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

by Hamilton, Grace

  “We’ve done this before,” Tabitha said. Of all people, she had not looked back once, and she pointedly did not do so now. “We can do it again, as long as we’re together.”

  And with that, the trees at the end of the driveway seemed to close in behind them, like curtains shutting out their old life.

  Epilogue

  James let Eustace’s body lay in the snow all day and night. He had no intention of burying the man. Let fresh snowfall do that the next time it decided to fall. None of the other men bothered with it either. If anything, they seemed relieved that the old blowhard was gone. Pam Grasier, on the other hand, had been professional enough that James figured she deserved a modicum of respect.

  He had the men dig a grave for her the following morning, selecting a spot in the woods east of the back parking lot. They only managed to get about three feet into the frozen soil before the shovels cracked.

  As for Pam’s body, they wrapped it in a filthy tarp, laid it in the shallow grave, dumped some lime and gravel in with her, then covered it with dirt as best they could.

  “What about a grave marker?” Benny asked.

  “That’s up to you guys,” James said, standing at the foot of the grave. “Pam won’t know the difference, and her family wasn’t local, as far as I know. Do what you want, just hurry up. We’ve got work to do this afternoon. Leave here in an hour and head for the new property. I’ll meet you there.”

  And with that, he turned and left his guys standing around the grave, glancing at each other uncertainly. Eustace hadn’t been one to let his men make decisions on their own. They hardly seemed to know what to do. James, on the other hand, knew the illusion of autonomy made men more obedient. As he crossed the parking lot, he glanced back and saw a couple of the guys hoisting a large rock to the head of the grave.

  He’d really had to throw his weight around to get the locals to give up the wagon and draft horses, but it was done. He figured it was worth any problems it might create as long as it got the Healys out of town. The money would be repaid to the wagon’s owners—or not. Whatever. James walked along the north side of the warehouse. They’d lost almost half the building, and most of their accumulated supplies, but it would all be replaced and repaired. With Eustace out of the way, James could really turn this whole community into a well-oiled machine, as he had now removed every threat.

  Now, I can really create something stable and secure, he thought, as he moved toward the front of the building. And lucrative.

  It was time to see if his plan had worked. The ranch was prime real estate, wide open grassland close to fresh water. At the thought of having free access to all those buildings, the fence and barn, the shed, the cattle, the greenhouse, he was almost giddy—if he’d had the capacity for such emotion. As he rounded the front of the building, he saw one of the locals waiting for him there. The man’s name was Albert, and he’d formerly run the little gas station in town. At the moment, he was sitting astride a small bay mare, stroking the animal’s neck and looking quite bored.

  “And?” James said, approaching him. “How did it go?”

  “What?” Albert replied. “The grandmother met me at the gate, and we left the wagon there. Looked like they’d already been packing up.”

  “Good,” James said. He motioned for the man to get down out of the saddle. “Wait here. My men will compensate you. I need to head out there and check on the place.”

  “Are you serious?” Albert replied. The poor man had lost quite a bit of weight since the EMP. All of the stock from his store had initially been forcibly taken by the former mayor of Glenvell, and what was left of it was now in the warehouse, mostly ruined by smoke. Albert’s clothes were all too big, ill-fitting. “I have to wait here?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said,” James replied. “My men will compensate you for your help today, and I’ll bring the horse back later. You have my word. Look, everything is coming together in a wonderful way. Don’t sulk. This whole town is going to be thriving soon. Eustace, the fire, the Healys—all mere inconveniences. Now, hurry up and climb down from there. I’ve got work to do.”

  Albert frowned but dutifully climbed down from the saddle. James pushed past him and took his place in the saddle.

  “Where do I go?” Albert said. “Are your men inside?”

  “No, you’ll find them out by the new grave. Behind the building. You might want to steer clear of the frosty corpse rotting near the north door. It’s starting to smell, despite the cold.”

  And with that, James shook the reins, put his heels into the mare’s flanks, and set off toward town. He used the main road, following the tracks Albert himself had made on his way to the warehouse.

  Maybe I’ll keep this horse, he thought. Albert doesn’t need it. Maybe he can have a cow in trade. I’ll convince him it’s a fair deal.

  He wanted to approach the ranch alone. He wanted to see what was there, to make a mental inventory of everything before anyone else from town saw it. Just another small way to give himself the upper hand, and James always had the upper hand, whether people realized it or not.

  He was greeted by a few locals on his way through the center of town. They all knew him now. He’d cut deals, made promises, a few choice threats, and even resorted to a bit of flattery, some of it right under Eustace’s nose. They were his people now, and it was his town. He returned each greeting with an appropriate expression—smile for some, serious look for others, calm emptiness for a few, even a couple of dangerous scowls.

  As he rode past the town, his excitement was dampened only slightly by a bit of anxiety. He had the AR-15 slung on his back, and he used one hand to remove it now, laying it at an angle across the saddle. Eventually, he came across a sturdy mailbox beside the road with the name HEALY in white letters on the side. He turned down the driveway, feeling a crawling unease. Would they be waiting for him? Would that old woman be perched in a tree, ready to shoot him?

  His eyes flitted from side to side, his finger resting to the side of the trigger of the AR-15. When he rode out of the trees and came in sight of the fence, his skin-crawling unease reached a fever pitch. The gate was wide open, and he could see a stack of large boxes on the other side. No sign of the wagon. James reined in the mare and sat there for a minute, gazing into the distance. No one in the tree platform, no one on the porch.

  Could it be? he wondered. Did the Healys finally come to their senses and figure out what really matters?

  James spurred the horse toward the open gate. It was Eustace’s death, of course. They’d needed it, and he’d given it to them. Just another one of the many exchanges he’d made to take control of the town. Well worth it. He could see the tracks of the wagon wheels, smaller wheel marks, drag marks from boxes. Yes, they’d left.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” James said, as he rode through the open gate.

  The front door was wide open, the shed door was wide open. They’d left numerous boxes full of tools, clothes, and supplies. As he rode around the property, he found a root cellar half-full of meat, flour, and wild berries, cattle in the barn, a house full of furniture. It was amazing. Glorious.

  By the time he’d ridden all over the place and headed back toward the open gate, he saw a group of men heading down the driveway. His guards had picked up Albert and a few other wannabe toughs from in town. James dismounted and waited for them inside the gate. Of course, he’d hidden a few things, some choice items from the house—medication, antiques, weapons, and so on. Always good to have a few secrets stashed away, even from his own people.

  Benny was in the lead, the rough-looking goon in the filthy coat.

  “Boss?” he said, as he passed through the gate. “Are they gone?”

  Boss! You’ve got that right, James thought.

  “Looks like they made it easy, after all,” he said, waving his people at the house. “I get to keep my word and leave the Healys in peace. Let’s hope they find a more suitable place to live. No hard feelings.”

  Benny
paused just beyond the gate and looked around in astonishment. “This place is amazing! There’s so much room, so many nice buildings. Wow!”

  “That’s right, boys,” James said. “This is our place now.”

  He grabbed the latch of the large gate and slid it shut. It closed with a deep, satisfying clank.

  “Welcome home.”

  End of Survive the Attack

  EMP: Return of the Wild West Book Two

  Survive the Fall, December 9th, 2020

  Survive the Attack, January 13th, 2021

  Survive the Journey, February 10th, 2021

  PS: Do you love post-apocalyptic fiction? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from Survive the Journey and Survive the Chaos.

  Thank you!

  Thank you for purchasing ‘Survive the Attack’

  (EMP: Return of the Wild West Book Two)

  Get prepared and sign-up to Grace’s mailing list to be notified of the next release at

  www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com.

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  About Grace Hamilton

  Grace Hamilton is the prepper pen-name for a bad-ass, survivalist momma-bear of four kids, and wife to a wonderful husband. After being stuck in a mountain cabin for six days following a flash flood, she decided she never wanted to feel so powerless or have to send her kids to bed hungry again. Now she lives the prepper lifestyle and knows that if SHTF or TEOTWAWKI happens, she’ll be ready to help protect and provide for her family.

  Combine this survivalist mentality with a vivid imagination (as well as a slightly unhealthy day dreaming habit) and you get a prepper fiction author. Grace spends her days thinking about the worst possible survival situations that a person could be thrown into, then throwing her characters into these nightmares while trying to figure out "What SHOULD you do in this situation?"

  You will find Grace on:

  BLURB

  They’re entering the storm—and only together will they survive.

  Spring is around the corner, and the Healys must again face Canada’s mountainous onslaught to reach the security of the hunting cabin. Though they were forced to give up the family’s ranch to the post-apocalyptic mob, the most important thing to Greg Healy now is that they still have the cattle and the family is all together safe and sound. But just as the end of their grueling trek is within sight, the spring thaw brings unending trouble.

  And heartbreaking tragedy.

  The burden of leading loved ones falls hard on Darryl Healy’s shoulders as he confronts his most daunting task yet—becoming a father. But the trail is an unforgiving master, not fit for man, woman, or beast, and the cattle have proven time and again to be an irresistible draw to those determined to take everything the Healys have left.

  When a vicious new enemy follows in their wake and guns are drawn in the avalanche-prone pass, Darryl is forced to defend and protect his family just as his father and grandfather taught him.

  By any means necessary.

  Prepper survivalist author Grace Hamilton invites you to step into a post-apocalyptic, EMP-ravaged world filled with strong, resourceful characters, survivalist knowledge, and edge-of-your seat action.

  Get your copy of Survive the Journey

  Available February 10th, 2021

  (Available for pre-order now.)

  www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Chapter Two

  The baby clothes were all folded up at the bottom of the box, waiting to be used. Darryl pressed them down firmly to make room for Justine’s clothes. She had a fairly limited wardrobe, comprised almost entirely of t-shirts, hoodies, and sweatpants, all in dark colors. The girl definitely had a distinct look.

  “Maybe we should give it a few more days,” Justine said. She was rolling up her sleeping bag in the corner. “Not that I want to stay here, by any means, but if the pass just opened up today, a few more days of warm weather will only help, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe so,” Darryl replied, putting the lid onto the crate of clothing, “but I also think people want to get the heck out of this cave, you know?”

  “Add me to that list,” Justine said, “but going over the mountain is going to be a big pain in the butt. We’ve got a bunch of cattle and supplies. What if we get all the way up there and find that some of the trail is gone, washed away, or snowed in, or we get lost?”

  Indeed, he’d had this very thought. It was the reason he’d gone looking for Tuck’s old compass. On a cloudy day, with no obvious trail, it was far easier to get lost in the wilderness than he’d expected. They’d had a hard enough time trying to find the winter camp after the pass had proved impassible.

  “We’ll just have to hope for the best,” he said, “but the fact is, most of those things will still be possible in a week, or a month. Waiting longer won’t make a washed-away trail come back.”

  She gave him a look that suggested she didn’t find his words comforting. He went to her side and put his arms around her. Initially, she just tolerated the embrace. But finally, she warmed up and returned it.

  “I just want civilization again,” she said. “I’m tired of living like pioneers in the seventeenth century.”

  “It’ll be a lot better at the cabin,” Darryl said. “We can fix it up and make it nice.”

  “First we have to get there.”

  “We will,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” she said. “But you don’t control nature.”

  Once all of Justine’s things were packed up, Darryl went looking for the furniture dolly. He found his father at the back of the wagon, stacks of boxes and barrels around him. He was slowly loading them one by one, but he had a scowl on his face. The furniture dolly was on the ground beside the back wheel.

  “Is there a problem, Dad?” Darryl said, as he picked up the dolly. He’d quickly learned, in their current living situation, not to let things fester. It was better to make sure his Dad put everything out into the open. The man tended to brood privately, and that only led to trouble.

  “I’m just trying to figure out how to get everything into the wagon,” Greg said, hoisting a small barrel into the back. “We’ve acquired a bit of stuff here at the camp.” He gestured toward an open box. It contained a bunch of rusted old tools and scrap metal that they’d found in a back room of the cave. “Hopefully, there will still be room for all of our people, but it might be a tight fit.”

  “Why do we need to bring all this junk?” Darryl asked. “We can leave half our stuff here and be just fine, Dad.”

  Darryl was looking into the back of the wagon and trying to imagine poor Justine being all scrunched up between the boxes and crates. As his father continued to slide more and more boxes into the back, it only got worse. She would have more room if she rode up front on the driver’s seat, but Darryl didn’t think she would do that.

  “I don’t want to leave anything behind,” Greg said, hoisting the big box of junk tools and scrap metal into the back of the wagon. “You never know what we might need once we get to the hunting cabin.”

  Shaking his head, Darryl took the furniture dolly back to Justine. All of her things had now been packed away, and whatever illusion of a bedroom the cave chamber had held was gone. It was, after all, just an irregular space at the back of a cave.

  “We’re going to be in the wagon all day, aren’t we?” Justine said. “I’d better sit in the very back so I can barf my brains out when the fancy takes me. Hopefully, Horace will trade places with me. I know he likes being the lookout.” She rose, pulling her hood up.

  Pregnant, still suffering from morning sickness, and crammed into the back of an overfull wagon. Darryl didn’t like it, and as he pushed the boxes back through the cave, he again thought of all the unnecessary stuff they were lugging along. The journey from the ranch to the camp had been bad enough, with everyone crammed onto the back bench, but Justine was very pregnant now. When he returned to the wagon, he found his father tucking s
maller boxes under the bench.

  “Dad, I really think we need to leave some of this stuff behind,” Darryl said. “Why are we taking all of the old junk we found here at the camp?”

  “If something breaks, we may need the scraps to make repairs,” his father replied, climbing out of the wagon. “I don’t want to leave anything behind and then realize I need it somewhere down the road.”

  “Yeah, but we have to fit actual people in this wagon,” Darryl replied, unloading Justine’s stuff beside the other stacks. “You know how tough this ride is going to be for Justine? She’s still sick almost every morning, and she’s always uncomfortable. We need to get to the cabin as fast as we can, because the longer it takes, the harder it’s going to be on her and the baby.”

  Greg just stood there for a moment, chewing on his lip.

  “We don’t need to become hoarders just to survive,” Darryl added. He knew he was pushing things, but he felt strongly about this. More than that, he knew his dad could be stubborn. “We have to prioritize people.”

  He’d gone too far, and he knew it. A look flashed briefly across his father’s face: eyebrows down, lips pressed tightly together, nose scrunched up. Darryl anticipated the anger and braced himself to stand his ground for Justine’s sake. But then the look passed, and his father resumed loading the wagon.

  “I understand how you feel,” Greg said. “I really do. You’re worried about the mother of your child, and you’re right to make that your first concern.” It was a remarkably civil, even compassionate response, that reminded Darryl just how much things had changed between them. Could they actually have a decent conversation about something when they were of contrary opinions? “Here’s the thing, son. We can’t anticipate any and every problem, so we have to be ready for things we haven’t even thought of. That’s how we’ll keep everyone safe.”