“We’ll see if James keeps his word,” Greg replied. “A horse-drawn wagon will make it a whole lot easier. Let’s just wait and see. Not much more we can do.”
The person on the platform rose now, and he saw it was Marion. She leaned against the handrail, raising a hand to them. Greg returned the greeting. He could tell she was crying, and she wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve as she lowered herself onto the ladder. She reached the gate before them, unlatching it and sliding it open. Tabitha and Horace were both on the porch, and they made their way down the steps to join them.
A tearful reunion occurred just beyond the gate. Emma and Marion wept, hugging each other. Then Tabitha joined them, pulling Darryl into the circle. Greg stood off to one side. Beneath his coat, he was soaked with sweat, and he reeked of smoke. More than that, he dreaded having to break the news to the others about his deal with James. Victory had come at a heavy cost.
“Tell me they’re dead,” Tabitha said. “Tell me you got rid of those awful men.”
“Eustace is dead…” Greg said. And then he added “…and that former cop. Pam Grasier.” No, he didn’t like thinking about her. The last image of her, gurgling on the carpet with a hole beneath her eye, would haunt his dreams.
“And the others?” Tabitha asked.
“We’ll talk about it in a minute,” he said.
Marion noticed that he’d avoided the group hug then, and she reached out, snagging his sleeve and dragging him toward the circle. He gave in, but he noticed that Horace stopped well clear of them. He, at least, was not going to be dragged into the embrace.
Justine must have heard the commotion, as she appeared at the front door then. Seeing the group beside the gate, she rushed forward, leapt down the porch steps, and hurried to join them. However, when she reached the group, she worked her way through the net of arms and bodies until she got to Darryl. Then she folded herself against his chest and buried her face against his neck.
“I can’t believe it’s over,” Marion said.
“The worst is behind us,” Greg said, “but it’s not quite over.”
“What does that mean?”
Greg sighed. “Maybe we’d better stop the hugging and reconvene in the dining room. There’s something we have to discuss.”
He managed to pull free, though both Marion and Tabitha gave him questioning looks. Yes, they could tell it was bad news. As Greg headed for the porch, Horace Bouchard reached out and briefly clutched his arm.
“Not too bad, I hope,” he said.
Greg didn’t know how to respond to this, so he kept going, trudging up the steps. As he stepped inside, he realized just how exhausted he was. His whole body ached with fatigue. He pulled Pam Grasier’s pistol out of the coat pocket and slid it onto the mantel above the fireplace. Even that small action made his arms and shoulders cry out.
Worse than the physical exhaustion was the mental and emotional exhaustion. All the weeks of secrets, of sneaking around, of thinking and planning assassinations constantly, had finally caught up to him. He could scarcely think straight, yet the hard work wasn’t done yet. He unzipped his coat and just managed to snag it on the coat rack in passing as he headed for the dining room. Boots came off halfway across the living room, gloves wound up on the couch, and his toque landed in a corner on the floor. He sat down at the head of the table, dragging his hands through his sweat-clumped hair, and waited for the others.
They trickled in slowly, each looking at him warily as they approached the dining room. Emma and Darryl dumped coats, boots, gloves, and hats as they came, and Tabitha said nothing about most of these things winding up on her floor. Darryl put the Remington in a corner beside the couch, though Horace came along behind him and picked it up, taking it to its shelf—not an easy feat, since he was using his crutch.
“Horace, I owe you a big apology,” Greg said. “I had to leave the SIG behind. It’s sitting on the floor in the front office of the warehouse, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to retrieve it. Somehow, I’ll make it up to you.”
Horace didn’t visibly react as he shuffled across the living room. Marion took the seat directly across from Greg, Tabitha beside her. Darryl, Justine, and Emma sat together on one side of the table, and Horace joined them last, sitting near Greg.
“Okay, Greg, tell us what’s going on?” Horace said. “Seems like things turned out good. Everyone came back alive and well. What’s the catch? I’m guessing it’s the reason my SIG is lost.”
Every eye was on him now. Emma and Darryl knew what was coming, of course, and he could see the anxiety in their eyes. After all they’d done to protect the ranch, to build it up, to guard it, how could he tell them now that they had to let it all go. Greg really wanted a hot cup of tea, but he didn’t want to kill any more time.
“I didn’t kill Eustace Simpson,” he said, anxiously drumming his fingers on the tabletop. He couldn’t meet the eyes of his wife or mother, so he stared at a little plastic flower arrangement that sat in the center of the table. “His own right-hand man, James Teagan, did it. Eustace had the upper hand. He could have…he could have killed me and Emma, but James turned on him. Shot him right out of the blue, right in front of us, and talked all of the other men into switching leaders. Eustace lived long enough to realize the betrayal and died a bitter death.”
He could tell by the way Marion, Tabitha, and Horace all suddenly leaned back in their chairs that this news shocked them. Justine leaned into Darryl, and he put his arms around her.
“But James refused to harm Emma,” Greg continued. “Furthermore, he promised that we would be left in peace…on one condition.”
“Don’t say it,” Tabitha muttered. Yes, she must have sensed what was coming.
“He’s going to send a horse-drawn wagon to the ranch in a couple of days,” Greg said. “We’re to pack up and leave the Glenvell area, abandon the ranch. We can take all of our personal possessions, but the buildings have to remain intact, and…” He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “We’re to leave half the herd. In exchange, we’ll have no more problems from his gang. That’s his promise.”
He held his hands up and left it at that, letting the words sink in. He could see each person struggling with it, their faces shifting as they ran through various emotions.
“That’s his promise, is it?” Tabitha echoed softly, a bitter half-smile on her face.
Horace suddenly made a fist and pounded it on the table. “He thinks he can just get away with taking our home? No, no, that’s unacceptable. It’s the same offer he made outside the fence. I told you people I should have shot him then.”
“No, if you’d killed James, we would still be dealing with Eustace,” Greg said, “and our situation would be a lot worse. Eustace wanted revenge. He never would’ve left us in peace, even if we’d given him the ranch.”
“Revenge for that?” Tabitha said with a derisive laugh. “He’s the one that killed Tuck. We never did anything to him.”
“Well, it turns out, Tuck shot him in the left arm,” Greg said, “and the wound had begun to rot. I guess, in his book, that was unfair and demanded justice. Also…you know, there was the whole lawyer business. Technically, I was planning to sue his company for violating environmental regulations.”
“I’m glad Tuck shot him,” Tabitha said. “I wish he’d died from the infection.”
Marion raised both of her hands then, waving at them to draw attention to the other end of the table. Horace seemed on the verge of saying something else, but he grunted and turned toward her. Only when she had everyone’s undivided attention did she lower her hands, folding them on the tabletop. Greg could tell by the look in her eye, the tightness around her lips, that she was about to share something she felt very deeply. He wouldn’t dare interrupt.
“I keep thinking about what James said to us,” she said. “What price are we willing to pay to hold on to the ranch?”
Horace shook his head. “This is our home. We have to protect it.”
“No,” Marion added. “The ranch is not our home. This is our home.” She made a circle with her hand, taking in the people sitting around the table. “Will we sacrifice anyone sitting here to hold on to the property?”
To this, Horace bowed his head, gnarled hands pressed against the edge of the table. “I wouldn’t sacrifice any of you,” he said, softly. “You’re all closer to me than my own kin ever were.”
“What’s a home without family?” Greg added. “I suppose you’re right, Marion. Home is wherever we are together.”
After this, everyone fell silent. The weight of the decision lay heavy in the room. All the work they’d done to the ranch, all the sweat and tears they’d poured into making it a safe place to live—could they really just walk away? Greg felt an obligation to break the silence. He had to suggest a destination. He owed his family that, at least, but he couldn’t think of what to say.
Surprisingly, it was Darryl who spoke next. He was still holding Justine, gently stroking her hair, when he said, “How far away is the old hunting cabin, Grandma? Could the cattle make it there?”
She seemed sad, her old leathery skin hanging down, as if she’d been partially deflated. “It’s not close,” she said, then quickly added, “but I think it’s worth trying for. What other choice do we have? I have more stake in this place than any of you. Tuck and I built it together. Hell, he’s buried here. But if I have to choose between my loved ones and this old place, there’s no debate. I choose all of you. If Eustace was behind the offer, I wouldn’t trust it. I’d say we stay and fight. But James killing Eustace is kind of like a down payment on his promise. I say we pack up and go to the cabin, try to make a new home there.” She looked first at Marion then at Greg.
“The matriarch has spoken,” Greg said. “I think that settles it. We pack up and head out in three days. And anytime we’re tempted to regret what we’re leaving behind, we’ll remind ourselves how fortunate we are that Emma came back to us alive and well.”
He could feel the fog in his mind. The decision was made, and he had nothing left to say. Pushing back his chair, he rose, wincing at the soreness and fatigue that moved through every limb. Without another word, he left the dining room and headed across the living room, intending to march upstairs and go to bed for a very long time.
Morning seemed brighter than usual, even with a mountain of tightly-packed crates lined up along the fence beside the open gate. As Greg lugged a big box of clothes down the porch stairs, he saw Darryl and Justine pushing the old handcart, lugging a crate full of the last good tools from Tuck’s shed. They’d left some rusty junk as a bonus prize for James and his men.
Tabitha and Marion were leading the cows across the yard. They were all tied together with a series of lead lines, eighteen cows, half the herd. They’d selected the healthiest among the herd, those who were most likely to endure the long trip. Still, Tabitha had been in a dark mood all morning, speaking little. Despite her decision, she was clearly feeling the loss now.
Fortunately, true to his word, James had instructed some locals to deliver a large covered wagon drawn by a couple of draft horses. It wouldn’t be enough for all of their stuff. The wagon was big, but it had to fit the people, food, and clean water above all. That meant a lot of things were being abandoned: almost the entirely library in the den, furniture, much of the cured meat, the large equipment in the barn—too much to think about.
Greg set the box of clothes on the stack. Through the open gate, he saw Darryl, Horace, and Justine loading up the wagon. Greg went to help them. When he drew near, he heard Darryl lamenting the loss to Justine.
“It’s just that I worked so hard on that greenhouse,” he was saying, “and now those losers get to use it. All the vegetables were going to be for the baby.”
“Just stop thinking about it,” Justine replied, pushing a plastic tub full of cured meat into a far corner of the wagon. “We’ll build another greenhouse. We’ll build another everything at the new place. It’ll give everyone plenty to do. This situation is safer for the baby, and you said yourself that’s what matters.”
It took a couple of hours to get the wagon loaded up. In the end, they had to leave about half the boxes they’d lined up beside the fence. There just wasn’t room. The wagon had a single bench down the middle for riders, which left space along the sideboards for their personal items. Clothes, food, barrels of fresh water, essential tools and equipment took up most of the room. Each person was allowed to bring one bag or box of their most cherished possessions. Greg had his backpack filled with ammunition, knives, small tools, and a couple of family photo albums. As he climbed onto the driver’s seat, he set the backpack beside him.
Tabitha and Marion sat with him on the driver’s seat. The others found spots on the bench in back. The wagon looked quite old, and it had clearly been repaired many times over the years. When Greg flicked the reins and the draft horses began to move, he felt it creaking and groaning beneath him. The deep snow did little to cushion the wheels as he set out toward the driveway.
As they pulled away, Greg glanced over his shoulder into the back of the wagon. He saw Emma sitting at the front of the bench, her backpack in her lap. She’d made sure to bring her favorite books, and the corner of one of them poked out of the big pocket. Behind her, Darryl and Justine sat close together, holding each other. Horace was in the very back, holding the Remington and staring out behind them, as if guarding their rear flank.
In that moment, seeing all these people that he cared about so much, Greg felt the heaviness drop away. His gaze shifted from the people to the line of cattle strung along behind the wagon. Then he saw the fence, the open gate, a corner of the porch, the big tree in the southwest corner with the lookout platform.
“It’s weird,” he said to Marion. “This place has been home for so long and yet…I don’t know. All of a sudden, I’m not all that sad to be leaving it behind. In a weird way, I’m relieved.”
“It’s just a place,” Marion replied. “Home is family. As long as we’re all together, then we’re home.”
Greg tugged on the reins, moving the horses toward the gap in the trees that would eventually bring them out onto the open road. There was a safe path to the hunting cabin a couple of miles north of Glenvell. Marion was right, of course, but he finally felt it. He turned back around, determined not to look at the ranch again. He didn’t need to. He could let it all go.
“We’ve done this before,” Tabitha said. Of all people, she had not looked back once, and she pointedly did not do so now. “We can do it again, as long as we’re together.”
And with that, the trees at the end of the driveway seemed to close in behind them, like curtains shutting out their old life.
Epilogue
James let Eustace’s body lay in the snow all day and night. He had no intention of burying the man. Let fresh snowfall do that the next time it decided to fall. None of the other men bothered with it either. If anything, they seemed relieved that the old blowhard was gone. Pam Grasier, on the other hand, had been professional enough that James figured she deserved a modicum of respect.
He had the men dig a grave for her the following morning, selecting a spot in the woods east of the back parking lot. They only managed to get about three feet into the frozen soil before the shovels cracked.
As for Pam’s body, they wrapped it in a filthy tarp, laid it in the shallow grave, dumped some lime and gravel in with her, then covered it with dirt as best they could.
“What about a grave marker?” Benny asked.
“That’s up to you guys,” James said, standing at the foot of the grave. “Pam won’t know the difference, and her family wasn’t local, as far as I know. Do what you want, just hurry up. We’ve got work to do this afternoon. Leave here in an hour and head for the new property. I’ll meet you there.”
And with that, he turned and left his guys standing around the grave, glancing at each other uncertainly. Eustace hadn’t been one to let his men make decision
s on their own. They hardly seemed to know what to do. James, on the other hand, knew the illusion of autonomy made men more obedient. As he crossed the parking lot, he glanced back and saw a couple of the guys hoisting a large rock to the head of the grave.
He’d really had to throw his weight around to get the locals to give up the wagon and draft horses, but it was done. He figured it was worth any problems it might create as long as it got the Healys out of town. The money would be repaid to the wagon’s owners—or not. Whatever. James walked along the north side of the warehouse. They’d lost almost half the building, and most of their accumulated supplies, but it would all be replaced and repaired. With Eustace out of the way, James could really turn this whole community into a well-oiled machine, as he had now removed every threat.
Now, I can really create something stable and secure, he thought, as he moved toward the front of the building. And lucrative.
It was time to see if his plan had worked. The ranch was prime real estate, wide open grassland close to fresh water. At the thought of having free access to all those buildings, the fence and barn, the shed, the cattle, the greenhouse, he was almost giddy—if he’d had the capacity for such emotion. As he rounded the front of the building, he saw one of the locals waiting for him there. The man’s name was Albert, and he’d formerly run the little gas station in town. At the moment, he was sitting astride a small bay mare, stroking the animal’s neck and looking quite bored.
“And?” James said, approaching him. “How did it go?”
“What?” Albert replied. “The grandmother met me at the gate, and we left the wagon there. Looked like they’d already been packing up.”
“Good,” James said. He motioned for the man to get down out of the saddle. “Wait here. My men will compensate you. I need to head out there and check on the place.”
“Are you serious?” Albert replied. The poor man had lost quite a bit of weight since the EMP. All of the stock from his store had initially been forcibly taken by the former mayor of Glenvell, and what was left of it was now in the warehouse, mostly ruined by smoke. Albert’s clothes were all too big, ill-fitting. “I have to wait here?”
EMP: Return of the Wild West Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 48
