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

by Hamilton, Grace

  “A little barbarism goes a long way,” Eustace said, picking up the bottle. His sleeve fell back down to his wrist, hiding the bandage.

  “You want the ranch,” James said. “You’re going to get it. Just stick with the plan.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Eustace spun the cap off the bottle and took a swig. “Yeah, I want the ranch, but I also want Greg Healy to suffer. That’s just as important to me as that ranch, and having his kid here is the best way to get it done. If we kill her, we’ll wound Greg for the rest of his life.”

  Though she was terrified, Emma decided to stir the pot a little more. It seemed like the best way to keep these two guys at each other’s throats, and maybe, just maybe, if they were fighting with each other, they’d be too preoccupied to carry out Eustace’s threat.

  James started to say something, but Emma quickly blurted, “Why do you have a bandage on your arm, Mr. Simpson? Who did that to you? Did you and James have a fight?”

  Eustace slowly, deliberately, put the cap back on the bottle, glaring down at her with a withering look of contempt. “Oh, you noticed that, did you? Well, for the record it hurts like hell. My whole arm is in constant agony.”

  He unzipped his coat all the way and shrugged it off. It fell to the ground, revealing the sweat-soaked flannel shirt underneath. The left sleeve was already unbuttoned. As he rolled it back, he uncovered a massive bandage that went all the way from his wrist to his elbow. A huge bloody stain had soaked through most of it. Eustace leaned forward, holding the arm up in front of her face.

  “You see that?” he said. “It’s getting worse, but that’s just fine by me, eh? It keeps me nice and angry. Now, what sort of wound do you think that is?”

  She shuddered at his closeness. He reeked of booze and sweat. Still, she couldn’t resist provoking him. “I assume you bit yourself,” she said. “Or maybe that guy over there bit you.”

  Eustace gave her a hateful look. She could see the deadness in his eyes in that moment. Yes, this was a man capable of just about anything, and her skin crawled at the realization. Beside him, the one named James smiled, clearly amused by her willful sarcasm, but he, too, had the eyes of a dangerous man.

  “No, your grandpa did this to me,” Eustace said, in a soft voice, so low she felt it in the air. He leaned in closer, mere inches from her face, baring yellow teeth. “Good old Tuck Healy. He was a piss-poor shot, but he got lucky with the last bullet.”

  Good. I’m glad, Emma thought, but she thought maybe it was pushing things just a bit too far to say it. Eustace was already far too close. His beard reeked like a dying animal.

  “Bullet went right through,” Eustace continued, still speaking in that low, rumbling voice. “I thought I was okay until the infection set in. I’ve taken the last of the antibiotics that the dead and rotting Mayor Filmore had stashed in his office, but it doesn’t seem to have worked. I’m afraid the arm is becoming useless. I’d unwrap it and show you, but I think you can probably already smell it.”

  So that’s where the foul odor is coming from, Emma thought. Not his grungy beard. She turned her face away from him to keep from gagging. Good job, Grandpa. I just wish you’d hit him in a more vital spot.

  “Grandpa wouldn’t have shot you if you hadn’t shot me first,” Emma said. “Unlike you, we kept my wound clean, and it’s all healed up now.”

  Emma realized James was glaring darkly at the back of Eustace’s head. “Wait,” he said. “You shot this kid?”

  “Yeah, so what?” Eustace said. “It happened when we were lost in the wilderness.”

  “You didn’t tell me about that,” James said. “I didn’t realize you were out there in the woods shooting at kids. That’s beneath me, man. It should be beneath you.”

  Eustace snatched the bottle off the desk again. It looked like he was going to unscrew the cap again, but he seemed to change his mind. Instead, he rounded on James. “Yeah, I shot a kid, and guess what? She deserved it. That whole family was scheming against me. They dragged me into the wilderness just to bring me down. Her dad was building a legal case against my company. Exactly the kind of people I’ve hired you to deal with in the past. You know the type. They’re trash. I’ll shoot every single one of those damned Healys if I get the chance, and I expect you to help me.”

  He was so red in the face now he looked like he’d been turned inside out. As he tugged the sleeve back down, covering the bandage, he winced. If anything, this seemed to make him angrier. He turned and swiped a hand at James, motioning him out of the way. When James held his ground, giving him a cool look, Eustace grunted and stepped around him, storming out of the office.

  “Go cool off,” James said over his shoulder. “You’re acting foolish.”

  The only response was heavy footfalls in the warehouse beyond the office door.

  This guy, Emma thought. He doesn’t want Eustace to kill me. Maybe he’s my way out of here.

  James turned back around and looked down at her, his face unreadable. He was like a blank mask. For some reason, Emma found him much more intimidating, but she gathered up her courage and forced herself to speak. Still, it took a monumental act of will to get the words out when she was caught in that lightless gaze.

  “Why are you working for him?” she managed to say. “You don’t even like him.”

  “You got that right,” James replied. For a second, it seemed like he might leave it at that. He started to turn, as if to leave, then he caught himself. “I’ve worked for Eustace in the past, but to be honest, I wasn’t all that excited about it. To be honest, I came to Glenvell for another reason.” He hesitated, and she saw the first glimmer of emotion. He seemed to be debating with himself about how much to say. “My sister. I came here looking for my sister. She used to live in Glenvell, and I haven’t heard from her in a long time.”

  “Did you find her?” Emma asked. Now that smelly Eustace was gone, she was becoming all too aware of her aching wrists again.

  “No, I did not,” James said, answering her question. “A neighbor said she left town with her boyfriend, headed for a warmer climate.”

  “Oh,” Emma said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  James shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I gotta say, you remind me of her a little bit.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah, she was a little hellcat, too.” He smiled briefly, all too briefly, and took a step back. “Well, anyway, I probably won’t ever see her again. It’s practically impossible to track people down these days. Sorry you got into this mess, kid, but it’ll all be over soon enough.”

  Finally, he did turn away and started to move toward the door.

  “I just want to go home,” Emma said, desperate. The thought that he might walk out of the room, that her one little glimmer of hope had failed, brought on a fresh wave of tears. She had no way to wipe them away so they ran down her cheeks.

  James paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “If your parents make the right decision, you will,” he said.

  He started to say more, but someone shouted from elsewhere in the warehouse. At first, Emma couldn’t tell what he was saying. It was just a strange noise in the high ceiling, but then it grew louder, more frantic.

  “Fire! There’s a fire! A fire!”

  James rushed through the office door and turned to his right, looking at someone. Just then, a loud boom shook the entire building. James stumbled, went down on one knee, and reached out to a nearby wall to steady himself. As he rose, he pulled the rifle off his back. Then he ran to one side and disappeared.

  Emma heard many voices now. Men shouting angrily. Boots on a hard floor.

  He left the office door open, she realized, staring through the opening down the short walkway to the back door of the office. What the heck is going on out there? Did my dad do something?

  Suddenly, she heard one set of footsteps getting louder, as if someone were running toward the back office. James or Eustace? Maybe someone else? She didn’t know, but s
he braced herself.

  30

  Greg angled deeper into the woods before cutting back to the east entrance, but he was careful to keep his distance. He didn’t want to risk being spotted before Darryl made his move. The woods were wild and tangled here, and he found it difficult to move without dragging his legs through the thick bushes. That, in turn, made far too much noise. To avoid this, he wove a wild path, picking each step carefully.

  What we’re doing here is insane, he thought. Did I really just send my son in there all alone? Marion will never forgive me if something happens to him.

  It couldn’t be helped. This was the best plan he’d been able to come up with. He would just have to trust that his son was competent and careful enough to pull it off. He headed back toward the warehouse until the back wall and the loading bays were visible through gaps in the heavy underbrush. Then he raised the SIG, braced the barrel against an available branch, and peered through the scope.

  From here, he could see the back door clearly. It was firmly shut, but he could see the uneaten crust of a sandwich and a few chips scattered in the snow near the front of the door. Pam had apparently just discarded the leftovers. More indication that the food had been intended for Emma, perhaps? Greg wanted to believe so.

  From this angle, he could no longer see Darryl or the side door, but he wanted to be able to come at the back door in a direction that wouldn’t make him visible to guards around the corner. He waited, scarcely able to breathe. It was such a still, windless day, so quiet, he could hear every small movement he made, the soft clanking of the rifle every time he shifted the scope.

  Come on, Darryl. You can do this. I trust you, son.

  And then it happened, as if in response to this thought. He heard a whoosh followed by a boom, and a great orange light painted the snow along the corner of the warehouse. This was followed almost immediately by shouting from a cracking, desperate voice. The first voice was soon joined by a second, then a third. All shouting, cursing. Greg couldn’t see them, but the back door remained closed.

  Time to go, he told himself.

  He pushed off the tree and cut through the woods toward the back parking lot. As he ran, his breath rattling in his ears, he felt the tools shifting around in the backpack. He would have to break the door down. No doubt they would have it locked, so he could only hope the crowbar was enough.

  By the time he reached the edge of the parking lot, the orange glow at the corner of the building had intensified. Now, he could see a trail of dark smoke rising above the building, and the voices had only gotten more frantic. He was pretty sure he heard Eustace’s coarse voice among the others, shouting orders, cursing at people.

  “The snow! The snow, you morons! Shovel it onto the flames!”

  “The fire’s coming through the door,” shouted one of his lackeys.

  “It’s melting the snow,” cried a second. “What do you expect us to do?”

  At the edge of the parking lot, Greg hesitated a second, the SIG aimed squarely at the back door. He was ready for Pam Grasier or any of the others to burst through the door. Indeed, he was hoping for it. That would make it a whole lot easier than trying to crowbar the thing open.

  With a start, he lunged forward, racing across the parking lot, digging new tracks as he approached the back door. When he got there, he dropped to his knee and reached back behind him. He’d placed the tools in a smaller pocket so they were easy to grab. He felt the cold metal of the crowbar and pulled it out. To do this, he had to set the rifle aside, propping it against the wall, but he unzipped his coat so the Walther PPK was in easy reach.

  The shouting and activity of the men seemed to get louder and more chaotic, and the glow of the flames brighter. Whatever they were doing to try to put out the fire clearly wasn’t working. He heard banging and clanging.

  Darryl, I hope you got far, far away from here, Greg thought. Just keep running. You did your part perfectly. Leave the rest to me.

  The door looked quite sturdy up close, all metal with a thick bolt visible in the crack of the doorframe. Forcing it open was going to require bending the frame or the door out of shape. Greg took the crowbar in both hands and jammed the sharp end into the crack.

  I’m coming, Emma, he thought. Just hang in there.

  He pushed at the crowbar, leveraging it against the door, leaning forward and using his full weight. The edge of the door gave a little groan and started to bend ever so slightly. Then the tip of the crowbar slid out of the crack, and Greg was thrown forward. He smashed his hands against the doorframe, and his body slammed into the door, making a tremendous thud.

  It was loud. Too loud. Even though the men continued to shout and curse around the corner, they must have heard it. Nothing to be done about it now. He just had to pick himself up and keep going.

  Clumsy idiot, he told himself.

  He grabbed the large door handle as he struggled to get his feet under him again. In the process, he inadvertently pulled down on the handle, and he saw the bolt between the door and doorframe move. He let go of the handle and took a step back, staring at the door.

  Wait a second, he thought. Don’t tell me…

  He reached out and grabbed the door handle again. Could it be? He turned the handle, watching the bolt slide in the gap. And then the door gave a loud click and popped open.

  Unlocked, he thought. Someone unlocked this door.

  It couldn’t be accidental. Eustace wasn’t that incompetent. Was he? Slowly, Greg eased the door open, drawing the pistol as he did so. He aimed the gun through the crack. On the other side, he saw a short hallway leading to a second door. The back half of the warehouse was open on his left, and orange light flickered against the far wall. The flames had made their way inside the building.

  Bracing the door with his shoulder, Greg reached for the rifle and slung it over his shoulder. Then he crept into the building, drawing the pistol and thrusting it out in front of him. The small door just ahead of him seemed the most likely place for Emma. A small window revealed the dim interior of an office. Greg let the door behind him ease shut, then he raced across the gap.

  He reached the inner door and peered through the narrow window. On the other side, he saw a cramped office space with a desk and chair set against the far wall. Greg turned the doorknob and found the office unlocked as well. He pushed the door open and stuck his head inside. The room had a lingering unpleasant smell, but it was empty. No one in the room. No closet, no cabinet, nowhere they could have stashed a person. Emma wasn’t in here. Greg’s heart sank.

  What have they done with you?

  He stepped back and pulled the office door shut. If she wasn’t here, then where was she? He turned and looked at the vast open space around the loading bays. There were a few boxes and crates scattered here and there, but no obvious place to hide a hostage. Greg stood there, staring dumbly, feeling all of his hope fading.

  And then he heard the voice. It came from deeper in the warehouse, a booming voice that seemed to fill the vastness above and around him.

  “Hey there, Greg Healy!” It was Eustace, of course. His voice was unmistakable. “I know you’re back there. Heck, I left the door unlocked for you. By the way, I have your daughter with me. Why don’t you meet us outside? I’d hate for something bad to happen to her, especially with all this fire around us!”

  31

  For a few seconds, he just stood there, listening to the fading echo of Eustace’s deep voice. He could still see orange light against the far wall, but the men were no longer shouting and screaming. Greg was frozen, unsure of what to do next. Of course, Eustace wasn’t a complete idiot. He must have figured out the purpose of the fire.

  I didn’t move fast enough, Greg thought. Eustace had time to counterattack.

  But, no, he’d made it to the door within seconds of the fire. Eustace had just moved faster. Either that, or he’d expected Greg to show up all along. At least Eustace hadn’t said anything about Darryl. He’d only mentioned Emma.
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br />   Greg eased away from the office door. He couldn’t decide if it was better to use the handgun or the rifle. Clearly, the handgun would be better in a tight space, but the warehouse was fairly open. More than that, he’d grown comfortable with the SIG. Finally, his mind made up, he holstered the pistol and slid the rifle off his shoulder.

  “We’ll be waiting for you out here!” Eustace again. This time Greg was certain the man was outside. “Don’t take too long. I don’t know how long I can stop these guys, Greg!”

  Greg was staring across the open warehouse floor, but he glanced toward the back door. Which way would Eustace expect him to come? He couldn’t be sure, but the back door seemed more likely, especially if flames were blocking the side door. Greg eased to the corner of the little office, aiming the rifle ahead of him. Slowly, achingly, he leaned around the corner, leading with the SIG.

  The small office was little more than a drywall box built against the outer wall of the warehouse. On the other side, he saw a heavy-duty wall cutting across the open warehouse floor, a sturdy fire door half-open in the center. Beyond the open door, orange light flickered brightly against stacks and stacks of bags, boxes, crates, and more. No, Eustace probably wouldn’t expect him to go that way.

  That decided the matter. Greg hopped down from the low ramp that connected the back door to the office and headed across the open warehouse floor, trying to step as lightly as possible. Shadows danced on the walls, which made him jumpy. They looked like bodies out of the corner of his eye. He rushed to the wall beside the fire door and pressed his back against it.

  He had a moment of doubt then. Maybe he was giving Eustace too much credit. Maybe the back door was the best approach. He could cross the back parking lot and hide in the trees, slowly making his way around to the side door.

  No, too late for that. He’d made his decision.

  Greg slowly turned into the open fire door, thrusting the rifle out in front of him. From here, he could feel the heat of the fire. He lunged through the door, aiming wildly back and forth, only to find himself at the end of a broad aisle between two tall shelves. Bags and boxes had been stacked on the low shelves, but there were plenty of gaps in between. Greg aimed through one of these gaps, looking toward the north side of the building.