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

by Hamilton, Grace

  At first, she wasn’t sure where to go. She might have gone outside to find some task around the ranch that would occupy her time, but she didn’t want to step onto the porch if her parents and grandmother were still arguing about stuff. She considered heading upstairs to her room, but Darryl and Justine were up there. The crying would bother her. Finally, she settled on the den. It had become something of a haven.

  She approached the nearest bookshelf, intending to find some big picture book she could idly flip through, when she realized Horace Bouchard was in the room. He’d taken a small padded chair in the corner. His breakfast and morning tea were on the table beside him, and he had a hardcover novel open on his lap.

  “Oh, sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “You’re not intruding,” he replied, closing the novel and setting it on the table. He’d unfastened his prosthetic legs and set them on the floor in front of the chair. Emma wondered if they were uncomfortable—they certainly looked uncomfortable—but she wasn’t bold enough to ask.

  “I was just going to get a book or something,” Emma said.

  “People get pregnant. It’s not really a big deal,” Horace said with a chuckle. “There’s no reason to make them kids feel bad, even if the timing doesn’t seem right.”

  “Yeah, I guess I agree with you.” Emma really didn’t want to talk to Horace, of all people, about it. She quickly grabbed a book off a shelf, intending to take it out of the room.

  “It means you’re going to be an aunt,” Horace added. “This isn’t just happening to Darryl and Justine. As an aunt, you’ll be really important in the life of this new little baby. They’re really going to need your help, whether they realize it or not.”

  His words hit deep. The impact of the revelation had been so shocking that she hadn’t really considered the long-term implications of the baby. Suddenly, she found herself on the verge of tears. Yes, they would need her help. Justine and Darryl were in no position to deal with this all by themselves. Indeed, this realization hit her so strongly, and moved her so profoundly, that she slid the book back onto the shelf and walked right out of the den without saying another word to Horace.

  She needed her notebook and a pencil. It was time to begin making a list. Yes, she was going to be an aunt, and she was going to be the best and most supportive aunt ever.

  It continued to be tense and awkward around the house, and Emma found herself walking on eggshells anytime Darryl was in the same room with his parents or grandmother. Justine had become even more reclusive, practically confining herself to her room. Many times as the days passed, Emma considered going up there and breaking the ice with her. After all, if she was going to be an aunt, then that made Justine pretty much her sister-in-law, even if there’d been no wedding. Surely, they should get to know each other. As it was, they’d barely spoken more than a handful of times.

  Still, it was a lot more awkward than it should have been, and by the third morning, she had yet to work up the courage to say anything. Instead, she took her extensive list of tasks that she needed to accomplish to help the new mother, and she began picking through the library to find relevant books. The Back to Basics book had included information on pregnancy and natural childbirth, but she wanted more. She grabbed anything that seemed even tangentially related, creating a hefty stack that she kept on the nightstand beside her bed.

  Her best find was a thick book called Encyclopedia of Medicinal Plants by someone named Andrew Chevallier. As she worked her way through this one, she took copious notes in her notebook. Anything that might contribute to either the baby’s or new mother’s health got jotted down. Emma had a small desk beside the window in her bedroom, and since it faced the west, she got plenty of sunlight in the afternoon.

  Maybe this is why Darryl wanted to finish the greenhouse so badly, she realized. Plenty of fresh vegetables to help Justine keep the baby healthy.

  As she worked that day, she could see the rest of her family moving back and forth across the yard. As Emma was preparing for the pregnancy, the others seemed mostly focused on bolstering the defenses against Eustace Simpson. Indeed, just after lunch, as she was flipping through the encyclopedia, she saw Darryl, Tabitha, and Greg building a second platform in another tree on the far side of the barn. As they worked, she could tell Greg and Darryl weren’t talking to each other. Even from this distance, she could feel the unpleasant vibe.

  Horace and Marion were working on the fence, adding even more layers and supporting structure to it. Mostly, Emma tried not to think about the fact that Eustace was alive and well in Glenvell. It was a disturbing thought, and as she watched her family at work down below, her right hand went down to her leg, brushing the spot low on her right thigh where she’d been shot. The bullet had passed through, missing anything vital. She’d recovered quite well from being shot, though she still had a knot of scar tissue on both sides of her leg, and she felt little more than a twinge of discomfort when she walked on the leg now.

  Don’t think about Eustace, she told herself, trying to drive that big, red face out of her thoughts. Concentrate on the baby.

  By the time she was called down to lunch, she’d learned quite a bit and made a few pages of notes. She was so excited that she dared to approach Justine’s bedroom door and knock softly.

  “Darryl?” came the muffled reply.

  “No, it’s Emma.”

  “Oh.” Justine was quiet for a couple of seconds, then said, “Well, you can come in, I guess.”

  Emma opened the door and peeked inside. Justine’s room still looked rather empty, even with the growing pile of dirty clothes in the corner. Sprucing the place up might make for another good project. Emma made a mental note. As for Justine, she was sitting in a chair beside the bed, idly flipping through an old magazine. She was wearing her heavy coat and gloves, but the hood was down. Despite this, she was pink-cheeked and had a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She’d pulled her long black hair into a loose ponytail. As Emma stepped into the room, she didn’t look up from her magazine.

  “I’ve heard everything,” Justine said. “You can hear people downstairs when they talk loudly, so I know what they’re all saying. Personally, I think I have the right to wait to announce the pregnancy until I feel ready, but whatever. They can all hate me if they want.”

  “Nobody hates you,” Emma replied. “They’re just stressed out about the guy in town, you know.”

  “Then someone should go and shoot him and get it over with,” Justine said, flipping a page in her magazine. “This isn’t a healthy atmosphere for a baby.”

  “I agree.” As soon as she said it, Justine glanced up for the first time from her magazine. Emma pressed on. “Hey, I’ve been doing a bunch of research about pregnancy and stuff, and I learned that lean meat is good for pregnant women. Also, fish is really good for you and the baby, and this one book recommended red raspberry leaf tea. I know we get some wild raspberry bushes in the woods sometimes. Of course, it’s winter, so there won’t be any fresh leaves, but maybe that’s even better. They need to be dried out for tea anyway, right?” She realized she was talking in a blur, so she stopped and took a breath. It was so easy to get worked up when she felt like she was being productive.

  At first, Justine just stared at her, knitting her eyebrows in confusion. Then, suddenly, she broke out in a big smile, and it was perhaps the most genuine smile Emma had ever seen the otherwise gloomy girl make.

  “Hey, all of that sounds good,” Justine said. “Thanks for doing the research, Emma. I’ve been too nervous to really think about that kind of stuff.”

  “Oh, no problem,” Emma said, beaming. “Just trying to do my part to help the baby and the new mom, you know? Heck, I may need to learn this stuff for myself one day.” Her last comment sounded so awkward after she said it that she uttered a strange little laugh and felt instantly uncomfortable.

  “Yeah, no doubt,” Justine replied, and resumed flipping through her magazine. “Just maybe be a litt
le more cautious than I was. No rush.”

  “Right, right.” Emma had reached her limit. The fit of boldness was gone, so she shuffled her feet for a moment, then excused herself. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything else. Bye.”

  “Thanks again,” Justine said, as Emma shut the door.

  Though she now felt completely awkward, she’d had a little moment of heartwarming normalcy with Justine Carmichael. That felt like a monumental accomplishment, and Emma headed downstairs feeling quite proud of herself. It made her want to continue being productive, so she grabbed her coat off the coat rack by the front door, pulled on her boots, and headed outside. She decided to join the men in building the new lookout platform, and she didn’t even bother asking. Instead, she just walked right up to them and started rooting around in Grandpa’s old rusty toolbox.

  Her father was currently laying boards on the platform, poised precariously on the high step of a ladder, while Darryl cut and smoothed boards on the ground below. Horace was seated on a chair, working with Marion on the fence.

  “Emma, if you want to help, you can climb up on the low branch there and start working on the other end of the platform,” Greg said.

  The old big-leaf maple tree had a couple of fat, low branches, and Emma pulled herself up onto them, one foot planted on either branch. The other side of the platform was just above her. They’d set it about three meters off the ground, just high enough that someone standing on it could see over the fence clearly. Emma had grabbed a hammer so old that the wood handle had gone soft and smooth. It had a comfortable grip, worn by decades of use. Darryl passed her a few nails, which she tucked into her coat pocket. Then he handed her a long, smooth board.

  “Where did we get the wood?” she asked, as she set the board in the framework they’d built.

  “Scavenged from the old Carmichael place,” her dad said.

  “Justine said it was okay,” Darryl quickly added. “I asked first, of course.”

  She was impressed that they were working together, even though they barely addressed each other directly. It was a minor improvement to their relationship, and Emma found that it was comfortable enough to fall into a working rhythm. They worked for a couple of hours, and by then, the platform was essentially complete. It was two meters by three meters, with a low wall on the side facing the fence.

  Afterward, they retired back to the house for a late lunch. Marion and Horace had preceded them, having apparently taken a break from reinforcing the fence. When Emma stepped into the living room, she found her mother sitting on the couch, an enormous ball of yarn and knitting needles on the cushion beside her. She held a small magazine full of clothing patterns in her left hand, and when Emma walked around behind her, she realized it was a bunch of baby clothes.

  “What are you going to make?” Emma asked.

  “I’ll start with a cap,” Marion replied. “Then work on a baby outfit. Our family is about to grow by one. We’d better get ready. There are no clothing stores to go to, so we’ve got to create a whole wardrobe for the little one, including plenty of cloth diapers. I’ve always wanted an excuse to learn some of the more complicated patterns. This is more your grandmother’s area of expertise, but I guess it’s time to develop my skills.”

  Darryl was standing in the doorway, knocking the snow off his boots, but Emma thought she saw a brief smile on his face.

  “Can I join you?” Emma asked. “I’m not much good at knitting. I prefer crocheting, but I’m always willing to learn.”

  “Of course,” she replied, gesturing with her head to the empty couch cushion beside her. “We’re all going to have to work together. We have a few balls of yarn left, but we can salvage more from the ratty old blankets up in the hobby room.”

  Emma spent her time learning the basics of knitting from her mother. She wasn’t particularly good at it. She’d only ever been mediocre at crocheting, and knitting seemed more difficult. She just didn’t have a natural talent for it, but she gave it her undivided attention until lunch was ready.

  After lunch, she decided to set out for the stream to check the fish nets. All the work that day had been invigorating, but more than that, her brief conversation with Justine boosted her confidence. There was nothing she loved more in all the world than being useful. She grabbed one of her grandmother’s small wicker baskets, just in case they’d caught anything, and added a small cloth bag.

  Maybe I’ll gather some red raspberry leaves while I’m out there, she thought. Let’s make it the most productive day ever.

  20

  Horace knew himself well enough to know that if he allowed sickness to make him sedentary long enough, he’d find it a heck of a lot harder to get back up again. Even though he still felt sickly and weak, he was determined to get off his butt. Half a day of working on the fence had wiped him out, but he wouldn’t allow himself to rest too much. He sat at the dining table for lunch, no more cowering in the den, and that went just fine. Indeed, it went so well that he decided to keep up the momentum.

  Of course, he’d heard the entire family argument two days earlier. Horace was no fool. He’d had plenty of his own family drama back in the day. In fact, he’d had a couple of kids who went bad. By the time the EMP hit, he’d already gone a few years without seeing or talking to them, only the occasional birthday card or Christmas card. Yes, he knew how families could fall apart, but at least the Healys had settled again into something resembling peaceful coexistence. How long would it last?

  Families are volatile when situations are uncertain, he thought, as he shuffled back across the living room, especially when people’s roles begin to change.

  He would have said this to them directly if he thought they’d listen, but maybe they just needed to work it out for themselves. At least he’d gotten through a tiny bit to Emma. Horace intended to keep working until he absolutely couldn’t stand it, but he’d done about as much free walking as he could manage for the day. He needed at least one crutch. His thighs were hurting—they often did when he spent too much time walking around on his prosthetic legs—and his back was sore. He retrieved a crutch from his bedroom, put on his coat, zipped it up, and headed outside.

  He already had an idea for a project in mind, though he hadn’t run it past anyone else in the family. Marion had commented on the fact that they had no access to clothing stores or baby supplies, and while she was doing a good job knitting clothes for the little one, Horace knew the baby would also need some kind of cradle or bassinet. He had just the thing in mind. With enough long, thin branches, he could weave a cradle that would be both functional and interesting to look at.

  He decided to start looking for supplies in the shed, so he hobbled down the porch steps and made his way around the house, leaning heavily on the crutch as he went. It was slow going, and he had to step carefully in the snow lest he stumble on some hidden object. He was afraid if he went down, he might not be able to get back up. As he approached the shed, he saw movement beyond the barn. Justine Carmichael had taken a turn on the new platform. She was leaning back against the trunk of the tree, her legs stretched out in front of her, and the Remington rifle resting beside her. As she sat there, she was idly moving her feet from side to side in what appeared to be an anxious gesture, and the bright pink boots had drawn Horace’s gaze.

  Horace went into the shed and rooted around for a while, but he didn’t find anything that might contribute to making the cradle. All the scrap wood had been used up. He’d hoped to maybe find some old piece of wicker which he could dismantle for parts. No such luck. When he left the shed, he looked toward the new platform again. Justine was standing up now, hugging a branch and hanging her head. Horace headed in her direction, but his creaking crutch must have given him away. She turned and looked down at him.

  “Hey, there,” he said, giving her a wave. “They gave you the afternoon shift, did they?”

  “No,” she said, with a long, drawn-out sigh. As she often did, she’d pulled her hood all the way up and
forward, practically hiding her face. “I volunteered. Darryl was helping his dad with something. I guess they’re pretending to get along. It’s so awkward how they won’t talk directly to each other. Anyway, I’m sick of just sitting up in my room all the time. I start to feel like a prisoner after a while, you know?”

  “Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” Horace said. “Believe me. Look at me stumping around on my aching legs.”

  She didn’t seem to know how to respond to this, so she gave him an awkward nod and sat down on the platform.

  “You want me to take over for you?” he asked. “I’ll cover the rest of your shift, and you can find something more interesting to do.”

  She seemed to consider this, drumming her fingers against her chin. “Can you even get up here? Is it safe?”

  He gestured at the ladder, which was still propped against the tree below the platform. “I believe so. I’ll take it real slow and careful.” Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he was willing to try. He’d once gotten stranded on the second floor of his own house when his stair lift had broken, but since the EMP, and especially since moving in with the Healys, he’d been pushing himself just a little more.

  “Well…if you say so,” she said. “Yeah, I’m getting pretty bored up here, and there’s nothing to see. Just an empty field and trees on the other side of the fence. You can only stare at it for so long.”

  She started to grab the rifle, then waved it off, and slowly descended from the platform. She stepped onto the ladder at an angle, and it wobbled. For one awful second, it looked like it might tip over. Horace braced himself, preparing to lunge forward and throw himself in the way. He could at least cushion her fall, even if it meant he took the brunt of the damage. But Justine managed to hook her foot around the step and pull the ladder back into the place.

  “We need to install permanent steps or something,” she said, picking her way down the ladder. “I don’t know if you should go up there. You might never come down again.”