“No, but I think I found us a ride,” Greg said. “I just need to check and make sure it’s available. Wait here. I’ll be right back. Don’t move, okay?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said with a sigh.
He pulled her hood up and adjusted her toque, folded her hands on her belly, and made sure she was as comfortable as possible. Then he rose and crept toward the fence. There was a house off in the distance, near the far side of the pasture, but he didn’t see any other people. There was no sign of the rider. The horse was just standing there and grazing as if it hadn’t a care in the world. Climbing the fence, Greg began to speak gently to the animal.
“Hey there, girl,” he said, holding out a hand. “How are you doing, girl? Are you over here all by yourself? Is everything okay over here?”
The horse looked at him briefly then resumed grazing. The ground along the fence was rocky, and a particularly large rock poked up from the ground just to the horse’s right flank. As Greg circled around in front of the animal, he spotted a pair of booted feet sticking out from behind the rock. Then he saw the legs, the torso, the entire body. The man might’ve been in his late thirties or early forties. He was paunchy, dressed like a cowhand, with leather chaps, a dark brown cowboy hat, and a leather vest.
“Sir, are you hurt?” Greg asked.
He saw blood on the rocks, blood on the side of the man’s head, and a very large, dark puddle on the dusty ground in between. The horse didn’t seem bothered by Greg’s presence and tolerated him as he knelt beside the rider.
“Sir?” he asked again.
He pressed two fingers against the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. He was dead. Indeed, his skin had already turned the ugly sallow color of corpse flesh. Greg tipped the hat back to uncover the man’s face and realized that his eyes were open but unfocused. He had traces of blood and foam around his mouth.
“What did you do?” Greg asked the horse. “Did you throw him? Did he try to get you to jump the fence? That was not a nice thing to do, girl.”
Greg searched the man and found a .38 Magnum in a holster on his right hip. Looking around to make sure no one was nearby, he drew the gun from the holster, checked to make sure it was loaded, then tucked it into his jacket pocket with John’s pistol. As he was doing that, he heard strange breathing right at his ear. He turned to find that the horse had come up behind him, still chewing grass. She seemed docile and friendly. Maybe she’d been out there in the pasture for a while, waiting for her rider to wake up.
“Hey there, you poor thing,” he said. With one hand, he grabbed the reins. With the other, he gently stroked her neck. “How long have you been standing out here all alone?”
He rose and led the horse back across the pasture. She came willingly. Actually, she seemed rather content to finally have a person with her again. As he approached the fence, he realized Emma was sitting up in the grass and staring at the horse.
“Oh my gosh,” she cried. “What a beautiful roan mare. Dad, that’s a red roan. I recognize the color of its coat. She was probably a really expensive horse.”
“Well, she was all alone out there,” Greg said. “Looks like her rider got thrown. Sorry there’s not a carriage to ride in. I hope you’re okay in the saddle.”
“I don’t care if my leg hurts,” Emma said. “I want to ride.”
In the end, Greg had to dismantle part of the crude split-rail fence in order to get the horse on the other side. He wasn’t about to attempt a jump. Even if he’d been an expert at such things, he didn’t want to wind up like the previous rider. He gave the horse a quick examination to make sure there was nothing wrong with her. She was shoed, and she had a really nice trail-riding saddle on her back, all supple black leather. When he picked up Emma and hoisted her into the saddle, the horse actually shifted position to make it easier.
Fortunately, she was a fairly large animal, so he assumed she would easily bear their combined weight. Still, as he climbed into the saddle, he moved slowly to make sure the horse was okay with it. He slid into the saddle behind Emma and reached around her to grab the reins.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Let’s just go,” she replied.
Greg gave the reins a little shake, and the horse began to move. He guided her back toward the road.
“I’m pretty sure this road will lead us home,” he said. “In fact, it should take us right by the ranch.”
“I just hope we’re close,” Emma said, her head lolling back against his chest. “I’m so tired, Dad.”
“Just hang in there a little longer,” he replied.
Being on horseback made a world of difference. It wasn’t comfortable. Indeed, Greg had never found horseback riding particularly pleasant. Still, it gave him a chance to catch his breath, and though they were close to home, he moved slow enough to make things bearable. It was afternoon, the air getting colder and heavier, and all of Greg’s sweat soon began to absorb the cold. Emma hovered somewhere just above sleep, leaning against him.
After an hour or so, Greg thought he recognized their surroundings. They passed a driveway that led to an old, white farmhouse. The family name on the side of the mailbox was familiar to him: Carmichael. Another kilometer brought them home. Suddenly, he rode around a bend in the road and saw a familiar mailbox sitting on a metal post.
“Healy,” he said, reading aloud. “That’s it.”
“Are we home, Dad?” Emma said, slurring her words.
“Can you believe it?” he replied. “We marched all the way down from the mountains right to your grandma’s mailbox. Amazing.” As he said it, he felt a terrible pang of sadness for Tuck and Tommy. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d abandoned them in the wilderness. As he turned toward the driveway, he heard his father’s final words ringing in his head: We’re okay, son. You and me. We’re okay. The ache of those words robbed him of any joy at finally coming home.
He didn’t have long to dwell on it. As he started down the driveway, trees rising up on either side, a voice spoke from nearby. It startled him and he fumbled to get the rifle which was slung over his back.
“Hold it right there,” the voice said. “Don’t make another move.”
Greg lowered his hand and reined in the horse. Emma had flopped to one side, and he tightened his arms on either side her. Then he slowly, very slowly, turned toward the direction of the voice. The strange man was seated on a deer stand high up in a spruce tree in sight of both the driveway and the nearby road. He had some kind of long rifle, and it was trained on Greg.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Greg said. “Who are you?”
The man was all bundled up in a coat, gloves, heavy boots, and toque, the collar of his coat pulled up to hide his mouth. Instead of answering Greg’s question, he said, “Get down off the horse. You are not allowed on this property.”
“Not allowed on this property?” Greg said. “On whose authority? My family lives here.”
“On the order of Mayor Filmore,” the man replied. “Now, get down off your horse and set the gun on the ground, or you’re going to get shot.”
Greg had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, and he was so weary from the long hours of relentless travel, that he could barely process what was going on. As he clambered down off the horse, he grabbed his daughter and lowered her to the ground, setting her on the driveway so her back was against a tree. He tried to position her so she was out of the direct line of fire, but he made every movement slow and deliberate. No need to startle the deer stand desperado.
“Now, put the gun down,” the man said. “You make the slightest move to point it at me, and I’ll kill both of you. I might even shoot the horse for good measure.”
“I’m just trying to get my daughter home to safety,” Greg said, sliding the rifle off his shoulder and lowering it to the ground by the strap. “She’s wounded and needs medical care. Can’t you see that?”
The man was quiet for a second. To be safe, Greg took a step
back from the gun and held up his hands. He made eye contact with Emma and tried to give her a reassuring smile, but she only stared up at him with sleepy eyes. After a moment, Greg realized the man in the deer stand was mumbling something under his breath. He only made out part of it.
“…not sure how to handle it…don’t want another shot kid…”
Just then, as Greg was trying to pick out the man’s words, he heard a distant gunshot coming from the direction of the ranch. Startled, Greg’s instinct was to step in front of Emma. Up in the tree, the guard swore loudly and rose on his deer stand.
“What the heck are they doing over there?” he said. He raised his rifle, using the scope like a telescope to peer into the distance.
As soon as the man was no longer looking down at Greg and Emma, Greg dropped to his knee, picked up his rifle, and pointed it at the deer stand. In his desperation, he didn’t take time to aim but squeezed off a shot immediately. The bullet smashed through the edge of the stand and appeared to clip the man’s right leg before embedding into the tree behind him.
“Hey,” the man shouted. He stumbled backward, trying to adjust his grip on his own rifle. In the process, he dropped the rifle. It hit the stand and went spinning off into the woods. At the same time, the man’s left heel came down on the side of the deer stand and slipped over the edge.
Greg pulled the trigger a second time, but the magazine was empty. Realizing this, he raised the rifle like a club and rushed at the deer stand. Seeing him coming, the guard appeared to panic, and that was all it took to lose his balance completely. He fell from the stand, arms flailing wildly as if he thought he could fly. Then he slammed into the driveway ten feet below, bounced, and rolled to the other side.
More gunshots came from the direction of the ranch.
“Dad, that’s Mom and Grandma,” Emma croaked.
“I know,” Greg replied.
He reached the guard and rolled him onto his back, pulling his collar down and his toque up. The man was out cold, eyes rolled back in his head, one side of his face already turning red from impacting the gravel driveway. His breathing sounded coarse and unhealthy. Greg rolled him into his side and quickly searched his pockets to make sure he didn’t have any other weapons. He found only a small pocketknife, which he took. Then he went to look for the dropped rifle.
“Dad, we have to help them,” Emma said. “Someone’s shooting at them!”
“We’re going to,” Greg replied. “Trust me.”
He dug the rifle out of the weeds. It was a Bushmaster AR-15—a really nice gun that felt sturdy as a steel I-beam in his hands, and it had an enormous scope on it. Greg checked to make sure the rifle was loaded, then pointed the gun down the long, straight driveway in the direction of the ranch. When he peered through the scope, it took a second to focus. He saw a strange, hideous fence that appeared to have been cobbled together from scrap lumber. It was tall, crooked, with an enormous gate across the driveway. Greg thought he saw a puff of smoke rising from behind the gate.
Then he saw a dark figure running in front of the fence, and he moved his finger to the trigger.
“What do you see?” Emma asked.
“Not sure yet,” he replied, “but we’re going to protect our family. Nobody hurts the Healys.”
35
Sniper! The word rang in Darryl’s head. He’d reached the base of the tree, intending to climb, but instead, to avoid getting shot, he’d crawled around behind the trunk. Now, with the mayor’s threat lingering in the air, everyone was frozen in place. The only person he could see from his position behind the tree was Justine, who was perched on the edge of the platform above him, her rifle pointed in the direction of the small shed between the house and barn. He heard her breathing, loud and shallow.
Two guards were dead. The other two were hiding with the mayor behind the shed—Ricky and Julian, those cow-poaching losers.
Finally, Darryl dared to peek around the tree. He saw his grandmother pressed up against the window on the porch, his mother huddled behind one of the rocking chairs, both with their guns at the ready. Filmore and one of his guards were just visible at the edge of the shed, and the guard had a rifle trained on the barn.
The silence stretched on for a few tense seconds. Where would the mayor have placed a sniper? Maybe he was referring to Pam Grasier? She was on the other side somewhere. Darryl had made sure to construct the fence in such a way that there were no gaps between fence boards, though of course the brittle old wood wasn’t bulletproof.
Maybe the mayor is bluffing, he thought. There’s no way a small town like this has a sniper with a thermal imaging scope.
If so, how long would he let the tense silence stretch on? Above him, he heard Justine shuffling around, heard the soft clank of her rifle, and when he glanced up, he saw her shifting position, bracing herself against a large branch.
Okay, someone make a move, Darryl thought.
Just then, a gunshot split the still air like thunder, and Darryl shuddered against the tree. He looked in the direction of the shed just in time to see Filmore’s guard—the one he’d nicknamed Julian—stumble out from behind the shed, clutching his throat. Blood was already pouring down the man’s neck and spilling over the collar of his shirt. He dropped his rifle, wobbled on his feet for a second, then collapsed on his face in the dirt.
“Horace,” Justine muttered. “Great shot!”
Filmore ducked back behind the shed, but Darryl heard him cussing up a storm.
“You’re all going to pay for what you’ve done,” he snarled. “I won’t leave a single member of this family alive. I swear to God! You’ll be rotting in the back field, and everything you’ve built will be mine. Do you hear me, Tabitha Healy? I swear to God, all of it will belong to me!”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you, mayor,” she replied from the porch, saying the man’s title like it tasted bad. “You’re going to kill us like you killed the Carmichaels, is that it?”
“That’s exactly it,” he replied. “They were trying to run a criminal enterprise in my town with their secret warehouse, and they got what they deserved. So will you! You set a trap and ambushed us.”
“I did,” Tabitha replied. “So I guess you’d better stop talking and start making us pay for it. Aren’t you tired of your own voice yet, Filmore? I know I am.”
Suddenly, Filmore burst out from behind the shed with a large silver pistol in his hand. He fired a few shots in the direction of the barn door, then turned and fired toward the tree. As Darryl flattened himself against the ground, he heard bullets sizzling through the branches. Justine thrashed about, but Darryl wasn’t sure if she’d been hit.
The mayor kept coming, circling around the shed and firing toward the porch. A bullet went through the side wall and came out through the living room window, shattering glass very close to Tabitha. Darryl wanted to call out a warning to her, but it was happening too fast. As his grandmother scrambled for cover, the mayor kept coming, firing another shot that split a handrail post inches from where she was now hunched down.
“I will kill everyone,” the mayor shouted. “I’ll kill your whole worthless family.”
The next gunshot came from the platform above Darryl. It seemed so close and so loud, and he clapped his hands over his ears. Justine’s aim was excellent. The mayor’s green toque burst open, and a large portion of his head exploded out in a red mist. He did a weird, slow spin, then dropped straight down, collapsing in an awkward tangle of strengthless arms and legs.
The echo of her final gunshot seemed to last forever, ringing in the air, as a massive puddle of blood and brains spread around the mayor’s folded body. Tabitha finally rose from her spot, gazing at the dead body on the front yard, then turned toward Justine’s tree porch. She gave the girl a thumbs-up with her free hand.
“I know there’s at least one more of you behind the shed,” Tabitha shouted. “And one more somewhere on the other side of the fence. I don’t know about any sniper. I’m kind of doubting th
at one. Here’s the thing, fellas, if you drop your weapons and come out with your hands up, we’ll let you live. Flee the area. Don’t go back home for anything. Just leave town. If we see you again, you die. How does that sound? Does that seem like a fair trade?”
After a moment, the final guard, Ricky, came marching timidly out from behind the shed, his hands raised high.
“He made us do it,” the guard said. “The mayor killed some people, and he threatened our families. We had no choice!”
“Well, you have a choice now,” Tabitha replied. “You’re surrounded. You’ve got at least four guns trained on you, so if you want to get out of here alive, keep those hands way up high like that.”
The guard looked down at the dead body of the mayor and made a disgusted sound, as if he were on the verge of vomiting. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. I never did. He made us come here. I had nothing to do with killing the Carmichaels. That was Leo and Pam.”
Justine climbed down from her platform then, and Darryl stepped out from hiding. Tabitha and Marion came down from the porch, and Horace stumbled out of the barn. All guns were trained on the surviving guard. Darryl realized the man was shaking badly, and he saw wide, horrified eyes peering out from under his toque.
“I told Leo he’d gone too far,” Ricky said. “I told him it would end badly. He wouldn’t listen. He never listened to anyone but himself.”
They all headed for the gate. Darryl slid the latch bar out of the way and pulled the gate open. As he did, Tabitha aimed her rifle toward the opening, but they saw no sign of Pam Grasier on the other side. She dared to peek her head through the gap, Marion providing cover.
“No sign of the cop,” Tabitha said, after a moment. “I’m guessing she hightailed it out of here when the shooting started.” She turned to the lone guard. “If you see her, you pass along my message. I don’t want any trouble from you, her, or any of Leo’s other lackeys. Tell her to get out of town and never come back. Got it?”
EMP: Return of the Wild West Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 23