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

by Hamilton, Grace

  Dad was the safest choice. Darryl’s dad was just oblivious enough that he might not notice or care if Darryl was acting a little bit strange.

  That settles it, then, he thought. Thanks, Dad, for being just a little bit dense.

  12

  It was hard work, and Darryl thoroughly enjoyed it. To bend all his attention and mental energy to a difficult and exhausting task was a gift. He didn’t have to wander and worry, try to avoid curious family members, and at the same time, he was directly building a future for Justine and the baby. Every scoop of the snow shovel was part of his effort to take care of them. Never had menial labor taken on such profound purpose, and it made him feel proud.

  He began at the door, clearing snow and cutting down the biggest of the plants which had grown up in front of it. Then he worked his way through the building. It wasn’t a big building, maybe three meters wide by three-and-a-half meters long. He went in rows, shoveling snow from front to back and depositing it all by the woods. Along the way, he uncovered old panes of glass, strange debris that might have been garden stakes or rotted tools, and even some animal bones. Had a few more critters been squished by falling glass? That thought made Darryl glance up to ensure no wobbly panes were on the verge of dropping onto his head.

  Some of the panes of glass were broken—at least two by his own footsteps. He assumed glass would be hard to come by, but he figured he could fill the gaps with plastic bags or old tarps.

  I will make it work, no matter what, he told himself.

  Shoveling out the entire building took at least two hours, but when he was done, the transformation was dramatic. It was so much easier to imagine the completed building. Now came the trickier work of restoring the windows and plugging the gaps. For that, he needed help, so he headed back to the house to find his father.

  He found Greg scrubbing the grill with a metal brush on the porch, bent over his work with a scowl on his face. Dad had been as distracted and lost in his thoughts lately as Darryl. What in the heck could he possibly have to worry about? The stolen cow, perhaps, but was it really such a big deal? Maybe he was still feeling bad about what had happened on the trek out of the mountains. Tuck’s death had hit him hard, and he’d been furious about Emma getting shot, even though she had recovered well from the wound to her leg.

  “Hey, Dad,” Darryl said, approaching the porch from the open gate. “I could use your help with the old greenhouse.”

  Dad didn’t respond at all, didn’t even look up from the grill, and his lips were moving as if he were talking to himself under his breath. Darryl walked right up to the porch railing, pulled off his glove, and rapped on the side of the grill. This seemed to startle Greg, who slammed the grill lid shut and looked up.

  “Yes, what is it?” he asked. “What?”

  “I need your help,” Darryl replied. “I know you’re distracted. That’s fine. You don’t have to talk about anything. I just need your help with a project today.”

  Greg gave him a confused look and said, “What project is this?”

  “A project way out on the far side of the ranch,” Darryl replied. “Where nobody will bother you or try to figure out why you don’t want to talk to anyone or what’s really bothering you.”

  The confused look quickly became a frown, and his father said, “I don’t know what you’re referring to. Nobody is bothering me.”

  “Personally, I’d just rather do some work and not having people wondering why I don’t want to talk,” Darryl said. “It’s okay to be lost in my own thoughts and not have, like, Emma staring at me. But maybe you don’t feel the same way. Still, I could use your help. It’s up to you, Dad.”

  The frown twisted into something so strange that Darryl knew he had him.

  “Anyway, I’m going to go work in peace,” Darryl said, turning to leave.

  “I don’t know why you’re being so weird about it,” Greg said, setting the wire brush on top of the grill. “If you really need help with your project, I’ll help. Let’s go.”

  Darryl made sure his father didn’t see the smug look on his face. He’d set out the bait and pulled him right in. Yes, his father was worrying about something he didn’t want to talk about, just like Darryl. Now, it was confirmed. While Darryl was somewhat curious, he had a big enough worry of his own. He would respect his father’s secrecy and let him deal with it at his own pace.

  And, hopefully, he will do the same for me in return, he thought.

  They rounded up some tarps, nails, caulking, scraps of wood, a ladder, and the big toolbox, pushing it all in a wheelbarrow to the far east side of the ranch. Darryl was as good as his word. He didn’t ask his father a single question or attempt to engage him in conversation. They only exchanged words when absolutely necessary in order to coordinate work. Strangely, it felt like a curious form of father/son bonding.

  Getting the wheelbarrow to the greenhouse took quite a bit of effort, as it became a kind of makeshift snowplow. Darryl started out pushing it, but once they were beyond the gate, Greg took the handles from him without a word and began powering his way through the snow. Upon arriving, they set to work immediately. Fortunately, Darryl’s father had a better sense of how to repair the building.

  They replaced as many of the fallen window panes as they could, sealing them in place with caulking and, in some instances, repairing and reinforcing the frames around them. Once they ran out of unbroken window panes, they filled the remaining gaps with pieces cut from plastic tarps, pulling them taut and securing them in place around the frames.

  Though the tarps didn’t work as windows, once all of the holes were covered, Darryl noticed an almost immediate rise in temperature. When they pulled the old door back into the doorframe, this only intensified. The late morning sun was shining brightly through the roof, and Darryl felt the first sheen of sweat on his forehead and cheeks.

  “Wow, it really works,” he said. “This is nice.”

  His father pulled his toque off and pushed his sweaty blond hair back from his forehead. “Yes, greenhouses work,” he said, and seemed on the verge of laughing. “That’s why people have used them for centuries.”

  “Nice sarcasm, Dad,” Darryl replied.

  “Thanks. I save my best sarcasm for you.”

  At this, they smiled at each other, and Darryl felt a wonderful connection with his father. It was great. They were working side by side as equals, neither probing, questioning, or peering into each other’s secret worries.

  “You must have been pretty young when this greenhouse was in good condition,” Darryl said.

  “My parents built this place when I was seventeen or eighteen,” Greg replied, picking up some large pieces of broken windowpanes and setting them in the wheelbarrow. “I can’t remember for sure.”

  “Wow, so you must have worked in here with Grandpa sometimes,” Darryl said, returning tools to the toolbox. “He would be really proud to see you fixing it up again. That’s cool, Dad.”

  At this, Greg only grunted, and Darryl felt an immediate shift in his mood. He tried to ignore it as he continued picking up the tools, but his father rose, dusted off his hands, and pulled his toque back on.

  “Well, I think this is enough for today,” he said. He wouldn’t look at Darryl. “I’ve got a lot of other things to do. Can you handle it from here?”

  “I guess so,” Darryl replied.

  “Good.” Greg turned to leave. “Might as well keep the wheelbarrow and tools in here for now.”

  And with that, he pulled the door out of the frame, set it aside, and headed outside. Darryl watched him go, suppressing an urge to say something biting. Had a single reference to Grandpa really killed the mood so completely? Dad was a mess.

  What the heck is going on in your head, old man? Darryl wondered. Maybe I don’t even want to know.

  As he stood there seething, he heard a soft whistling. When he looked for the source, he saw one of the panes his father had replaced sliding out of the frame. It felt to the ground, hit some
of the debris on the ground, and cracked into pieces.

  “Quality work there, Dad,” Darryl grumbled. He stooped down and picked up the pieces, tossing them into the wheelbarrow.

  Over the next hour or so, Darryl went back and examined all of the work his father had done, finding much of it subpar. Window panes had been shoddily installed, many of them on the verge of falling out. Darryl went to work fixing all of his dad’s mistakes, using duct tape to reinforce the caulking and strengthening the shoddy frames, fighting a rising tide of bitterness. Why had he asked the old man to help him in the first place if he was just going to give it minimal effort?

  Well, so much for the father/son bonding, he thought. I should have kept a closer eye on him while he was working.

  Darryl was in the middle of fixing part of the metal framework, balanced on top of a ladder, when he heard someone moving below him. He carefully repositioned himself on the ladder and looked down. To his surprise, he saw his sister, Emma, stepping through the door. She had the Back to Basics book tucked under her arm.

  “I just saw Dad,” she said. “He said you guys were basically done on the repairs, but it looks like there’s still quite a bit of work to do.”

  “Oh, he said we were basically done, did he?” Darryl replied, as he resumed his work. “Interesting.”

  “It doesn’t look like you’re done,” she continued. “Not even close.”

  Darryl grunted in disgust and set his tools down on top of the ladder. He was just annoyed enough with his father that he didn’t feel like protecting him. “Nope, we’re not done. Actually, I’m redoing a bunch of the work Dad did. I’m surprised at him. It’s like he was barely paying attention to what he was doing. Well, that’s what I get for asking him to help me.”

  He descended the ladder and shifted it a few feet to the right, positioning it beneath another one of the panes his father had replaced.

  “I’m not surprised,” Emma said. “You haven’t noticed how weird he’s been acting lately?”

  Darryl didn’t want to look at her, lest she see the same weirdness on his own face. “Yeah, his heart definitely wasn’t in the work. Let’s put it that way.”

  “He was in a bad mood on your birthday,” she said, “but it got a whole lot worse after the cow got taken. That’s when he completely shut down. It’s like he’s just focused on that one thing, you know?”

  “I don’t know why the loss of a single cow is such a big deal,” Darryl replied. “Yeah, it’s frustrating, but we’ll be fine. Let the old man mope. What does it matter?”

  “I’ve seen him like this before,” Emma said.

  Darryl started to climb the ladder again, but he turned and sat down on the lowest step instead. “When?”

  “Out in the woods. After Eustace turned against us.”

  Darryl dared to look at her and saw that his sister was pacing in front of the door. She’d taken the book out from under her arm, and she was idly waving it back and forth.

  “Either he’s planning something,” she said, “or he saw something really bad, and he doesn’t want to tell us what it is. Or both. That’s what I think.”

  “Well, I wasn’t in the woods with you,” Darryl replied, putting his head in his hands, “but maybe you’re right. I haven’t been paying enough attention to him, but he’s definitely hiding something.”

  “Should we force him to tell us?” Emma said.

  “No,” Darryl said with a sigh. “Sometimes, people just need their privacy for a while, and pushing them will only make it worse.”

  13

  Greg found Horace Bouchard sitting up in bed. That, at least, was an improvement. The old veteran had a cup of hot tea steaming on the nightstand beside the bed, a big book on world history opened on his lap. Horace seemed quite fond of his proximity to all the bookshelves in the den, and he often spent his quiet hours reading.

  He had a crumpled handkerchief stuffed into the breast pocket of his shirt. Otherwise, he looked like he was on the mend. He’d even combed his wispy hair and trimmed his beard.

  “Hey there, sir, how are you feeling this morning?” Greg asked, standing in the doorway.

  “Give me another day, chief, and I’ll be back out there building fencing and feeding cows,” Horace replied, closing the book but using his thumb to hold his place. “I’m not much one for laying around. This is the pits.”

  “I know it’s not fun, but don’t rush it,” Greg said. “Take your time. You want to be back to a hundred percent before you go tromping around in the snow again. Doctor’s orders.”

  “You got it.” Horace gave him a little salute.

  “Hey, I just wanted to ask your permission to take your rifle out with me again today,” Greg said. “I used it the other day to go hunting, so I guess I’m asking for retroactive permission as well. It’s got a nicer scope than the Remington.”

  In truth, he was only asking on the off chance Horace might go looking for the rifle to clean it and find out it was missing. That, in turn, could lead to awkward conversations with other family members, and Greg didn’t need that right now. He didn’t need any more scrutiny. Darryl clearly knew something was up, and if Darryl knew, others probably did as well. It was time to act. Once it was done, Greg could explain everything to everyone.

  “That’s a high-powered rifle,” Horace said. “You planning to blow the heads off more pheasants? If you’re hunting small game, you might use a rifle with a smaller caliber bullet. You don’t want to damage the meat.”

  “I’m hoping to find some deer or even elk,” Greg said. “Sorry if you had your heart set on pheasant.”

  “Fresh venison sounds excellent,” Horace said. “Help yourself to the gun. In fact, you can use the SIG anytime you want. You don’t have to ask. I know you’ll take good care of it. Have a great time, Greg. I’d join you if I was feeling up to it.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  And with that, Greg left the room, gently shutting the bedroom door behind him. He headed into the living room and retrieved the SIG from the mantel above the fireplace, exactly where he’d left it the other day after tracking Eustace to the warehouse. It really was a beautiful gun. Though it was a bolt-action rifle, which meant he wouldn’t be able to pump out shots quite as fast, he figured it was better for long-range shooting. And if he was going to snipe Eustace Simpson, he wanted plenty of distance between them.

  They kept boxes of ammunition on a shelf in the coat closet, and Greg grabbed a box of 6.5mm Creedmoor bullets—high-density ammo that was perfect for long-range game hunting. He loaded the rifle’s magazine, then loaded an extra magazine and shoved it in his coat pocket. He didn’t expect to need that many bullets, but he wanted to be prepared for any opportunity. If he got a chance to take a clean shot at Eustace, he was going to go for it.

  Greg slung the rifle strap over his shoulder. As he shut the coat closet and turned to leave, he saw his wife standing in the dining room door, a dusty towel dangling from her right hand.

  “Hey there, honey, I’m going out hunting for a little while,” he said, averting his eyes. He didn’t want her to notice the bloodthirst in his gaze. Technically, he hadn’t lied. He was indeed going out hunting, but he had one specific prey in mind.

  “You spent hours out there last time and didn’t bring back much,” she replied. “Are you sure it’s worth it? Maybe all the snow has driven the game deeper into the woods.”

  He couldn’t tell if there was suspicion behind her words or not, but he felt a twinge of guilt. So much lying. She was going to be furious when he finally told her the truth, but it had to be done. Eustace Simpson couldn’t be left alone to scheme, and Greg knew if he shared his plan with her, she would oppose it.

  You’re not being deceptive if you actually do a bit of real hunting, he told him. Bring back a real deer, make killing Eustace a side quest, and then it’ll all be fine.

  “This time, I’ll make it worthwhile,” he said. “You’ll see.”

  She crossed the living
room and gave him a hug, which he returned, though it made the guilt surge.

  “Be safe out there,” she said.

  “I will.”

  The doubt and guilt were going to quickly smother him—he could feel it—so he stepped outside, shut the door behind him, and hurried to the gate. As soon as he passed through the gate, he heard the rattle and clank of the wheelbarrow being pushed through the snow. Darryl and Emma shortly appeared, coming from around the corner along the now well-worn path to the old greenhouse. He immediately locked eyes with Darryl, and he could tell that his son knew something was up.

  “I’m going hunting for a little while,” Greg said. “I’ll bring back a deer for some fresh venison. How does that sound?”

  “If you say so, Dad,” Darryl replied, as he picked up the handles and resumed pushing the wheelbarrow. “Watch yourself out there.”

  As Darryl headed for the gate, Emma lingered. She looked like she was on the verge of saying something.

  Too many secrets, Greg thought. It’s not good for the family. I have to finish this task quickly so we can get back to normal.

  “You really like Horace’s rifle, don’t you?” Emma said, after a moment.

  “It’s good at long range,” he replied. “Anyway, I’ll be back before dinner. Take care, Emma.”

  “Of course. Watch out for the mountain lions. And bandits.”

  “You got it, kiddo.”

  And with that, he strode past her and hurried toward the trees. He could sense that she was staring hard at his back, but he kept going until he was out of sight of the house in the tangle of trees and undergrowth.

  It will all be back to normal soon, he told himself. Everything’s going to be fine once I’ve taken care of business. We can put this whole Eustace business behind us and get on with our lives.

  He adjusted the strap of the rifle on his shoulder and began working his way through the woods, headed toward the back road. He hadn’t gone far, maybe a couple hundred meters, when he heard something moving in the distance. Squatting beside a tree, he unshouldered the rifle and lifted the scope to his eye. It took a few seconds, but finally he spotted it. A buck standing in the middle of the snowy road, staring off in another direction—like an answer to a prayer he hadn’t prayed.