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

by Hamilton, Grace

  The man only saw Greg at the last second, and he started to spin in his direction. It was too late. Greg hit him around the midsection and drove him backward. Then the stranger tripped on something, and they both went down. They landed hard on the cold ground, Greg’s weight slamming down on the stranger. Greg heard the man’s breath leave him in a violent rush, then heard the thud of the revolver as it fell from his grasp and landed somewhere nearby.

  They slid a few inches and came to an abrupt stop. As soon as they did, Greg raised his rifle and pressed the barrel under the man’s chin. The campfire had recovered some of its strength, and their gazes met in flickering orange light. Greg could tell that the man was utterly shocked and terrified. But he heard his hands fumbling around on the ground.

  “You reach for that weapon, and I’ll kill you,” Greg said evenly.

  The stranger made a kind of hissing sound and raised both hands above his head, clasping them together. Greg rose, one knee pressed against the man’s chest, shifting the barrel of his gun to his left cheek.

  “The only reason I haven’t already killed you is because I want answers,” Greg said, “but I’ve had a bad couple of days. I’m real twitchy. You follow me?”

  It had the opposite effect from what he’d intended. The stranger began to writhe beneath him despite the gun in his face. Then he bucked, and Greg’s knee slipped off his chest. As soon as he was free, the man rolled onto his stomach and began crawling away, making frantic breathing noises.

  I should just kill him, Greg thought, but I need to know where he came from, who he’s with, and what they want.

  Despite this, he raised the rifle, sorely tempted to put a bullet in the back of the man’s head. Instead, he flung himself onto the man’s back, crying out in pain as his own injured body protested. He brought the rifle down, driving the butt against the top of the stranger’s skull. It made a dull thud. The stranger grunted, thrashed once, and collapsed onto the ground. This time he went limp.

  For a second, Greg thought he’d killed him. Then he heard the faint, shallow breathing. Greg grabbed a fistful of his shaggy hair, raised his head, and turned it. The man’s eyes were open, full of pain but very much awake.

  “I’m really trying hard not to annihilate you here, pal, okay?” Greg said.

  “I’m done fighting,” the man replied, in a low voice. “You got me. Just remember, I could’ve shot you too. I had a clear shot there for a second, and I didn’t take it.”

  “Well, then, we’re even,” Greg said. “Let’s call it a draw.”

  “Just let me go,” the man said. “I won’t follow you anymore.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I think we’re going to have a little chat first. Now, I’m getting off your back, but I don’t want you crawling away again. You sit up slowly, calmly, and you stay right there. Can you do that for me?”

  The stranger grimaced, hesitated a moment, and finally replied, “Yeah, fine. My head hurts like hell anyway. You put a knot on my skull that feels about as big as a tennis ball.”

  “Don’t make me put another one.”

  Greg slid off the man, rose to his knees, and reached back to grab the revolver he’d dropped. As he’d expected, it was an ancient gun, though someone had taken good care of it. The thing felt huge and heavy in his hands, a solid chunk of metal. Greg made a mental note to take a good look at the thing and figure out the make and model when he had a chance. For now, he tossed it well out of the stranger’s reach as he backed away.

  “Sit up,” he commanded the stranger, his gun still trained on the man. When the man hesitated, he added, “Maybe you think I’ve never killed anyone before, that I’ve not pulled the trigger because, oh, the humanity, the humanity? But, no, it wouldn’t mean much to me at this point. I’m trying to do the decent thing here and maybe clear the air, but if you’re not amenable to that, friend, then it won’t mean much to toss what’s left of you in the river.”

  It got through to the stranger. Maybe the truth of it was evident in Greg’s voice. Whatever the case, the man rolled onto his back, hands still thrust above his head, and slowly sat up, wide eyes fixed on Greg. He did indeed have a bit of a mountain man look to him, but he was wearing a ski jacket that was far too nice for a wild person.

  “Now, take one of your boots off,” Greg said. “Slowly. Gently. Just pull it off and set it to one side. Can you do that for me?”

  “Take off my boot?” the man said. “Are you serious?”

  Greg gave him what he hoped was a slightly crazed nod. Frowning, the man reached down and pulled off a rather nice Timberland hiking boot, revealing a filthy wool sock. He gingerly set the boot to one side, never taking his eyes off Greg.

  “Why do you want one of my boots?” he asked.

  “I don’t want the boot,” Greg replied. “I just want the shoelace. I used to be pretty good at tying complicated knots. Hopefully, I haven’t lost my touch. We’ll see. Afterward, we can have a nice chat, and you can tell me absolutely everything.”

  20

  Fleeing in the night to escape their pursuers had been a miserable ordeal, especially with the newborn and a recovering Justine. But it had to be done. Darryl wasn’t about to let the family get in a confrontation with a group of strangers.

  Transporting Justine and the baby had been the biggest problem. After just giving birth, there was no way the new mom was going to be able to ride in a saddle. Walking was out of the question as well. In the end, their only option had been to create a space for her on the travois, forming a padded area in between the boxes where she could lie down with the baby. Since the back of the travois was constantly dragging on the ground, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but Justine resigned herself to it with only a modest amount of sarcasm.

  “I give birth, and suddenly I’m just another piece of luggage,” she said, as Darryl carefully tucked a blanket around her and the baby. “I see how it is.”

  “Hey, these are the first-class accommodations,” Darryl replied. “The in-flight movie starts in thirty minutes.”

  “Look at you trying to be funny,” she said, managing a smile.

  He took her free hand, kissed it awkwardly, and walked away. They broke camp so quickly that they were forced to leave some stuff behind. Darryl just couldn’t bring himself to care about a few knick-knacks and a tarp or two. Horace and Tabitha rode one horse, Marion the other. Emma took the lead of the caravan, guiding the horses, while Darryl decided to bring up the rear. He wanted to stay in the back with his rifle at the ready in case their pursuers caught up to them in the night. He also wanted to make sure the cows kept moving.

  “Are you sure you don’t want one of the horses back there with you?” Horace asked, as he headed back.

  “No, I want everyone else in the front,” he replied. “As far from these strangers as possible. If they catch up, I’ll deal with them.”

  “Don’t do anything rash,” Marion said. “We can’t assume they’re hostile.”

  “If they’re trying to sneak up on us at night, they’re hostile,” he replied, “but they’re free to prove me wrong.”

  And with that, he headed past the cows to the end of the line. The caravan headed off into the night, following the trail deeper into the woods, where the air was still and all sound muffled. Far ahead, Darryl could see the light of Emma’s flashlight playing over the trees as she picked out their path. Tabitha had been right to call this the “scenic route,” as it wound back and forth in long looping curves. At times, Darryl felt like they were going the wrong way, as if the trail had been intentionally designed to keep them away from the cabin.

  The night march soon turned into a long, slow slog. Darryl periodically cast his gaze back over his shoulder, shining a line on the trail. This made him realize just how obvious their own tracks were. The drag marks of the travois were deep, and the animals were leaving clear hoofprints on the ground. Anyone tracking them would have an easy time figuring out the general size and makeup of the group. Of
their pursuers, however, there was no sign. Either they were moving slowly, or they had decided to remain out of sight for the time being.

  Darryl found himself slipping into a half-awake space, still moving forward but barely aware of his surroundings. Periodically, he slapped himself hard on the cheek, but it only helped for a little while. Eventually, he drifted into one of those foggy places and emerged to see the first pink light shining through the branches overhead. Still, they trudged on, and soon he slipped back into that space. He was walking without even being aware of it, as if his mind were skipping into the future. The next time he looked up, it was well into late morning, and he saw the trail wending back and forth in front of him. He heard a roar of water somewhere off to their left.

  The line of cows in front of him were barely moving now, inching forward as if they were being hindered. Darryl finally made his way past them and realized that Emma and the horses were also moving just as slowly. Some of the poor animals seemed to be struggling, especially the older cows. Darryl paused beside the travois, where Justine was sitting up. The baby was under a blanket, feeding, but Justine seemed to be working on something.

  “Comfortable?” he asked. “Did the flight attendant take your drink order?”

  “Yeah, I ordered a rum and Coke an hour ago,” she replied, with a shake of her head. “It never showed.”

  “I’ll look into it,” he said.

  “Excellent,” she replied, giving him a brief, fading smile. It looked like she’d cut one of her blankets into long strips, and she seemed to be somehow knotting the strips together. When she noticed him looking, she held it up. “I’m making a papoose. It was Emma’s idea, of course. A papoose is a kind of baby carrier made by First Nations people. You create this little pouch and carry your baby on your back. At least then I wouldn’t have to carry him in my arms all the time when I walk.”

  “Do you feel recovered enough to walk?” he asked.

  “Well, not really, but I’m sick of being jostled around,” she said. “It’s like trying to ride an earthquake. I’ll walk for a while and carry our son and see how it goes.”

  “Do you need help creating the papoose?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, Emma gave me more instructions than I could ever need. Horace even threw in a few tips. Those two know a lot of random stuff. Anyway, Emma was going to make it herself, but I begged her. Told her I needed something to pass the time.”

  “Well, if you insist on walking, that’s fine with me,” he said. “Just don’t push yourself.”

  “You should take your own advice, Darryl Healy,” he said.

  “Probably. And one of these days, I will.”

  Darryl leaned down and kissed Justine on top of the head, then he moved up to the front of the caravan. Emma was walking beside Marion’s horse, and mother and daughter seemed to be in a debate.

  “I felt drops,” Emma said. “Look at the clouds. Everything is gray now.”

  “Okay, but there’s not much we can do about it if we get rained on,” Marion replied. “We have to keep going.”

  Indeed, Darryl felt a drop of rain just then. It hit the bridge of his nose and ran down, hanging off the end. More drops followed, and soon a steady drizzle had begun to fall.

  “Thanks, nature,” Darryl muttered. “I wasn’t miserable enough yet, but this will take care of it.”

  Poor old Horace was asleep in the saddle, leaning so far forward that his face was brushing against the horse’s mane. Tabitha had her arms around him and seemed to be holding him in place. As Darryl approached, he assessed the trail ahead. It seemed to be taunting them. At times, it descended into the valley; at other times, it turned and ascended back up steep slopes.

  “At this pace, we’re never going to get anywhere,” he said. “There has to be some way to move faster.”

  “With the rain falling, the trail is going to get muddy,” Emma said. His sister was clearly sleep-deprived, with dark circles around her eyes, hair all tangled and dirty. She was still carrying the flashlight, though it was turned off now. “A slippery trail will make it harder for the animals.”

  Darryl considered their predicament. But, of course, the answer seemed obvious to him. Their priorities were clear. “Okay, fine, let’s leave some of the older cattle behind and dump some of our supplies. I can’t do anything about the rain, but if we travel lighter, we can travel faster. We’ll survive without the cows. We know how to live off the land anyway, right?”

  “We’ll need our cattle to survive,” Tabitha said, her voice a sleepy croak. “We’ve already lost far too much.”

  “Well, the cows are barely moving at this point, and the travois slows down the horses,” Darryl said. “All the supplies in the world will be useless if we can’t get to the cabin, or if we get overtaken by a hostile group. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything to debate here, really.” His foggy brain was making him cranky, he knew, and he struggled mightily not to snap at everyone.

  “We’re losing so much,” Marion said softly. She sounded like she was on the verge of crying, but when Darryl looked up at her, his mother had a steely expression, her jaw set firmly.

  “I know, Mom,” he replied, “but if we can just get our people to that cabin…”

  “There’s another option,” Tabitha said, with a long, drawn-out sigh.

  “Please, don’t tell me there some other dangerous trail we can take,” Marion said.

  “Not a trail,” Tabitha said. She pointed off to the left, where the land sloped down through the trees. “The woods thin out quite a bit in that direction. We could simply leave the trail and take a shortcut down the slope here. It’ll get us to the cabin faster. Eventually, we’ll be funneled toward a ravine, and that will point us toward the trail again. At this point, it would actually be faster and easier on the animals.”

  Darryl considered the terrain to the left of the trail. It didn’t look too bad, actually. Patches of grass, lingering snow, some rocks, but indeed the trees were spread out just enough that the animals could pass. “Isn’t the river in that direction?” he asked. “Is there a way to get over it?”

  “Yes, there’s a long stretch where it passes underground,” she said. “I suspect we’re close to that point.”

  But as Darryl thought about it, something didn’t sit right. “What’s the catch?” he asked. “If it’s so much easier to just cut through the woods here, why didn’t we do that in the first place? Why did you act like the trail was our only option?”

  Tabitha sat up, hoisting Horace away from the horse’s neck. “Because, of course, it’s not safe. The descent is pretty steep, and there are shale deposits where we could slip and slide. I’m only suggesting it now because the animals might not be able to last on the trail. We still have a long way to go. If we can get beyond the river and down through some rough terrain, we’ll meet up with the trail again at a lower part of the valley.”

  “Have you done this before?” he asked.

  “Tuck and I cut downslope from the trail a few times, yes,” she said. “Not with twelve head of cattle, mind you. I suppose the biggest risk would be a landslide, but I think at this point it might be worth the risk. Faster seems better all around, if you ask me.”

  Tabitha was looking rough. Her skin had turned a yellowish color, and she was sweating profusely, though it couldn’t have been more than a few degrees above freezing. Her hair was limp, her eyes slightly unfocused. Clearly, this rough journey was wearing on her.

  Still, he was conflicted. How would Justine and the baby survive a dangerous trek down rough terrain? Did he really want to risk it? She would have to leave the travois, of course, but walking along with their son in a papoose down a rocky slope with the risk of landslides? He looked from Emma to Marion and back to Tabitha. They were all waiting to see what he had to say.

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Marion said. “But we all need to agree. Darryl?”

  “Give me a second,” he snapped, then added, in a softer voice, “Let
me weigh the options here. Hang on.”

  “Don’t weigh them too long,” Tabitha said. “We’re getting rained on, and we still have people following us.”

  “I know. I know.” He swiped a hand in the air. “We’re running out of time.”

  21

  In the end, the stranger gave up the laces on both of his boots. Greg let him put the boots back on after that, but then he led the man back to camp. He was limping now. Apparently, he’d been injured slightly when Greg had tackled him. Greg marched him to a tree nearest the fire, forced him to sit, then pulled his arms around the trunk behind him and bound his wrists with the shoelaces.

  “It’s not necessary to tie me up,” the man said. “I’m not going to do anything. I have no more weapons, and I told you I’m done resisting. I promise. Do you want it in writing?”

  “We don’t know each other well enough to make promises,” Greg replied, patting down the man’s jacket. He found a folding knife in an inner pocket, removed it, and tossed it toward the campfire. “Heck, I don’t even know your name. Why don’t we start there?” He found a compass in another pocket and took that as well, tossing it beside the knife.

  “Daniel,” the man replied, leaning back against the tree trunk.

  “Daniel. Such a friendly name,” Greg replied. He walked over to the fire and squatted down. “Well, my name’s Greg. See, we’re on a first-name basis now. That’s the beginning of trust.”

  “Does that mean you’ll untie me,” Daniel said.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Greg went to work getting the fire going again, adding more sticks and stoking it until it was burning brightly. Then he piled the pocket knife, compass, and Daniel’s gun beside his own backpack. Soon, the clearing was warm and bright, and Greg noticed a trickle of sweat running down the man’s forehead.

  “So how did you find me in the first place, and what made you start following me?” Greg asked.