EMP: Return of the Wild West | Book 2 | Survive The Attack

by Hamilton, Grace

  Now or never, he told himself. Take the shot.

  6

  They sat there in the silence for what might have been half an hour while Darryl listened to Justine’s soft breathing. He saw the rise and fall of her left shoulder, felt the soft rubber of boot, and he tried to think of the next thing to say. Maybe there was nothing else to say. Nature was going to take its course now, and that was that.

  You should be comforting her, he told himself. She’s more scared than you are. Say something. Make it all better.

  But he didn’t know what to say. He felt like he’d gotten stuck somehow in a blank space that he couldn’t pull himself out of. Finally, he forced words out of his mouth, even though he had little plan for what he was going to say.

  “Do you want me to break the news to the others,” he said, “so you don’t have to? If I get it over with, then it’ll be done and you won’t have to worry about it.”

  “Absolutely not,” she said. “Don’t say anything.”

  “Okay, then, you can do it, I guess.”

  She grunted. “No, I don’t want anyone to break the news to anybody, not until I’m good and ready. And maybe I’ll never be ready, and they’ll just think I’m eating too much until suddenly—surprise, surprise. How the heck did that get in there?” She uttered a soft, fragmented laugh. “The looks on their faces would almost be worth it. Maybe I could tell them I found it in the woods. ‘It’s a magic baby. The fairy people left it on a rock under a tall tree in the heart of the forest. Let’s name it Mortimer the Mysterious.’” This made her laugh harder. “You think they’d believe me?”

  Somehow, Justine had found her way to maximum weirdness, but Darryl just couldn’t find humor in the moment. “I’ll keep it a secret as long as you want me to,” he said. “I promise, I won’t breathe a word of it.”

  “Okay, good,” she said. Somehow, the laughter had turned to tears, and she was crying again, burying her face in the quilt. “I’m just scared, Darryl. I know I keep saying it, but I can’t help it. I never expected to get pregnant this young.”

  He was tempted to slap himself on either cheek to snap out of his mood. This wasn’t really about him now. Justine had to carry the baby and deal with the pregnancy, so he was simply going to have to step up, whether he felt ready or not.

  What a birthday present, he thought. Can we trade this in for more cake?

  “Everything’s going to be just fine,” he told Justine. “I’m sure of it.”

  “How can you keep saying that?” she said. “We don’t know what we’re doing. We’re new at this.”

  “It doesn’t matter if we’re new at it,” he replied, giving her leg a gentle squeeze. “I can say it because I’m going to make sure of it. I’m going to take care of you, Justine, you and the baby. I helped create this situation, and now it’s time to accept responsibility for it. That’s all there is to it.”

  He was speaking to himself mostly, trying to get the words to stick. They almost did—almost. It still didn’t seem quite real. Justine pushed against the bed and slowly sat up, dabbing her eyes on her palms. She gazed out the bedroom window for a second, where she had an expansive view of the back of the ranch. Darryl looked over her shoulder and saw the snowy lump that was the top of the root cellar. He could still recall all of the hard work he’d done to dig out the cellar. It seemed like it had happened years and years ago.

  Suddenly, Justine turned and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him toward her. He fell, and they collapsed onto the bed in an embrace. Her hair tickled his face—it smelled of lavender soap—and she felt so small in his arms. They lay there as long as they dared before the fear of someone walking into the room drove them apart. Finally, Justine pushed him away and sat up, turning her gaze back to the window and the expanse of unbroken snow behind the house.

  I’m going to be a father, Darryl thought. I need to stand up and be a man now, just like my own dad.

  “What do you need right now?” he said. “What can I do for you at this moment that will make you feel better?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to tell you in the first place. Now that I’m over that hurdle, I just need to let it all sink in.”

  “I’ll keep it a secret as long as you want me to,” he said.

  “I hate lying,” Justine muttered, running her pinky finger through the condensation she’d left on the window glass. “I’ve always hated lying, but I…I need more time.”

  “Well, we’re not exactly lying,” Darryl said. “We’re just delaying the truth until you’re ready.”

  “You don’t have to make excuses,” Justine said. “We’re lying. Let’s call it what it is. For now, we’re lying.”

  “Okay. In that case, I’ll lie as long as you want me to.”

  “Thanks,” she said. He saw that she’d drawn a small heart in the condensation.

  Just then, he heard a strange sound coming from somewhere outside of the house. He was so wrapped up in his current circumstances, and he’d bent so much of his mind and emotions toward dealing with the pregnancy, that he almost didn’t notice the sound at first. It only registered after a second. A sharp snap. Was it a tree falling down? More of the fence toppling over?

  Justine turned and looked at him, her mouth dropping open.

  “Did you hear that?” she said with a gasp.

  Not a tree falling down, he realized. No, he knew this sound all too well.

  “A gunshot,” he said, rising from the bed. “My dad…”

  Greg pulled the trigger. Because the snow had dampened so much of the typical ambient sound, the crack of the rifle seemed especially loud. Eustace dropped instantly, disappearing behind the cow. Greg assumed he’d been killed, but then he saw the man, red against white snow, scrambling into the trees beside the road. The other man dropped backward, turning and stumbling as he tried to see who had fired at them, but Greg was well hidden behind the big pine tree.

  The poor startled cow headed down the road, dragging her lead line behind her. This removed the major obstacle, and Greg tracked the red moving target as he slipped through gaps in the trees. He took a second shot, but the bullet pinged off a tree trunk with a burst of splinters. Eustace seemed to melt into the snow then, and Greg realized he had fallen flat on the ground and was actually rolling through the woods. It was so absurd he would’ve laughed, if not for the gravity of the situation.

  Greg lost sight of the second man and shifted position to find him. In the few seconds he’d been tracking Eustace, the other man had caught up to the cow and circled around in front of her. He stooped down and grabbed the lead line, gathering it up. Briefly, Greg had a clear shot at the man, but he didn’t want to take it. He didn’t know this second person. Was he an ally of Eustace? Had he been forced to work for him? The uncertainty lingered just long enough for the man to move, and Greg to lose the shot.

  As the cow continued to move south down the road, Greg saw a hint of bright red flash between her legs and realized Eustace had come back out of the forest. Both of the men were using the cow as cover as they continued to flee.

  You’re not getting away, Eustace, Greg thought. You owe a debt to my family, and you’re going to pay it.

  He pushed away from the tree and moved to follow them.

  Well, Eustace Simpson had warned him. James Teagan had to give him credit for that. He’d said the family might overreact to the theft of the cow, and they most certainly had. Fortunately, this little backwoods nobody seemed to be a poor shot. He’d missed twice, even with a huge, red target like Eustace Simpson lumbering about.

  Under his fur-lined winter coat, James Teagan had a Glock 22 in a holster on his tactical vest and an extra magazine. This moron didn’t realize who he was dealing with. Still, he wasn’t about to give him another clear shot. As Eustace crawled around in the snow, James dared to circle around the cow and grab the lead line. This put him out in the open for a couple of seconds, but he assumed the shooter was aiming f
or Eustace.

  James gathered up the lead line and moved back in front of the cow, walking in a crouch so the large, spotted animal provided cover. After a moment, Eustace came lumbering out onto the road in front of the cow and angled back toward James. His face and beard were dusted with snow, his cheeks glowing from the cold. Already, a flurry had kicked up, and James could see it getting bad soon. So much the better. It would make it harder for their pursuer to get a clear shot.

  “We should find somewhere to hide,” Eustace said, out of breath and wheezing. The man was a poster boy for congestive heart failure, as far as James could tell.

  “He’s not going to shoot his own cow,” James replied. “Use the animal as cover until we get back to town. Then we’ll meet up with the rest of our people. This guy is already outnumbered, but in town, he’ll be swarmed.”

  Eustace tried to copy James, hunching over as he walked along, but it looked ridiculous. Fortunately, the big heifer was docile enough that she hadn’t kicked up a fuss about being stolen or dragged around. She was trotting along as happy as she pleased, as if she were being rescued, instead of becoming hamburgers to feed Eustace Simpson’s growing army.

  “I told you these people are crazy,” Eustace said, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder. “Is he still back there somewhere? I don’t hear him.”

  “This whole stupid thing was your idea,” James replied. “What did you think they were going to do?”

  Eustace looked back again, leaning to one side for a second and daring to gaze down the road behind them.

  “Quit sticking your head out, or you’re going to get it blown off,” James said.

  “He’s way back there,” Eustace replied. “I can barely see him. It’s Greg Healy. I’m sure of it. That guy has got it in for me. He was shooting to kill me. Make no mistake about that. Fortunately, he’s a poor shot.”

  “I don’t care,” James said sharply. The fact that Eustace had a troubled personal history with one of the families in the area was already a major point of frustration. He’d been hired to get a handle on things and bring some order to the community, and that’s what he was going to do.

  He yanked on the lead line to encourage the cow to pick up the pace a little bit. It didn’t work. The cow just ignored him. James noticed that Eustace was glaring at him. What an ugly face. The guy hadn’t been punched nearly enough in his life, that was clear.

  Why do I keep working for this moron? James thought, bitterly. Because he has deep pockets, of course.

  “Is there a problem, Eustace?” James said.

  Eustace stroked his beard and reseated his toque—weak attempts to hide his frustration, James knew. Then he sniffed and said, “You know, you’re not always the friendliest guy, James. We’re out here getting shot at, and I’m trying to explain the situation to you.”

  “Talk less, listen more, and you’ll live longer,” James said. “Come on. We’re heading back to the compound.”

  Despite this, Eustace leaned to one side and looked back past the cow again. James half-hoped he would catch a bullet this time. Then again, it wouldn’t do to lose his employer.

  “I don’t see him back there,” Eustace said. “I think we lost him. Maybe he gave up and returned home.”

  “Don’t assume anything,” James replied. “Stay low. Quit peeking. Next time we go on a raid, let me strategize, okay?”

  Eustace grumbled under his breath, hunched down again, and kept walking. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here,” he said, but so softly it was almost inaudible.

  The road cut a long, straight course. The snowfall was getting heavy now, but James saw footprints in the distance. Soon, he spotted people stepping out of the trees on the left. They both wore heavy coats with the collars pulled up over their mouths, toques, and winter boots. One of them he’d already spoken to at length—a former police officer named Pam Grasier. She’d become one of Eustace’s cronies, though she’d formerly worked with the local mayor Gene Marshall Filmore.

  As she stepped out onto the road, she looked at the cow, shook her head, and fell in beside them. She could be hard to read. Her face rarely betrayed her emotions. Actually, she was scowling almost all the time. James saw that as a positive quality. Being hard to read was always—always—an advantage.

  “How did you wind up with a cow?” she said. “I thought you were scouting the area.”

  “We’re making a point,” Eustace said. “Anyway, this cow will produce milk and, eventually, meat. This is how we consolidate resources: one cow at a time.”

  As he spoke, he turned and looked back behind them again.

  “Our pursuer?” James asked.

  “Don’t see him,” Eustace replied. “I think we’re in the clear.”

  “Too bad,” James said. “I was hoping to deal with that guy before he becomes an annoyance. He knows you, and he doesn’t seem to be scared of you. Not surprising. But he hasn’t met me yet.”

  7

  Greg was furious, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outnumbered. He’d thought he had a pretty good chance against Eustace and the other guy, but when they’d been joined by two others, he’d had to concede that his opportunity had passed. There was no way he would manage to take out Eustace plus three of his cronies. It would have to wait.

  So he trudged home in a foul mood, gripping the rifle so tightly in his right hand that it shook. He heard the rattle of the bolt as he stomped back up the road and through the trees. The snow was coming down so heavily now that it was almost like a veil dropping down over the world. He could hear it—the soft crackle of big snowflakes touching down all around him, faint as a whisper.

  When he came back in sight of the house, it looked like most of the repair work on the fence was complete. He heard a single hammer still tapping out a rhythm, and knew by the steady sound that it was Horace. Greg was in such a bad mood that he couldn’t bring himself to examine the quality of the work carefully. Instead, he passed through the gate, latched it, went to retrieve his father’s toolbox, then trudged back to the house.

  As he was setting the rifle back on its shelf beside the front door, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Marion, Tabitha, and Emma appeared soon.

  “Did you finish with the fence?” Marion asked.

  “Close enough,” he replied, carrying the toolbox to a small table in the corner beside the couch. “Just a bit of unfinished business to take care of. It’ll wait for another day.”

  He left it at that, and, fortunately, his wife didn’t prod for details.

  It was about more than just repairing and reinforcing the fence. Greg was determined to make a point, and if Eustace and his lackeys dared to return, he wanted them to see how far he’d gone. He wanted them to witness the overreaction and understand the emotion behind it. Therefore, he spent the next couple of days strengthening almost the entire fence on the south side, using practically every bit of scrap wood he could come up with to reinforce it, make it taller, add additional supports, and top the posts with sharp objects.

  Horace was ever reliable. Every time Greg went outside to work on the fence, even if he didn’t tell anyone where he was going or what he was doing, the veteran always came out to help him, dragging a chair from the porch. It soon became clear to Greg that Horace was more than willing to overwork himself into complete exhaustion, so he often had to insist the old man take a break. Still, he was incredibly helpful, which almost made up for the fact that Darryl and Justine had begun to make themselves scarce.

  He occasionally spotted them roaming about the property, working on various tasks, but always just the two of them. They shoveled the walk, rearranged shelves in the shed and barn, worked in the root cellar, and patrolled the perimeter. They often seemed deep in conversation, so Greg didn’t bother to intrude. Darryl hadn’t even asked if Greg had managed to track down the thief or retrieve the cow.

  I hope those kids don’t get so attached at the hip that they become useless, Greg thought, then felt bad for thinkin
g it. Of course, they weren’t useless, and they seemed happy together. Why resent it?

  On the morning of the third day, he declared the fence complete. Still, he knew Eustace well enough to know he would come back, so he summoned the family to a meeting in the living room after breakfast. Marion and Tabitha had been cleaning the grill outside, having cooked some meat that morning, and they walked in wiping their hands on dish towels. As they sat on the couch, Horace shuffled in from the dining room and took the recliner in the corner. Emma had been patching one of her old dresses at the end of the couch, and she continued to work as the meeting started.

  Only Darryl and Justine lingered. They were in the kitchen, ostensibly cleaning the dishes, but when Greg finally went looking for them, he found them standing in front of the counter, a stack of clean dishes and a bucket of dirty water just sitting there. They seemed to have long since finished and were quietly chatting, their heads close, as if sharing secrets.

  “Hey, guys, we’re meeting,” Greg said. “Come on in the living room, please.”

  “On our way, Dad,” Darryl replied, without looking at him.

  Even so, it still took them a good thirty seconds before they finally broke away from the counter and headed to the living room, where they sat together beneath the shadow of a massive, looming elk head. Greg moved to the fireplace and sat down on the brick hearth, where he had a good view of everyone.

  “This seems awfully formal,” Tabitha said. “What are we meeting about? Is there a problem?”

  His mother was very perceptive, and Greg had debated quite a bit with himself about how much he should tell them. In the end, he decided to leave Eustace out of the story for the time being. He wasn’t sure how Tabitha or Emma would react. They both had reasons to be furious with the man for what he’d done, and he was nervous about his mother’s reaction, particularly. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for his mother to load up on guns and march into town right then and there.