tabitha said. “It’s my turn to keep watch.”

  “I doubt I’d be able to sleep,” he replied. “I think maybe I’ll head out and do a little hunting this morning. It’d be nice if I came across a deer or elk, but maybe I can track that mountain lion and deal with it as well.”

  She gave him a long, hard look, as if she sensed that something was off in his voice. He plastered a little smile on his face and endured it.

  “Okay, just be careful out there,” she said finally. “You said yourself it might have been a bandit. Are you sure you
shouldn’t wake Darryl or Emma and take one of them with you?”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine,” he replied, turning and lowering himself from the platform. “Let them sleep. I’ll be back by lunchtime—hopefully, dragging a carcass with me.”

  And with that, he picked his way back down the tree.

  It was a long walk through deep snow. He’d left the lamp on the porch and had only Horace’s SIG Sauer CROSS rifle with him. Still, even after keeping watch for a few hours, the turmoil he felt gave him a frenetic energy that enabled him to maintain a quick pace. He used the back road for a while, straining to make out any strange noises around him. When he drew close to town, he diverted back into the trees and circled north, wanting to avoid private homes.

  A good hour of walking took him past the Carmichael house, past the back fence of Horace Bouchard’s house, and all the way to the north side of the small town of Glenvell. He expected to find Eustace somewhere in town, though he didn’t know where. He figured the best place to start was the big pole barn that served as the heart of Glenvell. It sat at the edge of a small parking lot behind a shopping center and gas station near the center of town. Glenvell Town Hall had served as Mayor Filmore’s headquarters during his brief, tyrannical reign, and he’d turned the building into a kind of storage depot.. Greg figured he could start there in his search for Eustace and work his way outward. He was sure to find some sign of him sooner or later. A man like Eustace Simpson didn’t just fade into the crowd.

  However, as he was carefully picking his way through wild, overgrown wilderness to approach the north edge of town, he heard voices in the distance. He found a gap between two pine trees and squatted down, holding his breath to hear what they were saying. He couldn’t quite make it out. Fortunately, Horace’s rifle had a nice scope on it, so he raised the gun and peered through the scope, scanning the edge of town.

  It didn’t take long to spot them. Four people in heavy coats marching down the street south of the town hall. They each had large backpacks hanging from their shoulders, and each one carried a rifle. He recognized one of them by her build: Officer Pam Grasier. They seemed to be headed somewhere in particular. Greg didn’t see Eustace among them—none of them were quite large enough—but he figured they could lead him to the man.

  Okay, scumbags, lead me to the enemy, he thought, lowering the rifle. Let’s get this over with so we can all move on with our lives. What do you say?

  He moved as quietly and cautiously as he could, staying deep within the woods. Fortunately, they were talking loudly enough that he kept hearing their voices. The sound served as a beacon, keeping him moving in the right direction. It soon became clear that they were actually headed out of town to the south. For some reason, they avoided the main road, sticking to what looked like a well-worn path in the trees due south of the town hall.

  Greg caught a final glimpse of them as they disappeared through the trees in that direction. He waited until they were far enough that they wouldn’t hear his approach, then he crept after them. The path had been walked so many times that there was a clear and obvious trail through the snow, which made it easy to follow. He could also see the tracks of wheels, horse hooves, and drag marks.

  Another hundred yards beyond the south edge of town, he came upon a familiar sight. A large rectangular building surrounded by a parking lot. The grocery distribution business had been the largest employer in the area prior to the loss of power. Greg raised the rifle scope again to peer at the building.

  The tracks led across the snowy parking lot to a single metal door in the side of the building. As Greg watched, the four people approached the door and knocked. After a moment, it swung open and for a second, he caught a brief glimpse of a large figure inside the building dressed in red flannel.

  There you are, Greg thought. I found you.

  It was already midmorning now, and the bright sunlight made him feel increasingly exposed, even though he was crouching behind a large bush.

  Now is not the time, he told himself. He’s secure inside that building, but I know where to find him. Now, I just need to wait for the right time to take him out.

  Still, he lingered, gazing through the scope at the door, as the four cronies stepped inside.

  Just a little longer, Eustace. With any luck, you’ll never see it coming.

  8

  It was enough. Knowing now where Eustace was holed up gave him just enough new information that he felt like the long hike hadn’t been a waste. Even better, he could now begin planning a proper ambush. A well-planned execution would be much better, safer, and more certain than simply traipsing off across town with a rifle and hoping for the best.

  Buddy, your days are numbered, he thought, as he picked his way back toward the ranch. The moment you came against my family, you sealed your fate. It’s a shame Tuck didn’t get the job done, but I’ll gladly finish it for him.

  After another hour, he reached the dirt road again, following it but keeping to the trees as he made his way back home. Just before he came in sight of the fence, he inadvertently startled a pheasant, which burst from some bushes and flew off in a low arc across the road. Greg brought the rifle up, aimed, and fired. He missed, but the bird landed not too far away, so he aimed again. The second shot hit the bird right in the neck, and Greg rushed to retrieve it. When he picked up the carcass, he realized he’d blasted its head off. The SIG ammunition was a bit too powerful for such a small target.

  At least it would provide some cover for the real purpose of his trip. It wasn’t a large pheasant, and he fully expected to be mocked for it. Still, when he finally passed through the gate and latched it behind him, he found Tabitha and Marion sitting together on the porch, rocking and chatting. Greg had the little pheasant dangling from his left hand, and he held it up to show them.

  “You were out there for more than two hours,” Tabitha said, “and that’s all you got to show for it? One little old bird? I was hoping for venison.”

  “It wasn’t a good day for deer,” he replied. “Maybe the mountain lion scared them off.”

  “Well, let’s hope they come back soon,” Tabitha said, rising from her chair. “That pheasant won’t be more than a snack, but I guess I can use it to liven up some of our staples. I’ll figure something out. Did you at least check the fish traps in the stream?”

  “No, it slipped my mind. They probably need more time anyway.”

  As he came up the steps, she took the pheasant from him and examined it. It was just a common pheasant, a mottled brown hen, with perhaps three good bites of meat in total. Greg tried to hide his embarrassment as he stepped around Tabitha and embraced his wife.

  If they knew I’d spent most of that time tracking down and spying on Eustace, they would both give me hell, he thought. He hoped the guilt he felt didn’t show on his face.

  “You took Horace’s fancy sniper rifle to hunt deer?” Marion said with a little laugh. “The Remington wasn’t good enough? What exactly were you hoping to find out there?”

  “Horace offered it,” Greg said—not an untruth. “I didn’t want to say no. It’s a nice rifle. Feels sort of fancy lugging it around.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing we don’t depend on hunting for our food,” Tabitha said, heading inside with the bird. “We’d starve.”

  “We’re fine on supplies,” Greg replied as he followed her through the door. “If we had to depend on hunting, I’d try a lot harder. Maybe I was just distracted. Can’t a guy roam out in the wilderness for a couple of hours with his gun and his thoughts?”

  His mother turned and gave him a withering look. “Your gun and your thoughts, huh? Well, next time think about shooting a deer instead of blowing the head off a hen.”

  “You got it,” he replied with a sheepish shrug. “You want me to clean and dress it?”

  “Nope, I’d like to do it myself,” she replied. “I know I picked on you, but we haven’t had any sort of fowl meat in a while. I’m rather looking forward to it.”

&nb
sp; “Too bad you didn’t get a few of them,” Marion said. “It’d make a nice change from all that salted beef.”

  Marion followed Tabitha into the kitchen, which left Greg standing alone in the living room. He assumed Horace was in his room—they’d given him the master bedroom on the first floor behind the den, mostly so he didn’t have to worry about the stairs. Greg didn’t want to wake him, so he set the safety on the old man’s rifle and gently laid it on the mantel above the fireplace. He could feel the guilt at lying to his family crawling all over him, yet they seemed to have readily accepted the lie. If he’d said or done anything, or if there was anything weird in his expression, they didn’t seem to have noticed.

  His family’s acceptance of the lie made him feel just a little bit better about the whole situation. Yet he was still restless, ready to put it all behind him. He needed to make a move on Eustace, though he knew he had to create a plan and wait for the right time. Lost in thought, he happened to turn around and notice Emma sitting at the dining room table. She had a small notebook open in front of her, and it looked like she was in the middle of sketching some plans—another self-appointed project, perhaps. However, at the moment she was staring at him fixedly with narrowed eyes.

  Maybe I spoke too soon.

  “Hey there, kiddo,” he said. “What are you working on over there?”

  “Oh, just some ideas,” she replied, finally looking back at her notebook. “For stuff around the ranch.”

  “Great.”

  “Why are you just standing there like that?” she added, as she resumed scribbling in her notebook. “Is something wrong?”

  “I guess…I’m just disappointed I didn’t do better this morning,” he added.

  “Oh,” Emma said. “You looked weirdly excited about something for a second.”

  “Just thinking about future hunts,” he said.