EMP: Return of the Wild West Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

“Damn,” he muttered. There in the snow, he spotted several footprints. They were clear as day and very recent—fresh footprints tracing a path from the trees on the south side of the property right up to the broken portion of the fence and then back to the east, where the fence ran close to the barn. “A person did this,” he said, seething. “Damaged the fence while we were in the middle of our party. What kind of a lowlife would even think of doing something like that?”

  “Well, whoever it was, they’re pretty bold walking right up to the property like that,” Horace said.

  “Someone who would knock a section of the fence down like that is either desperate or crazy,” Greg said. “Either way, they’re dangerous. Looks like they headed toward the barn. I’d better make sure they didn’t get through. Stay here and wait for the kids, would you? Put them to work on repairs when they get back.”

  “Will do, boss,” Horace said, returning to his chair. “Just be careful. Grab a weapon first.”

  “Good idea.”

  Greg diverted back to the house, where the bowls of ice cream sat forgotten and melting. He ducked inside, grabbing the Remington Model 700 rifle that he kept on a shelf near the front door. For the few seconds he was inside, he heard Emma and Tabitha chatting in the kitchen.

  “Well, he doesn’t have to be a such a stick in the mud all the time,” Emma was saying. “It’s okay sometimes to just relax and spend time with your family. Who cares about a little bit of the fence breaking?”

  “Your dad’s got a lot on his mind,” Tabitha replied.

  Boy, you said it, Greg replied. He made a mental note to have a conversation with his daughter later. He couldn’t afford to let his kids start resenting him, especially when he was just trying to keep them safe.

  He checked to make sure the rifle was loaded, then headed toward the barn. As he was crossing the yard, he saw Darryl pushing a wheelbarrow full of scrap lumber, while Justine lugged a bucket of nails

  “What’s going on, Dad?” Darryl asked. “Are we in trouble?”

  “Just checking something out,” Greg replied. “Get to work on that fence.”

  As he walked past them toward the front of the barn, he heard Justine mutter, “That means we’re in trouble. Otherwise, he would’ve said no.”

  You catch on fast, Greg thought.

  He headed around to the backside of the barn, rifle at the ready in case some weirdo came leaping out of the shadows. The world was crazy enough now that such a thing wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. The snow was deep here, past mid-calf, so he found himself dragging his boots to make progress. The gap between the back of the barn and the fence was just wide enough to get the animals out and lead them into the pasture.

  When he rounded the corner, he saw immediately that another section of fence had been removed. Unlike the big section that had toppled over, this was a more meticulous job. It looked like a few boards had been carefully pried away and set aside. Furthermore, the sliding back door of the barn was wide open.

  “Sneaky little scumbag,” he muttered. Had they knocked down a section of fence just to draw attention away from the barn? Just to get the family busy working on repairs so they would be distracted?

  Greg went to the back door of the barn and kicked it shut. He could see the tracks of a cow headed from the door through the gap in the fence and out across the yard, moving parallel with the human footprints at an angle toward the trees.

  Greg felt such a rush of anger—of blind rage—that, for a minute, he had to just stand there at the fence, clutching the rifle, as his whole body shook with it. He wanted to aim the rifle in the direction the thief had gone and just unload, but he knew that was irrational.

  Get ahold of yourself, he said. You can’t afford to be on edge. Deal with it calmly and rationally.

  When he’d finally suppressed most of the anger, he headed back toward the others. Darryl, Justine, and Horace were already putting up the new boards, nailing them to the framework and reinforcing them with extra boards that went all the way to the ground.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” Darryl asked again.

  “You just keep working on the fence,” Greg replied. “One of the cows got out. I’m going to track it down. Looks like it headed into the trees.”

  “Did someone steal one of our cows?” Darryl asked.

  “It’s possible, but I’ll handle it,” Greg said. “If anything, it’s just a desperate loser who saw an opportunity.”

  Horace had dragged the chair up beside the fence, and he was currently driving nails into the framework. The man had an amazing hammering technique. He could drive a nail all the way to the head in two or three blows, and he never missed.

  “I’d go with you, Greg,” he said. “I just don’t think my legs would get through the snow drifts. Want me to get that sniper rifle and perch myself up in the tree there? My aim isn’t what it used to be, but I might be able to scare off any thieves, at least.”

  “No, Horace, but thanks for the offer,” Greg said. “You three keep working. There’s another gap in the fence that needs to be fixed behind the barn. When you’re done here, work on that one too. I’ll head out and take care of our little thief.”

  “Dad, be careful,” Darryl said.

  “Don’t worry,” Greg said. “I’m just going to get back what he stole, but I’ll be ready for anything. Don’t tell your mom or grandma. No sense in worrying them. I’ll be back soon enough.”

  He checked the rifle to make sure the safety was off and headed for the gate. When he got to it, he unlatched it and slid it open just enough to slip through, then pulled it shut behind him.

  This thief picked the wrong family to mess with, he thought, heading along the fence toward the long tracks.

  4

  Justine was still in a funk, and Darryl wasn’t sure how to pull her out of it. She normally liked to talk about random little things when they worked, but at the moment she was mostly brooding. She’d retreated deeper into her hood, as she often did when she was in a bad mood. Horace didn’t seem to notice, but then again, the old man didn’t know Justine all that well. He was just humming away as he worked, his gnarled hands driving in nails with expert aim.

  “We should double layer this whole section of fence,” Horace said, gesturing with his hammer. “And a little bit beyond. That’ll keep it from being pushed over again.”

  “Pushed over?” Darryl asked. “So, it was definitely a person who did it? It wasn’t just knocked over by the wind or by shoddy construction?”

  “It was some little twerp,” Horace said, picking up another board. “Your dad will take care of him, though, so don’t you worry about that.”

  “I hope Dad doesn’t do something crazy,” Darryl said. “He doesn’t need to get in a gun battle with bandits over a stupid cow. We’ve got more cows than we need anyway.”

  “It’s more than just the cow or the fence,” Horace said. “If you let people know your property is an easy target, thieves will keep coming back. It’s a lot safer to return to a place that’s easy pickings than to break into a new place you’re unsure about. Your dad has to set a precedent. You follow me?”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Darryl said.

  “Well, he’d better be careful not to shoot the cow,” Justine said, setting a board against the fence. “Because then what’s the point?”

  “I don’t know,” Horace said. “Fresh meat instead of salted meat sounds pretty good to me.”

  They continued to work for a while, but it soon became clear Horace couldn’t easily repair the upper part of the fence. While he was okay to stand for a while, he had to lean on his crutch to do so, which hindered work. Finally, he shoved a bunch of nails into his vest pocket, tucked a hammer under his belt, and said, “You kids keep working on this part of the fence. I’m going to drag my chair back behind the barn and see if I can’t work on the other part.”

  “Do you need any help getting over there, sir?” Darryl asked.

  “No, I believe I can mak
e it,” Horace replied. “It’s good exercise. If I fall down and can’t get up, I’ll start shouting up a storm. I know you’ll hear it.”

  Darryl had once rescued the old man from the second-floor landing of his house after hearing him shouting loud enough to be heard half a kilometer away. He could blast out noise when he really wanted to.

  Horace grabbed the back of the chair, tucked the crutch under his armpit, and began making his way toward the barn one unsteady step at a time. Darryl watched him go before turning back to the fence. Justine had been quietly working through all of this. Indeed, she’d only made a few sporadic comments, mostly sarcastic. Though she hadn’t said anything to make him worry, there was something in the air. He felt the tension radiating off of her. Had something at the party upset her? If so, why wouldn’t she say anything?

  She’s not going to bring it up, dummy, he scolded himself, raising a board to the upper part of the fence. And you won’t get her to bring it up by dancing around it, not this time. You’ll have to be direct.

  Justine was hammering a nail, missed the head, and clipped the edge of her thumb before hitting the fence. She flung the hammer down and shouted a string of curses so loudly they echoed on the far side of the ranch. Then she flung her hood back, kicked through the snow, and jammed her thumb into her mouth.

  “You kids okay over there?” Horace called from the back corner of the barn.

  “It’s okay,” Darryl called back. “Justine just hit her thumb.”

  “It’s not okay,” she growled, wiping her thumb on the side of her sweatshirt. “Don’t speak for me, please. I smashed my thumb. I know if I’m okay or not, and I’m not okay.” She turned her back to him, clutching the thumb in her other hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Can I take a look at it?”

  “No, don’t look at it. There’s nothing to see.”

  After that, an awkward silence fell between them. Darryl was frozen in the act of holding a board against the upper part of the framework, a nail pinched between thumb and forefinger. He thought maybe Justine would return to work, but she just kept standing there. Finally, he lowered the board and tossed the nail into the nearby bucket.

  Get it over with, he told himself. If it’s something you did or said, you’ll have to face it eventually anyway.

  “Hey, Justine, can I ask you a question?” He started to reach out to her, intending to maybe grab her shoulder, but then he thought better of it and lowered his hand.

  “What? What is it?” she asked. She was still facing away from him, clutching her thumb. With her hood down, her long black hair hung past her shoulder blades. It almost looked like she’d traded the hood for a veil.

  “Well, not to pry or anything…”

  “No, you wouldn’t want to pry,” she muttered sourly. “That would be rude.”

  “It’s just that…” Why was this so hard? What was he so afraid of? “You’ve kind of been in a bad mood…well, more of a strange mood, I guess, pretty much all day.

  “That wasn’t a question,” Justine replied, grabbing her hood and pulling it back into place.

  “Is something wrong?” he said, finally just blurting it out. “Did I do something or say something to hurt your feelings? There’s just been a weird vibe all day.”

  He kept talking because she wasn’t responding, and he hated the thought of that awful silence falling between them again. However, he realized mid-sentence that she was crying. Soft at first, she soon began to sob, covering her face with her hands. He could see a red mark on the side of her thumb where she’d hit it with the hammer. But this? This wasn’t about the hammer.

  “Something is wrong,” he said. “Oh God, what did I do?”

  “I don’t want to say it,” she said, almost too quietly to be heard. “I tried to be normal during your party. I really tried, but I can’t keep it up all day.”

  “What is it?” Darryl said, moving toward her. “You can tell me.”

  She spun around, flinging her hair out of her eyes. Her face was all twisted up, her cheeks and forehead turned dark red. Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with both hands.

  “Darryl…Darryl…” she said, barely above a whisper. “I can’t bring myself to say it. I just don’t want to.”

  “So it’s something really bad,” he replied. “I knew it. Justine, tell me. Please.”

  She bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut, and finally blurted it out. “I’m pregnant. That’s what it is. I’m pregnant.”

  Nothing she could have said would have hit him harder. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. His mind reeling, he couldn’t think clearly.

  “Wait. Wait a minute. Are you sure?” he said. “How…how can you be sure?”

  “I can’t be without a test, but I’m late,” she said, wiping her cheeks on her sleeve. “Almost two weeks late. And there are other things. Other changes to my body.” She let go of his shirt and wandered over to the tree. “I’m pregnant, Darryl. Can you believe it? God, I’m so scared.” She leaned her forehead against the rough bark of the tree.

  “But we only…just that one time…just once…” His lips felt numb, the words just sort of tumbling out.

  “It only takes one time, dummy,” she said. And then she began crying again.

  Darryl forced his stiff legs to carry him toward her. He reached out and gently laid his hands on her shoulders. He thought about pulling her into a hug, but he was afraid she might resist at that moment.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said. Had words ever sounded so forced? “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of things.” It all felt wrong. He was seventeen. Too young to be having this conversation. “I’m sorry, Justine. We should have used protection. It was my fault for hanging out in your room so late that night.”

  “It was a mutual decision,” she said, hiccupping. She wiped her face again with her sleeves and sniffed. “We didn’t have any protection to use anyway. Who were we going to ask? ‘Oh, hey, Tabitha, the next time you head into town do you think you could trade some salted beef for a pack of condoms? I’d like to fool around with your grandson.’ Yeah, that would’ve gone over well.”

  She turned then and melted into his embrace. He pulled her close, patting her head, feeling a stomach-churning dread. He wasn’t nearly old enough to be a father, and their life situation couldn’t have been worse for it. How were they going to raise a baby under these conditions? No clinic, no grocery stores, no clothing stores, no disposable diapers or baby formula, almost no help at all.

  “We just shouldn’t have done it, that’s all,” Justine said. “We knew it wasn’t safe. We’re not kids. We know better.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  “I’m not sure exactly how far along I am,” she said. “I don’t know how to tell the others. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.”

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said, speaking to himself as much as her. “Somehow, everything’s going to be okay.”

  Greg could tell that there had been two people, one walking on either side of the cow as they led it away from the barn. He was no tracker, of course, so he couldn’t discern much more than that. One man seemed larger than the other, but that might have simply been a product of the way they walked. For her part, the cow seemed to have gone willingly. Her hoofprints went in a straight line from the hole in the fence across the snowy gap to the forest. Clearly, the men hadn’t made her nervous.

  There had been reports of bandits in the area. Greg had heard of neighboring property being looted, but breaking open a fence to steal a cow seemed especially bold, and a big risk. What sort of people would attempt such a thing? As he approached the trees, he raised the rifle, leading with it, ready in case anyone jumped out of hiding. He paused to scan the snowy shadows beneath the boughs, but he didn’t see anything moving in there.

  He resumed moving, stepping through a gap between trees to enter the eerie quiet of the forest. Indeed, the only sound at t
he moment was the soft crunch of his boots in the snow. The thieves had clearly gotten a good head start. Greg paused again, trying to hear something, anything.

  After a moment, he thought he caught the faintest noise, some kind of thud, far in the distance, followed by what might have been the echo of voices. Did they sound angry? He couldn’t tell. Maybe he was imagining it, but he resumed moving, trying to pick up the pace. The track curved gradually to the southeast, as if the thieves were headed somewhere specific. Clearly, there had been purpose and planning in this.

  Greg felt a moment of unease. It almost broke through the anger. If there was purpose and planning, then someone had specifically targeted his family. Who were they dealing with here? Mayor Filmore was dead, as were the worst of his guards. Whatever the case, the problem would have to be dealt with as soon as possible. Greg would not allow the situation to continue.

  He had just stepped past a towering spruce tree when he saw vague movement far in the distance, Through gaps in the scrub brush, some large shape shifted. Greg came to a stop and went down on one knee, raising the rifle and bracing it against the tree. He peered through the scope, shifting the rifle slightly until he centered on the movement. The cow’s right flank. He saw her tail swinging, the bulge of a thigh.

  Shifting the scope to the right, he spotted the first thief. A smallish man in a dark coat and hat, he appeared to be talking to someone, gesturing with his hands. The man was too far away to take a shot. Greg didn’t trust his aim, and he soon lost the chance as the man resumed moving.

  Lowering the rifle, Greg rose and hurried after them.

  You’re not getting away, he thought, whoever you are.

  James Teagan hadn’t come into this situation completely naïve. He knew Eustace well enough by now to have some familiarity with his more obnoxious quirks. At the very least, Eustace’s plan to distract the family by knocking down another part of the fence seemed to have worked. Still, this was a problem, and he wasn’t willing to let it lie.