EMP: Return of the Wild West | Book 2 | Survive The Attack

by Hamilton, Grace

  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.”

  24

  Marion knew. As soon as she saw that Emma wasn’t among the people on the porch, she knew. Even though she had no reason to suspect that her daughter was in trouble, some instinctive feeling warned her. Saying it out loud seemed to confirm it, and the sudden confusion on every face only intensified her sudden sense of panic.

  “When was the last time someone saw her?” she asked, pushing away from the handrail. “Think back. Did she leave the ranch? What was she doing?”

  “We saw her at breakfast,” Tabitha replied. “She went into the den after that.”

  “I think she came in to swap out a book,” Horace added.

  Greg had stopped pacing. “Maybe she went to the greenhouse. Weren’t Darryl and Emma working on it the other day?”

  “Is that possible?” Marion asked Darryl.

  “The greenhouse is done, Mom,” he said. “We can’t do more there until the ground thaws. Emma knows that. She wouldn’t go back there.”

  “I think we need to spread out and look for her,” Greg said. “Check every place she might have gone.”

  Horace grabbed his crutch and rose to his feet. “I’ll check inside. Maybe she’s in the den or dining room. I see her jotting in her little notebook sometimes.”

  “I’ll look upstairs,” Tabitha said. “Maybe she’s in the hobby room working on baby clothes.”

  Horace and Tabitha went inside, but Marion knew they were wasting their time. She heard Tabitha calling Emma’s name, but Marion knew her daughter wasn’t inside. She didn’t have a reason to know this, but she knew it. She turned to her husband and saw the fear in his eyes. She grabbed his hand.

  “If she went beyond the gate, we should be able to find and follow her footprints,” he said.

  Marion nodded. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m coming too,” Darryl said, standing up and helping Justine to her feet. “I’ll get the guns.”

  As he headed inside, Justine grabbed a fold of his coat and followed him. “Don’t do anything crazy,” she said. “You don’t want those men to find you roaming around outside the fence.”

  “We won’t give them a chance to do anything,” Darryl said darkly.

  He slipped inside. A few seconds later, he returned with guns. He handed the SIG Sauer to his father, the Walther pistol to Marion, and he kept the Remington for himself.

  “We’ll stick together,” Greg said. “If you see or hear anything while we’re out there, let me know. I don’t want any of those people to sneak up on us.”

  The three of them set out, following the well-worn path from the porch to the gate.

  “She must have been outside,” Marion said, as she unlatched the gate and slid it open. “During that entire confrontation with Eustace’s men, she must have been out there somewhere.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Greg replied. “She could be anywhere on the property.”

  “If she was in the barn or down in the root cellar, the shouting earlier would have brought her out. Don’t you know your own daughter? She’s curious and likes to be in the middle of things.”

  “I know,” Greg said. “I was just hoping…”

  But Marion couldn’t hope. She could only worry. “Can you imagine what would have happened if she’d come back home in the middle of the confrontation? Can you image what would have happened to her? They would have taken her hostage, used her to force our hand, or worse.”

  “If she’s not at the greenhouse, maybe she went to check the fish traps,” Greg said. “That’s far enough from the fence that Eustace and his men might not have seen her.”

  As they walked around the corner of the fence, Marion could see tracks cutting across the snowy yard in various directions. A worn path led down the fence toward the distant greenhouse, but this was also the beginning of the path most often taken to the stream. She headed in that direction, trying to pick out the shape of Emma’s boot prints, shouting her daughter’s name. Greg and Darryl came up alongside her.

  “I don’t remember her saying anything about checking the fish traps, Mom,” Darryl said. “She usually mentions it to me before she heads out there. I think she wants me to go with her, but I’m busy most of the time.”

  “Well, maybe next time you should take the Remington and go with her,” Marion muttered. “Why in the world are we letting our youngest go traipsing off into the wilderness alone? Surely, you c
an spare a few minutes to help her out.”

  She noted that Greg and Darryl still weren’t speaking to each other. They got along when necessary and worked together on projects with no problem, but they rarely addressed each other directly. Indeed, as Marion followed the tracks along the fence, they only spoke to her. It was damned annoying under the circumstances, but she bit her tongue for the time being.

  I’ve spent too much of my life biting my tongue, she thought.

  Ahead, she saw the little greenhouse, the windows frosted in the cold. Yes, they’d done impressive work. It looked quaint there on its little hill beside the trees. Seeing the hard work Emma had done only made Marion’s fear more intense. As she studied the tracks around the front of the greenhouse, she saw footprints leading off past the greenhouse and curving slightly to the south as they headed into the woods. They also seemed fairly recent.

  “Are we sure Darryl and Emma finished all of their work on the greenhouse?” Greg asked. “Is there no chance she might be inside? The windows are frosted over, so I can’t tell. Let’s double-check it anyway.”

  The fact that he’d addressed this question to her rather than to Darryl, who was walking right beside him, was too much. Marion felt her anger flaring up. She was carrying the pistol as she walked, and she felt her finger twitch against the trigger. Fortunately, the safety was on, so nothing happened. She tucked the gun into her coat pocket.

  “Mom, Emma and I are done with the greenhouse until the ground thaws out,” Darryl said. “I’m pretty sure I already mentioned that, but we should check it. Sure.”

  It was the final straw. “Stop it. Both of you stop it,” she said, tightly. Greg and Darryl both glanced at her and quickly looked away. Did they not realize just how alike they were? They had the same great qualities, and some of the same frustrating flaws. “You don’t think I see what you two are doing here? You don’t want to talk directly to each other, so you use a go-between or just avoid talking at all. This is how it’s been since we had the big fight the other day, and I’m sick of it.”

  “We’ve been getting along just fine,” Greg said. “We’ve worked together on projects. Heck, we spent a couple of hours building a new platform, and there wasn’t a single cross word said by either of us.”

  “Not a single cross word or any word,” Marion said, with a wave of her hand. “Just stop it, Greg. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re not getting along if you’re giving each other the silent treatment. Both of you need to put your macho feelings aside so we can focus on what’s important. Got it?”

  They were quiet for a few seconds, then Darryl trudged off toward the greenhouse and opened the door. He stepped inside for a second, then reappeared, shaking his head. Marion wasn’t surprised. She could clearly see the most recent trail created by Emma now. She had veered off an older trail to create a meandering path of her own. Calling her daughter’s name again, she followed the trail.

  “Okay, fine,” Greg said, after a moment. “Things had been a little strained, I admit. Maybe I’ve been acting a bit childish.”

  “It wasn’t intentional,” Darryl added. “Things just seemed a bit weird, and I wasn’t sure how to break the ice.”

  “Well, I need both of you to stop it,” Marion said, cutting him off before he could say more. “Act like men instead of children. Can you do that for me?”

  “You got it,” Greg said. “Sorry.”

  “Sure thing, Mom,” Darryl added.

  “Good. Now, let’s go find Emma.”

  Just then, she spotted the other trails. They came out of the south, intersecting with Emma’s footsteps. Marion’s stomach dropped, and she rushed forward. As she drew near the spot where the trails converged, she saw something even more alarming. Bright drops of blood on the snow. It was a small amount of blood, but the drops followed one of the trails. Marion didn’t know which way to go, so she headed to her left, beyond the place where the tracks converged. The surge of panic made her dizzy, and she had to fight to prevent it from taking over.

  She rounded a large tree and spotted a small crumpled shape in the snow. She recognized it immediately, and she stooped down to grab it. A small toque with a little red puffball on top. She picked it up in her trembling hands and crushed it against her chest.

  “Over there,” Darryl said, pointing to one side. He rushed over to a large bush, bent down, and dragged something out of the snow. “This is hers.” He lifted the large woven handbasket. A dead fish was hanging over the side.

  Marion’s vision was blurred by tears, but she furiously wiped them away. She had to be able to see. She had to find her way. Casting about, she spotted more blood on the snow here. Indeed, she could see where the person—whoever it was—had begun to bleed. A number of drops, still fresh enough to be bright red, marked a spot not far from where she’d found Emma’s hat.

  Please, God, let it be one of them and not Emma, she thought. Let it be James Teagan. Maybe she shot him or stabbed him or at least broke his nose.

  “Well, they should be easy enough to follow, at least,” Greg said, pulling the SIG off his shoulder. “They left a trail of blood and footprints clear as day. Come on.”

  He turned and followed the tracks back to the place where they converged. Marion, still clutching the hat, went after him, but she was fighting panic every step of the way. This was worse. Worse than Emma being lost in the wilderness. Worse than people approaching the ranch and threatening them. Worse than the gun battle in the front yard. Marion could scarcely wrap her head around it, and she didn’t want to think of the possible implications of what had happened here.

  Greg was moving fast now. Darryl dropped the basket and hurried to catch up to him, taking the Remington in his hands. They crossed Emma’s original tracks and headed south deeper into the woods, Marion at their backs.

  “We’ll find her,” Greg said. “They can’t have gone far. I’m sure they won’t hurt her. They’ll want to use her as a hostage so they can bargain with us. She’s only useful to them if she’s alive and well.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself.

  “We don’t know that,” Marion said. “We don’t know how they think or what they’re capable of.”

  He stopped suddenly at a spot where the underbrush was especially thick. Marion could see where large bodies had crashed through the bushes, leaving broken twigs, pine needles, and dead leaves scattered on the ground. But Greg seemed drawn to something else. He reached into the low branches of a nearby pine tree with his free hand, worked something loose, then held it up. A scrap of pink nylon cloth with a bit of white padding still stuck to one side. He turned and showed it to Marion, but she already recognized it.

  “It’s from Emma’s coat,” she said. “Looks like part of the sleeve.”

  “Maybe she tried to break free,” he said, tucking the scrap in his pocket. “Grabbed onto a tree and her sleeve got caught in the branches. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

  He glanced at Darryl, but Darryl shrugged sadly. Marion had reached her limit. She could bite her tongue no longer.

  “This is your fault,” she said to Greg, her voice shaking with emotion. She had to angrily wipe away fresh tears. “You and your desire for revenge. You should have been focused on keeping the children safe.”

  He wouldn’t look at her directly. His gaze went from his shoes to his hands to Darryl and finally off into the distance. Somehow, this only made her angrier.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” he said, after a moment. “I’ve been trying to keep everyone safe.”

  “Maybe if you’d been open about this from the beginning,” she said, “we could have come up with a plan together. A better plan. Safer. Instead, we’re chasing a trail of blood through the woods, hoping against hope that it’s not our daughter.” She shouted this last word, then pressed a hand over her mouth. Brushing away the tears had become a futile effort now, so she let them flow. “Tuck gave up his life to save you and Emma so you could come home to us. Was
it in vain, Greg?”

  To this, he had no response. Indeed, he had turned his back to her completely, restlessly dragging the fingers of his left hand through his hair.

  “He never would have wanted this,” Marion added.

  His face still stung like hell. The girl had some vicious little claws on her. All the way back to the compound, she fought him. She almost got away at one point, latching on to a passing tree and trying to drag herself out of his arms. James got kicked in the shoulder during the struggle, and that hurt almost as much as the claw marks across his cheek. Now, three people were holding her. James had his arms around her midsection. Pam was holding her boots to keep her from kicking, and that dim-light of a man name Benny held her head in place. It made for an awkward procession.

  James was seething, but he governed his tongue. He would not explode in front of the hostage. Indeed, the long walk gave him plenty of time to formulate what he would say. It was always better, in his experience, to carefully plan out one’s angry tirades. Off the cuff tantrums rarely led to productive outcomes.

  Eustace led the way, and he seemed far too amused with himself. James caught glimpses of his smile, watched him mumbling and nodding. He even laughed a few times. Oh, yes, he just thought he’d pulled off some kind of masterstroke, didn’t he? James had to keep reminding himself that he was being compensated very well for this job. Very well. Money alone wasn’t worth much in the world at the moment, but food, supplies, and power smoothed over most frustrations, even Eustace Simpson.

  They skirted well clear of the town. They’d made a lot of connections with families in the area, some through bartering, others through coercion, but it wouldn’t do to let the locals see them kidnapping a child. That might turn some against them. When they finally reached the warehouse, they took the girl around to the back. A row of truck bays were lined up along the back wall. All the bay doors were shut, locked, and latched, but a small door in the corner gave access to the loading area and a small back office. Eustace produced a key, which he’d found in a desk drawer in the office, and unlocked this door, leading them inside.