EMP Aftermath Series (Book 2): Desperate Measures

by John Winchester

  "There will be no more outbursts like that or I'll clear the courtroom. We may not be following all of the old rules, but this isn't a barroom shouting match, nor is it a lynch mob. This is a court of law," she said.

  "Well, we've heard one side of things. Jack Miller, stand and address the court. Tell us what happened yesterday," Judge Ramsey said.

  "I left Wheeler in the morning, scouting for supplies. When we got to the train--"

  "We? Who is we?"

  "Myself, my son, Kenny, and Chief Howell," Jack said.

  "Hold on. Did you say Chief Howell? As in Chief Bud Howell, the police Chief over in Wheeler?"

  "Yes, ma’am. Chief Howell came along with me and my son, Kenny. We were trying to find food for my other son, Danny. You see, he’s allergic to acorns and acorn bread is really all we have left to eat this winter. So we were out scouting for food and came across the train. It's somewhere in between Wheeler and Long Branch," Jack said.

  "How far in between?" the judge asked.

  "I'm honestly not too sure," Jack said.

  "Do we have anyone from the scavenging crew here? Ben, there he is. Ben how far is the train from town?"

  "It's pretty close. Not too far at all," Ben said with authority.

  "Ben, I won't mince words. That trainload of goods has been a Godsend for this town. That being said, we need to know how far outside of Long Branch the train is. 'Not too far' isn't specific enough. Where exactly is the train?"

  "Well, it is just a little ways outside of town like I said. I'm not sure exactly how far though. I'm not too good with distances," Ben said.

  "Is there anyone in this room that drove one of the wagons to the train today? Can anybody here tell me how far the train is?" he asked.

  A man in overalls and a sock hat on his head stood up, taking the cap off of his head. "It's a little over seven miles down the tracks to the train."

  "Seven miles? Are you sure?" Judge Ramsey asked.

  "Yes, ma’am. Each trip took me two hours and twenty minutes to get to the train. One way that is. My horses walk three miles an hour pulling a wagon."

  "Two hours and twenty minutes? That sounds pretty specific. How could you tell time with such precision?"

  The man pulled a silver pocket watch from his overalls. "My granddad gave me this watch. It still keeps good time, don't need batteries or electric."

  "It sounds to me like the train is a good deal further away from Long Branch than originally described by Ben. Let's move on. Tell the rest of your story, Mr. Miller."

  "Yes, ma’am. Well, we found the train and opened some of the boxcars. That was where we found the canned goods. I sent my son, Kenny, back to town with some of the soup cans for my younger son, Danny, and also to fetch someone with a horse and wagon. We kept opening other boxcars and containers to see what was inside of them, and I moved to another car. Sometime later Chief Howell came running down the track. These people were shooting at him. He told me to get out of the train and run."

  "And did you run?" the judge asked.

  "No, ma’am. I went to the car where we found the canned food and filled my backpack up with cans of chicken noodle soup."

  "People are shooting at Chief Howell, and you stopped in the car to fill your backpack with cans of soup? I find that hard to believe."

  "Like I said, my younger son, Danny, is allergic to acorns, and acorns are just about all we have left. He hasn't been eating enough and he got sick two months ago with the bad flu that went around. He was never able to kick the flu and get well. He's... I'm worried that he isn't going to make it," Jack said.

  Several people tsk'd and sighed in sympathy.

  Shane fumed. Jack Miller could say whatever he wanted and spin it however he wanted to, but he wouldn't change his mind or soften his heart. Jack Miller killed his son in cold blood. End of story.

  "All right, Mr. Miller, that does seem understandable. Go on."

  "I packed the bag full of food and went to leave. That’s when one of your people stepped into the boxcar."

  "Say his name, Jack! Say his name! Todd Fowler," Shane yelled.

  "Sit down, Shane. We've already heard what you have to say," Judge Ramsey said.

  "So the young man... Todd stepped into the boxcar. I tried to convince him to let me go without any trouble. He told me to put the food back. I told him that I couldn't put the food back, that I needed it for my son. I told him all I wanted to do is walk out of there without anybody getting hurt. I said that nobody had to die. He wouldn't listen to me. He did what he thought was right and he tried to stop me. He went for his gun. I... I shot him. I'm sorry your son died. He was a brave boy. If there were anything else I could have done I would have. If I could take it back I would in an instant," Jack said.

  Rage burned inside of Shane and heat rose up his neck. Jack wasn't sorry. He just wanted to save his sorry neck. Jack took the last thing in the world Shane had to live for away from him, and now he sat there with his crocodile tears, giving this sob story about a sick son.

  "You admit to shooting Todd?" The Judge asked.

  "Yes. I shot him. I wish it would have gone differently, but I couldn't leave that car without the food. I needed that food. My son was going to die without it. Todd raised his gun at me and I defended myself. I had to shoot him or he would have shot me."

  Murmurs and whispers broke out in the courtroom.

  "Let's back up a second. Ben, before we brought Jack up here today you said that Todd was killed protecting the train from looters. Did your team fire the first shots as Jack claims?"

  "Well, it's hard to say. There was so much happening all at once," Ben said.

  "Ben, let me be clear. Is it at all possible that someone on your team fired the first shot?"

  "Maybe. I mean, yeah, I guess so. A few of the guys have itchy trigger fingers," he said, wringing his hat in his hands.

  "And these people were there first? Jack and Sheriff Howell? They found the train before you did? Is that true?" The Judge asked.

  "They might have been there first. Like I said, so much happened all at once. It's hard to say," Ben said.

  Gasps erupted from the crowd.

  It didn't change a damn thing as far as Shane was concerned. Who found the train first, who fired the first shot. None of that mattered to him. Jack Miller took his son from him. He murdered him. His son was the only thing he had left and he was gone.

  "This is certainly a very different scenario than was presented to me earlier. The train is in between Wheeler and Long Branch, not just outside of town. Jack Miller and Chief Howell, who I happen to know quite well by the way, found the train first. The scavenging team may have opened fire first, inciting the shootout.

  "I'm having a hard time seeing this as a murder. Jack acted in self-defense. Look at Jack's other actions, some of which we have witnessed. The diversion he created at the food storage building was a harmless ploy to capture our attention while he rescued his son. If he were a callous man he could have set the whole building on fire just as easily as setting the tire on fire. He could have destroyed the whole town's food supply, but he didn't. Jack Miller does not strike me as a cold blooded murderer.

  "Jack Miller, please stand up. This court finds you not guilty of murder. We are going to send you home right now. We'll have a couple of our men escort you. This nonsense ends today.

  "In addition, the riders will take word to our people in Wheeler. We will stand down and explain the miscommunications and everything else that has happened. We must restore order at all costs. Further bloodshed will do neither town any good. We'll need all the hands we can get this spring when planting time comes. This town can't afford to lose any of its citizens,” Judge Ramsey said. With a bang of her gavel, she dismissed the courtroom.

  Shane seethed with rage. A streak of white hot hatred for Jack Miller burned so intensely inside of him it felt like he was going to catch fire. He clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his palms drawing blood.

 
; If this town wouldn't give him justice he would take matters into his own hands. He would avenge Todd, no matter the costs.

  Chapter 14

  Jack yawned and let his sleepy eyes close for a moment. After two sleepless nights, he was having a hard time staying awake, and the gentle side to side swaying of the horse as it plodded down the trail wasn't helping him remain alert either. The sweet smelling, crisp mountain air and rhythmic clop of horses hooves completed the task of soothing him toward slumber. Half asleep, he absently clung to the pommel and his chin met his chest as his head dipped forward.

  His horse ascended a steep section of the narrow mountain trail, jarring him awake as he tilted back in the saddle. Jack clutched the pommel more tightly and leaned forward in the saddle, shifting his weight to make it easier for the horse to climb and helping him stay in the saddle in the process. The jolt brought him to full awareness, and he reminded himself that although the action was over and he was accompanied by two armed guards, this was no place to fall asleep. One false step and his horse could go over a cliff, carrying him to his death.

  Just ahead of him a tall, thin man named Henry rode a silver thoroughbred, which seemed to fly up the hillside with the grace of a cat. He was one of the two guards from Long Branch assigned to take him home. He couldn't remember Henry's last name, but it didn't matter much as the man was silent as a stone and hadn't said more than two words during the trip.

  The other escort more than made up for the lack of conversation with Henry. The grey haired, friendly fellow bringing up the rear was Ed, a feisty, old coal miner who wheezed with each breath he took. It was a terrible thing to listen to. The noises his chest made had Jack convinced that the man would keel over at any moment, but you couldn't tell it from looking at him. He was a stoic and sturdy mountain man that gave no signs of weakness.

  "Tell me something, Jack. You said you've been using acorns for food? How do you eat them? Ain't they kind of bitter?" Ed asked.

  "Well, yes they are bitter right off the tree, but we process them first and leech out the tannins. White oaks drop the best nuts. We scoop all of the acorns up off the ground and then separate them on a sorting table my friend Wyatt made. The bad ones have a little hole in them. Those are the ones with grubs inside. We don't waste them though, we use them for chicken feed. The grubs provide a little extra protein for the birds, and they don't seem to mind some acorns in their diet.

  "The undamaged acorns we separate and put into burlap sacks. We sink the sacks into a fast moving stream and let them sit for a few weeks. By the time we pull them out again all the tannins have been leached out. We used to grind the acorns up and boil them to leech the tannins out, but that was a lot more work than just letting nature do the job for us," Jack said.

  "Ain't that something. I never would have guessed you could eat acorns. I took a bite of one as a little boy and it puckered my mouth up something awful, almost as bad as an unripe persimmon. What do they taste like?" Ed asked.

  "We make flour out of the processed acorns. My wife bakes a pretty mean acorn bread. It doesn't taste much different than brown bread or wheat bread. A little nutty as you might imagine," Jack said.

  "You said your boy is allergic to them? That's a shame. Is that going to be enough food for him?" Ed asked.

  Jack looked down at the heavy saddlebags on his horse. The saddlebags were nearly bursting, full of foods for Danny. A gift given to him by the people of Long Branch as a good will gesture.

  "This is more than plenty. Your town was very generous. The extra calories will make a world of difference. I'm sure he'll be on his feet soon," Jack said.

  "It was the least we could do after what happened. A lot of people feel terrible about the whole thing. Of course some of them have hard feelings and side with Shane. But that weight doesn't need to rest on your shoulders. This wasn't the first time we’ve had a misunderstanding on a supply run. The week before last we lost a few good people exploring and scavenging up north of here. They ran into a larger group of folks that ambushed and killed them while on a supply run. Only one of us got away. That's part of the reason the crew you ran into was so trigger happy," Ed said.

  "I'm sorry to hear about that. I often wonder if we'll ever recover from this. This winter has driven people to desperate measures, even worse than right after the EMP hit. I'm praying that we have good weather next year and can bring in a good harvest," Jack said.

  "I wish I would have known that last--"

  Gunfire echoed in the hills and Ed grasped at his chest. He sucked in a wheezy breath and looked down at his chest in confusion. A blood stain spread across his white shirt, soaking the fabric. Ed fell from his horse, dead before he hit the ground.

  Henry spun his horse about and looked around trying to see where the gunshot came from. He took his rifle out from the saddle holster, pulled the bolt back on the rifle and slid a round in.

  Gunfire erupted again. The shot caught Henry in the center of his forehead. Henry dropped the rifle and slumped forward on his horse. His horse spooked, rearing up and bucking him off before it ran wildly down the trail.

  Jack hunched down low in the saddle. He grabbed at the reins, which had slipped from his hands, but the horse shook its head from side to side in fright, pulling them out of reach. Finally he managed to grab the reins with one hand and began to motion to lead the horse off the trail.

  "Don't you move a muscle. Drop those reins," a voice behind him said.

  Jack froze and raised his hands up slowly, afraid to turn around lest he spook the man behind him. "Hold on a minute. Whatever this is we can work this out," Jack said.

  Boots crunched the ground behind him, then approached, circling around the front of Jack's horse. Shane appeared in the corner of his eye, holding a rifle pointed at him.

  "You killed them! Why would you do that? Those two were from your town. They're your people," Jack said, incredulous.

  "My people are all dead, thanks to you," Shane said.

  "Why’d you kill them? It doesn’t make any sense, they’re on your side," Jack asked.

  "Did you think you would get away with killing my son? I think you were just as surprised as I was when that so called judge let you go, weren't you?"

  "Shane, I'm sorry about what happened to your son. I meant every word I said before. If I could go back and change how things happened out there by the train, I would in a minute. I've got two sons my--"

  "Do you think I give a damn about your sons? You think I want to hear about them? This is between you and me. You took my son from me and now you're going to die," Shane said.

  "Listen to me. I know how mad you must be. You must hate me, and for good reason. I can't bring your son back and I can't change what happened. My family needs me, Shane. I'm not going to beg you for my life for my own sake, but I've got a sick child who depends on me for food, and another one that I don't even know where--"

  "Stuff it, Jack. You won't change my mind. I don't care who you are. I don't care why you did what you did. I don't even care if my son was in the right or wrong. I only care about one thing. You're going to die for killing my son," Shane said.

  How could he appeal to this man? How can you reason with a man with nothing left to lose?

  "Please listen to me. This might make you feel better in the--"

  "I told you to stuff it, Jack. I don't want to hear any more of your shit," Shane spat.

  Shane pulled a long rope out of his saddlebags, unwound it from the tightly wrapped coil, and then cut off a ten foot length. He then took a few feet of length at the end of the rope and folded it into an S shape, passing the rope under the S and then he wrapped the rope around the top of it several times. Finally he passed the end of the rope through the bottom loop and tugged on the knot, revealing his purpose.

  Jack stared at the hangman's noose in Shane's hands, and fear welled up inside of him. He'd just escaped from the very same thing in Long Branch, but this time there would be no mercy or stay of execution.

/>   Shane led Jack's horse underneath the bough of an oak tree and pitched the rope over the limb. With a sinister sneer he tossed the noose into Jack's lap.

  "Put this around your neck," Shane said.

  "I get why you’re doing this. I can only imagine what you’re feeling right now. But this won't change anything--"

  "Oh, it will change something all right. Now, slip that noose around your neck or I'll put a bullet in your gut. It don't make a difference to me how you go. Hell, you'll probably last longer and scream louder that way, come to think of it," Shane said.

  Jack gritted his teeth and grabbed the noose from his lap. He held it up and slipped it over his head.

  "Cinch it up."

  His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline flooding his system. He could feel every coarse fiber in the rope as he tightened the noose until it was tight around his neck. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead despite the chill wind, his body feverish.

  "Turn around," Shane said.

  Jack twisted around in the saddle, offering no resistance. Shane had the rifle trained on him and his finger on the trigger. If he tried to pull away or wrestle Shane to the ground he had no doubt he would be shot. There was no way out. This was it, the end.

  Shane bound his hands together behind his back so tightly that his hands quickly grew numb.

  Shane tied the other end of the rope to the pommel of his saddle, then took up the horse's reins.

  "Any last words, Jack?" Shane asked. Without waiting for a response he led the horse forward. "Nah, hell with it. I don't want to hear what you've got to say."

  The rope tightened around Jack's neck biting into his skin. He gulped down one last breath just before the rope cut off his airway, making it impossible to breathe. Shane's horse pulled on the other end of the rope, lifting him up out of his saddle and into the air. He planted his boots down onto the saddle, trying to keep his body weight from pulling down on the noose and strangling him even further.