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

by Hamilton, Grace

  “If I get into trouble, I’ll start shouting,” he replied. “Darryl will come running.”

  This produced something that was almost a smile from her. Instead of heading back to the house, she lingered beneath the platform. Horace approached the ladder, leaning his crutch against the tree trunk.

  “If I fall, just let me fall,” he said, setting his right foot on the lowest step. “You don’t need to put yourself in danger on my account.”

  “This might be a bad idea,” Justine grumbled. “I’m not going to stand here and watch you fall down.”

  “I won’t fall,” he replied. As he began to climb, his legs and back cried out in protest. No, his body didn’t want to do this at all, but he defied it and kept going. He moved slowly, focusing on every movement. The ladder felt a little shaky, which was disconcerting. Justine finally came over and grabbed the side of the ladder to hold it in place.

  “Thanks,” he replied. As he reached the top of the ladder, he thrust his arms out onto the platform and slowly wriggled his body onto it. His stomach lurched. This was a dumb idea, but I did it, by God. He could feel the straps of his legs coming loose as he dragged himself fully onto the platform, and he had to twist around and pull them up onto the edge of the wood.

  “I should’ve just finished my shift,” Justine muttered. “I feel bad letting you go up there.”

  “I’m good,” Horace replied, tightening the leg straps. “You go on inside and take it easy. I’ll handle things up here for a while.”

  Justine groaned. “If Horace Bouchard breaks his back because of me, I’ll never live it down.” And with that, she started back toward the house, shaking her head.

  Horace Bouchard’s not going to break his back, he thought. Mark my words. Horace Bouchard still has the fortitude of a CAF soldier.

  He grabbed the Remington and pulled it toward him. In truth, he was now utterly exhausted, sweating inside his heavy coat, and out of breath. He pulled off his toque and shoved it in his pocket. It felt like his head was steaming in the frigid air, but he rather liked it. As he sat there, he glanced back at Justine just in time to see her round the corner of the house. He felt bad making her worry.

  Maybe I got carried away today, he thought. That bad cold made me restless.

  But at least it was done. He settled himself as comfortably as he could on the platform, drew the Remington across his lap, and fixed his gaze on the snowy trees beyond the overbuilt fence. From his place just east of the barn, he could see tracks that had been left on the other side of the fence from people moving back and forth between the gate and the greenhouse. They planned on extending the fence to encompass the greenhouse eventually, but that was going to be a big project. It would require a lot more scrap wood.

  As he sat on the platform, looking to pass the time, Horace picked some of the long, thin branches around him, stripping them of needles. He began to weave the branches together in what he thought might become the framework of the cradle. He wasn’t sure if the end result would be something Justine and Darryl would want for their baby. Still, it passed the time, and he didn’t expect to come down from the platform for quite a while.

  He’d passed a pleasant hour or so when he noticed something moving within the trees. Thinking at first that it might be some animal, he picked up the Remington and slowly, achingly rose on the platform, bracing himself against the trunk. It was a small black shape behind some bushes just beyond the tree line. Horace watched it shift back and forth. Then suddenly, it strode forward, pushing through the bushes and stepping out of the trees.

  It was a man in a heavy, black coat with a fur-lined hood. He stepped out into the open, his head moving from left to right as if he were scanning the fence. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder. Most of his face was hidden behind the high collar of his coat, which had been zipped to the top and raised, and he wore mirrored ski goggles. A second man soon joined him, dressed in a heavy coat and a toque with ear flaps pulled low. He also had a rifle over his shoulder. Then a third man joined him, also dressed in black.

  Horace lowered himself onto the platform, lying flat so he was mostly concealed by the low wall on the south side. He raised the Remington, bracing it against the top of the wall, and peered through the scope. Hoping to scare the men off, and also warn the family, he began to utter a high, hoarse cry, a sharp and wordless noise. The three men looked at one another and seemed to be discussing the matter, but otherwise Horace’s weird shrill sound didn’t scare them off.

  “Hey! Heyo! Hey!” He continued to shout.

  After a moment, he heard the front door slamming shut, followed by footsteps on the porch. He looked over his shoulder and saw most of the family coming around the corner. Greg came first, carrying the SIG Sauer. He’d taken a liking to Horace’s gun for some reason. Horace didn’t mind and hadn’t made an issue out of it. Tabitha came next, Tuck’s Walther PPK handgun in her right hand. Then Marion and Darryl. Horace leaned over the edge of the platform and used hand signals to try to indicate that there were three men beyond the fence. Greg nodded and gave him a thumbs-up.

  “What are they doing?” Tabitha asked loudly.

  Horace peered over the low wall again. Two of the men had stepped back into the trees. Horace could see them, but they were largely concealed now behind tree trunks. The third man, the one wearing the mirrored goggles, remained out in the open, his hands calmly at his sides, as if he were standing at attention.

  An old military man of some kind, Horace realized. He has the posture.

  Horace couldn’t tell if the man had spotted him or not. It was impossible to see what he was looking at. Finally, the lone figure strode forward. As he did, he pushed down the fur-lined hood and collar of his coat to expose a black beard and close-cropped hair. He cupped his hands to either side of his mouth, as if he intended to speak. Horace decided not to give him the first word.

  “Halt. Don’t come any closer,” Horace shouted, giving his voice its deepest and most intimidating timbre. He could still bellow like a soldier when he needed to. “This is private property, and we are well armed! What do you want?”

  The strange lowered his hands, as if surprised by the sound of Horace’s voice, but Horace saw a glint of teeth. The man was smiling.

  This fellow looks like trouble, he thought.

  21

  Greg would have gone outside the fence to confront the men if he didn’t think his family would stop him. Still, he was livid. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had been bold enough to approach the fence, and he wanted to see them face to face. He signaled for Darryl to head to the other lookout platform on the southwest corner of the property. Darryl nodded and set off in the that direction.

  “Greg, don’t do anything foolish,” Marion said, lingering beside the barn.

  “I won’t,” he replied. “We just need to scare these guys off and make sure they don’t come back.”

  He moved to the second platform, just as Horace began shouting at the men beyond the fence. Greg grabbed the ladder that was leaning against the tree, wrapped his right arm around the steps and hoisted it awkwardly off the ground. He lugged it over to the fence and set it down, the SIG in his left hand. Then he mounted the steps. They’d built the fence extra high, but there was a crossbeam halfway up that he could use for extra stability. He planted his left boot there, put his right boot near the top of the ladder, and rose above the tops of the fence posts.

  “What do you want?” Horace shouted at the stranger from the platform.

  Greg propped the SIG Sauer CROSS on top of the fence and put his eye to the scope, finding the lone figure standing in the snow. He was dressed in a familiar black coat and fur-lined hood, a pair of mirrored ski goggles hiding his eyes. As Horace shouted questions at him, the man appeared to be smiling. Finally, he reached up, grabbed the goggles, and slid them up to his forehead, revealing his face.

  He had a broad face, bushy eyebrows, and a thick, black beard. His forehead was deeply lined, with
a receding hairline, and a heavy brow. A scar bisected his mouth, cutting through the dark beard and mustache at an angle. The man cupped his hands on either side of his mouth. When he spoke, he had a sharp voice that carried well despite this distance.

  “Healy family, I’ve come here to talk,” he said. “Let’s not start shooting at each other. That won’t accomplish anything. You’re easily outnumbered and outgunned, and what’s the use of everyone dying here today? Surely, we can discuss our problems like good neighbors?” As he spoke, he kept that mirthless, toothy grin on his face. Though the man had multiple guns trained on him, and he was standing out in the open fully exposed, he showed not a hint of fear. Greg wasn’t sure if he believed the man’s boast. Were they truly outnumbered and outgunned? Horace had indicated that there were three men, but maybe they’d brought others and hidden them out of sight.

  Greg cleared his throat and responded to the man. “We’re not neighbors. You’re a stranger to us, so there’s nothing to discuss. Leave us in peace.”

  This only made the man smile even bigger. “Strangers? My name is James Teagan. I am a former United States Marine. You are Greg Healy, patriarch of the Healy clan, and you own this nice, big ranch here. See how much we know each other? That means we’re not strangers.”

  Greg had the man dead center in the crosshairs, and he was sorely tempted to pull the trigger. The urge went all the way down to the tip of his finger, and he finally had to move his finger off the trigger and set it against the side of the gun. He would not provoke a gunfight when his entire family was present, especially when he didn’t know the full size of the opposing force. This was something he would have to take care of on his own far away from the ranch.

  “What do you want, James Teagan?” he called. He heard Horace shifting position on the platform behind him. As for the others, he wasn’t sure where they’d gone. He wanted to tell Marion to grab the kids and return to the house, just in case bullets started to fly.

  “Well, Mr. Healy, I’m very glad you asked,” the man replied. He dared to take a few steps closer to the fence. Greg struggled to track him through the scope. As he did, he briefly caught sight of people moving deep in the woods, but he couldn’t tell how many. “I was brought to town recently in order to help local authorities keep the peace after a rash of violence. I just want to make Glenvell and the surrounding community a safer place for everyone. Now, isn’t that a goal we can all agree on?”

  “The former violence was caused by local authorities, James,” Greg replied.

  “Now, see, I’ve been told that the violence went both ways,” James replied with a shrug. “In fact, there’s a wild story going around about the former mayor getting ambushed and murdered by a local family, but who am I to spread gossip? I’m just here to help.”

  “You work for Eustace Simpson?” Greg asked.

  For some reason, this caused James to laugh. “He’s paying me, but I wouldn’t say I work for him. The way I see it, I work for the community. Let’s be honest with each other, Greg. Eustace Simpson is a buffoon. We both know that, and I don’t let him push me around.”

  “Good for you,” Greg replied. He had the crosshairs right between the man’s eyes, and he was steady now, and calm enough to keep it there. “I’m sure you have no problem taking his money—or whatever the hell he’s paying you with.”

  “We all have to get by somehow,” James said.

  Would it really be the worst thing in the world to take this guy out right now? he thought. We have the fence. We’re all armed. We can defend ourselves.

  But he also wanted to hear what the man had to say. Maybe he could learn a bit about what Eustace was up to. Still, he struggled.

  “What do you want from us, James?” he shouted.

  “I’ll level with you, Greg Healy,” James replied, “because I’m an honest man, and you deserve to know the truth. Eustace told us all about your ranch here, your cattle, all of your hoarded supplies. You’ve got a small family living there, and far more supplies than you could ever want or need. Hell, the cattle alone could provide meat and milk for three times as many people. And we’re struggling out here, Greg. This whole community is struggling. It’s tough for people on the other side of the fence. People are working hard, but they need help.”

  “What does that have to do with us?” Greg replied. “And why is Eustace Simpson, of all people, pretending to give a crap about this community?”

  “Those are very good questions, Greg,” James said. He reached up and grabbed the edges of his goggles, pulling them back down over his eyes. “Let’s just say he’s taken a shine to the place, and he wants to help out. Look, I’m not going to waste your time by trying to sway your opinion. I know how you feel, and I can respect that. So, instead, I’ll get to the point. You’re hoarding supplies, you’re hoarding a nice, big piece of property, and we can’t go along with that.” He pulled the collar of his coat up and adjusted his hood.

  “It seems you already stole one of our cows,” Greg replied. “That’s all you’re getting. We’re willing to help a neighbor in need, but our stuff belongs to us. You have no right to it. Take another step toward the fence, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  “Oh, I know, I know,” James said, with another infuriating laugh. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You’ve got me in your sights. I can see that. Hell, you could shoot me right now, if you wanted to. But, look, I’m doing you a favor. Eustace didn’t want me to come here. He just wanted to attack in the middle of the night. I resisted that, Greg. I insisted that we talk to you face to face like men. It’s the decent thing to do, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Sure,” Greg replied. “Say whatever else you came here to say and go away, James.”

  “Fair enough.” Greg could tell, even with the goggles on, that the man was now scanning the fence, his head shifting from left to right. Perhaps he’d put the goggles back on to try to hide this, but it was clear he was studying the property, maybe looking for a weakness in the fence. “We want your ranch, Greg. There it is. No more dancing around the issue. We want your ranch and at least some of your supplies. Now, if you want to play it the smart way, you can hand it all over and join forces with us. Become part of the broader community. Let’s pool all our resources and make sure every family is provided for equally. That’s what Eustace is working toward. Doesn’t that sound like the fair and decent thing to do? The neighborly thing to do? We’ll all be safe, happy, and well-fed...one big, happy Glenvell family.”

  Greg spotted more movement in the tree, and he shifted the scope, tracking to the right. There were people moving in the shadows. At first, he saw two, then he saw two others, then a big cluster of people even farther back. Just how many people had Eustace sent? How many were lurking out there with guns, ready to back up James Teagan the second he encountered resistance?

  He hadn’t responded, and a few seconds had passed. When he moved the scope back to James, he saw the man holding his rifle, not aiming it yet, tapping out a little rhythm on the stock with the gloved fingers of his right hand.

  “What if we don’t agree to your terms?” Greg asked. Outnumbered or not, they had to protect what belonged to them. He glanced to his left and saw Marion standing nearby, her eye pressed to a narrow gap between fence boards. “What if we don’t agree to your terms, James? What are you going to do about it?”

  “Well, in that case, I’d first have to inform you that most of the community is on our side,” James said. “I’m fairly certain we can take your ranch. Hell, the only reason we’re talking to you is because I insisted on treating you like a respectable human being, but if you’re going to be a problem, we’ll just take it all. Are you willing to pay the price for holding on to it?”

  Greg felt an equal measure of seething hatred and cold fear. This was the worst-case scenario, the thing they had tried to prepare for, but really, how could they have prepared? A large group of armed maniacs wouldn’t be held off for long.

  Hora
ce spoke up then, his crusty old voice crackling in the winter air. “No, Mr. James Teagan, the real question is, are you willing to pay the price for trying to take it? You’ve got all manner of guns trained on you right now, and we’ve taken care of worse people than you.”

  At this, James just shook his head and smiled that damned toothy smile again. “Shooting me won’t solve your problem, because I’m the most reasonable man in the group. You’re a lot better off dealing with me than with any of the others, but if you don’t believe that, go ahead and take a shot. We can set this off right now. Your choice, old man.” He paused a second, as if waiting to see what they’d do, then he said, “Tell you what, I’ll give you a day to think it over. We could burn this whole ranch to the ground right now. I’m sure Eustace would love that, but decent people don’t behave that way. You think about it, Greg Healy. Talk it over with your people, and we’ll see if we can’t come to an agreement tomorrow.”

  “Our decision won’t change,” Greg shouted. He said it so loudly it hurt his throat. “We’re staying on our ranch. Go and tell that bloated loser I said so!”

  “I’ll pass along the message,” James said, with a big comical shrug. “Talk it over with your people. We’ll meet again and confirm your decision tomorrow. I just hope you make the right choice, for the sake of your children. Don’t let your anger cloud your judgment. We can all benefit from this deal.”

  With a final salute, he turned and started back toward the trees. As he did, Greg felt his finger sliding down to the trigger again, as if it had a will of its own. His heart was hammering against his chest, his breath loud in his ears.

  This is not the man you need to kill, he reminded himself. James Teagan is just a mouthpiece. If you shoot him, you’ll start a war, and you might never get a chance at Eustace.

  That thought alone was the single thin barrier that stayed his hand. As James approached the trees, Greg saw others moving in the shadows again. At least a dozen, he estimated, probably more, they began to converge as they headed off in the direction of town. And then they were gone, and his moment to shoot had passed. He lifted the rifle and turned. When he did, he saw Horace Bouchard looking down at him with a steely gaze.