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

by Hamilton, Grace

  “Yes, that’s what I said,” James replied. “My men will compensate you for your help today, and I’ll bring the horse back later. You have my word. Look, everything is coming together in a wonderful way. Don’t sulk. This whole town is going to be thriving soon. Eustace, the fire, the Healys—all mere inconveniences. Now, hurry up and climb down from there. I’ve got work to do.”

  Albert frowned but dutifully climbed down from the saddle. James pushed past him and took his place in the saddle.

  “Where do I go?” Albert said. “Are your men inside?”

  “No, you’ll find them out by the new grave. Behind the building. You might want to steer clear of the frosty corpse rotting near the north door. It’s starting to smell, despite the cold.”

  And with that, James shook the reins, put his heels into the mare’s flanks, and set off toward town. He used the main road, following the tracks Albert himself had made on his way to the warehouse.

  Maybe I’ll keep this horse, he thought. Albert doesn’t need it. Maybe he can have a cow in trade. I’ll convince him it’s a fair deal.

  He wanted to approach the ranch alone. He wanted to see what was there, to make a mental inventory of everything before anyone else from town saw it. Just another small way to give himself the upper hand, and James always had the upper hand, whether people realized it or not.

  He was greeted by a few locals on his way through the center of town. They all knew him now. He’d cut deals, made promises, a few choice threats, and even resorted to a bit of flattery, some of it right under Eustace’s nose. They were his people now, and it was his town. He returned each greeting with an appropriate expression—smile for some, serious look for others, calm emptiness for a few, even a couple of dangerous scowls.

  As he rode past the town, his excitement was dampened only slightly by a bit of anxiety. He had the AR-15 slung on his back, and he used one hand to remove it now, laying it at an angle across the saddle. Eventually, he came across a sturdy mailbox beside the road with the name HEALY in white letters on the side. He turned down the driveway, feeling a crawling unease. Would they be waiting for him? Would that old woman be perched in a tree, ready to shoot him?

  His eyes flitted from side to side, his finger resting to the side of the trigger of the AR-15. When he rode out of the trees and came in sight of the fence, his skin-crawling unease reached a fever pitch. The gate was wide open, and he could see a stack of large boxes on the other side. No sign of the wagon. James reined in the mare and sat there for a minute, gazing into the distance. No one in the tree platform, no one on the porch.

  Could it be? he wondered. Did the Healys finally come to their senses and figure out what really matters?

  James spurred the horse toward the open gate. It was Eustace’s death, of course. They’d needed it, and he’d given it to them. Just another one of the many exchanges he’d made to take control of the town. Well worth it. He could see the tracks of the wagon wheels, smaller wheel marks, drag marks from boxes. Yes, they’d left.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” James said, as he rode through the open gate.

  The front door was wide open, the shed door was wide open. They’d left numerous boxes full of tools, clothes, and supplies. As he rode around the property, he found a root cellar half-full of meat, flour, and wild berries, cattle in the barn, a house full of furniture. It was amazing. Glorious.

  By the time he’d ridden all over the place and headed back toward the open gate, he saw a group of men heading down the driveway. His guards had picked up Albert and a few other wannabe toughs from in town. James dismounted and waited for them inside the gate. Of course, he’d hidden a few things, some choice items from the house—medication, antiques, weapons, and so on. Always good to have a few secrets stashed away, even from his own people.

  Benny was in the lead, the rough-looking goon in the filthy coat.

  “Boss?” he said, as he passed through the gate. “Are they gone?”

  Boss! You’ve got that right, James thought.

  “Looks like they made it easy, after all,” he said, waving his people at the house. “I get to keep my word and leave the Healys in peace. Let’s hope they find a more suitable place to live. No hard feelings.”

  Benny paused just beyond the gate and looked around in astonishment. “This place is amazing! There’s so much room, so many nice buildings. Wow!”

  “That’s right, boys,” James said. “This is our place now.”

  He grabbed the latch of the large gate and slid it shut. It closed with a deep, satisfying clank.

  “Welcome home.”

  End of Survive the Attack

  EMP: Return of the Wild West Book Two

  Blurb

  They’re entering the storm—and only together will they survive.

  Spring is around the corner, and the Healys must again face Canada’s mountainous onslaught to reach the security of the hunting cabin. Though they were forced to give up the family’s ranch to the post-apocalyptic mob, the most important thing to Greg Healy now is that they still have the cattle and the family is all together safe and sound. But just as the end of their grueling trek is within sight, the spring thaw brings unending trouble.

  And heartbreaking tragedy.

  The burden of leading loved ones falls hard on Darryl Healy’s shoulders as he confronts his most daunting task yet—becoming a father. But the trail is an unforgiving master, not fit for man, woman, or beast, and the cattle have proven time and again to be an irresistible draw to those determined to take everything the Healys have left.

  When a vicious new enemy follows in their wake and guns are drawn in the avalanche-prone pass, Darryl is forced to defend and protect his family just as his father and grandfather taught him.

  By any means necessary.

  Prepper survivalist author Grace Hamilton invites you to step into a post-apocalyptic, EMP-ravaged world filled with strong, resourceful characters, survivalist knowledge, and edge-of-your seat action.

  1

  Emma stood at the mouth of the cave, her gloved hands stuffed deep in her coat pockets as she watched the landscape emerge from the gloom. The land sloped down into a broad meadow that was walled in on three sides by dense forest. Sunrise made the residue of fog burn orange, but she saw animals moving in the mist. The cows and horses were grazing contently around a small pond, where the fog gathered like steam rising from the silvery surface.

  It took a moment to pick out the small figure walking among the animals. Her father had taken the animals down to graze, as he often did in the morning. However, Emma noted that he was carrying a rough-hewn staff with him, clearly something he’d carved from the trunk of a sapling. Emma laughed. Her father really wanted to complete the picture of being a cowherd from the olden days. It wasn’t necessary. The animals had proved to be docile and well-behaved. They always stuck close by. In fact, they’d been little problem at all during the winter, unlike the people.

  She could feel the shift in temperature that morning. It was going to be warmer than the previous weeks. Not quite warm enough to shed her coat, but the snow seemed patchier. Indeed, as she watched the fog slowly burn away, she was amazed at how much of the wild grass was visible. Could this be it? Had the time finally arrived to escape this inhospitable place?

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw flickering candlelight in the dim of the cave. The winter camp was, in fact, a cave system at the base of the mountains a few dozen kilometers northeast of the old ranch. Emma had been amazed to discover that such a place existed—apparently it had been one of many wilderness camps her grandfather used for his hunting trips over the years.

  The big wagon was parked just inside the entrance, looking sadly neglected. It had sat there in the same place for months now. As she was staring back into the cave, Emma saw a shadow move along the wall. A few seconds later, Justine Carmichael appeared from around the bend. Dressed in one of her usual baggy sweatshirts with a pair of ski pants, her pregnancy was very visible
now.

  Justine approached, one hand on her belly, and circled the wagon. She reached up to unlatch the tailboard, and only then did she notice Emma. Pushing her hood back, she gave her a questioning look. Emma still found Justine hard to read sometimes.

  “Oh, hey,” Emma said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

  “Guarding the cave entrance?” Justine said, lowering the tailboard of the wagon. “That’s good. The Neanderthals might attack again and try to steal our mastodon tusks.” The barest hint of a smile let Emma know that Justine was being humorous rather than sarcastic.

  “The only Neanderthal out there this morning is my dad,” Emma said.

  “I always figured he was more of a Denisovan,” Justine said, climbing up into the wagon—no easy task in her current condition. They’d mostly unloaded the boxes and crates from inside the wagon, but a few that they hadn’t expected to need were still tucked against the sidewalls. Justine went to one of these and eased down in front of it.

  Emma didn’t know how to keep the joke going, so she turned back around and gazed down into the valley, where the cattle and horses continued to graze contentedly at the new growth in the valley.

  “What do you think?” Justine said.

  “About what? Denisovans?” Emma looked back at Justine.

  “No, silly,” Justine said with a laugh. “About the weather. Is it spring yet? Not just calendar spring but actual spring? How does it look out there?” Justine pulled a blanket out of a crate, then gave it a few good smacks to knock off the dust. “There’s a lot of grass visible this morning,” she said. “More than before.”

  “And the mountain pass?” Justine asked. “Is it clear yet?”

  “I can’t tell from here,” Emma replied, but suddenly it was a question she needed the answer to.

  Justine wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and put the lid back on the crate. “Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, painstakingly climbing down out of the wagon. She raised the tailboard and latched it. “Someone should check. Maybe we can finally get out of here.”

  And with that, Justine headed back into the living quarters deeper in the cave, the blanket swaying behind her like a cloak. Emma had never gotten used to their sleeping arrangements—or their eating arrangements, bathing arrangements, or anything else about living in this winter camp. The prospect of spring finally melting the pass seemed almost too good to be true.

  What are you waiting for? she thought. Go and see for yourself.

  She stepped out of the cave with a flutter in her belly and energy in her limbs. Just outside the cave entrance, a simple wooden framework housed a kind of working area that included a large tub and clotheslines for washing and drying clothes. They hadn’t used either because of the cold, and the framework was still frosted over.

  Emma stepped past the framework, where a path led down into the shallow valley. The animals had trodden the ground here into slush and mud. Down below, Emma saw her father standing to one side, leaning on his staff as he watched the animals continue to graze. These months in the winter camp had been excruciatingly slow, a waiting game in the cold, damp, and dark. The possibility that their time here might be coming to an end was thrilling.

  After moving a few meters beyond the cave entrance, Emma stopped and turned around. The cave was carved into the side of a big rocky slab that protruded from a mountainside. Someone in the past— Tuck, perhaps—had created a narrow, switchback trail that led up the mountainside toward a promontory about forty meters up. This created a crude, and fairly unsafe, lookout post, which had been coated in ice throughout the winter and early spring. However, this morning, it looked clearer than usual.

  If the trail is clear, the pass must be clear, she thought.

  She started up the trail, picking her way carefully along the loose rocks and dirt. They’d never made it to the hunting cabin. The old trail to the cabin led over some mountains and down into a valley, but they’d found the pass snowed in. This cave had been the only accessible alternative, and so had begun a long, miserable winter. This morning, the warmth of the morning sunlight on Emma’s face indicated spring was finally here to stay, and it only strengthened her hope that the pass would be clear.

  As she ascended toward the lookout, she hugged the rock wall on one side, though she’d expected the ground to be more slippery than it was. When she reached the lookout, she edged out toward the overlook, moving in a crouch as she gazed down into the field. It was a perfect place for containing the animals, an open meadow about a hundred meters across with dense trees acting as walls and a perfect little pond near the middle.

  Emma’s angle from above gave her a long view beyond the trees, where the line of mountains curved around to the south. From here, she could see part of the pass as it rose above the trees a few kilometers in that direction and followed a cleft through the mountains. Through that pass was the old hunting lodge, a place that had taken on almost mythical overtones in her mind.

  Emma’s heart leapt. Through the gap where the pass cut into the mountains, early morning sunlight carved a broad path of light that spread out over the treetops below. It was practically a shining arrow pointing the way. The pass was open.

  We’re free of this place, Emma thought. We’re finally free!

  She started to rush back down the path, but the soles of her boots slipped on the rocks. She went down to her knees, scraping her winter pants and tearing open one knee. It didn’t matter. Indeed, she hardly cared. Picking herself up, she resumed her descent, moving as fast as she dared, her heart pounding. As she approached the cave entrance, she spotted her father making his way back from the meadow, and she couldn’t decide which way to go. Should she race out to meet him and tell him the news, or should she rush into the cave and tell everyone else?

  Her indecision caused her to do a little shuffle step for a couple of seconds, but finally she went back into the cave, running past the wagon and through the open space where they penned the animals at night. At the back, a curtained doorway led into the deeper chambers where the family resided. As Emma pushed through the curtains, she saw the network of rooms that had been carved and shaped to make them more habitable.

  “Everyone!” She spoke a bit louder than she intended, and her voice carried deep into the cave. Emma clapped a hand over her mouth as she stumbled to a stop.

  The first room was a communal gathering area, with rugs laid down on the floor and wood planks set across boxes and barrels to serve as tables and chairs. Darryl was the only one in the room at the moment, and he was currently bent over the fresh water barrel, using a wooden ladle to scoop water into a cup. The sudden loud noise caused him to lurch up and turn toward her with a scowl.

  “No, no, it’s way too early to start screaming,” he said, in a sleep-thick voice. “What are you doing?”

  A row of candles flickered on one of the makeshift tables, providing the only real light inside the main room. They had a small iron brazier, but the coals had burned out in the night. As curtains parted on the other side, some of the candles went out. Emma’s mother, Marion Healy, appeared in the gap. She’d layered on two bathrobes, along with sweatpants, to stave off the cold. Behind her, Emma caught a glimpse of the crude chamber her parents had been using as a bedroom.

  “What’s going on, Emma?” she asked, rubbing her face. “Is something wrong?”

  “The pass is open,” Emma replied, struggling not to shout the news. “I went up the trail and looked and saw sunlight shining through the gap. It’s open!”

  Marion glanced at Darryl, but otherwise had minimal response. She clearly wasn’t as excited about this news as Emma.

  “Mom, that means we can leave the camp and head to the cabin,” Emma said. “Don’t you get it? We can get out of here! We’ve been waiting all winter for this.”

  Emma heard footsteps behind her and turned to see her grandmother, Tabitha Healy, stepping through the curtains of her room in her long winter coat. Tabitha was a leathery old woman, to
ugh as nails, and she didn’t seem all that excited either. A moment later, Horace Bouchard also appeared from another set of curtains, moving unsteadily on his crutch. Cave life had not been especially kind to the old veteran. He had trouble using his prosthetic legs on the uneven floors of the cave. His white hair and beard were looking especially scraggly this morning.

  And now Emma was surrounded by people all staring at her with unhappy looks on their faces. She didn’t understand why they weren’t excited to get the news.

  “Well, don’t you people want to leave this cave?” she asked. “We’ve been stuck here for months, but now that the pass is open, we can move on to the cabin, just like we planned to do from the beginning. Isn’t that good news? Mom?”

  Marion stepped further into the room, letting the curtains to her chamber fall shut behind her. “Of course it is, sweetie. We’ll need to make sure you’re right, of course,” she said.

  “Sunlight wouldn’t be shining so brightly through the gap if the way was still snowed in,” Emma replied. “Why is everyone acting like I just delivered bad news? Did you people fall in love with this cave or something? Man, guess we really are Denisovans.”

  This got her a few confused looks, but Emma heard Justine chuckle from elsewhere in the cave. Just then, the tromp of boots behind her signaled the arrival of her father, who strode into the room with a huff and set his staff against the wall.

  “The pass is open,” Marion told him. “Emma went up to the lookout this morning and saw it.”

  Greg gave his daughter a grave look, eyes narrowed, and nodded. “Just because the pass is finally open, doesn’t mean the trip is going to be easy,” he said, “but I guess we’d better load up and set off as soon as possible. No reason to linger in the winter camp any longer.”