Dissolution: The Wyoming Chronicles: Book One

by W. Michael Gear

  She glanced up at her father, the desperation back in her Tappan-family eyes. “So, am I crazy?”

  Frank chewed his lips for a couple of heartbeats, nodded, and said, “Yeah. But then I figured that out just after you turned three.”

  A flicker of smile died on Breeze’s lips. “Could be, Daddy. Could well be.”

  “So, what’s next?” Bill asked almost hesitantly. “You said Ragnovich told you to take a break.”

  The hollow look was back in her eyes. “I...don’t know.”

  “Home might not be any safer than here,” Frank told his father softly. “Not with us going up against Edgewater.”

  “Kevin Edgewater?” Breeze asked. “DHS director? Governor Agar came within a whisker of arresting him. He and a bunch of his cronies tried to declare themselves in charge. The guy barely got out of Cheyenne ahead of Agar’s people. As it is, he skipped with a truckload of M2s from the Guard armory. Guns we could have used on the line. Heard he landed in Cody.”

  Old Bill told his granddaughter all about “dickhead” and his inventories and confiscations.

  Sam squinted uncomfortably when Bill got around to Sam’s encounter with the director in the tannery, and how he’d almost lost Shyla. Something about the way Breeze fixed on Sam during that part of the story made him uneasy. As if she were judging, finding him unworthy.

  Or was that just his imagination?

  “Just so you know, Edgewater’s a real piece of work,” Breeze told them. “Story is that he was sent here because DHS couldn’t fire him. Some sort of sexual impropriety with a minor. Word is that he had some kind of dirt on the Attorney General or one of the Supreme Court justices. Anywhere but Wyoming, and with any governor but Agar, he’d be running this state.”

  She leveled a hard finger at Bill and Frank. “So, you two watch your asses. He’s got federal law and a slew of regulations to back him. And he’s known to be a real shit.”

  “And where will you be?” Frank asked. “I know we’re a little obtuse about these things, and not too bright, but we’re trying to make a point here.”

  For the first time, Breeze actually laughed. “Any reason you won’t just come out and say it?”

  “Please,” old Bill said kindly, “come home.”

  “Damn, I’m a screwed-up wreck. I’ve dreamed it. And now, I just... Well, I’ve really done a job on my life haven’t I?”

  “Runs in the family.” Frank grinned to hide his desperation. “Besides, you can have Brandon’s room. He’s sleeping in the barn.”

  “Mom throw him out for drinking again?” Breeze asked, a flicker of amusement showing for the first time.

  “He has a girl.” Old Bill gave her a saucy wink. “Black gal. From Philadelphia. Shanteel’s different. Showed up tough as nails. Totally out of her element. Big-city eastern girl that didn’t have clue. Then she and Brandon had to hole up in the mountains for a spell. Just the two of them. And when the weather breaks, they come riding down the trail acting like two kernels out of the same cob.”

  Bill shrugged. “Got no clue how it’ll work out, but they seem to make each other happy. She’s got a place with us for as long as she wants to stay.”

  Frank grinned. “She stumbled in the other night looking like she came in last place in a fight with a wildcat. She and Brandon spent the day fixing fence. Said she’d be damned if any barbed wire would get the better of her. Brandon said she could stretch wire like an old hand by the time they were done.”

  Sam watched old Bill struggling to keep the hope out of his voice as he asked her, “So, what’s keeping you here?”

  “Free room and board,” she waved around. “The Guard started picking up the tab for the Line riders’ rooms and meals. Drinks I pay for.”

  “Huh, well, I guess we can at least meet their offer.” Bill scratched under his chin. “As full as we are, we can put you on the couch until Thomas and Willy head up over the mountain.”

  “What about the guest cabins?” Breeze asked.

  “Evan’s in one. Amber, one of the archaeologists, is in another, and Sam and Shyla are in the third. My call is that we kick Willy out of your old bedroom and move Amber into the bunkhouse with John, Court, and the girls. Then Willy can have the third cabin.”

  “Call it done,” Frank agreed easily.

  “What?” Bill read Breeze’s reluctance.

  She glanced uncertainly at Sam, Court, and Evan. “What’s this thing with Edgewater? You really going to move against him?”

  Frank glanced uneasily around, leaned close, and said, “I won’t lie to you, sweetheart. He’s building a power base up in Park County. Governor Agar, along with the rest of us, we want him gone. We’re working on a plan with some of the other Basin leaders. Like Sam found out, he’s a mean son of a bitch, and he’s probably not going peacefully.”

  She nodded, expression thoughtful. “I watched Agar shoot four looters, rapists, and murderers in the back of the head. Public execution. We talking that kind of justice?”

  Sam tensed in anticipation.

  “That a problem?” Old Bill narrowed one of his bullet-like eyes. “He’s taking women. Looting stores. Bastard’s making himself the only law. I won’t have it. Lot of us won’t.”

  “You said he’s got a small army?”

  “Forty guys. Some ex-military. Others who just act like all-around tough guys.” Frank took a deep breath. “I suspect we won’t be able to keep our intent completely quiet. The Park and Hot Springs County sheriffs have sided with Edgewater. Call him the ‘duly constituted authority’ and think he’s going to be calling the shots. If either of them catches wind, they’ll rat us out.”

  “When are you heading home?” she asked, brow lined as she studied her father and grandfather with worried eyes.

  “We were supposed to be leaving this morning. Then we heard you were here.” Frank was chewing his lips when he wasn’t talking. “But now? Hell, girl of mine, I can’t just have a cup of coffee and run.”

  “Son,” old Bill told him, “it’s not like we’re calling the shots. That Highway Patrol escort is waiting on us. And I sure as hell can’t leave you behind.”

  “I just found my daughter,” Frank barked. “Your granddaughter.”

  “Yeah, you knot-head, and we’re supposed to be planning a war.” Bill looked adamant.

  “We’ll go when we’re ready. We don’t need to tie up the Patrol.”

  “Bad idea,” Breeze snapped. “You damned well don’t want to be on the roads at night. Not anywhere around Cheyenne. And definitely not in a truck with a full tank of fuel.”

  “How’d they stop us?” old Bill asked.

  “About fifteen or twenty different ways that I’ve seen. Women and children lying in the road is a real good one. Angle vehicles across both lanes. Stretch a length of chain at windshield height. You’ll stop to see what’s wrong. And they’ll have you. Some guy leaps up and into the truck bed. After he shoots out the back window, there’s nothing between you and his shotgun.” The stare Breeze was giving her father and grandfather looked harder than granite.

  Sam’s stomach did an inside-out.

  “No shit?” old Bill muttered uncertainly.

  “No shit.”

  Evan looked up as a Highway Patrol officer entered. “Looks like our escort just ran out of patience. Head’s up, folks.”

  Evan and Court were staying in Cheyenne at the governor’s insistence as they worked on a plan to stabilize the Big Horn Basin’s economy. Word was they’d be back in Hot Springs in another week.

  All heads turned as Sam watched the patrolwoman cross to their table. Her expression was anything but happy.

  “I know,” Frank told her. “We’re discussing—”

  “Mr. Tappan,” she cut him off. “I’ve just had a call from Captain Richardson. Sully wanted me to get you a message soonest. He says you need to know that Edgewater’s people made a call at your ranch last night. Shots were fired. While Edgewater’s people fled from the scene, they left a
vehicle and several casualties behind.”

  “What about Pam?” Frank cried. “Meggan? Is everyone all right?”

  The patrolwoman’s expression went even more steely. “Pam Tappan was shot in the exchange. She’s at Hot Springs Memorial Hospital. All I know is that she went into surgery last night.”

  Frank sank back in his chair, facial muscles strained.

  “Anyone else hurt?” old Bill demanded, stumbling to his feet.

  “I’m told a woman was killed.”

  “Who?” Sam and Bill cried in unison.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen, I don’t have that information.”

  Sam felt the world tilt. He grabbed the table edge to steady himself.

  The Weapon

  I wasn’t a soldier. I’d never joined either the Guard or Militia. I’d just shown up at an opportune and desperate moment when Captain Ragnovich needed to get water to a distant OP. I was there, waiting a chance to enlist, and was told, “You have a fast motorcycle. Here’s a map. If you can get that case of water to them, you’re a Line rider.”

  The job just evolved from there. Along with the other riders, I’d run whatever the OPs radioed that they needed: bandages, water, ammo, food, spare parts, whatever. As the days passed, the role of the OPs changed from refugee interdiction to repulsing raiders. Fewer and fewer families were trying to sneak across the line as gangs of looters down south figured out how to organize. Most of the cattle, sheep, pigs, chickens, horses, and pets had been eaten. The looters had figured out how to overwhelm outlying Colorado farms and ranches. They started probing the line soon after.

  Wasn’t long before I was riding out to OPs in the thick of the fight.

  On that long ride back to Hot Springs—worried about Mom—I considered that. My father thought he had his daughter back.

  I knew he carried a lethal weapon, and it was me.

  — Excerpt from Breeze Tappan’s Journal.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  All things considered, having the Highway Patrol escort might have kept them alive. Not because of ambush or the threat of robbery or the people walking the roads, but Frank’s driving. He kept growling, “Come on. Come on” at the rear of the Highway Patrol Charger that led the way up the Interstate at eighty-five. From Casper to Shoshoni, their second escort had run at seventy-five. Now they were careening through the Wind River Canyon at a breakneck seventy, centrifugal force slinging them back and forth around the curves.

  Sam sat in the back seat; beside him, Breeze fidgeted. In the pickup bed, the yellow-and-silver BMW 650 rocked against the tie-down straps every time the big Dodge thumped over bridge approaches. Breeze’s boogie bag—as she called the military duffle—was stuffed down next to the bike’s front wheel.

  Despite assurances that she wouldn’t need it, the M4 rested on the seat beside her. Her pistol hung on her hip. When he wasn’t overwhelmed by his concern for Shyla, he was shooting surreptitious glances at Breeze Tappan. Wondering what it was about her that left him on edge. The feeling was like riding next to an angry tiger, the kind that might turn and rip him apart at any second.

  He had tried talking. She’d reciprocated. Each attempt at small talk had died as it gave way to worry and introspection.

  Sam kept squirming. In a voice thick with desperation, he’d insist, “She’s got to be all right. It’s okay, Sam. She’s fine.” Then he’d squirm some more, knot and unknot his fists.

  But then, all four of them were fuming, fretting, and terrified at what they’d find as they hurtled their way north.

  Sam heard Breeze absently whisper, “God, it’s like my soul’s hanging from a meat hook.” She was looking out the side window at the passing river. Probably had no idea she’d spoken out loud.

  He heard her softly pray: “Make it, Mom. Please. Just let me say I’m sorry.”

  Sam stared up at the towering rock walls as they flashed past. Yeah, I know what you mean. But he’d never say any of those things to his parents. Offer his eternal thanks for those endless days in the kitchen and the work ethic Mom and Dad had beaten into him.

  The Highway Patrol car slowed to forty as they hit town and led the way to the hospital, pulled up at the front door. Lights still flashing, the trooper gave them a nod and salute, watching as they all piled out of the Dodge and headed for the entrance. Sam followed along behind, feeling like an appendage. A voyeur to a drama where he was an uncomfortable interloper.

  “Where’s Pam Tappan?” Frank demanded at the reception window.

  “Intensive care, Frank,” the woman told him. “Down the hall and right. But you check with Doc before you go barging in.”

  Frank practically ran, Grandpa hitching along behind on his bad leg. Breeze lagged, her face a mixture of hope and anguish.

  A deputy stood before the Intensive Care ward—an older man, maybe late forties, with a sagging belly that grotesquely stretched his uniform shirt and hid his belt buckle.

  “Whoa!” the deputy called. “Who are you people, and where are you going?”

  “I’m Frank Tappan, and my wife’s in there.”

  The deputy fixed on Old Bill. “You William Tappan?”

  “I am.”

  “All right, and who are...” His eyes stopped on Breeze, and then the muzzle of the M4 sticking up over her shoulder. “There’s no weapons in here.”

  Frank barked, “She’s with the Guard. Take it up with Governor Agar if you’ve got a problem with that.”

  The deputy seemed confused.

  “And you?” he asked when he looked at Sam.

  “Friend of the family.” God, get it over with! He had to know about Shyla.

  “Five minutes,” the deputy told them. “Then I’ve got to have a word with you two.” He pointed at Frank and Bill.

  Sam followed the Tappans into the room, remembering what hospitals were all about: cabinets, glowing monitors, IV stands, wires, and tubes.

  Pam lay on her back, the hospital bed tilted up. Old Doc Willson stood beside the bed where he tapped at his laptop, and stopped short at their entry.

  “Shhh!” He put a finger to his lips and motioned them to stop.

  Frank, never one to take orders, stepped over and took Pam’s hand, whispering, “I’m here, babe. Right here.”

  Breeze ground her teeth, fists clenching. “Mom? It’s Breeze. I came as soon as I heard.”

  “How is she?” Bill asked. “What the hell happened?”

  “She was shot through the lower right lung,” Willson replied. “Now, Bill Mason’s a pretty good general surgeon, but I called in Tommy Tharp.”

  “He’s a vet,” Bill growled.

  “You know anyone else with more experience sewing up gunshot wounds in the Basin? Normally, we’d fly Pam out to Salt Lake or Billings. Well, those days are past,” Doc Willson growled back. “Tharp and Mason worked together with a combat-trained nurse. I stood back and assisted. The wound’s debrided, the major bleeders are tied off, and her lung’s re-inflated. But don’t jump for joy. She’s still critical.”

  “Hey,” Pam whispered softly, and tightened her grip on Frank’s hand. “I’ll be all right.”

  Frank bent down and gently kissed her lips. “You gotta make it, babe. I can’t do this without you.”

  “Feel like I was bucked off a horse onto rocks.”

  “Got a present for you.” Frank stepped back, gesturing Breeze forward.

  Pam’s eyes were opened to slits, looking dazed and unfocused. “Hey, baby, that you?”

  “Hi, Mom.” Breeze took her mother’s hand. “I’m back. I want you to know I’m so sorry.”

  Sam saw tears trickle past the tiger-woman’s eyes.

  Her mother squeezed her hand. “I know, sweetie. Me, too.”

  “Get well, please. I want to go riding with you again.”

  “I think,” Doc Willson said, “that that will be about all.”

  “Sweetie?” Pam whispered. “Come close.”

  Breeze wiped at her tears, bent her head down. Sam hea
rd her whisper, “Overheard the deputy. They’re forming a posse to go get Brandon. Get to the ranch. Warn him. They’re gonna kill him. Understand?”

  Sam gaped. Kill Brandon?

  Breeze blinked, met her mother’s now flint-like eyes, and nodded. “I’m on it.”

  Doc Willson motioned them out of the room as he said, “Nothing could have been better for her. She’s got the will now.”

  In the hallway, Sam faced the deputy. “Heard a woman was killed out there.”

  “Yeah, tried to resist arrest. Heard that when she pulled a pistol, Ed Tubb took her out.” He nodded toward the hospital room. “Like Mrs. Tappan, here. You people better understand. There’s a whole host of charges, from federal all the way down. You get it? Director Edgewater is the duly appointed federal authority, and we’re in a state of emergency and martial law. So, yeah, there’s a shit storm brewing.”

  “What about the woman? Who was she?” Sam insisted, his heart like trip hammer.

  “I didn’t catch the name. Just that she was some transient from Vermont.”

  The world seemed to fade. Hollowness, emptying his gut. “Where is she?”

  “Probably still out at that ranch.” The deputy had his right hand on his weapon now, pointing with his left index finger at Dad and Grandpa. “You two, I’m supposed to detain. Heard you were out of town. Sheriff Kapital and Steve Fallow want to have a word with you. Something about sedition.”

  “You got any paper on me?” Breeze asked, stepping forward. “I’m Breeze Tappan. Been in Cheyenne on the border. You can check with Captain Ragnovich. Give him a call.”

  “I’ve got nothing on you.”

  “Then I’m out of here.” She asked her father, “You coming?”

  Frank tipped his head back at the room. “I’m not leaving her.”

  “And they’re going to face the sheriff before the day’s out,” the deputy insisted. “So my advice to you, young lady, is keep your nose clean, or you’ll be in shit as deep as the rest of your family.”