First, he saw the flames. They were licking furiously at the shelves along the north wall, burning through the bags and boxes there. The open side door was just visible through the angry, orange curtain, the frame blackened. Now, Greg realized just how much smoke had gathered against the high ceiling. He could hear some kind of commotion coming from beyond the door. The scraping of snow shovels? Were they really trying to shovel snow onto the fire to put it out?
Greg crept across the room, moving low. Straight ahead, on the far side, an open doorway led into an office area. He rushed in that direction. Beyond the office door, he passed through a small L-shaped corridor that led into a carpeted area. The carpet muffled his footsteps, so he dared a little more speed. Rounding the corner, he entered a wide room with a large reception desk in the corner, a table in the middle of the room, some cabinets and a sink area against the wall.
A shadow rose from behind the table. Greg swung the rifle around, only to find the silver eye of a pistol pointed at him. The person holding it was small but had a sharp face, small eyes, black hair cut very close to her skull. She was dressed in a black coat just like all of Eustace’s goons. A broad-brimmed black hat sat on the table before her. Pam Grasier, that was her name. According to Marion, she’d been one of Mayor Filmore’s sidekicks.
“Don’t do it,” she said. “You’re going to get your whole family killed.”
In that moment, seeing the gun pointed at him and knowing his daughter’s life was in danger, Greg felt a surge of blinding rage. With a wordless cry, he flung himself in the direction of the reception desk, dropping to his knees as he did so. At the same time, he fired the rifle in her direction. The shot went wild. He saw it hit a corner of the table to Pam’s left.
He hit the ground, but his momentum flung him onto his side. He rolled against the side of the desk. At the same time, Pam ducked back down behind the table, but she took a wild shot at him as she went. It hit the drywall somewhere above and behind him. Frantic, Greg dropped the rifle and dug inside his coat for the Walther.
“You’re not going to win a fight like this,” Pam said in a growl. “You’re outnumbered and outgunned.”
He could see her moving in the gaps beyond the chairs. She seemed to be trying to circle around behind him. He raised the Walther and took a shot at her. It hit one of the chairs, cracking the plastic backrest. Pam pointed her gun above the table and fired another shot that hit somewhere above him.
“We will not hesitate to kill your whole family, Greg Healy,” Pam said. “How stupid are you? Give Eustace what he wants!”
“You people threatened my daughter,” he said. “You won’t get a thing from me except a one-way trip to hell.”
Furious, gnashing his teeth until they hurt, he rose and rushed the table. He fired two shots. Both hit the tabletop, but this forced Pam Grasier to duck down. He tried to leap deftly onto the table, but he wasn’t quite dexterous enough to pull it off. Instead, his boots hit the edge, and he fell forward, sprawled across the tabletop. It knocked the wind out of him, but he managed to keep hold of the gun.
Just then Pam rose and thrust the pistol at him, but he reached out with his free hand and grabbed it. Just as she fired, he forced her hand up and the bullet went into the ceiling, causing one of the drop ceiling tiles to dance in its frame.
“We run this town now, Healy. This is a fight you won’t win. Are you too stupid to see that? You’re not dealing with Filmore’s bunch. We’ve got a real crew.”
She turned her body, using her weight and momentum to pull him off the table. As he fell, he tried to bring his gun down. He hit the floor beside her, and in that moment, both guns fired. The sound was deafening, and for a second, his whole body went numb.
He had no idea if either of them had been hit. He felt nothing. Pushing himself to his hands and knees, he crawled away from her. As he did, he realized he’d let go of the pistol. He turned back to grab it. Only then did he notice the strange, wet gurgling sound coming from Pam Grasier. She was on her back, one arm folded beneath her, the other laid across her stomach. She, too, had let go of her gun. It lay beside the Walther on the carpet.
She had a dime-sized bullet hole punched into her left cheek just beneath her eye. Blood flowed from both nostrils and from her mouth, and her eyes were already glassy. Her right hand twitched, fingers curling and uncurling, and her eyes moved once, slowly shifting to one side.
In that final moment, she seemed confused, as if wondering what had happened to her, and Greg felt the anger leaving him. No, he couldn’t relish this. As the last light left her eyes, the puddle of blood growing quickly around her head, he felt sick to his stomach. He picked up the gun.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I have to protect my family. What sort of man would I be if I didn’t fight for them?”
He grabbed her gun as well. A Glock. He didn’t know the model. A pistol in either hand, he stumbled around the table. He hadn’t been shot, but he was sore all over from falling and slamming into things. Groaning, he moved toward the front door of the warehouse. Leaning against the crash bar, he eased the front door open, aiming both handguns through the crack. He saw only empty parking lot.
“Greg! I’ve got a gun to her head! Surrender yourself!” Eustace was still shouting, but Greg could tell now that it was coming from somewhere on the north side of the building.
He slipped through the front door, cushioning it as it closed so it wouldn’t make any noise. As he moved toward the corner of the building, he considered going back for the SIG. Firing two handguns was ridiculous, and he really wanted the scope. He pocketed the Glock and took the Walther in both hands, bracing the grip against his palm. He could see his hands shaking, the barrel making an endless, wobbling circle.
I’m coming Emma, he thought. Hang in there.
When he reached the corner, he hesitated, trying to calm himself by taking deep breaths. It didn’t help much. Finally, he lunged around the corner, leading with the pistol. The barrels were burning, huge flames licking up the side of the building. Greg was shocked to see two charred bodies on the ground. One had his arms permanently curled up in the air, as if he’d been fighting the flames to the bitter end. Two snow shovels lay on the ground near them.
Eustace was standing a few meters from the flames. He had his left arm wrapped around Emma’s neck, as he crushed her against his chest. In his right hand, he held a pistol, the barrel pressed against her temple. Emma had a blotchy face, as if she’d been crying, and her hair was all in disarray. Her arms were behind her, and her hands were bound. Eustace still had four goons, and they stood around him, each armed, each aiming in a different direction. Greg recognized one of them as James. The man had an AR-15 in his hands.
Despite the charred bodies nearby, Eustace and his men all looked hale and hearty. Initially, none of them appeared to be injured, but then Greg realized that Eustace’s left arm was trembling like crazy. He wore only a flannel shirt, and the sleeve was pulled back just enough to reveal the dingy white edge of a bandage above his wrist.
Greg had noticed something unusual about the man’s left arm during previous espionage trips, but now it was confirmed. If he was in enough pain to shake this badly, his grip on Emma couldn’t be that strong. Still, Greg knew he wasn’t above shooting a kid. He’d already done it once before. Greg raised the pistol and pointed it in their direction.
Eustace and his men were maybe thirty or forty meters from him, and none seemed to have noticed him yet. Still, Greg didn’t see any way he could get off a shot without risking Emma. Even if he went back for the SIG, Emma was surrounded, and Eustace had his gun pressed firmly against her head.
There’s nothing I can do, he realized. If I shoot at Eustace, Emma almost certainly dies at the hand of one of the goons. If I try to negotiate with him, he’ll make an impossible request, and we may both die. What other option is here?
He felt utterly helpless. The plan had failed. Still, he couldn’t wait to see if Eustace made good on h
is threat. There was really only one good option.
God, Darryl, I hope you got far away from here, he thought. The family will need you more than ever now.
“Eustace, I’m right here,” Greg said, stepping out from behind the building. He lowered his gun. “Don’t shoot. Let’s negotiate.”
Eustace and his men turned to face him. A broad, ugly smile split Eustace’s crimson beard, and he jabbed the gun against the side of Emma’s head repeatedly.
“There you are,” he said. “I guess Pam is dead. She was a decent worker. That’s another debt you owe me.”
“Let my daughter go, Eustace,” Greg said. “Let her go, unharmed, and you can have me. I’ll surrender.”
At this, Emma thrashed in his grip, trying to break free. He thumped her on the head with the handle of the gun—Greg heard the dull thud—and she stopped.
“I already have you, Greg,” Eustace replied, saying his name like it sickened him. “If you want this girl to live, drop the gun and take about ten steps forward. Come on, now. I haven’t got all day. You’ve already wasted enough of my time, and we need to finish our business before the whole building burns down.”
Greg dropped the pistol at his feet and raised both hands, stepping toward Eustace and his men. He counted off ten steps and came to a stop. Eustace’s smile twisted into a hateful sneer.
“Look at you,” Eustace said. “You always thought you were better than me, smarter than me. You’ve been trying to take me down for a hell of a long time, playing your little lawyer games, but who won in the end? Who won, Greg Healy? Say it!”
Though he hated it with every fiber of his being, Greg forced himself to say it. “You won.” He met Emma’s gaze then. She looked back with wide, terrified eyes. “You won, Eustace. There, I said it. Let Emma go. I’m done.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You’re done.” With his right hand, he made a gesture at his men. “I’m taking the shot. You guys hold off. I want the bullet that takes down Greg Healy to come from my gun. When he bleeds out in the parking lot, I want to know for sure that I was the one who did it? Got me?”
“Whatever you say,” James replied, lowering his rifle. “Just get it over with.”
At that, the other men lowered their guns. Eustace pointed his pistol directly at Greg. The black eye of the gun barrel stared back at Greg. He was too close now to get away, and there was no cover. He had Pam’s Glock in his coat pocket, but his hands were raised. There was no way he could pull it out, aim, and fire before Eustace pulled the trigger.
This is it, then, he realized, his heart sinking. I failed. All of my spying and planning came to nothing. I should’ve just given them the ranch and left town with my family. They wouldn’t have taken Emma hostage, and we would be safe somewhere far away by now.
And all he could hope for in that last moment was that Eustace’s thirst for revenge would be sated after he’d killed his enemy. Maybe then, he would let Emma go. Maybe. It was a faint glimmer of hope, but it was the only thing he could hold on to. Greg shut his eyes, held his breath, and waited, trying not to think about how profoundly he had failed his family at every turn.
And when he heard the crack of gunfire, it was like the distant thunder of some monstrous storm come to sweep everything away.
32
The sound caused such a shudder to go through Greg’s body that it took a couple of seconds to realize he hadn’t been shot. Then Eustace began making the strangest sound. It was the gurgling, howling protest of a madman—no words, just deep throaty noises. Greg opened his eyes and saw chaos. All of Eustace’s men had backed away from him, and they were staring at their leader with looks of shock, amazement, terror. Emma lay on the ground now, curled up into a ball.
Oh God, no. Was she shot?
But what was Eustace howling about? Greg realized the man was backing away, his injured left arm raised, hand pressed high against his right shoulder. The other hand was thrust out in front of him. It took a moment to make sense of the situation. What in the hell was going on? James was holding Eustace’s right hand. He’d twisted it around, and he was shaking it. Suddenly, the gun dropped from Eustace’s hand and landed in the snow at James’s feet.
“What have you done?” Eustace croaked. Blood oozed out from between the fingers of his left hand. “Have you lost your mind? How dare you!”
“I’ve had enough of you, Eustace, you bloated buffoon,” James replied. He sounded remarkably calm. He held the AR-15 with one hand, aiming it at Eustace’s face.
“You shot me,” Eustace wailed, he took another step backward, but his legs wobbled. “How dare you! Men, put this traitor down. Put him down right now!”
“Nah, I think these men would rather follow me than you,” James said. “Men, none of you are going to get hurt. Just let me finish this, and we’ll keep the crew going without this unstable nutjob. His personal vendetta has ruined almost everything we built. Let’s rebuild it without him.”
Indeed, the other men just stood there, guns lowered, watching with wide eyes but not interfering. Greg and Emma seemed to have been forgotten for the moment. Greg started to reach for the pistol in his pocket, but then he caught himself. Better to let events unfold.
“I could’ve killed you with the first shot,” James said to Eustace, “but I wanted you to know it was me. I wanted to look you in the eyes, Eustace Simpson, before I killed you.”
Eustace bared his teeth and gave James the most furious look, an animal look, all red eyes and yellow teeth, the great mane of red hair and the flaring beard.
“You traitor,” he snarled. “I paid you a lot of money.”
“You didn’t tell me you were killing kids out here,” James replied. “You’re sick, and you’re a loser, and I don’t need your money. Goodbye.”
Eustace lunged at James, grabbing at the AR-15 with his left hand. He managed to grab hold of it, but he clearly had no strength in his grip. The rifle barely moved. And then James pulled the trigger. Greg watch all of this in amazement. Until he saw the bullet shatter Eustace’s jaw, he thought it was all some kind of trick. But then he gushed teeth and blood, his lips shredded. The bullet erupting from the back of Eustace’s head in a spectacular fountain of blood, brains, skull, and hair. One of the other guards was standing behind him, and he turned away, ducking down as he was spattered with gore. On the ground, Emma, still curled up into a tight little ball, screamed.
Eustace’s legs buckled, but James maintained his grip on the man’s left hand. This caused him to collapse downward onto his knees, his head tipping forward in what looked like a prayerful gesture. Then James let go of his hand, and he fell forward, burying his face in the snow.
James lowered his rifle and slowly turned to Greg, still as calm and emotionless as ever. “Men, put your guns away. We’re not shooting anyone else today.”
“You killed him,” one of the men said. “You killed the boss!”
“Let’s consider it a demotion, Benny,” James replied. “We’re better off without him. Put your guns away.”
And then, to Greg’s amazement, they did as they were told, holstering pistols and slinging their rifles. Even the man with blood and bits of Eustace all over his shirt calmly holstered his gun and stood there. James tipped Greg a little salute.
“We can end it here, if you want, Healy,” he said. “Take your daughter back.” He set his rifle aside, pulled a small knife out of his coat pocket, and knelt beside Emma. With a quick flip of the blade, he cut the ties holding her hands behind her back. “Get up, kid. You’re safe now. Go back to your dad.”
Slowly, Emma opened her eyes and looked around. When she saw the body of Eustace crumpled beside her, blood from his massive head wound flowing into the snow around him, she gasped and sat up. She wiped her eyes, clambered to her feet, and ran toward Greg. He rushed to meet her, daring to take James at his word.
“Daddy,” she cried, sounding about five years younger than she was. She crashed against him, burying her face against his chest
as he wrapped his arms around her protectively.
James gave them a few seconds, watching the reunion with that same unchanging expression, as his men looked on uncomfortably. Nearby, the fire continued to burn, licking up the warehouse wall and casting a long trail of black smoke into the still sky.
“At a certain point, it just wasn’t worth putting up with this incompetence,” James said, after a moment. “I should’ve put a bullet in his head the moment I arrived here. Things would’ve gone a lot smoother, but you live and learn.”
Greg let go of his daughter and gently moved her behind him as he faced James once again.
“You did my family a favor,” Greg said, “but now what?”
“I’m going to level with you, Healy,” he said. “You can’t stay here in Glenvell. I’m taking over the operation. We’re going to lose the warehouse. I can see that, but Eustace has a lot more resources stashed all over the place, and I know his business. It’s all mine now, and these guys won’t regret following me.” He gestured at the men on either side of him. “Yes, I did you a favor. I won’t kill a kid, and I don’t waste time with petty revenge plots. But you can’t stay here in Glenvell. I’ve got every other family in my pocket. If you leave the ranch, and my men, in peace, then there won’t be any more bloodshed. I promise you that.” As he spoke, he picked up the AR-15, though he didn’t point it at Greg. “You won’t win against us, especially with Eustace out of the way, so let’s make this deal and part ways in peace. Now, what do you say?”
Somehow, the deadness in the man’s voice made the threat feel more dangerous. Greg was exhausted from fear and anger. James still had four well-armed men fighting with him, and if the whole town was in his pocket, then he could swell his ranks again fairly easily. If it came down to a feud, the risk was simply too great. People would die on both sides, and Greg wasn’t willing to sacrifice any more family members. He hung his head, defeated.
EMP: Return of the Wild West | Book 2 | Survive The Attack Page 23