He picked up the lid, shook a few loose rocks off of it, and turned it over. And there was the name, scratched into the wood. It appeared to have been hastily scrawled. The letters were crooked and uneven, but clear: Tabitha Healy. For a few seconds, Greg just stared at it, numb. Then he found it hard to breathe, as if the air in his lungs had begun to solidify. The makeshift grave marker fell from his hands and clattered on the rocks.
A cairn, he thought. That’s what it is. A cairn for my mother. And now both of my parents are dead.
The heaviness inside of him spread through his whole body, until he felt pressed down, crushed by the weight of it. He bent over, pressing his hands to his thighs to keep from collapsing. What at first had been a great wave of grief crashing over him quickly turned to panic. They’d hastily buried Tabitha here in the middle of nowhere instead of taking the body with them to the cabin. That meant they’d been in a hurry. On top of that, there were strange prints all around the cairn, which almost certainly meant the bandits had also been present.
“Bad news, pal?” Daniel said.
There was nothing mocking in the tone of his voice, but the question annoyed Greg anyway. He clamped his eyes shut and fought an urge to unleash all of this terrible heaviness in the captive’s direction. What if the bandits had killed Tabitha? It was at least a possibility. What if they’d killed her, given the rest of the family a few minutes to hastily bury her, then dragged them all off somewhere?
“I have to find them now, right now,” he said. “I hope you’re ready to run.”
He rose, clamping a hand to his forehead and taking deep breaths to calm himself. Then he opened his eyes, picked up Tabitha’s crude grave marker, and set it on top of the cairn.
Sorry, Mom. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you, he thought.
He turned to Daniel, who was standing with a dumb look on his face, as if he scarcely understood what was going on. Maybe it was the pain in his arm. Or maybe he was still playing the idiot.
“Let’s go,” Greg said, motioning for him to turn around and continue walking. “This is our last push, so give it your all.”
Instead, Daniel’s dumb, glazed-over look suddenly turned into a big smile that seemed to show every tooth in his mouth. His hands came around from his back, the shoelaces falling to the ground in pieces. At the same time, he opened his left hand, and a thin rock fell at his feet. Greg scarcely had a second to make sense of what had happened before Daniel lunged at him.
With his left hand, he batted Greg’s arms aside. With his right hand, he reached for the rifle and tried to pull the strap off his shoulder. In the midst of their struggle, Greg realized the guy must have grabbed the rock when he fell, then used the sharp edge to cut through the shoelaces while Greg’s attention was on his mother.
Daniel managed to grab hold of the gun. Before he could pull it off, Greg lunged forward, throwing his weight against the captive. Daniel was forced backward, stumbling along until his feet slipped. Then they both went down, Greg landing on top of his captive. His shoulder slammed into Daniel’s chest, and the captive unleashed an ear-piercing shriek. Then the momentum carried Greg forward, and he did an awkward somersault, tumbling past Daniel and winding up on his back. The captive continued to shriek, the sound becoming more animal, almost crazed, as Greg rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself off the ground.
Daniel was up already, blood seeping through the crude bandage on his arm. Still making an awful sound in the back of his throat, he stepped to one side, broadening his stance, and raised his right hand. He was holding the rifle.
“Yeah, that’s right, buddy,” he said. “I got it. What do you think about that?”
Blind with rage, scarcely thinking, Greg got his foot beneath him and lunged at Daniel. He came in low, off balance and letting his weight carry him forward. Just before he collided with the other man, he heard the echoing crack of a gunshot. It seemed to come from just behind his head, so loud it hammered into his skull. Then Greg caught him around the torso and shoved him backward. They hit the cairn and fell sideways across it, sliding over the top. In the chaos of limbs and shouting voices, Greg managed to grab the man’s injured right arm, clamping down as hard as he could. Daniel screamed himself hoarse.
“Drop the rifle,” Greg shouted. “Drop it, and I’ll stop hurting you.”
They wound up tangled in a heap on the other side of the cairn, thrashing and kicking. Daniel fired the rifle again, but Greg grabbed the bandage and yanked it, tugging it against the wound.
“I said drop the gun,” Greg said again.
Instead, Daniel flung his head forward and bashed Greg in the mouth with his forehead. Dazed, Greg grabbed the rifle, but Daniel thrashed, working his way out from under him. His vision was blurred by tears, so Greg began punching blindly. The first punch hit the ground, and he felt sharp pain in his already injured knuckles. The second punch hit Daniel in the chest. The third punch, the lucky one, hit the bandaged arm. Finally, there was a loud clatter as the rifle fell and skittered across the ground.
Despite this, Daniel managed to squirm out from under him again. Greg grabbed at him, taking hold of the back of his coat and trying to pull him down. But he heard a zip, and suddenly the coat was falling away. Daniel spun to one side, pulling his arms out of the sleeves. In the process, he pulled the bandage off as well. Greg could see now that the long sleeve underneath was soaked in blood from his shoulder to his forearm.
And then Daniel kicked backward, slamming Greg in the face with the heel of his boot. Sputtering, tasting blood, Greg flopped onto his back, fighting through the pain to make his body move faster.
“I knew you’d try something the second you got your hands loose,” Greg said. His lips hurt when he spoke. It felt like they were swollen again, and the old cut from his near-drowning had split open. “That’s why I didn’t untie you.”
“I untied myself,” Daniel said with a snarl. “I don’t need your mercy anymore.”
As he got to his feet, Greg realized Daniel was going for the rifle again, which had come to rest at the base of a large rock a short distance away. Greg rushed after him, tasting blood on his tongue. Daniel heard him coming and glanced over his shoulder with wild, bloodshot eyes.
“I won’t go back with you,” he snarled. “There’s not going to be a trade. Forget it!”
He kicked the rifle with the side of his boots, sending it flying. It bounced and rolled down the slope. Greg turned his head to follow it, intending to go after it, but Daniel used the distraction to take off running. He headed east, moving parallel to the distant line of trees. His course took him across the broad, rocky ground. Greg went after him, but Daniel was moving fast, taking long strides. Somehow, he’d found some deeper well of strength inside of him.
“You’ll never take me,” he shouted. “I won’t be a bargaining chip!”
Greg did his best to catch up to the man, but the ground was treacherous. Loose rocks kept trying to trip him, and the pain in his face made his eyes water. By now, Daniel was sprinting at full speed, cutting a straight course across the open ground. The land in front of them was wide open, but Greg gradually became aware of a distant low sound. It trembled in the rocks beneath him.
Suddenly, Daniel yelped and came to a stumbling stop. He fell to his knees and slid, grabbing wildly at the ground to arrest his forward momentum. As Greg closed the gap between them, he realized why. Straight ahead, the rocky ground dropped suddenly into a deep ravine. Below, the river gushed out of some underground chamber, casting up a cloud of mist as it crashed over the rocks and headed downstream. A few jagged edges of ice remained along the sides of the ravine.
Daniel had managed to stop just a meter or two from a sheer drop. Making weird mewling sounds, as if he’d devolved into some lesser thing, he flailed about, turned, and headed at an angle away from the water. Greg moved to intercept him, though every stride was a struggle, and he was constantly aware that he was on the verge of a spectacular fall.<
br />
“I said leave me alone,” Daniel said. “Sasha will kill you. She probably killed your whole family already, and I’m glad. You deserve it.”
He slipped, and it was all the advantage Greg needed. He took two long strides, closed the gap, and wrapped his arms around Daniel’s torso. As before, his momentum carried him forward, and he rolled, pulled the man off his feet, and they went tumbling across the rocks together. When they came to stop, Daniel was on top of him, thrashing wildly. They were less than a meter from the drop, and Greg felt the cold mist rising up around them.
“I’m trying…to end this…peacefully,” Greg said. “Don’t you get it? That was always my objective.”
But Daniel swung his head back and hit him in the face again. For a moment, Greg’s vision went black, and Daniel managed to pull out of his arms.
“She would never have made the trade. You don’t know Sasha Burke,” he said, backing away from Greg, still kicking and flailing his arms to keep him at bay. “She takes what she wants, she always has, and there’s nothing you can do to stop her. She’s ruthless, and you’re outmatched.”
Greg reached for him, trying to snag one of his legs. But Daniel did a little backward hop. It was one hop too far. The yawning drop was directly behind him, and he landed mere centimeters from the edge. Realizing what he’d done, he yelped and began spinning his arms in big circles on either side. But the rocks here were wet, and he slid backward.
“Help me,” he said in a last, desperate cry. “Please!”
Greg crawled forward, still reaching for him, but it was too late. Daniel toppled over the edge. Greg watched him fall, tumbling down the twenty or thirty meters into the dense cloud of mist. Just before he disappeared, he slammed into a jagged edge of thick ice, leaving a bright splash of blood behind. His scream ended suddenly. No longer flailing and crying out, he was devoured by the mist. Greg kept watching until he saw the body emerge downstream, floating face-down in the raging water as the current swept him away.
“Damn you,” Greg said. “I needed you alive, you idiot.”
In despair, he sank onto the damp rocks, feeling more bruised and battered than ever.
28
There was little he could do about his wounds. His lips were quite swollen now, and he had a welt on his forehead where he’d been kicked. His bruises had new bruises forming overtop them. At least he no longer had a foot-dragging hostage to worry about. That meant he could move as fast as he wanted. First, he went looking for the Winchester. It took a while to find it lying among the rocks. It was all banged up, but it didn’t seem to be broken. He slipped it over his shoulder and headed back toward the cairn.
When he got there, he spotted a wisp of gray hair sticking out of one end. A sudden swell of grief paralyzed him for a moment, tears blurring his vision, but he pushed past it. Stooping down, he spent a moment stacking the strewn rocks back on top of the cairn, then replanted and repositioned the grave marker.
Sorry about that, Mom, he said, laying his hand gently on top of the cairn. But I’m going to make everything right very soon, no matter what it takes or what it costs me. The rest of the family will be safe, I promise. Wait and see.
He bent down and studied the footprints on the ground, trying to make sense of them. Of course, he’d added his own footprints to the mix as well, but he could see drag marks from the travois headed off to the south across the rocky shelf toward the distant line of trees, accompanied by a number of other people.
Only one grave here, he noted. So, the others might be alive. It’s not too late.
Yes, it seemed most likely that Sasha and her people had taken them captive. Intending to do what? He didn’t know. The sooner he caught up with them, the better, but it wouldn’t be a peaceful prisoner exchange now. No, he would have to come in fast and try to take out the leader. If he could kill Sasha, maybe he could scatter the others. It was his best hope. But it all depended on the condition of his family. Getting them away from the bandits safely was the priority.
Though he was sore, in pain all over, and tasting blood on his tongue, Greg set off in the direction of his family, heading toward the distant trees. It didn’t take long to realize he had overestimated himself. After maybe twenty or thirty yards, his legs began threatening to buckle, and he felt darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision.
No. Keep going. You have to keep going. Don’t let your body dictate your actions. Bend it to your will.
He made the mistake of trying to slap his own cheek, hoping it would wake him up. Instead, it split open his lips even further, and he felt blood trickle over his lower lip into his beard. Far from waking him up, it caused him to swoon, and he had to stop for a moment to collect himself. Everything inside of him, every cell of his body, cried out for rest, but he pressed on.
From time to time, he saw more footprints and drag marks, which confirmed that he was headed in the right direction. They seemed fresh—the mud hadn’t yet dried. This helped keep him going, though every step now took absolute concentration. And the damned tree line didn’t seem to be getting any closer, no matter how long he walked.
A short distance ahead, he spotted a large, round rock, and he decided to sit, if only for a few minutes. When he finally got there, he eased himself down.
Just a few minutes, he reminded himself. You can’t afford to rest any longer than that, no matter how you feel.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, and tried to take slow, steady breaths. Daniel had hit him hard. His head hurt like hell. Greg reached up and felt the big welt on his forehead, then touched his lips and felt the edges of the wound that now bisected the middle of his upper lip.
Daniel was right about the Percocet and Jägermeister, he thought. I hate the taste of Jägermeister, but I’d down a whole bottle right now.
He was just about to stand up when something caught his eye—a little hint of green at the base of the rock. At first, he thought it might just be strange, discolored mud, but that he realized it had the texture of cloth. Stooping down, he snagged a corner and pulled it out. A toque, all crumpled up beneath the rock. And not just any old hat. He knew this one. He recognized it by its distinct forest green color. This belonged to Darryl.
He wouldn’t have left it behind unless he had no choice, Greg thought. Either he pulled it off and discarded it for some reason, or it fell off and he was unable to retrieve it.
The latter seemed more likely. Darryl had owned this hat for years and wore it often. Greg examined it for damage, but it was still intact, a bit frayed along the edges.
“They’re in trouble,” he muttered.
He rose, shoving the toque into the pocket of his coat. He’d rested long enough. His family needed him. They’d needed him long ago, and he’d let them down. Greg pulled the rifle off his shoulder and held it in the crook of his arm. Then he set off once again toward the tree line. Though he’d only sat down for a minute or two, finding Darryl’s hat seemed to have reenergized him. He dared a bit of speed, picking his way along the open ground at a jog.
Gradually, the rocky ground gave way to mud, grass, and thick shrubs, and the drag marks of the travois became clear again. He saw them cutting a gradual curve toward the trees. The prints of various shoes and boots were more obvious now, as well. There were quite a few people in this group. Indeed, as he considered this, he realized that he had never questioned Daniel about the size of Sasha’s crew. Was he dealing with five people, ten, more? Were they all armed? So many questions he’d failed to ask.
If only that idiot hadn’t thrown himself off a cliff, he thought. He was my best and only hope.
As he ran toward the trees, he kept the rifle at the ready. Speed and surprise were his only advantage now, assuming he had any advantage at all.
29
The ground here was so much easier to navigate as he headed down into the valley. He caught a glimpse of a trail far below, and it seemed his current path would take him right to it eventually. He found that reas
suring enough that it gave him the energy to keep going. However, over the course of an hour or so, a shadow crept in on his right side, and he realized he was approaching a sheer rock wall on that side, which formed a hard border for this part of the woods.
At the same time, the steep drop on the left cut in from the other direction, so that eventually he found his path forward becoming quite narrow. This, at least, made it easier to keep following the group, since they were essentially being funneled in one specific direction. He dared to step close enough to the drop to see what lay below. He’d moved well beyond the river, so it was now about a forty- or fifty-meter drop into a broad ravine. However, as he gazed across the ravine, he caught a glimpse of the trail again, emerging from the trees below. He tracked it with his eyes and spotted a fence, an overgrown yard, and the corner of a large cabin.
He was so close. Now if he could just get his family there.
He noted evidence of the group’s passage more frequently now. He saw where hooves stamped into the soft places, the drag marks of the travois wending through the trees. Greg began stepping more carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. And then, after perhaps another half hour, he heard the lowing of a cow in the distance. He came to a stop, squatting behind a tree. While he could see the sheer drop on his left, he couldn’t see far ahead at the moment. Too many obstacles in the way. Greg raised the rifle, leading with it as he crept forward.
Gradually, he began to hear voices. A man and a woman in heated conversation. Even from a distance, he could tell which of the two was in charge. The woman had a commanding sharpness to her every word, and she interrupted the man frequently.
Sasha Burke, he thought. I’d bet anything that’s her.
And then he reached a gap in the trees. As Greg approached, inching into the shadows beneath the rock wall on his right, he finally spotted the group. He saw the cows first, and he was shocked at how few of them remained. He counted six, just six, though at least they seemed to be in good health.
EMP: Return of the Wild West Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 67
