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

by Hamilton, Grace

Now, Tabitha, Marion, and Horace sat sullenly at the table, saying little as they waited for Greg to return. Greg had left the SIG Sauer on the table, the barrel pointed at the wall, and Tabitha kept reaching out to touch it. At the moment, she was tapping her fingernails on the stock.

  “I wish I could go,” Horace said. He was slumped over, his hands clasped on the tabletop. “If I could just get a bead on the big red guy, I know I could take him out with a single bullet, but it’s just too far for me. I should have taken the shot at that Teagan fellow when I had the chance.”

  “If you’d opened fire when they were outside the fence, we would have lost some of our people,” Tabitha said. “It wasn’t the right time, but the right time’s coming.”

  “I don’t like all of this gung-ho talk,” Marion said. “We don’t need to provoke a gunfight right now. We need to sneak in, get Emma, and get her out of there. We can worry about shooting people once she’s safely back home.”

  She heard footsteps on the stairs then, and she turned to see her husband and son walking into the living room together. She could tell from their body language that Greg had somehow managed to patch things up between them. They crossed the living room, stopping together in the broad doorway, side by side. Yes, they’d patched things up. The hardness was gone from their faces.

  “We’re going to get Emma back,” Greg said.

  “Good,” Tabitha replied. “Let’s bury a few more bodies out in the backyard. What’s the plan?”

  Tabitha’s words made Marion wince. Had she forgotten that one of those bodies was Tuck?

  “We can’t rush in guns blazing,” she said. “Emma might get caught in the crossfire. It’s not worth it.”

  Greg reached past Marion and picked up the SIG Sauer. “Mr. Bouchard, will you permit me to keep using your fine rifle here?”

  “Of course,” Horace said. “It’s yours as long as you need it.”

  Greg slung the rifle over his shoulder. “Thank you. Listen, we’re going to get her back no matter what it takes, but we’ll avoid unnecessary risks. Mother, I know you’d love to take a shot at Eustace, but I think it’s best if Darryl and I go alone. Fewer people will make it easier to approach the building unseen.”

  Marion felt conflicted. She desperately wanted to go herself, but she also knew that a smaller group would have a better chance of getting to wherever Emma was being held. Still, she took no comfort in it. The whole thing made her sick to her stomach.

  “Greg, this is so dangerous,” she said. “You have to promise me you’ll do this the right way. Prioritize getting Emma out of there, not revenge. Don’t linger. Just get her out and bring her home. Promise me.”

  “Emma is the priority, of course,” Greg said. “I promise.”

  Tabitha harrumphed loudly and leaned back, grabbing the edge of the table as if restraining herself. “They’ll never leave us in peace. You know that, Greg.”

  “I know,” he said softly. “That’s why we have to kill him. If I get a chance to take out Eustace Simpson, I’m going for it, but not if it jeopardizes Emma’s rescue.”

  Tabitha shook her head. Her face was all scrunched up, wrinkles running deep as chasm. Marion knew that look by now. Yes, Tabitha Healy could be a dangerous woman when her family was threatened.

  Marion decided to share her thoughts, though she knew she would be walking a fine line. “The problem is not limited to Eustace Simpson,” she said, “and it’s not just James Teagan or whoever those other people are. This is bigger than one group. First, it was Mayor Filmore and his people, now it’s Eustace and his crew. Fact is, no one is going to leave us in peace as long as we’re prospering here on the ranch. We have nice land. We have cattle. We have a greenhouse, good proximity to hunting and fishing, a nice fence. People will keep lusting after our homestead. We can put down Eustace, James, Officer Grasier, but some other gang of loonies will come along sooner or later.”

  Tabitha started to say something, but then she caught her. The scowl on her face seemed to dissolve, and she bowed her head.

  You know I’m right, Tabitha, Marion thought, even if it’s something you don’t want to think about.

  “First, we rescue Emma and deal with Eustace,” Greg said. “Then we worry about future threats.”

  “And you have a plan for getting her out of there?” Tabitha replied.

  “I do.”

  He left it at that and turned, heading back across the living room. Marion rose then and went with him. Greg and Darryl proceeded to load up on weapons. Greg put an extra magazine for the SIG in his coat pocket. Darryl took the Remington and an extra magazine. Greg also took the Walther PPK, holstering it on his left side, as well as a hunting knife in a sheath on the right side. Finally, he loaded up a small backpack with some tools—a hammer, a couple of screwdrivers, even a small crowbar—which he wrapped in towels to dampen any noise.

  Marion helped them put on their coats, boots, and gloves, trying not to let the anguish show on her face. Almost her whole family was in imminent danger now. She could barely stand it. Justine came downstairs as they were preparing, and she helped Darryl zip up his coat, pull the collar up, and put the extra magazine in his pocket.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Justine said to him. “Be really sneaky, okay? Don’t let them know you’re coming. Creep in there like ninja.”

  “We’ll be careful,” he replied.

  They embraced, and Marion could see that the girl was clinging to him tightly, desperately. In that moment, she felt a kinship with the girl that she’d never felt before. Indeed, they were one family. Darryl kissed Justine, and Marion politely averted her gaze.

  “I know I haven’t done much to earn your trust lately,” Greg said, embracing Marion. “I’m sorry about that, but this is where I turn things around. We’re going to get Emma out of there. She’ll be home safe and sound before you know it.”

  “Don’t try to be a hotshot,” Marion said. “This isn’t about revenge.”

  “I know.” He kissed her on the forehead, on either cheek, then on the lips. “This is about keeping our family safe.”

  Everyone congregated on the porch then. Even Horace hobbled his way there on his crutch, clearly determined to see them off. He had a wistful look on his face. Clearly, like Tabitha, he wished he could go with them.

  “Keep an eye out for trouble,” Greg said “They may come here while we’re gone. It’s unlikely, but not out of the realm of possibility.”

  “Oh God, I hope they try it,” Horace said. “I’ll go get the AR-15 and give them my friendliest greeting. The second I see one of those guys trying to come onto this property, I start shooting at the knees and work my way up.”

  “That’s the attitude,” Tabitha said, clenching a fist and holding it up. “I can get behind that, Horace. I’ll go get my Winchester and sit right here on the porch. It doesn’t have the punch of the AR-15, but it’ll tumble through a man’s skull like sugarplum fairies on Christmas morning.”

  It was such an odd comment that Marion laughed, despite the stomach-churn of anxiety she felt.

  Greg headed down the porch steps, moving with purpose. Darryl gave Justine a last quick embrace then followed him. As Marion watched them walking across the yard—father and son—she noticed that they turned and looked at each other, nodding. There was a warmth in that brief glance, a shared purpose, that she hadn’t seen between them in days.

  “We’ll get Emma back,” Greg said over this shoulder. Then he tipped a salute at Marion and moved to the gate.

  27

  Darryl was surprised at how calm he felt. Once he’d committed to the mission, fear had left him, and a cold determination had taken its place. He wasn’t stupid. He knew damn well they were headed into extreme danger, but at the same time, he was putting his life at risk for the sake of his family. Somehow, that took the fear away.

  Still, it was a long, cold walk to the warehouse, and the world was so quiet. Darryl’s breathing seemed especially loud, his breath puffing out
in great clouds. At first, they followed old tracks they’d left during a previous hunting trip, but then his father cut further to the east. He kept going in that direction until they came in sight of the stream, then he turned back south.

  “Let’s talk now before we get to town,” he said.

  “Why did we walk this far east?” Darryl asked.

  “So we can circle around behind the warehouse. Less likely we’ll run into them that way. Also, less likely someone in town will see us. We’re not going in guns blazing. In fact, we don’t want to cross paths with them at all until we have good idea where they’re holding Emma.” Darryl was impressed with how calm his father sounded. Yes, indeed, he’d finally gained control of his emotions.

  “Any idea where she might be?” Darryl asked.

  “I’ve been studying the compound on my little surveillance trips,” Greg said. “There are three ways into the building: west side, north side, and south side. West door leads into the front office area. I doubt she’ll be in there, so that leaves two possibilities. We’ll have to keep an eye on the place and look for any sign of activity. Let’s hope they give themselves away. This is going to take some patience.”

  “I can bide my time,” Darryl said. “It’ll be like a hunting trip. Just sitting in a deer stand waiting for the big red beast to show itself.”

  “That’s right,” Greg said. “The scope on the SIG has great range, so we’ll position ourselves deep in the woods. Just follow my lead.”

  “You got it, Dad.”

  After that, it was a long, slow slog through the silence. The stream eventually curved off to the east, heading down a rocky slope into a deep ravine. Greg veered away then, moving southeast through a section of the woods where the dense canopy had made the snow shallow. Still, they’d gone maybe another hundred meters when Darryl spotted an old set of footprints moving through the area. Large boots. Did they belong to his father? Had he passed this way during one of his espionage excursions? It seemed likely.

  For some reason, the sight of those old tracks made Darryl start to feel anxious again. The reality of what they were about to attempt took root, and he felt a low, queasy churning in his guts. He heard the rifle rattling around and realized his hands had begun to tremble. He tightened his grip on the gun barrel in an attempt to stop the shaking.

  Suddenly, in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere, his father came to a stop just behind a very large spruce tree, leaning his shoulder against the rough bark. Darryl moved to the other side of the tree and squatted.

  “What are we meant to see?” Darryl asked. He was peering into the distance, but he saw only trees and bushes and snow.

  His father made a soft shushing sound and pointed southward. Then he raised the SIG, braced it against a low branch, and peered through the scope. Darryl continued staring in the direction his father had indicated. After a few seconds, he realized he could just barely see the back corner of the warehouse through a gap between two trees. He raised the Remington, aiming in that direction, though it was at least two hundred meters from their position. The day was still. No wind was blowing, which made everything seem eerie, as if the whole world were holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen.

  After a couple of minutes, possibly longer, Darryl’s father made a soft sound to draw his attention. Darryl lowered the rifle and realized his father was beckoning him. He rose and approached. His father grabbed the Remington from him and motioned toward the SIG Sauer scope. Darryl leaned forward, grabbed the barrel of the SIG, and gazed into the distance.

  The scope had impressive range. He could even see the dust on the painted aluminum outer wall of the warehouse. He tracked slowly to the right, moving along the wall, until he spotted a featureless metal door. It had a single metal handle and a small black box beside the doorframe, but no window, sign, or indication of what was on the other side. Moving the scope down, Darryl saw multiple tracks in the snow and a row of large metal drums. People had been coming and going through this door quite a bit. He watched for a moment, feeling the anxiety move through his body, slowly filling every part of him. What if someone suddenly appeared in the doorway? How would he respond? Would he instinctively pull the trigger?

  Don’t do it, he told himself. Stay calm. Emma is counting on you.

  These thoughts were futile. His whole body had become electric. He slowly shifted the scope back to the left, tracking back along the dusty wall until he reached the corner of the building. When he kept going, he spotted a second door along the back of the building. Like the other, it was a simple metal door, and the snow around the base of it had been disturbed. However, this door seemed to have less traffic than the other. Darryl watched it for a few minutes, but no one appeared.

  “I imagine they’re all safely hidden inside the building,” he said, speaking barely above a whisper. “They have to know we might come after them, so they’re not going to stand outside and make themselves easy targets.”

  “That’s true,” Greg replied, “but I think I might have an idea where they took her. Can you see it? Look carefully.”

  Darryl studied both doors again—the side then the back. He looked at the ground around them again. It didn’t take long to realize what his father was referring to. Tracks leading to the back door were newer. Indeed, they looked fresh, and no new snow had fallen to soften the edges. These had been made that day for sure, and possibly within the last couple of hours.

  “They took her to the back door,” he said. “Looks like a group of people went that way earlier today.”

  “Exactly,” Greg said. “Which means the place where they’re keeping her is probably right on the other side of that door. Otherwise, they would have taken the side entrance and walked through the building, right?”

  “Makes sense, Dad.”

  “Good. Keep an eye on it for me. I think your vision is better than mine,” Greg said.

  Darryl wasn’t sure if that was true, but he took it as a slightly odd vote of confidence. Using the scope, he kept moving back and forth between the two doors. He didn’t really expect to see anything, yet not a minute had passed when he saw the back door jostle. It startled him so much he almost pulled the trigger. He felt his finger slide down to the trigger and brush the edge. He let go of the handle to stop himself, his heart pounding.

  I almost made things a hell of a lot worse, he thought.

  Suddenly, the door eased open a few inches, and a body appeared in the gap. He knew the shape of her: Pam Grasier. She raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes, and Darryl eased behind the trunk of the tree.

  “They’ve got a lookout with binoculars at the back door,” Darryl said. “I don’t think she saw me.”

  “I doubt she’ll spot us here,” Greg said. “Keep an eye on her.”

  Darryl eased slowly out from behind the tree and put his eye to the scope again. Officer Grasier was still scanning her surroundings with the binoculars, but she was turned away from him now. She’d stepped through the door to get a clear view. As she did, he noticed something strange in her other hand. It took a moment to realize it was a paper plate with some scraps of food on it. A crust of a sandwich, some potato chips—her meal or the remnants of food they’d fed their hostage?

  He looked through the open door. The interior of the warehouse was dim, though he saw some hints of faint light coming from deeper inside. He could just make out a second door a couple of meters beyond the outer door. It had a narrow window to the right of the door knob, but the room beyond was even darker. Still, as he studied the distant window, he thought he saw some kind of dim, shadowy shape on the other side. He was studying it, trying to make sense of it, when the door swung shut again and blocked his view.

  “She went back inside,” he said softly. “I think you’re right, Dad. I think they’re holding Emma somewhere near the back door. There’s a little room of some kind on the other side. Do you think we can get inside?”

  “If we can slip past the guards?” his father r
eplied. “Absolutely. I brought all the tools we need.”

  Darryl heard a sound then, coming from somewhere in the forest, and he began scanning for the source. It was strange metallic sound he couldn’t quite identify. He scanned all the way to the side door and then out along a well-worn path across the warehouse parking lot. Finally, he saw it: another one of Eustace’s men in a black coat and hat, and he was pushing a wheeled cart out of the forest from the direction of town. A large metal drum sat on top of the cart.

  “You see that?” Greg said.

  “Yeah, another one of his guys,” Darryl said. “He’s pushing a barrel. What in the world could it be?”

  “I’ve been watching Eustace and his men bringing barrels just like that to the warehouse for days,” Greg said.

  As the guard approached the side door, it opened, and another guard held it. For a second, Darryl saw electric lights shining on the ceiling. They were dim and flickering, but they were clearly working.

  “How are they powering the lights in the warehouse?” Darryl wondered aloud.

  “Well, you’ve made the connection,” Greg said. “I believe the barrels are full of fuel, probably diesel. I think they’re stockpiling it, using it to power a generator to keep the lights working in the warehouse.”

  Darryl saw the metal drums lined up beside the door, blue paint flaking off. Darryl knew from experience that diesel was much less flammable than gasoline, but once it was burning, it could make a nice big fire. His own grandfather had loved to toss a little diesel onto a campfire to make it flare up—though he’d always done so with a mischievous grin.

  What would it take to set off the barrels? Darryl didn’t know, but he thought it would be worth finding out.

  Let it burn. Let his whole little empire burn.

  28

  Darryl watched as they rolled the barrel up beside the door and added it to the row already sitting there. The men spent a few moments adjusting the row of barrels, and one of them seemed to be making marks in a small notebook which he produced from his coat pocket.