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

by Hamilton, Grace

  “Even if this James Teagan guy is a man of his word, Eustace is not,” Greg said, “so we can assume the worst. I don’t know why he chose to come here and try have a dialogue with us instead of launching an attack, but I do not believe for one second that it was for our benefit. They’re scared enough of what we might do to them, so it’s a last-ditch attempt to avoid a fight. That’s what I think.”

  Everyone went quiet after that. A stiff, cold wind was blowing, kicking up snow. It bit any exposed skin, so Marion pulled the flaps of her cap down and tied the threads under her chin. Everyone seemed to agree that the offer from James was a fake, but what were they supposed to do about it? Marion didn’t like to consider the alternative, but she knew they had limited time. They couldn’t wait for Eustace and his people to make the next move. Marion expected Tabitha to say something, but she seemed lost in thought.

  “Well, it’s not the first time we’ve dealt with someone who wanted what we have,” Marion said finally, “and with the world the way it is now, it probably won’t be the last. We defended ourselves last time, didn’t we? So why can’t we do it again?”

  “It’s a little more dangerous this time,” Tabitha said. “For one thing, it seems like we’re dealing with quite a few more people. For another, that Mr. Teagan claims to be a United States Marine, which means he has military training.”

  “I have military training as well,” Horace reminded her. “Yeah, those American Marines like to boast and brag, but I’m not afraid of them. I fought in Afghanistan against tougher and more dangerous enemies than him. I could’ve plinked that guy between the eyes while he was blabbing, if I’d wanted to.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Tabitha said, giving him a sour expression.

  “Because a gunfight right then might’ve got us all killed,” Horace replied.

  “He’s right,” Greg said. He’d begun to pace, weaving around people as he walked from one end of the porch to the other. Marion could see the fire in his eyes. He was keeping his voice level, but he was all twitchy and anxious, ready for action. Ready to kill. “No, we have to confront Eustace in a manner and at a time that gives us the advantage. It’s my fault for not finding that moment sooner.”

  Marion could see nightmare images in her head of what an all-out gun battle at the house would be like. Ambushing the mayor and a few of his cronies had been dangerous enough. “Can’t we somehow provoke a fight far away from the house?” she asked. “That way, it won’t get burned down or shot up in the process?”

  Greg stopped and turned to her, smiling. It was a villainous grin, and she shuddered. She’d never seen her husband so hungry for revenge. “You’re absolutely right, Marion. We have to make this happen away from the house, and it just so happens I know where they’re hiding out. The old grocery warehouse on the other side of Glenvell.”

  “Where my mom used to work?” Justine said, her voice muffled inside the crook of her arm.

  “That’s right,” Greg said.

  “You’ll never get in there if they don’t want you to,” Justine said. “Most of it was cold storage. The walls are super thick, and the doors have big bolt latches on them. The whole place is insulated like crazy, and it’s designed to keep people from breaking in.”

  “We can pick them off as they try to step outside,” Greg suggested.

  “As soon as you get one guy, the rest of them will just go inside and lock the doors,” Justine said. “Plus, they have rooftop access. You’ll never get them all.”

  This seemed to diminish Greg’s enthusiasm, and he resumed pacing. Marion found it distracting, and she was tempted to grab him when he passed by for the tenth or eleventh time. A few quiet seconds passed, and then Tabitha suddenly cleared her throat and perked up. She was seated in the other rocking chair, and it creaked as she leaned forward.

  “If we need to get some of our people away from the house, there’s a place we can go,” she said. “Tuck and I have an old hunting cabin out in the woods. I don’t know if you remember the place, Greg. We didn’t go there often. Last time I checked on it was maybe a year and a half ago. Did some basic maintenance. As far as I know, it’s still standing.”

  “I vaguely remember the place,” Greg said, but he stopped pacing. “I trust you could get us there?”

  “Of course,” she said. “It’s not livable though. To be honest, it’s a dump, and it’s in poor condition. Still, it’s within a day’s hike from here, in a valley northeast of the stream. There used to be an old hiking trail that led into the valley, but I’m sure it’s snowed under by now. However, we can get there by an access road a couple of kilometers down the main road. The cabin is private and definitely a safer location than the house.”

  “What if we stashed some of our people at the cabin, as sort of a safe haven?” Greg asked, making eye contact with Marion. “Then a few others could set up some sort of ambush here at the ranch. That way, when the gunfight ensues, the whole family won’t be in danger?”

  “Well, it’s certainly better than leaving everyone here,” Marion said. “Eustace won’t know about the cabin, so anyone that needs to be completely out of harm’s way can hide out there. That means Justine for sure. Darryl can watch over her. I think that would be best.” At this, Darryl hugged Justine even tighter. “I think Emma should be there as well. Emma?”

  She turned to look for her daughter. It was only in that moment that she realized she hadn’t seen her daughter for a while. Everything had been so hectic since the confrontation that Marion’s mind had been reeling. She’d just assumed that Emma was in the corner somewhere, as usual, listening to the conversation while working on something or making notes in her notebook. However, as she looked around the porch, Marion realized her daughter wasn’t there.

  “Wait,” she said, feeling a sudden surge of dread. “Where is Emma? Has anyone seen her?”

  23

  The raspberry bushes were more plentiful than Emma had realized. Once she’d started looking for them specifically, she found them growing between the trees in abundance close to the small stream. There were far more than she could ever need, enough to keep Justine in red raspberry tea for the rest of the year. Before gathering them, however, she headed down to the stream to check the fish traps.

  The small stream ran down a rocky gully about two hundred meters beyond the back fence of the ranch. Ice had formed around the rocks along the edges, but the middle of the stream was still liquid and running swiftly. The fish traps were hung from a couple of nylon ropes that had been strung from tree to tree over the stream. Formed of wooden baskets covered in netting, they had small openings on the upstream side. Greg and Darryl had come up with the design, but Emma had recently repaired some of the netting, making it stronger.

  A pulley system on the trees allowed them to reel in the nets toward the water’s edge, where they could be accessed from relative safety. It was a simple but smart design, and Emma only wished that she had thought of it first. She approached the sturdy pine tree on the west bank and began pulling at the bottom rope. The little pulley wheels had a bit of ice on them, and they cracked and squealed as she pulled in the traps.

  As the first trap reached the shallow, rocky water, she saw a silvery shape flopping about within. She moved closer to the water, sliding her hand along the bottom rope. When she got to the icy rocks, she knelt down, grabbed the handle of the fish trap in her gloved hands, and lifted it out of the water. It was a good-sized fish, some kind of trout, she thought. She set the trap on the rock, tipped it, and opened the side hatch. Then she reached in and grabbed the trout, fighting with it for a few seconds as she attempted to get it out of the trap.

  “Filleted and sautéed in a pan with some butter,” she said, placing the trout into her basket and shutting the lid. “That’s how you’ll taste best. Yum!”

  She found a smaller trout in the second trap, and she put it in the basket with the larger one. They flailed and flopped against each other as she closed the lid. The third trap was empt
y, but two fish was better than usual. She set the traps back in the water, rose, and pulled the top rope to move them back out into the middle of the stream. As she started away from the water’s edge, the wriggling fish made it hard to hold on to the basket, so she finally had to move it in front of herself and grab the handle with both hands.

  Still, she was so proud she could scarcely think straight. She’d found an abundance of raspberry leaves, enough fish to make almost an entire meal, and she’d done it all by herself. Justine would feel better knowing that the baby’s future aunt was looking out for her, and perhaps her family would finally take note of her contributions.

  She checked the latch on the lid to make sure it was secure and started back toward the house, following the path she’d already made with her boots through the snow. As she worked her way back through the woods, she came across another large raspberry bush she hadn’t noticed on her to way to the stream. It was half-buried in the snow beside a lumpy little tree.

  Emma had to kick her way through a knee-deep snowdrift to get to it, but she didn’t want to pass it by. This single bush would provide enough leaves to fill the bag she’d attached to the side of her handbasket. A brisk wind had begun to blow, kicking up snow and filling her ears within her hood with a high howling sound that drowned out everything else. In her heavy coat, ski pants, deep hood, and toque, she scarcely felt the cold. Indeed, she’d worked up enough of a sweat to feel rather comfortable. She wasn’t in a hurry to go back home, where things continued to be tense, if cordial.

  She set the basket down in the snow and cleared some of the ground around the big raspberry bush. Then she began plucking the best of the leaves, carefully placing them in the bag. They were perfectly dried out by the winter weather. Of course, she’d never actually tasted red raspberry tea. She’d only read about it, and they were all out of sugar. Hopefully, it wasn’t too bitter. Justine could be a bit picky, and Emma didn’t know her taste preferences.

  The bag was almost full when she heard a strange noise just beneath the whistling wind. It was like a low wheezing sound, and her first thought was that an animal had snuck up behind her. Maybe a bear or coyote. Both were rare in this area, but it wasn’t unheard of for the big creatures to wander down into Glenvell from the deeper woods and mountains. Emma dropped the leaves that were in her hand and whipped around, her left hand going instinctively to the ground around her, feeling for some kind of makeshift weapon.

  Instead of a snorting grizzly bear, she found a man standing behind her. He was as broad as a barn, a girthy giant in a green coat. While a toque covered the top of his head, his massive red beard protruded like a mane, dusted with snow, his breath steaming in its depths. Emma went instantly cold, and she began to shake uncontrollably. Yes, she knew him. The memory of his face, his unhealthy breathing, the shifty eyes, had come to seem unreal in the weeks since she’d been carried out of the wilderness. Seeing him now in the flesh, the man who had tried to kill her, was such a shock that for a few seconds, she couldn’t move.

  Another man was standing directly behind his left shoulder. He was dressed all in black and had mirrored goggles over his eyes. He also had a rifle slung over his shoulder, and he was smiling. At first, Emma thought it was just the two of them, but then she saw other people moving through the trees circling around to her left and right, as if to cut off escape. One of these people she recognized, a stern-faced woman with hateful brown eyes: Officer Pam Grasier.

  “Now, what in the world are you doing out here all by yourself?” Eustace Simpson said, pressing his hands to his prodigious belly, as if to contain his amusement.

  “Nothing,” she replied. “None of your business. Leave me alone.”

  She looked left and right. Two on either side, two directly in front of her. The only escape path was behind her, through the raspberry bush. She was frozen in fear. Where had these people come from? What had made them follow her tracks to the stream? Emma glanced at her basket, which was sitting in the snow nearby. How fast could she grab it and run?

  “I can’t believe your father would let you come out here alone,” Eustace said. “That doesn’t seem very smart, especially after picking a fight with half of Glenvell.”

  As the initial shock released its hold on her, Emma felt a frantic urge to get away. She gauged her exit again. Pam Grasier was blocking her clearest path back to the house.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emma said to Eustace. “I was just gathering food. You should leave people alone when they’re minding their own business. Haven’t you got someone else to harass?”

  She lunged then, grabbed her basket, and took off running. Stepping high in the snow, she flung her body through the bushes, feeling them rip and tear at her clothes. It was too slow. It was like trying to run away in a dream. The terrain was against her.

  “Grab her,” Eustace said.

  Pam Grasier moved in from the right. Emma saw her shadow cutting off her escape route. A second person closed in from behind, crashing through the bushes just as Emma pushed past them. Running with the basket was a problem. It was heavy, and it kept slamming against her hip, but she wouldn’t let it go. Indeed, as Pam Grasier rushed at her, Emma swung the basket, using it as a makeshift weapon. Pam slowed and lunged to one side, batting at it.

  Just then, arms wrapped around Emma from behind, and she was driven to the ground. The weight of her attacker pushed her under the snow, and she felt a moment of full-blown panic. This, in turn, caused her to thrash, and she began kicking behind herself wildly. There was a crust of ice on top of the snow in some places. When she broke through it, she felt a sharp edge of ice jab her on the leg, but the pain only made her fight harder. She felt some of her blows connecting, and she heard a man’s voice cussing.

  “Stop fighting. Just stop it.” She didn’t recognize him. This wasn’t the unhealthy moistness of Eustace Simpson. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Strong hands hoisted her off the ground and flung her onto her back. In the process, she lost the basket and caught a glimpse of it landing on its side, the lid latch breaking as it opened. The trout spilled out onto the snow. This turned panic into fury. A man was looming over Emma, the guy in the mirrored goggles. She could tell he was strong, well-built, and his teeth were clenched as he reached for her.

  “No, I’m not going with you,” she shrieked, her voice carrying far and wide in the woods. “Get away from me!”

  She kicked at him with both feet, hitting him in the stomach. He cussed again under his breath, but otherwise he didn’t react. In fact, the full force of her kick didn’t even cause him to stumble. He reached down and grabbed the front of her coat, picking her up again. Emma began flailing at him, punching and slapping him repeatedly, most of her blows hitting him in the shoulders and arms, a few smacking him in the face. Surprisingly, he chuckled at this.

  “This one’s kind of feisty,” he said. “No crying, no pleading. She just commenced to kicking and slapping me. Good for her.”

  “Just restrain her and let’s go,” Eustace said. “Don’t get too impressed. Remember, she’s Greg Healy’s kid.”

  “She may be tougher than him,” James said.

  Emma saw Pam Grasier standing behind her attacker, her hands on her hips. How could she just stand there and watch this happen? Wasn’t she a police officer? She had no expression. If anything, she seemed slightly bored by this whole thing.

  “I get the point, kid. You can lay off,” her attacker said, as Emma continued to slap and kick him. He grabbed her by the throat and dragged her close, clamping down so tightly that she found it hard to breathe. “I don’t want you to get hurt, so just calm down.”

  Finally, Emma reached up with her left hand and dragged her fingernails across the man’s right cheek as hard as she could. She felt the nails scraping into his skin, even as the man tried to twist away from her. With a cry, he flung her back onto the ground and stumbled backward.

  “It’s just a child,” Eustace said
. “Hurry up and grab her. What’s your problem, James?”

  Her attacker—apparently named James—stumbled backward until he bumped into Pam Grasier. She caught him by the shoulders, rolling her eyes, and pushed him away. Emma saw bright red lines, three of them, cutting horizontally across the man’s cheek, beads of blood welling up along the scratches. She’d gotten him good. She took a dark satisfaction in this, but she didn’t dare linger. Rolling onto her belly, she pushed herself onto her hands and knees.

  The full weight of her attacker slammed onto her back then, shoving her to the ground, burying her again in the snow and driving the breath out of her lungs. She continued to thrash and fight, but her hands were wrenched behind her back. She was picked up again, and she sank back against her attacker. Out of breath, her arms aching, she finally went limp, forcing him to bear her full weight. As James turned, she saw Eustace and Pam standing there, one amused, the other bored. Three other men were behind them.

  “Just let me go,” Emma said. “I didn’t do anything to you people.”

  She knew it was a dumb thing to say, even as the words came out of her mouth.

  “I think we’re going to keep you,” Eustace said. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure your dad knows where you are. I’m sure he’ll try to mount a rescue. It’ll be fun.” He stepped forward. Emma lifted her foot, intending to kick him, but James stepped back and tipped her off balance. Then he left her hanging in his arms.

  “You’re damn right he’ll rescue me,” Emma said, tears burning in her eyes. “My dad’s going to kill you, Eustace Simpson. Mark my words!”

  Eustace reached down and plucked the toque off her head. She’d had the hat for a couple of years. It was a dark crimson color, with a little puffball on top. Eustace turned it back and forth, then nodded, as if he’d made a decision.

  “I want him to come,” he said, tossing the hat onto the ground. It landed in the snow not far from the basket. The smile suddenly left Eustace’s face. “When he does, I’m going to shoot him right in the heart.”