Supernova EMP- The Complete Series

by Grace Hamilton

  Now, Josh turned to the men on their knees. “You want a war, mister, you got yourself a war. Now you tell your Mr. Creggan that there’s plenty more where that came from. If he wants to talk, we’ll talk, but there is no way your pecking order, as you call it, applies to us. You want a share in the animal produce of the M-Bar, you’re going to have to play nice. Or… bye bye, boom boom.”

  The three men looked at Mustache. Their faces in the red flare light were full of concern, and they weren’t drawing any confidence from Mustache. “Came on, Daniel. There’s no need to bring matters to a head now. They’re being reasonable,” said Spencer.

  Daniel spat on the ground and then smoothed his mustache with his fingers. “Spencer, you’re a damn coward. We walk away from here and Dale is not going to be happy.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Josh said. “Just get up. Leave your weapons and take yourself back to town. We’ll release Laurent in the morning. Your guy is right. All we want to do is get along, but we won’t play nice if you try to lord it over us. We have the firepower and the determination to resist you, as well as the weaponry, and we will resist. So, let’s all be reasonable, yes?”

  Spencer and Ray got to their feet, hands still in the air. After a few seconds, the sniper joined them. Daniel hadn’t moved, and his black eyes were brittle, black quartz in his face. This was a man Tally would rather have on her side than against it. Her dad was dealing with the situation well, using what her mom called his cop skills—the conflict resolution strategies employed in these situations to make sure things didn’t get out of hand.

  After what seemed like an age, Daniel nodded and, using his thumb and forefinger, lifted his Glock from his hip holster and dropped it to the ground.

  “You can have all the hardware back once we’ve talked to Creggan, okay?” Josh commented as Poppet and Tally went forward to pick up the guns and rifles and search them for hidden weapons. The sputtering flare was still throwing off a bright bubble of red light over them all. As Tally and Poppet withdrew to a safe distance with the weapons, her father spoke again to Daniel. “You’ll have horses up in the trees, I’m sure, hidden from sight. Where?”

  Daniel boiled, but pointed up the trail into the trees. Josh said, “Henry?”

  Henry nodded and jogged away from the group in the direction Daniel had pointed.

  “You’re going to have to leave those, too,” Josh continued. “We’ll look after them, but I want to see you walking away down the slope and taking the road back to Pickford. Am I clear?”

  “As crystal,” Daniel said, and the bubbling rage beneath his voice came through clearly. His eyes were boring into Tally’s father’s, but Josh was staring right back at him. In the end, it was Daniel who broke the stare first. The man turned on his heel and began to stalk away from the fizzing flare.

  The other three followed him. Tally and the others watched them for forty seconds as they went down. Soon, the dark would engulf them and they’d be out of sight.

  Then, for the second time that night, there came a hiss, an ignition, a shoosh… and a rocket tore away from the group, lancing through the night. The four men from Pickford didn’t stand a chance. The exploding RPG blew them apart in a splash of fire, a heave of earth, and billowing smoke.

  “Liars,” said Greene, dropping the launcher before anyone could take it out of his hand. “They were gonna come back and kill us anyway. But I showed them. I damn well showed them.”

  29

  Six days late, Maxine and Doctor Banks––“For God’s sake, call me Larry, young lady”––sighted the M-Bar from the road through the tree line.

  Since leaving Cumberland with fresh supplies, ammunition, and clothing, all at Clitheroe’s insistence, they’d made good time from Maryland into West Virginia, stopping just long enough to give Tally-Two the rest she needed to freshen up and be on her way again.

  Larry’s traumatic amputation of General Carron’s leg had been allowed to go ahead in the dimly lit operating theater, and the general’s screams as the stump of his leg had been cauterized––“It’s the only way, I’m afraid,” Larry had said––had haunted Maxine’s thoughts from the second she’d turned away, covering her ears. Not so much because she felt any sympathy for Carron, but because those would be the same conditions under which her son would be operated on.

  Larry had been quiet as the buggy had passed the intersection that led up to his property in the woods. Maxine had told him what she’d found there and what she’d done when his wife had died. Larry had been tight-lipped, pale-faced as a few wandering tears wound their way down his cheek. He’d thanked Maxine for staying with his wife until the end, grateful for what she’d done afterwards. It was that, more than anything, that had convinced him he should come with her to the M-Bar rather than stay and help the people of Cumberland.

  Clitheroe had given his blessing, too, on the understanding that Larry Banks would return to the city as soon as he was finished with Maxine’s son. A doctor of Larry’s experience and ability was not someone they could do without for long. Maxine had agreed that she’d get Larry back as soon as she could, and with Larry’s agreement, the deal had been struck.

  The sight of the M-Bar down the Alleghany slope, across the plain, was a sight that made Maxine’s heart leap and hurt in equal measure, but when the man dressed all in black—and with a gas mask over his face, no less—stepped from the shadow of a spruce and pointed a sub-machine gun at them in the road, her heart almost stopped.

  Maxine reined Tally-Two to a stuttering halt as the ant-faced man came towards them.

  “Mrs. Standing?” the muffled voice from inside the mask asked. “And Lawrence Banks?”

  “Yes,” answered Maxine. “Who’s asking?”

  The man pulled off the mask, exposing red hair and the fact that he wasn’t so much a man as not much past being a boy. He came forward and patted Tally-Two gently on the rump. His eyes were bright, fast, and his tongue worked anxiously at his lips. He seemed worried about the trees, as if he were expecting someone to burst out of them at any time.

  “I’m Henry. We need to get you off the road, right now. Creggan’s men are coming. If you come with me, I’ll take you to your family.”

  “You need me to fight with you. I’m an asset, not a hindrance!”

  Greene’s eyes blazed, Josh thumped the table, and Donald ground his teeth.

  “Killing those men has started a war, Greene. You’re a fool and a liability,” Josh said, his bitterness hissing out of him like he was a cobra threatening to strike.

  “I say we shoot him now and be done with it,” Donald suggested.

  Greene raised his hands. “You know they were lying! There were going to be no negotiations. They were going to come back here and wipe us all out anyway. It’s what people like Creggan do. How stupid are you?”

  Josh rubbed his eyes. In the last four days, there had been no contact with Creggan’s men or Creggan himself. But they had seen activity up on the ridge where Greene had exploded the RPG, and two nights ago, they’d seen shadows moving in the paddock, which Donald had fired at, though he’d hit nothing. Josh guessed Creggan had sent a couple of guys to see what they could find out about their strengths and armaments, and what preparations they were making on the farm to defend it.

  The windows in the house had been boarded up by Donald and Josh while Poppet, Henry, and Tally had done what they could to keep an eye on the roads approaching the farm. Josh reckoned that if Maxine was going to come back in without getting attacked, they would need to get to her first before she drove her buggy out into the open and exposed herself to Creggan’s men.

  Laurent was still tied up in the lounge, Josh figuring that he might still be useful as a bargaining chip if Creggan and his men made an attack, but he understood that was a longshot. Especially after Greene had blown up his men.

  It was a desperate situation. If they could have moved Storm, they could maybe have hightailed it out of the vicinity south, but that just wasn
’t an option. In the last few days, Storm’s abdominal pains and vomiting had returned—going beyond the capacity of the antibiotics and the painkillers to bring him respite.

  If his appendix hadn’t burst yet, it was getting ready to.

  And what to do with Greene?

  Josh had to concede, if only to himself, that Greene had a point; when Creggan’s men came at them, they would need all hands at the pumps to defend the M-Bar and get to a position where they might be able to negotiate a settlement. But the hollow ache in Josh’s guts suggested to the ex-cop that he was clutching at the last straws in the wind.

  “I should be out there with the others, defending the place.” Greene’s voice was a whine, and Donald was doing that thing where he stuck his thumbs in his jeans and rocked on his heels with his chin in his chest, as if he was struggling with himself to not just shake Greene by the throat and dash his body to the ground.

  They could hear Laurent, too, tied up and laughing from the other room. That probably meant that Maria was in there with him, smiling and saying “Donald” every three seconds. This seemed to amused Laurent to the point of hysterics.

  Josh sighed. “Greene, if you want to do anything, get in there and keep an eye on Laurent. Make sure he doesn’t get free. He’s the last chip we have in the game.”

  Greene got up from the table, turning as he got to the door. “I’ll need a gun.”

  Donald spat in the sink.

  “I’ll think about it,” said Josh. “Now, go.”

  The post next to Tally’s head exploded. She ducked back down and brushed the splinters from her hair. “Dammit. Dammit. Dammit!”

  She’d seen Henry leading her mom and the white-haired doctor down on foot from the tree line, along the cattle fences and the dotted trees of the plain, which meant Creggan’s men could have been able to see them also. The sniper who’d replaced the ones Greene had turned into so much mincemeat didn’t appear to be as skilled as the first, but he obviously had a tad more optimism. He’d already loosed off a few shots which had whanged overhead, and one which had split the fencepost by Tally as she’d looked up to check on the progress of those coming down from the hills.

  Creggan’s men weren’t ready to come down as a group yet. Obviously, her dad had said, because they didn’t know how many grenades, with the means to fire them, there might be left at the M-Bar. If they knew there was only one, they might not still be skulking on the ridge and taking potshots. So, they had to be thankful for small mercies. It was clear they weren’t going to wait forever, and Tally got the distinct idea they were planning some sort of assault in the next couple of days. How could they not? How could Creggan save face with his people if he let the killing of his men and the taking of Laurent pass?

  The simple answer, as her dad and grandfather had agreed, was that Creggan could not. It was a boil he was going to have to burst.

  Henry, Tally’s mom, and the doctor––tall, lanky, and carrying a black doctor’s Gladstone bag from another century––were crouched low and running. The shots rang out from the ridge, but they didn’t seem to be in danger of hitting their target except by accident.

  As the three reached Tally, she upped and crashed into Maxine. She felt like she would have wrapped her legs around her as well as her arms if she could have.

  “Oh, Mom! I thought I might never….” her words broke off in sobs that were deep and hard.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” her mother said, hugging back. Her tears wet on Tally’s forehead. “I’m here now. Henry said Dad made it back, too…”

  “Yeah, got here just after us with Poppet.”

  “Poppet?”

  “Gangster’s wife. You’ll love her.” Tally smiled through the tears.

  “All these hugs and kisses are all very well, young lady, but if I’m going to prevent your brother from developing peritonitis, then time is of the absolute essence,” the white-haired doctor commented, tapping Tally on the shoulder. “Lead on. Lead on.”

  Neither Maxine nor Donald could bring themselves to take Maria back to the room where she’d been chained before, so Josh simply led her up the stairs.

  She clung to his arm and smiled and said, “Donald” as she squeezed it. So much of the woman he’d known peripherally, all his married life, had drained away to leave this compliant, smiling husk who he just couldn’t match up with the description Maxine and Donald had imparted. How she’d been in the weeks leading up to Creggan’s first visit to the M-Bar––insanely violent and violently insane––now there was a child-like tone in her being. A blissful innocence which calmed the heart and unfurrowed the brow whenever she was near. Everyone seemed to respond to her differently. Donald would have a mist in his eyes, Tally a lump in her throat. Henry and Poppet thought she was the sweetest thing in the world, and Greene seemed to be nothing less than uncomfortable in her presence, as if she were the very negative image of him. He wouldn’t acknowledge her in a room even if she sat by him and reached for his hand. Laurent, tied up on the couch, thought she was hilarious. Josh, feeling the pull of Donald’s loss and the ache the older man was experiencing, felt more akin to the older man than he ever had before. It was like seeing his own feelings of loss about his own marriage made flesh.

  Seeing Maxine again had brought a rush of regret and bubbling hope. Not, frankly, the combinations of emotions he’d have expected to feel at the moment when he saw his wife again after so much time. They’d embraced, of course, but even in the middle of that, he’d still felt the distance between them. There was a wealth of unresolved arguments and recriminations that they just didn’t have the time to deal with right now, such was the situation with Creggan and the M-Bar.

  So, he’d kissed her cheek, said, “We get through this, and then we’ll get through that,” and let her take Doctor Banks to see Storm in the downstairs room they’d converted for him now that he was unable to get up and down stairs, such was the pain.

  If the M-Bar was about to be attacked, Maria would be safest in her room, and so Josh led her into it and set her on the bed. A chain with a cuff at one end was still attached to the wall, and as Josh gently took Maria’s hand to clip the cuff into place, Maria’s demeanor changed as if he’d just flicked a switch.

  A full-throated yell of rage escaped her throat and her nails clawed at Josh’s eyes. There was spittle spraying from her mouth, and he managed to just deflect her hands upward, though her fingers became tangled in his hair, pulling it at the roots and sending bolts of pain through the skin on his skull. Her feet kicked and her knees crunched into him. There was so much sudden momentum in the attack that Josh was rolled over backwards, crashing to the floor.

  “It’s me, Maria! Me! Josh! Stop!” he cried out as her knees landed on his chest, feeling like it was re-cracking his injured rib. Then her fingers yanked at his hair.

  Josh gave himself one chance to get her off as gently as he could. He couldn’t bring himself to hit Maria to stop her attack, so he began by trying to peel her fingers from out of his hair.

  She leaned forward in a screaming rush and bit into his wrist. The pain bloomed hot along his arm, and he felt the skin break open to bleed.

  “Maria! Stop! Please! Stop!”

  And she did.

  Not because of anything Josh did, but because a bullet tore through the window of the room and the board covering it. First one, then a second, a third, and a fourth and a fifth.

  The battle over the M-Bar had begun.

  Maria slumped forward onto Josh.

  For a second, he thought she’d fainted, and then a groan left her mouth that was accompanied by a warm wetness spreading between them. Maria’s fingers had released from his hair. Her body didn’t have the total limpness and lack of muscle tension of a dead body, but she was very still.

  He rolled her off and saw that the front of her blouse was a blossoming flower of blood, filled with air bubbles. There was a rattle at the back of her throat that spoke of the start of labored breathing. Her eyelids flic
kered.

  “Maxine…” she said. “Maxine…”

  Josh saw the tear in her blouse was spilling blood hard. It was rising like water from a spring, running down and pooling on the floorboard.

  Two more shots slammed into the board at the window, and he heard someone from within the M-Bar returning fire from downstairs.

  Josh could see that Maria was dying. If he left her to get Maxine, there was a good chance she’d die before they came back.

  “It’s okay, Maria… Mom… hold my hand. I’m here.”

  “Maxine…” Maria repeated. “You need to tell him. You really need to tell him…”

  It was the most lucid sentence Josh had heard from Maria since he’d gotten to the M-Bar. Perhaps the shot of the bullet, the blood loss, the closeness to death… perhaps it was overriding the influence of the damned star––like with the person he had shot in the Savannah Home Depot, the one who had thanked Josh as he’d died––was there a moment just before death when the influence of the supernova was relinquished and clarity of thought returned?

  “Maxine… you have to tell Josh…”

  Whatever Maria wanted to get across in her last moments was occupying all the capacity she had left. There was blood streaming from the side of her mouth, her face was creased with pain, and the rising and falling of her chest was ticking down to zero.