EMP: Return of the Wild West: The Complete Series
Author: Grace Hamilton
Date: 2021-03-09 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Post-Apocalyptic | EMP | Survival

EMP: Return of the Wild West

Survive the Fall

Survive the Attack

Survive the Journey

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, MARCH 2021

Copyright © 2021 Relay Publishing Ltd.

All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Grace Hamilton is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Post-Apocalyptic projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.

www.relaypub.com

EMP: Return of the Wild West

The Complete Series

Grace Hamilton

Contents

Survive the Fall

Blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

End of Survive the Fall

Survive the Attack

Blurb

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

End of Survive the Attack

Survive the Journey

Blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

End of Survive the Journey

Thank you!

About Grace Hamilton

Sneak Peek: Erupting Trouble

Also By Grace Hamilton

Want more?

Blurb

Survival of the fittest becomes harsh reality in the blink of an eye.

Greg Healy isn’t fooled. The hunting trip is merely a ploy contrived by his wife and mother to force Greg and his father to end their estrangement. Not even Greg’s teenage daughter or his father’s hunting buddies along for the ride will be enough of a buffer to heal the rift of long-standing resentments. But the helicopter has barely dropped them in the remote Canadian wilderness when they discover their new equipment is dead with no explanation. Now they’ll have to rely on each other and resort to Old West ingenuity to find their way home—before the hunter becomes the hunted.

For seventeen-year-old Darryl Healy, things aren’t much easier on his grandparents’ cattle ranch. Not when his highly intelligent and successful mother keeps hounding him about college applications. But college quickly loses its allure when the lights go out after a cyberattack. Frightening responsibilities fall squarely on Darryl’s unproven shoulders as a power-hungry politician is determined to confiscate the ranch’s resources—by any means necessary.

Danger and death await the Healy family as each group attempts to navigate this terrifying new post-apocalyptic world while the vast wilderness separates them. When deceit arises from within their ranks, they’ll face threats as lethal as the grizzly bears and mountain lions lurking in the shadows.

And in order to survive the nightmare, a deal with the devil might be their only saving grace.

1

The rotor blades kicked up such a fierce cloud of dust and debris that Greg had to shield his face with his hands. The limbs of the trees whipped wildly, and the backwash of the rotors made the cold air sharp, stinging his exposed flesh. And then the helicopter was moving away, its deafening roar shifting tones as it flew out across the valley. Greg brushed stray leaves and dirt off his shoulder and watched the bright-blue Bell 407 disappearing in the pale eastern sky. As it went, he felt civilization going with it.

Well, we’re in the wilderness now, he thought. No backing out of this.

Still, he remained frozen in place until the sound of the helicopter had completely faded. Only then did he turn, willing himself to move. The others were scattered across the clearing already against a backdrop of massive lodgepole pines, black spruce, and larch trees that dominated the mountainous area. It was raw British Columbia wilderness, just about as far from civilization as you could get without parachuting into the tundra.

All of their gear that had been unloaded from the helicopter formed an impressive pile. Greg’s father, Tuck, was already working hard to arrange the bags and boxes of tarps, ropes, blankets, and more. The leathery old man was all skin and muscle these days. Somehow Greg’s father had retained his farmer’s strength, though his flannel shirt and jeans hung loose, and he’d shriveled a bit in recent years. As Greg watched, his father grabbed a massive tent pack and heaved it off the pile like it was nothing.

Well, this is it, Greg thought. Quality time with the old man. It’s now or never. Marion wants me to make this work, so I’d better make it work.

He sighed and crossed the clearing. The pressure was on. Tuck heard him coming and turned. Greg’s father looked so much like him, it was as if someone had taken Greg’s broad face, shrink-wrapped it over his skull, and charred the skin slightly in an oven. That was an uncharitable assessment, of course, and Greg knew it.

“Hey there, Dad,” Greg said. “Can I help you out?”

Tuck was heaving the packs off the pile, carrying them over to the tents and setting them down one by one in a neat row.

“Suit yourself,” Tuck replied, in that rough voice of his. The man had a remarkable ability to make the least little comment sound like a complete and utter dismissal.

He doesn’t mean it. That’s what Marion would say. That’s also what his mother would have said. Greg’s wife and mother were thick as thieves when it came to this forced reconciliation.

Greg grabbed a big bundle of sleeping bags that had been lashed together and worked it off the stack. As he did, Tuck picked up another one of the tent packs and hoisted it up like a hay bale, carrying it over to the others.

Greg heard what sounded like distant thunder, and he glanced up at the sky. The only clouds to be seen were gathered just above the treetops to the west, but they didn’t seem threatening.

“Well, looks like we might get rain during our first night camping. A nice, chilly autumn rain. I suppose I don’t mind.”

“If it drops a few more degrees, we might get snow,” Tuck replied. “You can handle a little precipitation, I hope. The big city hasn’t coddled you that much.”

“I can handle whatever,” Greg said, struggling to lug the sleeping bags over to the tents. “I just hope it clears up by morning. I plan to hit the river tomorrow. I’d like to get some fishing in first thing in the morning.”

“I was thinking we ought to hike the area first,” Tuck replied. “It’s always best to get a lay of the land.”

Already a disagreement. Greg was caught between wanting to keep the peace and wanting to go his own way out of sheer, hateful habit. But their friendly little father-son chat was interrupted when Dad’s buddy walked over and proceeded to have one of his coughing fits.

Eustace Simpson was a former smoker whose lungs and throat had yet to fully recover. He was a huge burly chap with an impressive red beard and a massive Cro-Magnon cranium. He wore a thick, red flannel jacket that strained at the buttons, and his hands were calloused and rough. Eustace was an acquaintance of Tuck and Tabitha Healy, and he also claimed to be an avid fisherman and hunter. However, Greg had his own reasons for accepting the man’s invitation, reasons he hadn’t shared with anyone, though he wondered if the man sensed his purpose.

Eustace knows I’m an environmental lawyer, Greg thought. Surely it has crossed his mind that I have my eye on him.

“Sun’s going down,” Eustace said in his deep voice. “We’d better get these tents set up before it’s too dark.”

“I got you covered, buddy,” said Tommy Riedel, a small guy with a scruffy beard—one of Tuck’s other friends. “Let’s do this.”

“Dad.”

The last member of their camping trip was Emma, Greg’s fourteen-year-old daughter. She was a bit heavy on the eye shadow these days, and Greg thought it made her eyes look bruised, but he still saw the round-cheeked little girl she’d once been. She had her mother’s brown eyes, and wisps of blonde hair poked out of the edge of her toque.

“Dad, I want to set up my own tent,” she said, coming up beside him. “By myself. I know how to do it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s not a simple setup like a dome tent. You’ve never set one of these up before.”

“I can do it. Watch me.” She brushed past him.

Emma’s long-range plan was to become a park ranger, and she wanted to prove herself this year. She’d made that very clear. Greg was tempted to give her a bit of advice anyway, but he bit his lip and walked over to Eustace instead, helping him unfold the support poles for his much larger tunnel tent.

“What do you think?” Eustace said, taking in the surrounding wilderness with a broad sweep of one arm. “I keep a nice campsite, eh?”

“It’s a lovely area,” Greg replied. And, indeed, he was excited to see what it had to offer. He’d never camped this far from civilization, and the looming mountains and towering forests were breathtaking.

“Everyone thinks we mess with the land,” Eustace said, “just because we’re a natural gas company. But you can see for yourself. This is virgin land. We haven’t done a damned thing to hurt it.”

I’ll be the judge of that. We already know more than you think, pal, Greg thought, as outwardly he merely said, “Looks that way.”

Tuck’s little friend Tommy was flitting about the camp, apparently too excited to focus on any one task. As Greg watched, he tried to help Emma set up her tent, but she shook her head and waved him off.

“I did it, Dad,” Emma said. She’d set up her tent in record time, and although it didn’t look perfect—sit seemed slightly out of alignment—it was serviceable. Greg gave his daughter a round of applause.

“Excellent,” he said. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”

She gave him a withering look that suggested she didn’t believe he meant it. “Well, now I’m going to start the campfire. I can do that, too!”

She moved to the center of the camp and began clearing a firepit among the rocks. Greg was genuinely impressed with his daughter—not just her ability but her self-reliance. He’d tried to encourage it in her over the years, and it seemed to have taken root.

That’ll serve you well, kiddo, he thought.

As she began stacking up kindling, Greg went to his gear and picked out a small plastic suitcase. He undid the combination lock and popped it open to reveal a rather expensive satellite phone tucked into foam padding.

Time to make a call, he thought. Marion will want to know we’re settling in.

The phone looked somewhat like an old Nokia cell phone from the early 2000s, though it was larger and had a much longer, thicker antenna. It was packed with a charger, a backup battery, and a bunch of other attachments and accessories that he rarely used. He worked the phone out of its padding, tucked it into his shirt pocket, then walked across the campsite, trying to appear like he was taking a casual stroll. Best to be far from Eustace, just in case he had to mention the case.

Greg pulled the sat phone out of his pocket and pressed the on button. It usually took a few seconds to turn on, so when it didn’t respond right away, he didn’t think much of it. He double-checked to make sure he was pressing the button firmly. When it still didn’t respond, he pressed the button a few times repeatedly, shook the phone, and pressed the button one more time.

Battery must be dead, he thought. He went back to the briefcase, grabbed the charging cable, and plugged the phone into the backup charger. He gave it a few seconds, then tried to turn it on again. Still nothing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “This damn thing is practically new. I tested it yesterday. Yesterday.”

With a pocketknife, he worked open the battery case, then swapped out the battery with the extra in the briefcase. This time, he pressed the power button as hard as he could and held it there for almost a full minute. The phone still didn’t turn on.

“Son of a—” He bit off the curse. Emma was close by, her fire already crackling. Marion didn’t like it when he cussed in front of her.

“Dad, look. It’s already going pretty good.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw his daughter adding sticks to a small, steady fire. She was doing a great job, but the sudden anxiety spoiled the moment for him. He needed this stupid phone to work.

“Very nice,” he managed to say, then turned and smacked the satellite phone against his palm.

He tried the power button one last time and got no response. Disgusted, he tossed the phone back into the briefcase, dumped the battery charger on top of it, and slammed the briefcase shut.

“Problem?”

He looked up into the bony face of his father. Why did the man always look like he’d sucked on a lemon?

“The stupid sat phone is dead,” Greg replied. “It was working this morning. Somehow, between the time we left the hotel and the time we landed at the campsite, it died.”

“Well, we are supposed to be roughing it, after all,” Tuck replied. “Maybe nature did you a favor.”

“I need…we need that phone,” Greg said. “What if there’s an emergency?”

“We have first aid kits,” Tuck said.

“I promised Marion I’d get in touch with her so she’d know we all arrived safe and sound.”

Eustace walked over then, brushing his big, ruddy hands on the thighs of his jeans. “Take the battery out. Let it sit overnight inside your tent. Maybe the cold messed with it. Try it again in the morning.”

“That’s…” A stupid idea. But it wouldn’t help his cause to say it, so he pressed his lips together instead. “Yeah, I’ll try that, Eustace. Thanks.”

He picked up the briefcase, carried it over to where he intended to set up his tent, and dumped it on the ground in disgust.

The batteries were brand-new. The phone was working just a few hours ago. It doesn’t make any sense.

2

From his place on the bed, his view of the world through the window was all sky, not a single cloud. Darryl Healy had taken a long afternoon nap, mostly out of boredom, and he now had a pounding headache. The window was right at the head of his bed, inches from his pillow, so he could feel the crisp, cold evening air seeping through the glass.

I’ll bet they’re real cold way up on that mountain, he thought. He felt a moment of regret not being with his family, but he quickly pushed it out of his mind.

Not yet ready to get up, he’d turned on a news podcast and set his phone on the big desk beside the bed. The woman droning on about various global events had a pleasant voice. It was producing a bit of a heady, buzz-like ASMR effect, making Darryl even less willing to get up. Despite this, he was only half-listening to the actual content.

“They’re called ANPRIM,” she said. “That’s A-N-P-R-I-M. Do we know what that stands for? With all of their messages, I don’t think they’ve revealed the meaning of their name yet.”

The mention of ANPRIM ruined the ASMR effect immediately. Darryl had heard of ANPRIM before. Indeed, they’d been on the news sporadically over the last year or so, though he hadn’t paid much attention. They were some large anti-technology terrorist group that had damaged bridges, hacked into government computers, stolen information, and threatened worse. But, after all, wasn’t there always some terrorist group somewhere threatening everyone?

“For a group trying to maintain media attention, they are remarkably secretive about their actual identity,” a second person said. “However, what information we do have suggests that we’re dealing with a very large group of people working across multiple countries. Ironically, they seem to have technical expertise of a high order, which is why they’ve been quite effective at disseminating their message…and their threats.”

“And what is that message?” the anchor asked.

“What we’re talking about here are, essentially, modern-day Luddites,” the pundit said. “As you may recall, the Luddites were English textile workers in the nineteenth century who felt their jobs were threatened by industrial machinery. They conducted acts of sabotage in textile factories across Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire, and Lancashire.”

“So, ANPRIM feels like technology has once again become a threat?” the anchor asked.

“That’s right,” the pundit replied. “They decry the supposed dehumanization caused by the technocracy—their name for the modern world, which they claim has stolen the dignity of the common people. Like the Luddites, they have threatened to break the foundation of the worldwide industrial empire using our own tools against us.”

“They’ve been linked to various hacking attacks, thefts, and vandalism around the world, but do we have any reason to take their larger-scale threats seriously?”

“Well, that is indeed the unanswered question. We don’t know what they have. We don’t know what they’re capable of.”

Darryl finally roused himself. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he sat up on the edge of the bed. The old pundit’s voice was like fingernails scraping his eardrums, so he grabbed the cell phone and shut it off. Tucking the phone into his shirt pocket, he stumbled across his room, slipped on his shoes, and headed downstairs.

His grandparents lived in an old, roomy ranch house with dark wood walls covered in nature-themed artwork. As he made his way down the broad stairs, he heard the clank of plates and silverware from the dining room. He saw his mother moving back and forth between the table and the kitchen.

“Mom, you’re back,” he said. “Did you see them off?”

She paused in the kitchen doorway, clutching a pitcher of iced tea. His mom was tall, like him, with curly black hair and a pinched face.

“Yeah, just waiting for your dad’s call,” she said. “He’s supposed to check in once they set up the camp. Let’s just hope he’s got a signal on the sat phone up there. They are so far out in the wilderness.”

“Untouched wilderness,” Darryl said, making his way across the spacious living room. He passed through the shadow of an enormous stuffed elk head and sat down at the dining room table. “That’ll be right up Grandpa’s alley.”

Grandma came in next, carrying a gravy boat, which she set next to the large tub of mashed potatoes. She reached over, picked up Darryl’s cloth napkin, and tucked the corner under his collar.

“I’ve got it, Grandma,” he said.

“How’s the research going?” his mother asked as she took her seat at the head of the table.

First question, right out of the box. Darryl sighed and scooped a heap of mashed potatoes onto his plate. It wasn’t going. Why did she have to keep harping on his college paper at every opportunity. He didn’t want to get into another argument about it.

“Darryl, college is your future,” Mom said as she poured herself a glass of iced tea. “It may not seem like it, but the decisions you’re making now will have a long-lasting impact on your life.”

“Did I say I wasn’t working on it?” he replied, trying not to sound as annoyed as he was.

“Are you?”

“I’m…” He dumped the serving spoon back into the mashed potatoes and reached for the gravy boat. “I’m thinking through some issues, okay? Preliminary work.”

“Always an excuse,” his mother muttered.

Before Darryl could reply, his grandmother cleared her throat loudly. “Can we please not fight about this over dinner? Food doesn’t digest well when you’re all worked up. Let’s eat in peace, and you two can discuss college research papers later.”

“Fine,” Darryl’s mom said, “but my point remains.”

And with that, she grabbed the big roast and dragged it toward her. The mention of college put a damper on dinner conversation, and Darryl ate mostly in silence. He didn’t mention the news report—he was afraid if he brought up anything related to his personal life, the conversation would naturally shift back toward his incomplete college work.

When they were done eating, he offered to do the dishes, just to have something to do. All his college books were stacked up on the desk upstairs. He didn’t want to look at them, especially not now, so he took his time with the dishes. By the time he was done, they were cleaner than ever. He dried them meticulously with a towel, then placed them one by one in the cupboard.

Finally, he could linger no longer in front of the kitchen sink. His fingertips were wrinkled from the hot water and soap. He dried his hands and headed back into the living room, where his grandmother was quietly knitting in the corner.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said.

“You’re welcome, hon,” she replied. “You headed to your room now?”

He had been headed toward the stairs, but her question changed his mind. Instead, he went to the front door.

“Actually, I’m going to get a little fresh air while there’s still some light,” he said. Before she could say anything else, he slipped outside and pulled the door shut behind him.

His grandparents owned an enormous piece of property. Their rolling hills and pastures were surrounded on all sides by a towering forest. It was particularly beautiful in the early evening light, with the setting sun burnishing the tops of the trees in the west. Darryl stepped down off the porch and proceeded to wander.

Enjoy it while you can, he told himself, heading for one of the large open pastures where he saw their cows far in the distance. His grandparents, Tuck and Tabitha, were planning to sell off some of the property. The farm had become too much for them to maintain. Darryl wished he had the money to buy it from them, if only to keep it in the family.

He made an enormous loop of the property, killing at least an hour, before starting back toward the house. On the way, he spotted his grandmother in her golf cart. She’d stopped near the electric fence. Darryl headed toward her.

“What are you doing, Grandma?” he asked.

“I like to reel in the electric fence at night,” she said, “give the cows less room and see how they act.”

It was not the answer he’d expected. “What’s the point?”

“They’ll have half as much room after the sale,” she said. “I just want to see how the smaller space affects their demeanor.” She pulled a small notebook out of the pocket of her shirt and held it up. Darryl noted her gnarled and calloused hands. The woman had worked hard her entire life. “I’m keeping a daily log.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Darryl replied.

She must have heard something in his voice because she stopped what she was doing and turned to him. She was so much smaller than him now, a shriveled little thing, but she reached up and put her hand on his shoulder, and suddenly he felt like a little kid again.

“Now, listen here,” she said. “I know what you’re going through. I had pressure at your age—family expectations and so forth.”

“I just wish Mom would ease off,” Darryl said with a sigh. “I get it. She’s an engineer. She’s designed airplanes and spaceships. And Dad fights for the environment. They’ve both done amazing things. They’re helping the whole world. The expectation that somehow I’m supposed to carry on that tradition sucks. That’s all.”

His grandma nodded and gazed off into the field. The cows were mostly clustered together near a pond. They were Canadian Holstein, black-and-white dairy cows, sturdy and strong-limbed but relatively docile. When Darryl was younger, he used to enjoy bottle-feeding the calves.

“Think about how those poor cows feel,” his grandmother said. “Time is running out. Their world is closing in. Poor creatures have no idea why the fences keep moving, why their world keeps shrinking. No idea what the future holds.”

“If you’re trying to convince me it sucks to be a cow, you’ve succeeded,” Darryl said, watching as one of the young cows pranced and kicked through the high grass.

“Cows don’t have to worry about college research papers,” Grandma said. “No, hon, I’m saying that’s how it is when life changes. Transitions are never easy. There’s always uncertainty, and it feels like the world is closing in. But you hang in there, and eventually you adjust.”

“Okay.” If anything, her attempt at comfort only amplified the stress of his current situation. The world closing in around him. Time running out. Yes, that’s how it felt.

“You’ll be okay,” she said, patting him gently on the back.

She climbed into her golf cart, as Darryl fixed his gaze on the cows. When she turned the key, the radio she’d installed gave a little hiss as a news program played midstory. It was the same damn thing as before: ANPRIM.

“But do you think they actually have the means to carry out a threat of that magnitude?” the voice said. Nope, not his ASMR news anchor from before. This was just a plain old CBC Radio reporter. “They’ve caused trouble in countries all over the world, but can they really hit the whole world? Is it possible we’re just giving them the attention they crave by taking their messages seriously? Perhaps, if we ignore them, they’ll go away.”

“You want a ride?” Grandma asked, turning down the radio. “I can drop you off at the house then come back and finish what I’m doing.”

“No, thanks,” Darryl replied. “I sort of enjoy the walk.”

She tipped him a little salute and sped off down the electric fence, as Darryl resumed his meandering walk toward the house. It was close to fully dark now, and the nearly cloudless sky looked as dazzling as ever, with the bright Milky Way visible to the south. The house was picture-perfect, nestled in the middle of the grassy field with forested mountains rising up in the background, a big barn to one side. Lights burned in the windows along the front of the house. He saw the silhouette of his mother in one of the upstairs bedrooms. She seemed to be gazing outside.

Waiting for me to get back to the house and get to work, no doubt.

He heard a loud buzzing coming from the pasture. Assuming his grandma had made a mistake with the electric fence, he glanced over his shoulder, and his breath hitched in his throat. Sparks were dancing along the electric fence, as if somehow the power had surged. This, in turn, freaked out the cows, and they charged. Darryl watched one of the older cows hit the fence straight on, as if attacking this sparking menace. Just before she got there, the sparks died, so when she hit the wires, they popped off the insulators.

Darryl turned back around, trying to find his grandmother. Did she realize one of the cows had just destroyed the electric fence? Instead, his gaze went to the house. All the lights were out. The big floodlight in front of the barn was also out. Indeed, the whole ranch had gone utterly dark, lit only by the splash of stars overhead.

“Grandma, what did you do?” Darryl muttered. Somehow, she must have overloaded the circuits by moving the electric fence.

He heard cows lowing in the dark, heard their hooves in the field, and suddenly he was worried about getting trampled. Feeling a burst of anxiety, he starting picking his way toward the house. He made it about ten meters before a shadow swooped in from his right and someone suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders. Startled, he cried out, the sound of his voice echoing out over the pasture before a hand clamped over his mouth.

“It’s me. It’s just me.” Grandma’s voice.

Embarrassed, Darryl stepped back and moved her hand away from his mouth.

“Darryl, the fence is down,” his grandma said. “I need your help with the cows! Come on.”

And with that, she pushed past him, headed in the direction of the downed fence. Darryl turned to follow her.

How are we going to wrangle a bunch of cows in the dark with no power?

3

Greg didn’t sleep well, his thoughts troubled by the broken satellite phone and the impending (and largely incompatible) dual missions of the camping trip. It was still dark when he awoke, and he tossed and turned for another hour or so. When he heard his daughter moving around outside, he finally gave up and dragged himself out of his sleeping bag. He shivered, feeling dwarfed inside the six-person enormous Coleman. He’d brought the family tent, initially intending to share it with his daughter, but she’d wanted a tent of her own. The extra emptiness meant his body heat hadn’t been quite enough to warm the interior during the night.

Unzipping the tent flap, he gazed outside. Emma was the only one outside and was already getting the fire going, stoking it and adding sticks from the pile they’d made the night before. Greg climbed out of the tent to join her. Stiff and sore, he stretched his arms over his head, ran his hand through his hair, and walked toward the fire.

“I hope you got some sleep last night,” he said to his daughter.

“Not much,” she replied. “I was too excited. Also, it was pretty cold.”

He marveled again at how big she’d gotten. She was going to be tall, that was clear, and her pudgy little-girl face was gone, had become a face he recognized and didn’t at the same time.

“Look at what I did here,” she said, as flames began to lick the wood. “I banked coals from last night’s fire so it would be easier to start this morning.”

She pointed into the fire where Greg could see that she’d carefully laid down the coals from the night before, built a kind of box on top with sticks, and stuffed some kindling in the center.

“That’s smart,” he said, but he was thinking about the stupid satellite phone.

Maybe Eustace was right. Maybe setting it out overnight had somehow recovered a charge. It made no sense, but he wanted it to be true. Greg went back to his tent and picked up the briefcase, worked it open, and pulled out the satellite phone. Instead of turning it on right away, he popped open the case and pried out the battery, checking and rechecking it for any sign of damage.

“You got that fire going all by yourself, Emma?” At some point, Tuck had come out of his tent. Greg rarely heard him sound so enthusiastic. “That’s impressive.”

“She’s like a fourteen-year-old survivalist,” his friend Tommy said. “Is her dad seeing this?”

“I see it,” Greg replied, inserting the battery and shutting the phone case. He pressed the power button again and got no response. Suppressing an urge to curse loudly, he shoved the phone into his pocket.

“She’s a smart kid,” Tuck said. “Must be related to me.”

That made Emma laugh. When Greg turned back to the fire, he saw that his daughter was already preparing a pot of coffee. When it was ready, the campers stood around, bleary-eyed, and sipped from enamelware cups. It was a beautiful blue morning, with crisp air so fresh it made Greg feel clean and alive. There was nothing quite like being in the mountains in the middle of autumn.

After finishing his coffee, Greg rinsed out the cup with water from one of their many plastic jugs. Then he filled his canteen. As he was doing that, his father wandered over. The man’s rough farmer’s build and leathery skin made him seem like a man who’d spent his life surviving in hostile places. He looked right at home in the wilderness.

“We’re going for a hike this morning,” Tuck said. Not a question.

“We are?” Greg asked.

“Last night, when you were fiddling with that phone, Eustace and I decided we’d hike up the mountain,” Tuck replied. “You might get a better signal up there.”

“I can’t get a better signal if I can’t turn it on.” Greg screwed the lid on his canteen and grabbed a pouch of trail mix. “It’s dead.”

“Still a good idea, though,” Tuck said. “We could get a lay of the land. It’ll just be you, me, and Eustace. Tommy don’t want to go on account of his hip, so he can stay and keep an eye on the camp with Emma.”

Greg looked at his father and saw a hint of a smile on his face. The old man’s tone of voice made him sound like he was trying to pick a fight, but the look on his face suggested he was in a good mood. The man was a walking contradiction.

Maybe he truly has no idea how he comes across, Greg thought. It would explain a lot.

And somehow, Greg’s wife, Marion, thought this trip could heal the rift between Greg and his father?

“Okay, Dad, let’s go for a hike,” Greg said. “That’s fine. Emma, do you want to go on a hike with us up the mountain? We’ll probably have a really nice view.”

“No, if it’s okay, I’ll stay here,” Emma said, scrubbing out the coffee pot. “I was going to set up a place to process the meat we catch when we go hunting. I read all about it before we left home.”

“Okay, but you can hold off on that for now if you want,” he said. “There’s plenty of time.”

“I’ll go ahead and set it up,” she said, giving him that withering look of hers. “We’re going hunting soon, aren’t we? That’s one of the main reasons we’re here, right?” This would be Emma’s first time hunting, and Greg knew she was excited about it.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get our hunting in,” he replied.

Within the hour, Greg, Tuck, and that red-bearded giant, Eustace, loaded up their packs and headed uphill. Just before heading into the trees, Greg glanced back and saw his daughter already setting up a curtained area around some big rocks at the edge of the camp.

Poor kid. She just wants to hunt and fish, but she’s stuck with her father, who’s more concerned about this phone, he thought.

As for Greg, he immediately felt awkward crunching along through the forest with his father and Eustace. He didn’t know either man very well, and more than that, he was essentially a double agent spying on Eustace for an environmental court case. Things were still ice-cold between Greg and his father. Tuck clearly wasn’t going to be the one to bridge the gap, and Greg honestly had no idea how to do it. Dad’s friend Tommy seemed to have a calming effect on him, but he’d stayed behind.

This should be a fun little hike, Greg thought bitterly.

And, indeed, none of the men said a single word as they picked their way through the trees and rocks up toward a higher clearing above the tree line. The loudest sound was Eustace’s breathing. The man was constantly snorting, coughing, making weird grunting noises, or just sucking in air like a bear sniffing garbage.

They walked maybe two kilometers over the course of an hour, tying off nylon strips along the way to mark their path. When they reached a big rocky clearing above the trees, they finally stopped. Greg was out of breath and feeling the effects of thin air. He took a long swig of water from his canteen then sat down on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing.

Surprisingly, Tuck plopped down beside him with a long whoosh of air. Greg munched on trail mix, Tuck enjoyed a granola bar, and Eustace produced a chocolate bar. But not a single word was spoken. Periodically, Greg tried to think of something to say, but then he resented having to break the silence.

“Quite a hike,” Eustace said. The first spoken words since they’d left the camp. He dabbed his ruddy, lined forehead with the sleeve of his flannel jacket. As he stood there, he dug into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small handheld GPS. The thing looked about three generations of tech out of date. “Let’s see exactly where we are.”

“Does that thing work out here?” Tuck asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Eustace said. “We can get GPS coordinates on almost all of our company land. We’ve had employees check.”

Working up here, Greg thought. Doing what, exactly?

And that was the essential question. What was a gas company doing in all of this pristine, rugged wilderness?

“Well, what do you know?” Eustace said, punching the power button of the GPS device with one enormous thumb. “Damn thing’s not working. Won’t even turn on. I know I charged the battery yesterday before we left. I know it.”

He held up the device, turning the dark screen toward them. Greg felt a little flutter of unease.

“Dead like the satellite phone,” he said. “That means we have no phone and no GPS.”

Tuck flipped a hand in the air, as if shooing off a swarm of gnats. “Now, now, we’re camping, gentlemen. We don’t need technology. It’s a bit silly to lament all of the stuff we’re supposed to leave behind.”

Greg turned away so his father wouldn’t see the irritated look on his face, but he was biting the inside of his cheek so hard that it finally made him wince in pain.

“I’m not complaining,” Eustace said, in a surly tone that suggested otherwise, “but, come on, Tuck, it’s a little weird that none of the tech we brought is working.”

“The cold might have sapped the batteries,” Tuck said. “It’s not that weird. I’ve been on enough camping trips to know that sometimes things just break with no rhyme or reason. Enjoy your time, folks, and worry about your devices when you get back down off the mountain.”

I’m working here, old man, Greg thought. This isn’t just a vacation. I need my sat phone.

But he couldn’t say this, certainly not in front of Eustace. In truth, he was feeling a mounting anxiety over the broken tech. No, things didn’t just break with no rhyme or reason. There was always a cause, and it wasn’t nearly cold enough at the campsite to make batteries cease to function. Greg had never heard of such a thing. To make matters worse, Marion was expecting a call. He was supposed to have called her after they set up camp. She usually put his mind at ease when he was worried about things, but now he was surrounded by crotchety old men who were no comfort at all.

“If we go just a little farther up the slope, we should get a great view of the valley behind us,” Eustace said, pointing up the rocky slope toward a higher ledge. “It’s only another, maybe, two hundred meters.”

“Let’s do it,” Greg said, standing up.

Without waiting for the others, he set off across the clearing toward the loose, rocky slope beyond. He heard Eustace catching up to him. The man’s loud breathing was practically its own tracking device. By the time the three men reached the higher ledge, the morning sun was blazing brightly over the eastern mountains. Greg slowly turned around, taking in the vast, forested valley spread out below them. A faint mist lay in the valley, glints of reflected sunlight revealing a winding stream through breaks in the trees, but mostly it was just towering mountains and lush green forest as far as the eye could see.

“What do you think?” Eustace said, coming up beside him. “Isn’t it just about the most breathtaking landscape you ever saw?”

“It’s very nice,” Greg said.

“It looks untouched, doesn’t it?”

Greg nodded. Eustace seemed to have sprayed himself with some kind of pungent insect repellant. It had mingled with the smell of campfire, flannel, and sweat to create a potent mix when the man stood close.

“All of that pristine Canadian wilderness, and every acre of it gas company land,” Eustace said. “Not what you expected, is it? You expected to see giant smoking refinery stacks everywhere. I know how folks like you think.” He gave Greg a big toothy grin and wagged a huge red finger in his face.

“I expected nothing but a great weekend of camping,” Greg said, trying his best to sound like he meant it. It took a fierce act of will not to brush that wagging finger out of his face as it lingered there just a couple of seconds too long.

Tuck joined them then, stepping up beside his son and turning to take in the view.

“It really is something,” he said. Greg’s father had wispy white hair that he generally combed back from a high, lined forehead, but the wind caught it now and sent it flapping out to one side like cobwebs. “Drink it in, gentlemen.”

Instead of drinking it in, however, Greg’s thoughts went back to the sat phone. Though he knew it was futile, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and tried to discreetly turn it on again. It didn’t respond.

Something’s not right here, he thought. He entertained the notion that somehow the gas company had polluted the air in a way that damaged electronics, but, of course, he knew this was silly. The only thing Greg could think of that would make electronics cease to function across an entire area would be some kind of electromagnetic pulse, but how could a natural gas company produce something like that out in the forest?

Unless it was intentional, he thought. Unless they wanted to destroy my phone. But, no, that was a level of conspiracy he was not willing to entertain—not yet.

A sudden strange bellow from Eustace broke him out of this chain of thought. The man had been slowly turning around, taking in the whole panorama, but he’d come to a sudden stop. Eustace was pointing off to the south.

“You boys seeing that?” he said.

A trail of dark smoke was rising up from a mountainside far to the south. This was not a campfire. The smoke was too substantial and too dark. If anything, it reminded him of the smoke from a house fire. He couldn’t make sense of it. What would be burning like that way out here in the middle of nowhere?

“Does that have anything to do with your company?” Greg asked.

Eustace gave him a sour look. “Come on, man. You think we’re burning down the forest out here? Of course not.”

“No offense intended,” Greg said. “It’s just a lot of smoke.”

“Well, my people have nothing to do with it,” Eustace said. “I can promise you that.”

“A cabin, then?” Greg suggested.

“There aren’t any cabins this far out. Not that I know of.”

Tuck shaded his eyes with one gnarled hand. He cleared his throat loudly and said, “Gentlemen, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but south, southeast is the approximate flight path in and out of the valley. I’m pretty sure we’re looking at the helicopter, and I’m pretty sure it crashed.”

4

The first thing Darryl noticed when he opened his eyes in the pre-sunrise darkness was the staleness of the air in his room. He was used to running the ceiling fan, no matter the season, if only to keep the air moving. Now, it was still and quiet. Still no electricity. Lame. He hated it, and it had taken him forever to fall asleep.

He realized his grandmother was standing beside his bed. He had a vague sense that she’d been calling his name in his sleep, trying to wake him up.

“Grandma, why is the power still off?” he asked. “Did we fry a transformer or something?”

“I don’t know what happened,” she replied, speaking just above a whisper. “We’ll try to figure it out today, but first, we still have a couple of bottle calves roaming around out there somewhere.”

“The other ones came along easy last night,” Darryl said, “but those calves just ran. They could be halfway to Vancouver by now.”

“They were spooked. That’s all. We’ll find them.”

Darryl rubbed his eyes and tried to roll over, but Grandma was persistent. She kept shaking his shoulder, so finally, he pushed his blanket back and sat up.

“Can’t the workers do it?” he asked. “No offense. I want to help. It’s just…well, they’ll be a lot better at chasing down those calves.”

“It’s just us this morning, I’m afraid,” Grandma said.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Why is it just us?”

“Workers should have arrived about thirty minutes ago,” she said. “No one showed up. I can’t wait around any longer. Those two calves have been out of the fence all night. They could be hurt.”

“Why would none of your employees come to work?” Darryl asked. He reached down to the floor and fished around until he found his socks, pulling them on one at a time.

“They couldn’t make it in for some reason, but my phone’s not working to call them,” she replied, nonplussed. “Maybe they lost power like us and none of their alarm clocks worked. Meet me on the porch in a couple of minutes. Hurry, now, we need to get out there and find our animals.”

With that, Grandma walked out of the room. By the solid sound of her footsteps, Darryl could tell she was already fully dressed, had her hiking boots on, and was ready to go. He reached back and opened the blinds on his window, but only a little bit of light seeped into the room. Fumbling around on the floor, he finally found his shoes and tugged them on. As he rose from the bed, he moved to the desk and grabbed his cell phone, unplugging it.

But probably not, he thought. She likes people to stay a hundred percent committed when they’re working.

As he crossed the room, he lifted his phone and tapped the screen with his finger. The screen didn’t turn on. He tapped it again, more forcefully this time, but it didn’t respond.

“Are you kidding me?” he muttered, heading into the hall. It was charging all night. I didn’t touch it after dinner. It was just sitting there plugged in!

And then he recalled the sparks bursting off the electric fence, all of the power going out on the ranch. Darryl was no expert on electronics, but what if somehow a power surge had fried his phone along with the fence? Was such a thing even possible?

What could have possibly caused such an intense power surge? he wondered.

He’d made his way down the stairs and was moving across the living room when a possible answer came to him. It was like a whispered memory of a half-remembered conversation.

ANPRIM.

Modern-day Luddites threatening to destroy the modern so-called technocracy. They’d caused trouble all over the world, but could they have implemented a power surge so great that it would affect a ranch way out in the middle of Northern British Columbia?

“Maybe,” he said, stepping out onto the porch.

He found his mother and grandmother waiting for him there. From the way his mother was furiously chewing on her thumbnail, he could tell she was anxious.

“Okay, he’s here,” Grandma said, starting down the porch steps. “Let’s get going. We have a lot of ground to cover, so we’re taking the Jeep.”

That was unusual. Grandma usually preferred to putter around the property in the golf cart. Darryl followed his mom across the front yard toward the driveway.

“Mom, are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded, but didn’t speak for a second. “Dad didn’t call last night. That’s all. Maybe he couldn’t get a signal. He’s way out there.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” Darryl replied.

Or maybe his phone is fried like mine, he thought but pointedly didn’t say. A power surge strong enough to reach way out into the backwoods of British Columbia was too scary to contemplate.

He opened the back door of the Jeep and climbed in, but he saw the problem instantly. The interior light didn’t come on when he opened the door. When Grandma put the key in the ignition, the dashboard lights didn’t turn on. She turned the ignition, and the engine didn’t respond. It didn’t do anything. Not a single click or buzz or anything.

“The Jeep too?” Darryl said. “What the heck is going on, Grandma?”

“Maybe it’s the battery,” Grandma replied.

“Pop the hood,” Darryl’s mom said. “Let me take a look.”

As his mom got out of the car, Darryl followed. She raised the hood and put the hood latch in place, then bent over the engine. His mother was pretty handy with vehicles. As an engineer, she knew her way around a lot of machinery, and when something broke, she was usually the one to fix it. Over the years, Darryl had seen her repair vehicles, appliances, computers, and more.

“What’s going on, Mom?” Darryl asked, gazing over her shoulder at the engine.

She bent low over the car battery, studied it for a few seconds, then sighed and rose.

“Nothing appears out of the ordinary,” she said. “I can’t see any damage, no sign of sulfation on the leads, no acrid smell. It looks fairly new. Maybe it’s not the battery.”

Grandma got out of the car then, and Darryl could tell she was whispering cuss words, though he couldn’t quite make them out.

“I installed that battery during the last tune-up,” she said, glaring into the engine, as if sheer anger would terrify it into submission. “That wasn’t even three months ago. Something screwy is going on around here, and it’s starting to piss me off. I’m sorry, Marion. It just is. Now, there’s a spare battery on a shelf in Tuck’s shed. Would you mind swapping it out and seeing if it works? I want to be sure.”

“Of course not,” Mom said. She rose, grabbed the hood, and pushed it shut. “What are you going to do?”

Grandma strode past her, grabbing Darryl by the shoulder. “Sonny and me are going out there to find those two missing calves.”

Darryl let himself be pulled away, even as his mother started toward the large shed at the head of the driveway. He didn’t relish the idea of trying to track down a couple of wayward calves on foot, but the strangeness of their circumstances was making the anxiety in his belly curdle into a real feeling of dread. Something was way wrong here. He started to pull his phone out of his pocket to check a news app, but he caught himself.

No news. No information. You’re cut off from the world now, buddy.

That only made the dread worse, until he was practically shaking with it. As he walked with his grandmother down the driveway and out into the broad pastureland, she didn’t speak, but she had a pensive look on her face. She was also furiously gnawing on her lower lip and staring at the ground.

Finally, Darryl could handle the silence no longer.

“You’re worried,” he said. A dumb thing to say, but he wasn’t sure how else to broach the subject.

“I am,” she replied. “Something’s wrong, something big, and I don’t know what it could be. Meanwhile, the men are out there on the mountain, and we haven’t heard from them.”

“Grandpa can handle himself,” Darryl replied. “He’s pretty good at surviving out in the wilderness, isn’t he? He told me he’s trekked through the Yukon and stuff.”

“Yeah, I’m not so much worried about Tuck,” she said. “He’ll get by. It’s your dad. I’m just worried he won’t listen to Tuck because of all the…you know, the bad blood. And poor Emma, that girl was raised a townie her whole life.”

“Yeah, but I know she was studying some kind of website before she left on the trip,” Darryl said. “Learning survival techniques.”

“Good,” Grandma said, and then, much quieter, “she may need them.”

Darryl saw the electric fence in the distance, the golf cart still parked beside it where it had died the night before. Most of the cows were behind the fence, grazing and milling about as if nothing was wrong. There was no sign of the missing calves. They had wandered far enough afield that Darryl couldn’t see them anywhere.

“You know, there are plenty of edible wild plants up where they’re camping,” Grandma said. “Burdock, chicory, knotweed, peppergrass—there’s never a reason to go hungry up there, no matter how long this lasts, but they’ll have to listen to Tuck. He’s the only one who really knows what to do. I hope a bunch of silliness from the past doesn’t get in the way.”

“You really think this power loss could be affecting them all the way up in the mountains?” Darryl asked.

“It’s a possibility,” she replied. “Something prevented him from calling last night, and that’s not like your dad.”

Darryl’s mind kept going back to the dead cell phone, dead battery, sparks on the electric fence, ANPRIM. What possible weapon could they have used to cause all of this? Was there a way to overload the entire power grid in such a way that it would jump even to electronics that weren’t plugged in? This was more of his mother’s area of expertise.

Grandma fell back into brooding silence, scowling at the ground, which was fine with Darryl. His guts were flip-flopping, and talking about the problem didn’t make him feel any better about it. They walked far out into the field, past the electric fence, into a hilly area cut by the meandering gravel driveway that led from the house to the nearest road.

Whatever they did to the power, surely it’ll get fixed soon, Darryl thought. Hopefully, sometime today, because this whole thing sucks. How am I supposed to get any of my work done? It was hard enough before the power went out.

A strange sound came to them then. At first, Darryl couldn’t tell what it was, some echoing animal noise bouncing off the distant mountains. It came and went fairly quickly.

“Did you hear that?” Darryl said.

“I did,” Grandma replied.

“That wasn’t a cow.”

Grandma shook her head as Darryl looked around for the source of the sound. To his right, he saw movement near the tree line. At first, it was practically an optical illusion, but he stared at it for a moment and realized what he was seeing. Two small black-and-white calves moving in and out of the shadows under the branches.

“Hey, Grandma, I think that’s them,” he said, pointing. “There’s our wayward calves.”

She shaded her eyes and stared in the direction he was pointing for a few seconds, then suddenly she gasped.

“Good eye, Darryl,” she said, clapping him on the back. “I wouldn’t have seen them if you hadn’t pointed them out. I guess my vision isn’t what it used to be. Come on. Let’s go retrieve our kiddos.”

She headed off in that direction. As Darryl followed, he heard the strange sound again, a faint, warbling echo that seemed to be coming from multiple directions. He heard it a third time just before they reached the calves, and it gave Darryl a profoundly uneasy feeling that made his skin crawl. This time, he was fairly sure he was hearing a human voice. Was someone screaming, shouting for help, dying?

The calves seemed fine. As they got close, he could tell they were cold, sticking close together, but they appeared to be safe and healthy. Grandma raised her hand and made a little beckoning gesture at them, and the calves immediately trotted over to her.

“There you are, good girls,” she said, putting an arm around either of their necks. “Now, what are girls doing wandering around all night? Let’s get you back to your mama.”

When the strange sound came a fourth time, Grandma gazed off in the direction of the driveway and shook her head.

“What is it?” Darryl asked again. “What’s wrong.”

“Our nearest neighbor lives in a cabin just down the road from us,” she said. “You can’t see it from here because of the trees, but it’s not far. He’s an old man, and he’s disabled. His name is Horace.”

“You think that’s him making that noise?” Darryl said.

“I sure hope not,” she replied, “but he lives all alone over there.”

Darryl tried to envision an old, disabled man all alone in a cabin with no power, no phone to call for help. What if he’d fallen and hurt himself? What if that sound was his desperate attempt to get someone, anyone to come to his rescue?

“Would it be okay if I went and checked on him?” he asked. “You can take the calves back by yourself, can’t you?”

“If you’ll wait, we can drive over there together once your mom replaces the battery on the Jeep,” Grandma said.

As she started back toward the electric fence, the cows trotted along behind her like puppies. The calves were usually sweet-natured little critters. Darryl started to follow, but he couldn’t shake the awful feeling.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go ahead and check on him,” he said.

“When I said it’s not far, I meant by car,” she said. “His house is all the way to the road and almost half a kilometer down.”

“I don’t mind,” Darryl said. “If he’s sick, hurt, trapped somehow…”

He let the possibilities hang in the air, and finally Grandma sighed and nodded. “Okay, go ahead. Follow the driveway to the road and head east. His house is set back a little bit, but you’ll see his mailbox. The man’s name is Horace Bouchard.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back.”

5

Darryl headed toward the road, moving at a brisk pace, even as the last echo of the distant screaming faded once again. When he reached the gravel driveway, he took off at a jog, moving from the fields through a dense stand of trees, before finally coming to the edge of the property. Here, the driveway of his grandparents’ expansive property connected with a major road.

There was no traffic on the road at the moment, but he kept to the shoulder as he headed east. The ranch was fairly isolated, the road meandering kilometers north of Highway 16 in a deeply forested area. Still, Darryl knew there were small towns in either direction, so he was surprised as he walked along to see not a single vehicle on the road. Had every vehicle in the entire area suffered the same fate as the Jeep? Was such a thing even possible?

Finally, he spotted the battered aluminum mailbox sitting at an angle on its crooked post in the distance. The name H. Bouchard was neatly displayed along the side in reflective white letters. As he approached the mailbox, he heard the sound again, but now he was close enough to tell for sure that it was someone shouting.

He turned at the mailbox and followed a winding dirt road through the trees. About fifty meters from the road, he found an overgrown yard with an old two-story house sitting in the middle. Darryl approached the house, mounted the porch steps, and knocked on the front door. Then, he heard the voice, this time very clearly.

“Help! Help me!”

It seemed to be coming from upstairs. The poor guy had almost shouted himself hoarse. Darryl tried the front door and found it unlocked. Pushing the door open, he saw a dim interior, the living room well-kept and orderly, though all of the furniture looked old and worn.

“Sir?” he called out. “Where are you?”

“Up here,” came the reply.

On the right, a wooden staircase curved up to the second floor. Darryl moved through the living room, past a recliner that had duct tape in numerous spots and a small, dusty television on a metal stand. He climbed the creaking stairs to a second-floor hallway. As he ascended, he spotted a metal track running alongside the stairs.

He found Horace lying on the floor near the top of the stairs. He was a gray-haired man with a deeply lined face. He seemed like he might have been fairly athletic in his younger years, but he was bent with age. The man was wearing black shorts, and Darryl realized he was missing both of his legs below the knees. The poor guy also seemed thoroughly exhausted, crumpled against the baseboard and sweating.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Horace asked, out of breath.

“I don’t think so, sir,” Darryl replied. “I’m the grandson of Tabitha Healy, your neighbor. We heard you shouting.”

“All the way over there?” he said. “I guess I was louder than I thought. Been shouting all morning, hoping some passing car would hear me.”

“Are you hurt?” Darryl didn’t see any sign of injury, though the old guy looked like he’d been struggling for a while.

“My stair lift stopped working,” he said. “I tried to get it running again, but it’s no good.”

The track alongside the stairs was connected to a small folding chair that was tucked against the wall. It had a control panel attached to the armrest with a couple of large arrow-shaped buttons on it.

“I know the power went out, but the stair lift has a backup battery,” Horace said. “I can’t figure out why it stopped working. My phone doesn’t work either. Nothing works, and my legs are downstairs. I’m afraid to try the stairs like this. If I fall, that could be the end of me. Would you get my legs? They’re beside the couch.”

“Sure.”

Darryl headed back downstairs and crossed to the worn-out old couch beneath the front window. Foam stuffing was poking through the upholstery along the edges of the cushions, and one of the cushions had been crudely patched with red yarn that didn’t match the brown color of the couch. Horace’s prosthetic legs were leaning against the armrest. They looked as old as the couch, with large plastic sockets full of foam padding, hinged knees, and prosthetic feet fitted into a pair of gray sneakers. Darryl grabbed them and carried them back upstairs.

“You’re a lifesaver, kid,” Horace said, reaching for the legs as soon as Darryl reached the top step. “I thought I might scream myself hoarse and wind up sitting here the rest of the day. No lights, no phone, no batteries. What the heck’s going on out there, kid? You know anything?”

As he spoke, he fitted the stumps of his legs into the sockets of the prostheses and tightened the strap. Darryl noted that his hands were shaking.

“I don’t know, sir,” Darryl replied, “but it’s the same at our house. All the electronics stopped working, even my cell phone. It was plugged in overnight, so I thought maybe it was a power surge that came through the wires. Not sure if that’s possible. But my grandma’s car is dead, too.”

“Something screwy is going on around here, then,” Horace said. “Something big. Help me out here, would you?”

He extended his hand, and Darryl helped him get to his feet. Then he walked with Horace down the stairs, though the old man seemed very unsteady. They took it slowly, one slow step at a time, and Darryl finally managed to get him settled in his easy chair in front of the television.

“I’m good right here,” Horace said. “No need to go upstairs until the power comes back on. Thanks.”

“Sir, do you need anything else?” Darryl asked. “Food, water, a blanket?”

“Nah, I’ve got plenty of food and water stashed away,” he said. “It’s not far. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, we’re just down the road if you need anything,” Darryl said. “I’ll try to come check on you tomorrow.”

Horace waved him off. “I’ll be okay. I got everything I need for the time being. But if you hear anything about what’s going on, let me know, would you? I hate being cut off from the news like this, even the CBC news, and I don’t take the paper.”

“If we hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

Darryl excused himself and started the long walk back to his grandparents’ house. Somehow, helping the old neighbor had alleviated much of his anxiety, and he walked down the road feeling better. His stomach was no longer doing flip-flops, even though the road was as void of traffic now as it had been before. He had just come in sight of his grandparents’ mailbox when he saw someone walking toward him.

The girl was walking with her head down, her shoulders slumped, long black hair falling over her eyes. Dressed in a rumpled purple sweatshirt, she looked like she’d just gotten out of bed. It took him a moment to realize two others were walking behind her: a child in a pink coat with little cartoon moose all over it, and a gray-haired woman in a felt jacket. They all appeared to be related, a mom and her two daughters, perhaps. As the girl in the lead drew near, she must have heard Darryl’s footsteps on the gravelly road, and she looked up suddenly, brown eyes wide. When she saw his face, she seemed to relax.

The gray-haired woman was the first to speak. “You’re Tabitha’s grandson, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“Are you coming from town?” she asked. “Is the gas station open in Glenvell? Is there electricity there?”

“No, I was helping Horace Bouchard. The poor guy was trapped upstairs. I guess his stair lift got fried like everything else.”

The black-haired girl made a little wobble of her head that suggested she didn’t much care for Horace’s misadventures. He guessed she was maybe a year older than him. Her little sister seemed to be in a foul mood, and her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. The older woman was holding her hand and had a scowl fixed on her face, as if she’d had quite enough of absolutely everything.

“Well, in case your grandma has never mentioned us,” the black-haired girl said, “my name is Justine, and this is my mom and sister.”

“We’re your neighbors on the other side,” Justine’s mother said. “Your name is Darryl Healy, right?” When he nodded, she said, “We always know who our neighbors are. It’s smart.”

“I take it you guys lost power, too,” Darryl said. “No TV, no video games, right?”

His words seemed like they were going to make the little girl cry again, but her mom grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in close, stroking her hair. This seemed to help, and no tears fell.

“Yeah, we’re headed into Glenvell, if you want to come with us,” Justine said. “Dad already went there, but we don’t have any way to get hold of him. All of our phones stopped working, even our cell phones. How is that possible?”

“It’s aliens or the government, I’m telling you,” her mother said. Darryl chuckled, thinking she must be joking, but her faced remained deadly serious. She was a broad-faced and handsome older woman, with the big, strong hands of a rancher, not unlike Darryl’s grandma.

“Well, are you coming?” Justine asked with a scowl. “You might as well.”

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” her mother said.

And with that, Justine resumed walking. Her mother and sister followed alongside, and Darryl, on a bit of a whim, turned and went with them. Why not? What was he going to do at home except worry about their current circumstances and continue to avoid working on his college research paper?

As they walked along the empty road, towering trees rising up on either side, Darryl had the strange thought that they were the only people left in the world. He knew it wasn’t rational, but it was all so quiet and empty. Even the wind seemed to have settled down, as if the world were holding its breath. Darryl naturally fell in beside Justine as they walked, and they began to share their experiences of that morning.

“I tried to check my phone,” she said. “Nothing. Dead battery. But Mom’s phone was dead, too, and Sadie’s iPad that she got on our trip to Calgary. She cried a lot about that one. What about you?”

Darryl proceeded to tell her the story of the wayward calves and the screaming Horace Bouchard, though she seemed to be only half-listening. She was friendly enough, and forward enough to keep the conversation going, but there was something in her body posture and the low tone of her voice that made her seem either tired or defeated—possibly both. She seemed to like letting her hair fall in her face, and as she walked she dragged her feet so that the soles of her sneakers scraped on the road.

Is she sad about the power going out, or is there something more to this? Darryl wondered. Of course, he didn’t dare ask. He wasn’t particularly shy, but he also wasn’t very good at small talk.

“So, what do you think about all of this?” he asked, gesturing at a nearby telephone line. “The power, I mean.”

Justine shrugged. “It’s annoying, but the power has gone out before. Maybe there was a bad wreck, and a truck hit a transformer and caused a power surge. Who knows? I mean, it’s never been this bad before, but whatever the cause, even if it’s aliens”—she glanced over her shoulder at her mother and frowned—“the power company will eventually fix it, when they remember we’re out here.”

“I hope you’re right,” Darryl replied.

“It just doesn’t really matter,” Justine muttered, dragging the toe of her shoe through a small pile of gravel. “More of a pain in the butt than anything, no matter what some people think.”

Justine’s mother grunted, as if she knew this comment were directed at her. There was an uncomfortable family dynamic at play that Darryl didn’t fully understand. Yes, the power had gone out, but why did these people all seem so dour and unhappy?

Around the bend Darryl spotted the first vehicle that he had seen on the road all morning. It was an old silver Dodge Durango, parked at a strange angle in the westbound shoulder with the tail sticking out into the lane. Oddly, the driver’s door was wide open, as if it had been abandoned suddenly. He saw no sign of the driver or any passengers.

“Must have walked into town,” Justine said. “Let me guess. Dead battery.”

“Why would they leave the door open like that?” Darryl wondered. “Seems unsafe.”

“Who’s going to steal a car that doesn’t run?” Justine asked.

“For the record, a truck crashing into an electrical transformer couldn’t cause all of this,” Justine’s mother said, as if she’d been stewing over the earlier comments. This made the little sister whimper, and her mom quickly began shushing her.

A few more bends in the road brought them in sight of the small township closest to the Healy ranch. Glenvell consisted of a single road running parallel to the county road, three streets cutting perpendicular into the forest, and roughly thirty homes. However, it was just one of a number of small townships that were part of the scattered rural community.

Most of the businesses in Glenvell were set in a small shopping center in the middle of town, dominated by a gas station with a convenience store. Darryl could see the blue gas station sign towering over the trees as they approached.

“Mom, can I get a candy bar at the store?” Sadie asked, her voice hiccupping from all of her crying.

Her mom shushed her again. “Let’s find your dad first and figure out what’s going on.”

“Then can I get one?” she asked.

“Maybe.” And when the girl made a little whining sound, she added, “If you behave.”

“I’ll behave.”

Darryl was gazing at the store sign when movement in town drew his attention. No vehicles were moving through Glenvell, though a few people were milling about. However, his eyes were drawn toward one figure in particular who was slowly moving toward them with the distinctive sound of hooves clopping on asphalt. A local police officer on horseback. Beyond her, he spotted two more police riding bicycles and heading in a different direction out of town.

Okay, this is getting weird, he thought.

As Justine and Darryl led their little group into town, the officer on horseback moved to cut them off, turning her horse to stand sideways across the shoulder of the road.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Justine’s mom asked.

“Help us spread the word,” the officer said. She was a tough-looking woman with a sharply angled face and short black hair. She reached up and adjusted her cap, pulling it low as if to shade her eyes. “There’s an emergency town hall meeting tonight at sunset. The mayor’s going to discuss our situation, and we’d like as many people to be there as possible. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Justine’s mom said. “We’ll try to be there.”

“See that you do,” the officer said, before putting her heels into the horse’s flanks and riding off, heading out of town.

“Our local cops are on the ball,” Justine said quietly, and chuckled as if she’d amused herself. “We’re saved.”

6

The wind carried the dark smoke east, sending it trailing out over the mountains and away from them. It was much too far away to tell if the fire was spreading or the trees burning. They watched it quietly for a few minutes. Greg attempted to make sense of their situation. The crashed copter, the dead devices—something wasn’t right about it all. As if it were intentional. Could the gas company be up to something shady? It seemed connected somehow, but Greg knew of no way they could have pulled it off.

“I don’t know,” Greg’s father said, idly scratching his whiskered chin. “Maybe it’s not the helicopter. Maybe it’s another group of campers. Could be a bonfire, I suppose.”

“That’d have to be an awfully big bonfire,” Greg said, “but I guess it’s possible.”

Eustace coughed, spat a big wad of phlegm at his feet, and shook his head. “No, I think you were right the first time, Tuck. This is private company land as far as the eye can see. The nearest township is over two hundred kilometers from here on the edge of the provincial park. Nobody’s going to hike into this valley and set up a big bonfire like that unless they work for me, but then I’d know about it.”

Clouds were rolling in, filling the southern sky with shadows that made the trail of smoke look even more ominous somehow.

“We didn’t hear it crash,” Tuck noted.

“Would we have, though?” Eustace said. “The crash site is really far, and we were chatting and moving around a lot. I don’t know.”

“Actually, we heard thunder last night,” Greg said. “I even mentioned it, Dad. Maybe you don’t remember. It never occurred to me that it might be the helicopter going down, but it could have been.”

“Well, it sucks, man,” Eustace said. “That was a nice company helicopter, and it was expensive as heck. Plus, the pilot was a decent guy.”

Greg heard a distant rumble and thought, at first, that it had something to do with the burning wreckage. A secondary explosion perhaps? But then he saw a flash of light moving through the dark storm clouds to the south.

“See that,” Tuck said. “Maybe it was thunder you heard last night. A lightning strike could have caused that fire.”

It was too like Tuck to identify the problem immediately then spend an inordinate amount of time trying to talk himself out of it. Greg thought of it as a corollary to his tendency to make promises and fail to keep them.

“There was no bad weather last night,” Greg said. “The sky was mostly clear. Not a drop of the rain or snow we worried about. Actually, if you recall, it was also beautiful on the flight in. Other than a bit of cold wind, it couldn’t have been more lovely. That’s not a lightning strike burning over there. Heck, you yourself talked about how beautiful the stars looked while we were eating dinner around the campfire.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Tuck replied. “I’m just trying to think of alternative explanations.”

Eustace unleashed a deep, chest-rumbling sigh and bowed his head. “Well, boys, there’s no getting around it. I’ll have to hike over there and check it out. It’s my helicopter, after all, and my pilot.”

“That’s farther than it looks over there,” Greg said.

“With no trails,” Tuck added. “It’s all wild and overgrown.”

“Don’t you think I know it?” Eustace said. “I’ve hiked this land plenty of times. I know what it’s like, but I still have to do it. God forbid it burns out of control. I’ll head back to camp first, so if you want to stop off and relax, feel free, but I’m going all the way. If I’m lucky, we’ll find the pilot alive somehow, and I might even be able to salvage a few things.”

And with that, and another deep sigh that seemed to tremble in the air, he started back the way they’d come. Greg traded a look with his dad. It would be a rough and very long hike, but then again, he hadn’t come all the way here just to sit around in the camp.

“I got nothing better going on,” his dad said with a shrug. “What about you?”

“I had wanted to spend some time fishing, but plans change,” Greg said. “This seems a little more important. It’ll be a rough hike, though, that’s for sure. Can you handle it?”

“I can handle just about anything the wilderness throws at me,” Tuck said with a frown. “Mark my words.”

They followed Eustace back down the slope into the trees and then walked along their trail of nylon trail markers, untying them from the branches as they went. Once they got back to camp, they found Emma lounging beside the fire. She’d done quite a bit of work setting up a curtained area at the edge of the camp for processing wild game. When the men walked back into the camp, she beamed at them proudly.

“She takes after me, that’s for sure,” Tuck said.

Greg made his way to the pile of gear, which was stacked beside the tents. Tuck’s friend Tommy was seated on a rock nearby, whittling a bit of dead wood with his pocket knife.

“You gonna take that kid hunting, man?” Tommy asked. “It’s all she’s talked about.”

Looking over his shoulder toward the campfire, Greg found that Emma was looking in his direction with a hopeful smile on her face.

“We’ll go soon enough,” he said, giving her a thumbs-up. “Just hang in there a little longer.”

This seemed to bolster her smile, and she nodded at him.

Greg resumed gathering supplies for the long hike. He refilled the canteens, then dug through their supplies, retrieving a large machete and some more trail mix. He’d also brought a sturdy compass, but he couldn’t find it, even after digging through practically every pocket of his large backpack.

“Has anyone seen my compass?” he asked. “It’s a Sportneer sighting compass in a little green bag.”

“I have it, Dad,” Emma said, rising from the campfire and walking toward him. She pulled the compass from her jacket pocket, unbuttoning the flap of its carrying case.

“Oh, that’s fine, then,” he replied. “I’ll need it for a little bit. We’re taking a hike to check on something a few kilometers from here. It’s almost due south, and I know how easy it would be to veer off course down in the forest.”

She started to hand him the compass but suddenly drew back, and he could tell by the slight scowl on her face that something was bothering her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you worried about us leaving you here at the camp?”

“No,” she said immediately. “I’ll be fine here. It’s just…well, I’m not sure what’s going on or why. Am I just going to sit here for the whole day?” She pulled the compass out and thrust it at him.

“No, of course not,” he said, taking it from her. “One more little hike, okay? We just have to check something out. I’ll tell you all about it when we get back.”

“Okay,” Emma said, “but you’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you? Everything just seems weird right now. Tense. I don’t know.”

“We’re just going to check something out,” he said again. “We’ll talk and make some plans when we get back. Don’t worry about it.”

Just then, Eustace rescued him from the awkwardness, lumbering by like a Sasquatch. “Let’s go, guys. We’ve got quite a hike ahead of us.”

Emma hung her head and retreated back to the campfire. “Just be safe, Dad. Hurry back.”

“We’ll be fine, I promise,” he replied. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

7

Eustace, Tuck and Greg set out for the crash site a few minutes later. Emma and Tommy stayed behind again. Tommy seemed content to lounge about. He was a close enough friend to Tuck that he was practically family, but he mostly kept to himself.

Eustace led the way, cutting down the slope into the valley at an angle, intending to approach the smoke from down the hill. However, they quickly found that the wilderness was not amenable to a long walk. The campsite was a flat, open clearing, but most of the area was filled with young growth trees and dense foliage crowding around the bottoms of the enormous pine and spruce.

Not a hundred meters south of the campsite, they found it all but impassable, just a wall of green. Greg strode forward with the machete, but Eustace held his hand out.

“Let me try it,” he said. “I got the arms for it.”

Greg couldn’t argue with that. The man’s forearms strained his flannel jacket.

“Here you go,” Greg said, turning the rubberized handle of the machete toward him.

Eustace grabbed it, waved the other men back, then took an almighty swing toward the dense undergrowth. As he did, he unleashed a throaty sound that sounded something like a moose being killed. Though the machete was fairly new, and the blade looked sharp, it only cut through some of the leaves. The small vines were mostly just pushed aside and immediately swung back in the way after the blade passed.

“It doesn’t work as good as in the pictures,” Eustace said, dabbing his forehead on his sleeve.

He took another swing and cut through a bit more, but it didn’t create a clear path.

“Aim lower,” Greg said. “Cut toward the roots.”

But Eustace sighed and shook his head. “We can push through. Come on, gents.” And with that, he crashed right through the dense growth and kept going.

The foliage wasn’t the only problem. The men had to pick their steps carefully as they progressed slowly over uneven ground, crisscrossed by tree roots, rocky in some places while soft in others. Eustace made use of the machete from time to time, always waving the others back first, but he was largely ineffective.

They were passing through a dense cluster of baby spruce, Eustace using his forearm to push the foliage aside, when a small branch snapped back and hit Tuck in the face. Greg’s dad sputtered, raised his hands, and took a step to one side. When he did, the sole of his right shoe slipped, and he went down. He landed hard on a root and cried out.

“Dad, are you okay?”

Greg knelt beside Tuck and grabbed his arm to help him up, but the crusty old man brushed his hand away.

“I’m fine,” he said, sitting up. “I just slipped, but I’m not helpless. Give me a second.”

Greg rose and backed away, biting back a sarcastic reply. Tuck wasn’t helpless, sure, but he was a miserable old geezer. It took the old man a few seconds to pick himself up, and when he finally got to his feet, he wobbled and had to lean against the nearest tree. He glared at Greg and Eustace in turn, as if to say Don’t pity me, then brushed off the seat of his pants.

“You need a hiking staff,” Greg said.

“If you insist,” Tuck said. “I’m not hurt.”

It’s not merely out of sympathy, you sour old fart, Greg thought. I don’t want this damn hike to take all day.

Working together, Greg and Eustace picked out a large fallen branch, stripped it, and turned it into a crude hiking staff. Tuck received it with a nod, but no spoken thanks, and resumed walking.

As it turned out, the hiking staff proved vital to the old man’s continued progress. Every few minutes, he seemed to slip or stumble on something, but he was able to use the staff to maintain his balance. Eventually, they reached an area where the foliage was less dense, and they fell into a bit of a rhythm, picking up their pace ever so slightly. Over the course of a couple hours, they worked their way down into the valley to the south, hopped a small trickling creek, then worked their way back up the slope in the direction they’d seen the smoke.

Greg wished he were less annoyed so he could fully appreciate the beauty of the surrounding forest. Wind stirred the high canopy of branches, and the occasional animal scampered, unseen, through the underbrush. In places, hazy beams of sunlight shone through gaps in the leaves, creating shifting bands of light that cut at angles across their path.

They managed the rest of the hike without incident, though Eustace was heaving and hacking by the time Greg first smelled the smoke, and they were all drenched in sweat. Finally, they caught a glimpse of a large smoldering mass through a gap in the trees.

“Well, boys, looks like Tuck’s first guess was the right one,” Eustace said, shouldering his way through some brush and giving a small sapling a backswing of the machete.

Indeed, as Greg moved up beside him, he saw the crumpled and blackened wreckage of the Bell 407. The rotor was broken and scattered in pieces on the ground, the tail bent upward by the trunk of an enormous tree. The cockpit was a charred shell, and though there were no flames, small tendrils of smoke still rose from the husk.

Eustace and Greg picked their way around the wreckage.

“Don’t get too close,” Tuck said. “Fuel tank could combust.”

“I’m guessing it already did that a long time ago,” Eustace replied, gasping for breath from the long walk. “It burned good. Definitely not salvageable. What a shame.”

Nice priorities there, Greg thought.

Greg managed to pick his way around to the front of the helicopter. The cockpit glass had broken loose and lay on the ground, shattered but largely intact. Through the opened window, he saw the remains of the pilot. The poor guy seemed to have died on impact, or shortly thereafter, as he was still strapped into his seat.

“I hope he didn’t suffer,” Greg said, gazing at the man’s burned face, which was cracked and split like a pork roast. Greg grabbed his queasy stomach and backed away. “What a way to go.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Tuck noted. “Poor guy could’ve been injured and lain out here all night with no help and slowly bled to death.”

“At least you look on the bright side,” Greg muttered.

Eustace approached the helicopter boldly, moving toward the open door in the side, and reached out to brush the charred metal with his gloved right hand.

“It’s not too hot,” he said, grabbing the doorframe. “Cool enough to touch, even.”

“What are you doing?” Greg said.

“There’s a storage compartment behind the copilot’s seat,” Eustace said. He set the machete down and leaned into the vehicle, bracing himself against the doorframe. “I just want to check it. Something might have survived the fire. You never know.”

Greg heard a click, as Eustace popped open the storage compartment and rooted around inside. He pulled out a fistful of charred debris and cast it aside, then dug deeper.

“This is a waste of time,” Tuck said. “Can we please head back now? We got another long walk ahead of us, and we did what we came here to do.”

“Calm yourself, Tuck,” Eustace said. “You need to rest a few minutes anyway. I didn’t come all this way just to stare at the damn thing.”

He cast aside another fistful of charred debris from the compartment, then dug in all the way to the bottom. Finally, he gasped, glanced back at Tuck with a mocking smile on his face, and slowly drew his hand out.

“Now, look at this, Tuck. Not everything burned. See what I would’ve left behind if I’d listened to you?”

He pulled out what appeared to be a folded, laminated map. The edges were burned, but as Eustace unfolded it, Greg saw that most of the map was intact. It was a topographical map of the entire area. Somehow, being in the very bottom of the enclosed storage compartment had protected it from the worst of the fire.

“You give up too soon, Tuck,” Eustace said. “When you set out to do something, you gotta be thorough. Remember that. Stick to your guns, be relentless, and see the thing through all the way.”

“Please,” Tuck said, pushing long, wayward strands of white hair back against his narrow skull. “You found a map. Congratulations. Can we head back now?”

Eustace gave Greg an exasperated shake of his head, as if to say Can you believe this guy? Then he carefully refolded the map and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

“Okay, old man,” he said, stooping down to retrieve the machete. “We’re going now. Don’t get so worked up about everything.”

“I’m not worked up,” Tuck replied, sourly. “This is just a bit morbid, that’s all, and I don’t want to be here any longer.”

“First, you said it was the helicopter, then you said it wasn’t the helicopter. Then you said you wanted to hike over here, now you say you want to hurry back. You are a flighty old man, Tuck. Do you know that?” Eustace laughed and shook his head. “Let’s go.”

As Eustace headed back toward Tuck, Greg glanced upward. The only gap in the trees was overhead. It seemed like the helicopter had come straight down. If he had not seen the state of the helicopter, he might think it had landed there on purpose. It must have been hovering and completely lost power all of a sudden, but what would have caused such a thing?

The same thing that killed the phone? he wondered.

Greg took a long swig of water from his canteen. He was hungry, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat in the presence of the dead pilot. It seemed like they should say something over the man, maybe pray for him or something, but Greg couldn’t think of anything and none of the other men suggested it. Finally, he just bowed his head briefly in the dead man’s direction then followed Eustace back into the trees.

“What do you guys think caused the crash?” Greg asked, as they started back toward camp. “Seems like it happened suddenly, so probably not a mechanical problem. I mean, the trajectory was practically straight down.”

“Oh, sure, a mechanical problem can happen to a helicopter just like that,” Eustace replied, snapping his fingers. “I read about this reporter in the States who died in a helicopter crash back in the seventies. Sprag clutch on the rotor was the wrong size, and it just came apart all of a sudden, no warning, and down they went during a live broadcast. Horrible. Just horrible.”

“I imagine your company has competent mechanics,” Greg said. “Surely they wouldn’t install the wrong size clutch.”

Eustace gave him a weird little smile. “I’m glad you think so highly of my company, Greg. Thanks. No, I doubt that would ever happen to one of our choppers, but the point remains. A mechanical problem could occur all of a sudden, and down you go.”

“There is another possible explanation,” Tuck said between heaving breaths. He stumbled on a root and nearly went down again, but jabbed his hiking staff into the ground to stop himself. When Greg reached out to help him, he shook his head vigorously, then he continued talking. “There’s something that would explain the helicopter, Greg’s phone, and your GPS. It’s called an electromagnetic pulse. Set one of those off in the area, and it’ll cause all sorts of tech to go screwy. An EMP could certainly drop a chopper out of the sky.”

Greg knew a little about EMPs. It was one of those things he’d read about somewhere over the years. Indeed, he’d already considered the possibility that an EMP had killed the sat phone, but somehow, hearing his father mention it made the idea seem more than likely.

“I seem to recall that nukes cause EMPs,” he said, feeling a twinge of anxiety.

“Yeah, that’s one possible cause,” Tuck said. “Set off a nuke in the upper atmosphere, and it’ll affect a wide area.”

Eustace laughed at this, taking an almost spiteful swing at a sapling with the machete. “Nobody set off a nuke in the British Columbia wilderness, guys. It doesn’t make any sense. We would’ve seen or heard something.”

“Would we, though?” Tuck asked. “The nuke might have gone off hundreds of kilometers from here. A big enough EMP could affect the whole area—maybe the whole province.”

Eustace laughed even louder this time, and the gravelly sound of it put Greg’s nerves on edge. “Tuck, you’re out of your mind if you think that’s the most reasonable explanation. The whole country got nuked? Come on. Nobody’s going to nuke Canada, not before they nuke the States. This has got to be a local problem, so let’s not go nuts quite yet.”

Tuck grumbled under his breath and glared at Eustace’s broad back. Greg wanted to agree with the company man, but his mind kept going back to the smoking wreckage, to the body still strapped into the pilot’s seat, to the dead sat phone. No, Tuck’s explanation was not as absurd as Eustace seemed to think.

I wish it was, Greg thought.

Suddenly, he wanted very much to get out of these endless kilometers of wilderness and back home. The feeling hit him so hard that for a second, he genuinely thought he might have a panic attack. It started low in his belly, a kind of churning discomfort, then it spread throughout his body, until he was practically shaking. To hide this from the other guys, he jammed his hands deep into his pockets and took deep breaths. Once he felt like the worst of it had passed, he dared to speak again.

“As soon as we get back to camp, I think we need to start packing up,” he said. “The sooner we head out, the better.”

“Head out? You mean, walk home?” Eustace said. “Across all of this company land? We’re in the absolute middle of nowhere, my friend, and you want to walk home?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Greg replied.

Neither of the men said anything to this for a few seconds. Tuck’s face was unreadable, but Eustace was grimacing like the very thought caused him terrible pain.

“Whatever caused this, surely it’ll pass soon,” Eustace said finally. “My company will know there’s a problem when the chopper doesn’t return, and they’ll send a rescue. That’ll be—”

“Greg’s right,” Tuck said, cutting him off. “This seems to have affected a large area. We don’t know how widespread it is, but if it knocked a helicopter out of the sky, there’s a good chance it has caused chaos in the closest cities. I don’t think we should count on a rescue. Yes, it’ll be a long hike, but it’s better than slowly wasting away up the mountains while we wait for a rescue that may never come.”

This caused Eustace to unleash a groan that went on for a good ten seconds.

“I’m having trouble interpreting your sound effect,” Tuck said, once the groan trailed off into a breath. “I take it you disagree with us?”

“I’m trying to come to terms with the possibility that you’re right,” Eustace said. “We’re going to feel really dumb if we try to hike out of here and find out it was just a local problem.”

“And we’ll feel a lot dumber if we starve to death up on that mountain,” Tuck added.

To this, Eustace had no reply, and the silence felt to Greg like reluctant agreement

8

Glenvell’s closest thing to a town hall was a simple pole barn on the north side of the road behind the shopping center. Darryl’s grandmother decided to take the most direct route there, but it wasn’t the easiest route. Instead of walking down the driveway to the road, they followed a dirt path on the east side of the ranch behind the cattle barn. Intended for ATVs, it cut through undeveloped land and entered town in the neighborhood near town hall.

Though the unpaved road might have been a direct route, Darryl wasn’t convinced it was faster, but Grandma seemed to prefer it. Since it was dusk, the shadows were getting long, and the road was a bit gloomy, but Darryl’s mom had a small flashlight that she used in the darkest spots. Grandma was still in a bad mood. The backup car battery didn’t work either. Indeed, they were fairly certain now that the batteries weren’t the problem. Whatever the case, they had no working vehicle on the ranch. Darryl didn’t relish the idea of having to walk back and forth to town every time they needed something or had a meeting to attend.

“Well, it’s a lovely evening, at least,” his mother said, clicking off her penlight and gazing up at the sky. “Can you imagine the view they must have up on the mountain? Look at those stars.”

Indeed, the sky was awash in bright stars made all the more visible by the new moon, but Darryl wasn’t feeling it. His mom was trying to make the best of their situation, and he didn’t blame her for it. He just wasn’t there yet.

“That’s what you get when you remove light pollution,” Grandma said. “Enjoy it while it lasts. We don’t even get a view like this from the porch because of the floodlight by the barn.”

“It reminds me of a story I read a few years ago,” Marion said. “I forget if it was Los Angeles or New York. Some big city in the States had a power loss one night, and dozens of people called 911 to report seeing something strange in the sky.”

“What was it?” Tabitha asked. “What did they see?”

Marion pointed upward. “The Milky Way. They’d never seen it before because of all the light pollution in the big city. Had no idea what it was.”

This made Grandma laugh, but Darryl found it rather sad. He gazed up and saw the hazy glow of the Milky Way rising above the trees low in the sky. Just then, he heard a familiar scraping sound on the road, as of someone unwilling or unable to pick up their feet when they walked. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Justine and her family walking down the dirt road behind them. Justine Carmichael was her full name, he’d learned, and they’d eventually tracked down her father to the gas station. Now, they were all walking together, Justine once again in the lead and slowly catching up to Darryl. Her father was a straight-up redneck, with a toque pulled low, a scraggly beard, and an old plaid shirt buttoned tightly over a generous beer gut. He was holding his wife’s hand as he loped along.

Justine raised a hand to Darryl in greeting, and he slowed down to wait for her.

“Mr. and Ms. Carmichael,” Grandma said.

The two groups merged together. Darryl fell in beside Justine, though he still wasn’t entirely comfortable around her. She looked as dour and unhappy as before, as if a slight scowl were her natural state, and she was wearing the same purple sweatshirt and sweatpants she’d been wearing that morning. Still, she was the closest to his age, and the only one he’d had any sort of conversation with thus far.

“You guys take the back road, too?” Darryl asked.

“Just avoiding the mounted police,” she replied. “It’s a little weird to have that woman riding back and forth, that’s all. My dad doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t like law enforcement anyway.”

Darryl glanced at her dad. The man looked a little bit like Justine, with similar dark brown eyes and black hair. Somehow, it worked a lot better on Justine than on her father.

“I tell you, bud, if they don’t get the power back on soon,” he was saying, apparently to no one in particular, “it’s gonna be a heck of a problem for me. My porch is in bad need of repair, and I gotta have my power tools to get it done. I’ll have me a few questions for the mayor at this town meeting, you better believe it.”

Justine glanced at Darryl and rolled her eyes. “The stupid rotting old porch,” she muttered. “Of course, that’s his priority.”

When they reached town, they saw the town hall lit by a number of small fires in braziers which had been set strategically around the parking lot and the streets beyond. Flashlights appeared to be illuminating the interior of the building, their bright beams seeping out of the windows in front. Groups of people streamed toward the town hall from all directions, like flies to a carcass. People of all ages, including small children, old people in wheelchairs, whole families, and a few rough-looking deep-woods types were headed for the meeting. Three police officers stood outside the double doors, one on horseback, the others on foot. Though the autumn air was crisp and cold, Darryl felt the heat of the fires as soon as he reached the edge of the parking lot.

“Well, doesn’t this look cozy?” Justine said.

“Looks like most people came,” Darryl said. “If this isn’t the whole town, it’s close.”

“Too close for comfort, if you ask me,” Justine said. “What good could possibly come from getting all of these backwoods people in one room?”

As they passed between the police officers, Justine’s little sister made a sound that might have been the beginning of a nervous whimper, but her mother quickly patted her on top of the head and shushed her. Darryl, too, was a bit intimidated by the intense officer looming over them on her horse, the one who’d told them about the meeting. She was a woman with a sharp and unfriendly face. She made sure to stare hard at each of them in passing.

Inside, the town hall was essentially a single open room with a couple of offices in the back. Rows of folding chairs had been set up from wall to wall before a wooden podium, and people were slowly filling the room. Individual groups had scattered all over the room instead of packing in tight, so the only row that would fit both the Healy and Carmichael families was at the very back. Darryl wound up on the far end of the row next to the cold aluminum wall, Justine on his right. A couple of kerosene heaters had been placed on tables in the front corners of the room, but Darryl could barely feel the heat. Cold air radiated through the thin wall, and he’d brought only a thin jacket and no toque.

“There’s our esteemed mayor,” Justine said, sourly. “Just look at him. Exactly the kind of fellow you’d want to turn to in a crisis. A stunning specimen of poise and leadership.”

Mayor Filmore was seated on a stool beside the podium, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. A tall, gaunt fellow with a mop of thinning brown hair, he had neither the look nor bearing of an authority figure. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks sagging, his neck too long, and he was bundled up tight in a gaudy, green sweater.

Once the room was mostly full, he rose from his stool and gestured at someone in the back of the room. Darryl glanced over his shoulder to see the unfriendly cop pulling the door shut. Only then did the mayor step behind the podium and loudly clear his throat to quiet the murmuring crowd. The flashlight beams cutting across the room made the whole thing feel like a secret gathering of some weird cult, with shadows drawn long across the floor and walls, and strange geometric shapes formed across the ceiling.

“I want to thank everyone for coming tonight,” the mayor said. He had a reedy voice that suited his gaunt appearance, but the room had a terrible echo, which made it a little hard to understand him. “Just so you all know, this meeting was my idea. I thought it would be good to get everyone together so we’re all on the same page. I don’t want anyone sitting at home feeling all alone and worried.”

“Leo, when can we expect the power to come back on?” someone asked from the front of the room. Darryl couldn’t see who it was. “Do we know what caused the problem in the first place?”

“I’m sorry to say I don’t have any specifics,” the mayor said with a shrug and a sheepish grin. “All I know about this present situation is that we’ve got no power in any of the nearby townships, but I’ve dispatched a couple of officers to ride all the way to Terrace for more information. It’ll take ’em a couple of days on horseback, I imagine. Sorry, that’s what I’ve got. But we’re pretty sure that we’re dealing with more than a local problem. In fact, we’re fairly sure we’re dealing with a national emergency.”

This caused murmurs of disquiet to move through the room. Justine gave a little grunt and leaned forward, planting her hands on her knees, as if he’d suddenly gotten her attention. National emergency. Darryl let the words sink in.

Justine’s father spoke next. He raised his hand, then stood up and began talking loudly before he was called on.

“You’re being a little hasty calling it a national emergency, don’t you think?” he said. “You said yourself you don’t know any specifics.”

“It’s what we think at this point,” the mayor said, with a shrug.

“We got a lot of problems in this community,” someone shouted from the middle of the room. “My uncle’s sitting at home on cancer meds. With no car, we can’t get him to the clinic, and he’s not able to walk. What are we doing to help the sick and homebound?”

Mayor Filmore shot a desperate little frown toward the back of the room, as if someone were going to come and rescue him. “I’ve been meeting with my team. We’re putting together an action plan. I know there are a lot of needs, and we’re taking them all into consideration. Another day or two, and we’ll be able—”

“We need immediate action,” someone else shouted. “Many of us depend on our phones, our cars. We have medical needs. Some of us have jobs. We can’t just sit at home and wait while you guys have a nice chat about what to do. Can’t you, as our local government, provide some logistical support?”

Justine’s dad was still standing up, and he said, “While your officers are galloping around on horses, maybe they could pull a few wagons, give people rides or something.” His wife tugged on his sleeve, and he finally sat down.

So many people were asking questions and making suggestions now that the whole room turned into chaos and noise. The echo of the corrugated metal walls made it even worse, and the mayor finally began waving his hands over his head in an attempt to get them to settle down. Darryl couldn’t stand the sound of it, so he covered his ears.

Is this all it takes for the whole community to lose their minds? he wondered.

9

As the noise from everyone speaking at once continued to rise, the mayor rapped his knuckles on the podium several times before the sharp sound seemed to break through whatever madness had seized the crowd. Voices trailed off, questions were left unfinished, and people settled into their seats.

“Thank you,” the mayor said. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he seemed to have changed. The desperate scowl on his face was gone, and he took in the crowd with a stern, clenched-jaw gaze. “Now, listen up, friends, we’re not going to fall apart here, are we? This didn’t happen to one person, one family, or one neighborhood. This has happened to all of us. We’re in this together, and we’re going to deal with it together. We’re not helpless here, and we’re not hopeless, so let’s come together and help each other, not shout each other down. I sent two riders out yesterday evening to the clinic in Rosswood, and they acquired a whole bunch of medication.”

The murmur that went through the crowd this time was like a long, shared sigh of relief. This is what they’d wanted: concrete action and encouragement, not vague anxiety and waiting. The mayor seemed bolstered by their response, and he drew up tall, squaring off his shoulders.

“That’s right,” he said. “We’ve got antibiotics, heart medications, diabetic pills, medicine for asthma, pain killers, all sorts of stuff. We even got some of those little pens for people with life-threatening allergies. Rest assured, if you have a medical condition, especially if you need a daily medicine like insulin, we probably have you covered. You just come up to me after the meeting, okay? We’re going to be all right.” As he spoke, Darryl realized he was staring at one person in particular, and when he tracked the direction of the mayor’s gaze, he realized that one person was Tabitha.

His grandmother was diabetic, something which she managed so well that Darryl scarcely thought about it. Mostly, she kept it under control through diet and an active lifestyle, but he wondered if she did, indeed, have enough medication stored away to be safe, especially if they couldn’t get her to the doctor any time soon.

If not, she’d better chat with our valiant leader up there, Darryl thought. Better to be safe than sorry, in case this stupid situation continues for a while. She’ll want a share of the medicine before it’s all taken by others.

The crowd was murmuring again, many heads nodding, and a couple of people clapped. Somehow, the mayor had turned things around. Seeing his bearing change so dramatically over the course of the meeting was impressive, and Darryl was tempted to join in with the clapping. Only Justine’s proximity prevented him from doing so.

“Now, I said we’re going to come together as a community, and that’s what I meant,” the mayor said. “There are plenty of ways we can help each other.” He turned his gaze to Darryl’s grandmother again, this time gesturing at her with a little wave of his hand. “Tabitha Healy, you’ve got all those dairy cows. You’re going to have to milk them anyway, right? What if you provided some of that milk to the Pelletier family, eh? They’ve got three small kids. That’s just one example. I’m sure if we all put our heads together, we can think of plenty of ways to help those in need around us.”

Darryl leaned forward and peered past Justine at his grandmother. Though her expression was almost completely blank, emotionless, he saw tension in her neck, and both of her hands were clenched into fists and resting on her thighs. She was a tough-looking old woman at the best of times, but at the moment, she seemed genuinely dangerous.

What’s she so mad for? Darryl wondered. The mayor made a fair suggestion, didn’t he? She’s got all of those cows and no workers or delivery truck to take the milk to market. Trading them for medicine seems like a good idea.

“We’re not just twiddling our thumbs, people,” the mayor continued. “We’ve got all sorts of plans in the works, don’t you fear, and I’ll be looking for volunteers in the coming days. We’ll need teams to pump water for those who don’t have access to wells, and we’ll need to set up a storehouse for food supplies in a central location. Heck, Mervin’s little store is already almost sold out. I could use some people to store food and so on. There’s a lot of work to be done, and we need everyone to volunteer who is able-bodied. It’d be a shame for resources to go to waste just because we don’t have volunteers to make use of them, or because people are hoarding more than they need.”

The mayor gave a few more long-winded, rambling encouragements, took a few questions, then called the meeting to a close. As soon as he dismissed the crowd, Darryl’s grandmother rose and made a beeline for him, pushing her way through the crowd trying to exit. Darryl slipped past Justine and the Carmichaels and went after her, pushing chairs out of the way to cut across the room. A few people had gathered around the mayor, either to ask about medications or to share problems and suggestions, but Tabitha strode past all of them and walked right up to the podium.

“Leo, would you mind not making a public example out of me in the future?” she said, thrusting a finger in his face.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” the mayor replied. He glanced at Tabitha, looked at the others who had gathered behind her, then beckoned her toward one of the office doors behind him. When others tried to follow, he motioned them back. They largely complied, but Darryl slipped past them, getting close enough to overhear the conversation. “Listen, Tabitha, I wasn’t making an example out of you. I was sharing a good idea so people can start thinking about practical ways to help each other. I want you to hear what I’m about to say. Most people have figured this out, but maybe you’ve been preoccupied. What’s happening here is not just a local problem. To be quite blunt, this could very well be the big one.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“I mean, this could be a national catastrophe,” he said. “Heck, a global catastrophe. I’m hearing things, real bad things, about a terrorist organization and stolen nuclear weapons. Things might be bad all over, but I’m trying to get on top of the situation by any means possible before everyone goes into full-blown panic, okay? This could be the end of the world as we know it, and if we don’t start looking out for each other, our community will fall apart fast, especially if my officers confirm the worst when they get back from town.”

His words seemed to calm Tabitha somewhat, as she lowered her finger and sighed. “Look, if anyone needs my help—I mean anyone—you send them right over, okay? Just don’t go offering things that don’t belong to you. Actually, I need milk for my bottle calves, for my own family, and for my immediate neighbors. Poor Horace Bouchard is practically stuck at home, and we’re already taking care of him.”

“Like I said, it was a suggestion,” the mayor replied. “Nothing more. Trying to generate ideas. Pass that along to Tuck, while you’re at it. I don’t need him yelling in my face as well. And, by the way, where is he? I’m surprised your husband isn’t here.”

“Tuck is out in the woods, hunting and fishing,” she said, and then quickly added, “not far from the house.”

Darryl was surprised at how easily his grandmother lied to the mayor. She scarcely missed a beat, and the tone of her voice didn’t change at all. Why didn’t she want the mayor to know Tuck was camping way out in the wilderness?

“Well, let’s hope he hurries back,” the mayor said. “We need all hands on deck. As for you, I don’t appreciate being treated like I tried to steal something from you. I could have used emergency powers to confiscate your cows, if I wanted to, but I didn’t. I just mentioned it.”

“Emergency powers?” Tabitha said, with a derisive laugh. “Aren’t you overplaying this, Mayor Filmore? Seriously. You don’t even have emergency powers. You’re a small-town mayor in rural British Columbia.”

“If this is the big one, saving the town might require drastic measures,” he said, “but I want people to take the initiative to help out.”

By this point, the crowd had closed in again, so Tabitha and Mayor Filmore stopped talking and just stared daggers at each other.

“Well, I’ve said my piece,” Tabitha finally said, turning to walk away.

Clearly, she was done with the conversation, and she hadn’t even brought up the most important issue. Darryl saw an opening and stepped forward before the rest of the crowd could pull the mayor in a hundred different directions.

“Sir, you told us to come to you if we need medication,” he said. “Grandma is diabetic. We could use some of that medication.”

Before all of the words were out of his mouth, he felt a hand clamp down tightly on his arm, and his grandma started pulling him away. She stepped in front of him and addressed the mayor.

“Never mind my grandson,” she said. “I’m fine. My diabetes is under control. I don’t use insulin, and, actually, I don’t need anything from you.”

A slow smile appeared on the mayor’s face, a mirthless smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It suited his gaunt appearance well, as if Darryl were getting a glimpse of the real man behind the wimpy public persona.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said. “After all, I can’t just give the medication away. At least, not to someone who isn’t willing to share a bit of milk with the community.” Then he leaned to one side and pointed at Darryl. “We all have to work together, son. Thanks for letting me know about your family’s need.”

Tabitha made a weird explosive sound and walked away, dragging Darryl along with her. She was smaller than him, but he found himself unable to resist her strength and will as she pulled him through the crowd like he was a little kid. As they moved through the room, Darryl saw people glancing in his grandmother’s direction, whispering to one another as if talking about her, and shaking their heads. She’d certainly made the situation far weirder, and why? Why had she reacted so angrily to the suggestion that she share some milk? It just didn’t seem like a big deal to Darryl.

As they passed through the door into the parking lot, Grandma looked over her shoulder and shot one more icy look of contempt in the general direction of Mayor Filmore. Darryl didn’t get it. She clearly hated the man, but why?

I’m not a local, he reminded himself. I’m just visiting my grandparents on their ranch. Maybe they’ve got a bad history I don’t know about.

He dared not ask about it, not when she had fire in her eyes. Still, even if she despised the mayor, her need for medication should have taken priority. Darryl’s mom was waiting for them outside, but Darryl noted that the Carmichaels had walked out to the middle of the parking lot, where they were huddled together. The parents seemed to be in a heated conversation, the dad gesticulating wildly with his hands, but they were speaking so quietly that Darryl didn’t hear a word of it.

Everyone’s pissed off, Darryl thought. I guess the town meeting failed.

“Is there a problem?” Darryl’s mom asked.

“Forget it,” Tabitha replied, finally releasing her death grip on Darryl’s arm. “Let’s just go home.”

Grandma set a brisk pace as she headed north, skirting the edge of the parking lot and crossing the road toward the gap where the unpaved road began. Darryl, embarrassed by the whole situation, didn’t much feel like keeping up with her, so he set his own more leisurely pace.

Maybe I can borrow a horse from someone and ride home to Vancouver, he thought, only half-joking. Dad had picked an unfortunate time to try to reconcile with Grandpa.

He’d just reached the dirt road, his grandma quickly disappearing into the gloom, when he heard a familiar scrape of shoes behind him. Looking back, he saw Justine Carmichael approaching. Her parents and sister were a few meters behind, and Dad still seemed to be ranting about something and flapping a hand over his head.

“Is everything okay?” Darryl asked, as Justine drew up beside him.

She shrugged. “Just my parents arguing over some supplies,” she said, speaking softly. “Mom wants to share, Dad doesn’t.”

“Sounds like your dad and my grandma ought to be friends,” Darryl replied.

“Yeah, Mom and Dad are both convinced this will all blow over soon. Mom thinks we should donate a few things, just to keep the mayor off our back, but Dad doesn’t want to do or say anything. He thinks it’s far too early to resort to drastic measures, except he can’t say it without losing his temper.” She rolled her head on her shoulders, as if trying to shrug off an unbearable weight.

“Good thing the mayor called this meeting,” Darryl said sarcastically. “He’s got everyone in a bad mood now. That should make things so much easier.”

10

“You brought that compass, didn’t you?” Eustace said, between his deep, heaving breaths. “Why don’t you pull that thing out and let me look at it.”

“We’re not lost already, are we?” Greg replied, digging into his jacket pocket. He felt the lump of the compass and dug it out, unbuttoning the flap of its carrying case.

“Of course, we’re not lost.” Eustace snatched the compass out of Greg’s hand and held it up. “It’s just hard to see the position of the sun with all those tall trees overhead.”

“Why do we need it?” Tuck asked, wiping sweat from his cheeks and forehead on his sleeve. “We found our way to the crash site just fine.”

“Because I’m tired, that’s all,” Eustace said, “and I want the compass. Do I need any other reason? Come on.”

Holding the compass up in front of him, he adjusted his position, turned slightly, and resumed walking, the machete now hanging limply from his right hand. As for Greg, he had unzipped his jacket, and though he was feeling the long hike, he’d actually quite enjoyed it—until the gruesome sight at the end—and he was looking forward to the walk back. Except for these two sweaty old men.

They picked their way back across the valley, though Tuck’s unsteady legs made this more of an effort than it otherwise would have been. He was prone to slip on loose rocks or trip on roots, or just stumble for no particular reason, but the hiking staff kept him somewhat steady. Still, the terrain was rocky, and the trees grew close. Even Greg soon found himself getting tired, and finally, he took off his jacket entirely and tied it around his waist.

“Hard to catch my breath,” Eustace said, at one point. The man seemed to be struggling to get enough air into his lungs. He took each breath with his mouth wide open and his eyes scrunched. “It’s this thin mountain air. I’m not used to it, I guess. I’ll have to get my engineering team to work on that. Pump more oxygen up here onto our land.” As if it weren’t already obvious he was attempting to be funny, he chuckled at himself.

Eustace corrected their course at least a dozen times, and they eventually found themselves moving up a slope again.

When they finally trudged back into camp, it was already afternoon, and the men were wiped out. Emma was seated quietly in front of the campfire, which she’d kept going all morning. She had a book in her lap, and she was flipping through it as they entered. It appeared to be a pocket-sized survivalist handbook, with plenty of illustrations and diagrams. Tommy was sound asleep, his head poking out of the end of his small tent.

“Dad,” Emma said, hopping up as they entered the camp. “I wondered when you guys would get back. What happened? Where did you go? What did you see?”

“Nothing good,” he replied. “I didn’t want to say it before, but I might as well tell you.”

As he described the crash site to her, Eustace stumbled off toward his tent. Emma demanded details about the crash, and she kept asking questions until he’d told her everything. Greg expected it to scare her, but she seemed to accept this news calmly, closing her book and setting it aside.

“A big enough solar flare could cause something like an EMP,” she noted. “So could a nuclear weapon. Either way, Dad, it would affect a huge area, potentially. Like, whole provinces, whole countries. What are we going to do?”

Eustace was already pulling the stakes for his tent, as Tuck shook his friend Tommy awake. Greg considered the difficult road ahead of them, and his heart sank. Hundreds of kilometers to the nearest township, over rough, mountainous terrain.

“I’m sorry to say it, but I think we have to break camp and try to hike out of here,” he said. “We can’t assume they’ll be able to mount a rescue anytime soon, and we don’t want to wait here until our provisions run out. Sorry. I know you were really looking forward to this trip, and you worked so hard on the campsite.”

Emma seemed to take this news rather well. Greg thought she even seemed excited by the prospect, as she nodded and rose from her seat beside the fire.

“Okay,” she said, and appeared deep in thought, biting her lip. A second later, as if she’d made up her mind about something, she nodded and said again, “Right. I’ll get my stuff together. We won’t be able to take all of our gear, Dad, not if we have to hike a really long distance. That means you’ll have to leave some of your nice camping supplies here. We have too many tents, for one thing. Everyone doesn’t need their own tent. You and I can share a tent, and Tuck and Tommy can share another. Eustace…well, he needs his own, I guess. Best to travel light, you know?”

“Good thinking” he replied, trying not to think of what would happen if they ran out of the supplies they could manage to carry.

* * *

The surviving portion of the topographic map didn’t show any nearby townships, but many of the nearest streams flowed together into a larger tributary of a river. They decided to try to make for the river and follow it south out of the area and off the map. For their gear, they limited themselves to one full pack each, which meant a lot got left behind. At first, Greg had dumped the sat phone with all of the other gear they were abandoning, but then he’d changed his mind and shoved it into his pack. It wasn’t that big, after all, and maybe somehow he would get it working again.

Eustace had the map and the compass, and he was the only one who had ever been in the area, so he naturally took the lead. This was truly untouched territory, with no sign of human passage anywhere. They headed down the slope, with towering trees looming over them constantly. It seemed they were constantly cutting and pushing their way through leaves and limbs.

Tuck still seemed quite tired from their morning walk, so was unsteady on his feet. His little friend Tommy stuck with him, however, and occasionally muttered some joke or silly comment, as if to take his mind off the discomfort. Tommy had a bad hip, so he had enough trouble of his own keeping up, but he never complained.

They’d gone maybe an hour, still headed down into the valley, when Eustace called them to a stop.

“Catch your breath, guys,” he said, leaning against the nearest large tree trunk. He unfolded the charred map and held it up. “I think we’re on track here.”

“What do you mean by on track?” Tuck asked, grimacing and clutching his hiking staff with both hands until his leathery knuckles turned yellow. “We’re just heading south. How hard can that be?”

“Exactly,” Eustace said. “And we’re right on track, according to the compass and the map.”

“Well, it’s good to know we can walk in a straight line,” Tuck said.

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated, old man,” Eustace said. “I’ve got our whole route mapped out in my head. We walk south to the stream and follow that to the river and follow that to the nearest town. Point A, Point B, Point C, and we’re home. No problem. Got it? Now, there’s hundreds of kilometers ahead of us, guys. It’s too early to start complaining. Come on.”

He took a half-hearted swing with the machete, knocked a few branches out of his way, and resumed hiking. Tuck jabbed his hiking staff into the ground almost spitefully and went after him.

“At least I got rested up this morning,” Tommy said. He had a tendency to kick at loose rocks or piles of leaves along the way, as if he were a child strolling through the park. “This is sort of invigorating. It’s working the stiffness out of my hip.”

“You say that now…” Tuck said, shaking his head.

They finally reached the bottom of the valley and came in sight of a small burbling creek, the water rushing over mossy rocks. Greg found the sound of it soothing, but the creek also gave them their first broad view of the sky. As Eustace lowered himself to the ground beside the water, Greg cast his gaze skyward, looking for the sun. He finally spotted it almost directly behind them, and he was shocked at how low it was.

“The day is passing quickly,” he said.

“Huh, what was that?” Eustace said, splashing water on his face.

“We won’t get far before sunset,” Greg said. “We’ll have to keep our eyes out for a good place to camp.”

“Camping close to fresh water is always a good idea,” Emma said. “Not too close, of course. You want to be above the water, in case it rains.”

Eustace took a long swig from his canteen, refilled it in the creek, then slowly, achingly rose. “I’ll tell you what, kiddo. Why don’t you keep your eye out for a good camping spot? I think you’re the expert here. When you find the perfect place, let me know.”

At this, Emma beamed, grinning broadly. Refolding the map, Eustace stepped over the burbling water and began tracing a path parallel to the stream. As the group followed him, Greg could hear Tommy constantly encouraging Tuck to pick up the pace. Despite the fact that his dad was a tough-looking old guy, he didn’t seem to have as much energy as the others. Greg wasn’t doing so hot himself. The thin air and rough terrain had already thoroughly worn him out, and he had no idea how he was going to endure days, maybe even weeks of this endless slog.

Don’t think about it, he told himself. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Eventually, they reached a place that prevented them from following the creek—steep rocks rose up before them, the stream gushing down from a high place. Eustace paused here for a moment, scowling at the steep slope as if it had personally offended him. Then, finally, he shrugged and headed a different direction.

“If we can’t follow the stream, how will we know which way to go?” Tuck asked between heaving breaths.

“According to the map, we go due south to the river,” Eustace said, “and the river will take us out of here. So we just have to head due south. No big deal, right? We can circle around the rocks.”

He led them away from the stream, up the slope to more open land, and then turned again. From time to time, he paused, pulled out the map, and looked around, as if he could match their surroundings with some spot on the map. The guy probably just wanted to look like he knew what he was doing. After all, the forest was little more than a jumble of shapes and shadows. Everything flowed together, and Greg felt so completely turned around that it gave him a strange sense of vertigo.

I guess I wouldn’t make a good mountain man, he thought.

Afternoon gave way to evening, the light through the trees shifting toward violet and they needed to stop for the night. Everyone was exhausted and walking had gradually devolved into stumbling, as they fought to take each step. Emma began pointing out potential camping spots. Unfortunately, they had lost sight of the stream, so they couldn’t follow her suggestion of camping near water. Instead, they chose a small clearing where the ground was relatively flat. It was small enough that the canopy of leaves still mostly enclosed them overhead. However, they were able to set up the three small tents they’d brought with them, pile their gear nearby, and even dig a shallow firepit.

Emma was in the process of lining the firepit with rocks, and Greg was unrolling sleeping bags inside the tents when a light rain began to fall. Tuck was already sprawled out in his tent, while Tommy and Eustace unpacked some food.

“Oh, great,” Emma said. “I should have looked for kindling first. Now all the wood is getting wet.”

The rain grew steadily worse over the course of about half an hour, as Emma scrambled about the area and tried to find the driest sticks. Unfortunately, by the time she returned to the firepit, it was already becoming a small puddle. The rain didn’t last more than an hour, but it was enough to make everything significantly colder and more miserable. Greg had put his jacket back on, which helped, but he still had water streaming down his face and plastering his hair against his head.

Finally, Greg, Tommy, and Eustace squatted down beside Emma in front of the firepit. She had a box of waterproof matches in one hand, but she just held it there, glaring down at the puddle.

“That was really bad timing,” she said. “It couldn’t have waited to rain until the middle of the night or something? We won’t get a fire going, not like this.”

“It’s okay,” Greg said, patting her on the back. “We can go one night without a fire.”

“We should have put something out to collect the rainwater,” she said. “A bowl or something. I was too upset about the fire and forgot.”

“We have enough water for another day,” Greg said. “When we find a stream again, we’ll fill up.”

“It’ll have to be soon,” she said, tucking the matches into her jacket pocket. “You can get dehydrated up here really easy. Plus, we should probably boil any water we find. You shouldn’t drink it right out of the stream.” As she said this, she gave Eustace a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, kiddo,” he replied, flashing his teeth through his thick, red beard in what seemed to be an embarrassed smile. “I got thirsty. What can I say?”

“We also need to ration our food very carefully,” she added.

Eustace and Tommy were both clutching a number of plastic food pouches, which contained freeze-dried vegetables and meat for soup, dried fruit, and a few servings of MRE food. Emma reached out and plucked four of the smallest pouches.

“This should be enough for tonight,” she said, setting them at her feet. “I suggest you put the rest back.”

Eustace and Tommy traded a look. They seemed both amused and perhaps a little uncomfortable at being told what to do by the youngest member of the group, but Tommy finally grabbed the other pouches out of Eustace’s hands and stuffed them in his backpack.

“So we should make finding fresh water a priority tomorrow,” Greg said.

“Yes, and we should dump more of our gear,” Emma said. “I think we’re still carrying too much. We have to travel light, Dad. People are already getting tired. Look at Grandpa. How is he going to last at this rate? The clothes on our backs, sleeping bags, tents, food, water, first aid kits, and basic survival gear—that’s all we need. You guys are still carrying blankets, tarps, some of the fishing gear, and a bunch of random knickknacks. The electronic devices and so on—all tech should be left behind. It’s useless now anyway.”

“You talk like you’ve done this before,” Eustace said, ripping open one of the small pouches of dried meat. “You look like a suburban kid in Grade 9, but you talk like a wilderness explorer. You got some secret history you’re not telling us about?”

Emma averted her gaze, clearly embarrassed. “I just read a lot of websites before the trip.”

Greg thought of the dead sat phone in his pack. Maybe I’ll stuff it a little deeper into the pack, where Emma won’t see it and be disappointed in me, he thought.

11

As Tuck snored softly in his tent, the others went through their gear and let Emma recommend what to keep and what to dump. While rooting through his pack, Greg tried to shove the sat phone down into the bottom, but his daughter walked up behind him and thrust her hand into the pack.

“Dad, were you planning on keeping this?” she said, pulling the phone out. “It’s just a lump of plastic now. We should toss it, don’t you think?”

And with that, she tossed the satellite phone onto the discard pile. He briefly considered exerting his parental authority to reclaim it, but he knew she was probably right. Once they’d lightened their gear, following Emma’s suggestions, they reduced their total weight by almost a third.

Afterward, Eustace pulled out the map and studied it for a few minutes. Eventually, he called Greg and Tommy over, though Emma came as well.

“I think I’ve figured out a better route,” he said. “It’ll be more certain than following the river, and more straightforward.”

He pointed to something on the map. When Greg leaned in close, he saw a blue dotted line, very faint, cutting across the topography.

“What is that?” Greg asked, and just before Eustace answered, he felt a moment of trepidation. This was a gas company map, after all.

“One of our pipelines,” Eustace replied. “It’s not far from here, and unlike the river, it doesn’t zigzag all over the place.”

“What a smart idea,” Tommy said, giving a big grin that revealed he was missing a bottom incisor. “We should’ve done that from the start.”

“Well, I didn’t want to bring the company into it,” Eustace said, glancing briefly at Greg, “but if it’ll get us out of here faster, it’s worth it. What do you say, Emma? Greg?”

Emma shrugged. Apparently, her study of camping and wilderness survival hadn’t covered natural gas pipelines, but Greg was struggling hard not to let his feelings show. The case he’d been building against Eustace’s company was specifically related to allegations that their pipelines had contaminated local water supplies. He’d intended to use the camping trip as an opportunity to look for evidence which he could take back to build the case.

Now, however, their only real goal was to get out of the wilderness, and he couldn’t afford to make Eustace an enemy. More importantly, however, if the accusations were true, then sources of fresh water along the pipeline could be contaminated and unsafe to drink. Still, he tried not to give any indication of his thoughts, as he considered how best to respond.

Eustace noted his hesitation and slid a finger along the map to a small X in the middle of the dotted line. “There are way stations along the pipeline. Actually, the reason we keep maps like that in our choppers is so we can find the way stations. That’s the point of this map. Here’s one of them. We stock a lot of supplies there. Heck, we might even find some functional radio equipment, and if we’re real lucky, one of our emergency technicians will be on-site.”

It was like frosting on a crap sandwich, but Greg couldn’t pass it up. Way stations with radio equipment and technicians on-site. He nodded and said, “All right, I’m on board. Do we know how to get there?”

Eustace just stared at the map and said nothing. Greg looked up at the now-ominous canopy of leaves overheard and the tiny specks of gray sky that were visible through the gaps.

“We brought binoculars,” Emma said. “Shouldn’t a big pipe like that be visible from a long distance?”

Eustace hesitated a moment before saying, “Yes, the pipeline is visible, as long as you’re above the trees.”

“So, let’s look for a ledge above the trees,” Greg said.

“We can’t do that tonight,” Tommy said. “We have maybe half an hour of good light left. You don’t want to be stumbling around in the woods at night.”

Emma rose and started walking away. It almost seemed like Tommy’s words had offended her suddenly, and Greg started to say something. Then he realized his daughter was gazing upward into the treetops.

“If we climbed one of the taller trees, we’d get a pretty good view,” she said. She pointed at a particularly large tree nearby. “Some of these white pine and black spruce are huge. That one even has a few low branches I could use.”

“You?” Greg said, standing and moving to his daughter’s side. “Why would you be the one climbing? Leave it to one of us big guys. It’s risky.”

Emma looked from Greg to Eustace to Tommy, grimaced, and said, “Dad, none of you old guys are…I mean, I’m in the best shape for climbing. I’ve done the rock-climbing wall at school dozens of times.”

“Climbing a rock wall is not the same as climbing a tree,” he said.

“No, it’s harder,” she said with a smile. “Look at those big branches there. It’s practically a ladder, Dad.”

The biggest trees around them were towering behemoths, rising forty or fifty meters. It made him dizzy just looking up at them. How could Emma even think about it?

“She’s right,” Eustace said, picking himself up with a grunt and a hippo-like expulsion of breath. “We’re a bunch of out-of-shape old men. Not a one of us could climb that tree, even if we were being chased by a hungry bear.”

“Dad, I can do it.” Emma headed toward their packs, which were stacked together at the base of one of the larger trees. She rooted around inside and pulled out the pair of binoculars, slipping the strap over her head. Then she pulled out a length of nylon rope and held it up. “See? I’ll do it safely.”

“You don’t have climbing equipment,” he noted. “Just a length of rope.”

“I don’t even need the rope,” she said. “I’m just using it so you’ll worry a little less. Actually, it’ll kind of be in my way.”

Greg groaned. “Okay, fine, forget the rope. Just, please, take it slow. Carefully consider every move before you make it, okay?”

“Dad.” She laughed as she approached one of the biggest trees in the area. “This tree has a lot of big branches, and they’re all pretty close together. I’ll be fine.”

She dumped the rope, reached up to the nearest branch, and pulled herself up into the enormous tree. The black spruce had numerous short, compact branches tipped in clusters of green needles. Once she was in the tree, she almost disappeared behind the green, moving like a pale squirrel from branch to branch.

Greg glanced over his shoulder and saw Eustace and Tommy standing behind him. Tommy was gaping in amazement, showing off his mouthful of unhealthy teeth.

“She’s doing great,” Eustace said. “You should trust the kid a little more.”

“Let’s wait until she’s safely back on the ground,” Greg replied.

When Emma reached the top of the tree, she disappeared entirely, though he could still hear her moving around up there through breaks in the rhythmic snoring of his father. After a couple of minutes, she began climbing back down.

“Slowly,” he called to her. “Think about every step down before you take it.”

“Dad, stop,” she shouted back. “You’re distracting me.”

A sudden strange sound from behind him startled Greg and made him lurch forward. Up in the tree, Emma gasped, and branches shook. When Greg turned to look for the source of the sound, he saw Tuck dragging himself out of his tent, eyes wide as he gazed up into the tree.

“Is she climbing all the way up in that tree?” he croaked. “What’s going on here? I fall asleep for one minute, and you’ve got my granddaughter climbing a forty-meter tree like a lemur?”

Greg put a finger to his lips, but his dad came trundling over like a roused bear. “She’s a young girl. What if she falls? Whose ideas was this? Starting a campfire is one thing, but come on, Greg. Use your head.” He tapped a gnarled finger against the side of his head.

Emma had gone quiet for a few seconds, but Greg heard her resume descending, moving more slowly this time.

“She’s better at climbing than I was at her age,” Greg said. The irony that he was now defending her decision didn’t escape him, but it took a furious act of will not to respond to his dad’s grumpiness with anger.

“That’s not saying much,” Tuck said with a scowl, “seeing as how you fell out of the maple tree in the backyard and sprained your wrist when you were, what, ten?”

I’m surprised you remember, Greg thought, bitterly. I’m surprised you remember anything about me at that age.

Instead of saying this, he shrugged it off and turned away. Talking about childhood memories with the father who had largely ignored him for so many years would only stir up his worst feelings.

“Emma, don’t let them talk you into doing crazy stuff,” Tuck shouted up into the tree. “They should be looking out for you, not risking your life.”

“I’m fine, Grandpa,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly. “Don’t yell at me. I’m trying to concentrate now.”

A nice way of asking the old man to shut up. Tuck seemed to take the hint, as he grunted and planted his hands on his narrow hips. Emma continued her descent, and Greg could see now that she was very carefully picking her way from branch to branch. His father’s outburst had induced a potent mix of bad emotions, and it made him restless. He began to pace back and forth, his hands crammed deep into the pockets of his jacket.

I’d really like to punch something, he thought.

His back was turned when Emma reached the ground, so he didn’t realize she was there until she spoke. And then her voice was so close that it startled him again.

“Why did you climb a maple tree when you were a kid?” she asked.

He turned to see his daughter standing at the base of the tree, spruce needles stuck in her hair and dusting her shoulders. He noted a small tear on the sleeve of her jacket.

“You’re safe,” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied, in a tone that said, Of course. “Why did you climb that maple tree?”

“I was…” He had to cast his memory back for a second. “I believe I was trying to rescue the neighbor’s cat.”

Tuck barked a laugh and flapped a hand in his direction. “There was no cat. He was showing off to his little buddies from down the street.”

“Okay, Dad, okay,” Greg said tightly. “Let’s drop it. Emma, what did you see up there?”

She turned to Eustace and said, “I spotted your pipeline. It’s almost looks like a…a scar or something cutting through the forest.”

Greg could tell by her tone of voice that she hadn’t meant this as an insult, but Eustace winced.

Scar, Greg thought. You chose the right word, Emma. Good job.

“It’s that way,” she continued, pointing off to her right. “Not far. It looked pretty big.”

“Oh yeah, she’s a beast,” Eustace said. “Good eye, kiddo. We’ll head off that way in the morning, guys. What do you say?”

“Best break camp right at sunrise,” Tuck said. “It’ll be a heck of a long day tomorrow, I imagine.”

And with that, the leathery old man turned and shuffled back toward his tent.

* * *

When Greg crawled out of the tent at first light, he’d already been awake a couple of hours. A long day of walking had worn on him, but the magnitude of what they were dealing with, of the long road ahead, of what his wife and son might be going through, had made it a restless night. He’d tried his best, tossing and turning until the forest around him emerged from the gloom. Then he’d given up any pretense of sleep and began packing up their gear for the long day ahead of them.

He made no attempt to be quiet, and the noise began to rouse the others. Tommy and Tuck had shared a tent, and they emerged together like two gnarled butterflies from the same cocoon. Then Eustace gave a deep rumble and joined them. Emma was last. She had finally removed the last remnants of makeup, and it made her look younger.

They ate a small breakfast in silence, everyone bleary-eyed and stinking, then tore down the tents and set off in the direction indicated by Emma. The ground here was carpeted with enough leaves, needles, and old twigs to give a bit of spring to each step.

Though Emma had pointed the way, Eustace quickly took the lead again, the compass in his left hand, the machete in his right. According to the compass, they were headed roughly southwest. Tuck and Tommy brought up the rear. They’d walked maybe a kilometer when Tommy suddenly called out and dashed to one side.

“Where you going?” Eustace said.

Tommy stopped and squatted down between two trees, pointing at something on the ground. “Guys, someone come and tell me if this is what I think it is.”

Greg and Emma walked up behind him. It didn’t take long to see what he’d spotted: a pile of animal droppings among the leaves. They were tubular and coiled, dark brown, and there was enough of them that Greg knew they had to have come from a large mammal of some kind.

“What do you say, guys?” Tommy asked. “Moose? Elk?”

But Emma stepped to one side and used the heel of her hiking boot to move some leaves aside. When she did, she uncovered a broad footprint in the soft soil. Five toes, with deep claw marks, the large toe on the outside. There was no mistaking it, and Greg’s stomach did a little flip-flop.

“Bear,” Greg said. “Definitely a bear. A big one.”

“And here, too,” Tommy said, pointing at shallow scratch marks on the side of one of the trees.

Eustace kicked leaves back over the footprint, as if the very sight of it made him nervous.

“Bears are supposed to be hibernating this time of year,” Tommy said, rising.

“No hibernating yet,” Emma said. “It’s still too early in the season. A lot of bears will still be looking for food to prepare for their long sleep.”

“We’re careful with our food,” Tuck said. “Keep everything packed away. If they don’t smell it, they won’t come rooting around for a snack.”

Despite Tuck’s words, his friend Tommy had a big smile on his face that suggested he was more excited than scared at the possibility.

“A big old grizzly bear,” he said. “I’ve heard about them all my life, but I’ve never seen one up close. This isn’t a zoo here, folks. This is real, raw nature.”

“I doubt a bear would attack a whole group of humans,” Emma said with a shrug. She was clearly trying to be encouraging.

“If it’s a mama bear with cubs, or if it’s sick, then it’s a danger,” Eustace said. “Fortunately, we’ve got protection.” He gestured to the hunting rifle which was slung through a strap on his pack. It was a sleek, black bolt-action rifle loaded with a .270 Winchester cartridge. Greg knew Tuck and Tabitha had one just like it back at their ranch, but he’d never fired the thing. He wasn’t sure what it would do to a furious, charging mama grizzly.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” he said, rising. “Let’s keep going, guys.”

They all backed away from the bear scat like they were backing away from a shrine. Then they turned and resumed walking. They’d gone maybe ten meters when a new sound came to them on the wind. It was faint, at first, almost musical, like an old reed flute. But then it took shape, and Greg knew exactly what it was.

“Wolves howling,” he said.

12

A week! An entire week of stress and silence. Tabitha couldn’t believe it. She’d always been fiercely self-reliant, but still, surely the government would have come up with a solution to the problem by now. Every morning, she had the same experience of slowly remembering that she was waking up in a new, dead world and reaching over to try the lamp on the nightstand. It never worked.

They’re not going to fix it, she thought, as she pulled on her boots. We can’t count on the government to make everything better this time. It’s up to us.

She washed her face and hands in a basin of water she’d placed on her dresser, brushed her teeth, then headed downstairs. Just preparing a cup of hot coffee had become an ordeal since she had to get the woodstove burning, so she decided to skip it for now. She would heat up some water later. When she stepped outside, she found Darryl standing at a corner of the porch, the old Winchester rifle slung over his shoulder. Thus far, her grandson seemed to have handled the situation fairly well. He didn’t complain much and was always willing to help. Though he was often scowling, that wasn’t unusual. She’d always known him to be a bit brooding—a trait he shared with his grandfather, whether he realized it or not.

“Hey there, soldier,” Tabitha said, softly shutting the front door behind her. “I’m here to relieve you. How’d your watch go? Anything unusual happen?”

He gave her a funny look. Clearly, he didn’t find the pseudo-military talk particularly amusing, but he also seemed half-asleep. He set the rifle down on the porch handrail and rubbed his eyes with his hands. It was still predawn, with only a hint of light coming over the distant trees to the east.

“Absolutely nothing,” Darryl said, stifling a yawn. “Except the cows making a racket, of course. Do they ever sleep?”

They’d brought the electric fence even closer to the house, limiting the cattle to a small pasture beside the barn. Of course, it was no longer electric. Without power, it was little more than a flimsy wire fence that wouldn’t do much to keep cows in or people out. She knew eventually she would need to build a sturdier fence, but she lacked the materials. Tabitha could see some of the cows lounging near a corner of the barn in the dimness. A small gas lamp sat on a table near the porch steps, but Darryl had turned it down as low as it would go. Tabitha picked it up now and twisted to knob to give them a bit more light.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said. “Another quiet night.”

The words were scarcely out of her mouth when she heard a loud scream from somewhere nearby. She nearly jumped out of her skin, dropping the lamp back onto the table, as Darryl flinched. The scream didn’t last long, but the echo continued to reverberate long and far. Distressed, the cows, began dashing about and stamping the ground.

Tabitha started to pick up the lantern again, then changed her mind and grabbed the Winchester instead. As she rushed down the porch steps, Darryl took the lantern and followed. The scream had come from the barn, she was sure of it. As she ran toward it, dashing across the gravel driveway, she raised the rifle and tried to set the butt again her shoulder. Holding and aiming it while running was awkward, forcing her to check her speed.

The cows had access to their pens from a sliding door at the back of the barn, but the bottle calves were kept in their own enclosed area in the barn. Tabitha decided to check there first, so she went through the front door and dashed across the large open storage area that took up the front half of the barn. As Darryl followed, bright lantern light sent her shadow cutting all the way across the room and up the far wall.

She moved through a gate to the cattle pens at the back of the barn. It didn’t take long to see the problem. Outside the first pen, a puddle of fresh blood glinted darkly in the lamplight. Tabitha squatted nearby and spotted what appeared to be animal tracks.

“It wasn’t a person screaming,” she said. “It was one of the calves.”

“One of the ones we rescued the other day?” Darryl asked, coming up beside her.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. She pointed at the trail of paw prints heading toward the sliding door. “Mountain lion. It was pretty bold to come right on property like that, especially so close to the house.”

“Poor little guy,” Darryl said. “What a way to go.”

“Girl,” she corrected. “It was a cow, not a bull. Either way, now the mountain lion knows the calves are an easy meal. It’ll keep coming back if we don’t find a way to stop it, and once the calves are gone, it’ll move on to the next prey.”

“The field mice?” Darryl said.

Tabitha shook her head. “The field mice are too small and hard to catch. The next prey will be…us. A person is a lot easier to catch and kill than a full-grown cow based on size alone. It takes a pretty big cat to take down a large heifer, but even a small mountain lion can take down a person.”

Neither Darryl nor Tabitha were particularly big. Her grandson took after his grandfather, with a wiry frame and smallish stature, and Tabitha had only gotten smaller over the years thanks to her bent back. She rose, set the Winchester over her shoulder, and began kicking dirt over the puddle of blood.

“What do we do?” Darryl said. “I’m not all that interested in being a snack for a desperate mountain lion.”

“You and me both, sonny,” Tabitha replied. “We’ll have to track down the animal and kill it. Otherwise, it will continue to be a problem for us, and since it found a nice meal today, it will be even bolder next time. I hate to shoot an innocent creature like that, especially when we don’t need it for meat, but I’m afraid it has become a very real threat to our safety. Come on.”

Once the blood had been covered by the dirt, she headed through the back door. The cows had scattered across the field, and she and Darryl spent the next hour or so rounding them up and coaxing them back into the barn. With no workers, it was a daily hassle milking all of the cows, so they went to work right away. The lack of electric milking machines meant she’d had to teach her grandson how to do it manually. They sat on stools with large buckets, like old-time farmers, though Tabitha kept the Winchester close at all times.

Sadly, despite all of the hard work, they’d already lost two cows to mastitis. Tabitha had worked hard for many years, and she thought she had a tremendous capacity for absorbing stress. However, she was really feeling it now. The constant pressing needs of the farm were weighing on her every waking moment until she almost felt sick with it.

The damned mountain lion is just one more thing to add to the ever-growing pile of problems, she thought sourly.

They worked until lunchtime, then headed back to the house. Marion had prepared some cold sandwiches and set out a bag of potato chips. Tabitha took her time, savoring each bite as she thought about the long afternoon that remained.

“Grandma, couldn’t we reintroduce the bottle calves to the moms?” Darryl asked. “That would save us a whole lot of work, and it might save the adult cows.”

Tabitha considered his suggestion. Theoretically, it could be done. “It may take work getting the moms to accept their calves,” she said, “but it’s worth a try. We’ll have fewer to milk. Plus, keeping the calves with the rest of the herd will provide them some protection from that big cat.”

“You have too many cows,” Marion noted, as she poured a big glass of iced tea. “Without workers, and without your usual supply chain, you won’t be able to keep up with them for long.”

It was a thought that had occurred to Tabitha, though she hadn’t wanted to speak it. She’d been holding on to the hope that the government would restore power before their situation slowly consumed her farm like a starved body eating itself from the inside. She took a big bite of her sandwich, chewed angrily, then washed it down with a gulp of iced tea.

“Well,” she said, setting her glass down roughly on the tabletop. “You’re probably right.”

“That’s a lot of hamburgers,” Darryl said.

He smiled when he said it, but she didn’t think he was really joking. After all, with the refrigerator and freezer incapacitated, they no longer had any meat. They were eating the last of it at that very moment.

“I’ve thought about it,” Tabitha said. “It’s better to slaughter them for meat than watch them die from mastitis or predators. Even if we use the meat for trade, we still need a place to store it. It’s getting colder outside, but we can’t bury meat in the snow. It’ll attract more predators. We could put the freezer outside in the cold and keep it locked shut. That might store some of the meat, but not all. Definitely not all. We’ve got too many head of cattle.”

“Could we smoke it or cure it?” Marion said.

“Possibly, but that’ll take a lot of work,” Tabitha replied. She could envision turning one of their small sheds outside into a smokehouse, though she wasn’t sure they had all the resources they would need to make the conversion. “Well, that’s not our biggest problem, anyway. If the power continues to stay out, sooner or later people in town are going to want what we have. Filmore already made his play at that damn town meeting. He hasn’t acted on it yet, but we’ve got the biggest dairy herd in the township. Eventually, Filmore and his cronies, and maybe other townsfolk working with them, are going to try to claim what we’ve got. Mark my words. They’ll say it’s for the common good, might even offer some pathetic compensation, but it won’t be optional.”

“Keep the cows in the barn,” Marion said, picking at her sandwich. She didn’t seem to have much appetite. Still worried sick about her husband. Poor Greg and Tuck were still up there on the mountain somewhere.

“We can’t lock up the cows,” Tabitha said. “They have to graze. They need pasture time.” She finished the last bite of her sandwich and took another long swig of tea.

“Build a fence,” Darryl said, piling chips inside the remaining half of his sandwich. “A really tall fence, with extra security features, like spikes on top and so on.”

It was a brilliant idea, though the amount of work it would take to build made her tired just thinking about it. Could they stay on top of milking the cows and still prioritize building a fence large enough to enclose enough grazing land for the cows?

“We have a shed full of scrap wood,” she noted. “Much of the wood from the old barn Tuck took down last year. He makes sure our tools are in good shape, and he’s got drawers full of nails—more nails than you could use in a lifetime. We can’t use the electric post hole digger, of course, but there are manual diggers that’ll work just fine.”

As she thought about it, as she envisioned it, she got more excited about the prospect. A massive fence encircling the entire property would be ideal. She very much liked the idea of keeping out the world, but if they could just enclose the cows, it would be enough.

“That doesn’t solve the problem of storing meat and milk,” she said.

Darryl took a loud bite of his sandwich. He’d stuffed the chips in so high that they gushed out when he ate it.

“You know, Grandma,” he said, through a mouthful of food, “I might have an idea for that, too. Let me work it out a little bit, and I’ll get back to you.”

13

The natural gas pipeline was indeed as much of an eyesore as Greg had feared. The company had cleared trees on either side, which created a scar that slashed through the lush green of the forest. The pipeline itself was a dull gray, roughly ninety centimeters in diameter, and raised on enormous concrete posts. It followed the natural curve of the land, which meant following it wasn’t always as easy as Eustace had made it out to be. Still, it provided clear direction. No more meandering, no more sense of vertigo beneath the trees, or being turned around.

As the days passed, the landscape all flowed together. Only the slope seemed to change, though even this became a kind of rhythmic drudgery. They maintained the same order from day to day, with Eustace in the lead, holding the map, Greg and Emma behind him, and Tuck and Tommy generally bringing up the rear. Fortunately, they no longer had to push and slash their way through undergrowth or dense branches.

By the sixth day, resources were waning, they’d gone through most of their food, and their energy was flagging. With only a small amount of freeze-dried vegetables and trail mix left, they decided to set up camp early so they could search for water and food. Tommy, though he was near the back of the group, spotted some open ground near the top of a rise that seemed suitable as a campsite. They stumbled toward it and dumped their packs on the ground.

“Okay, folks,” Eustace said, sucking in breath like he was being choked. His beard had become unkempt, stubble creeping up his cheeks and down his neck, his big, red eyebrows gradually merging into one. “If we’re going to find food and water, we need to divvy up tasks. Anybody care to volunteer for something?”

Greg expected Emma to immediately volunteer, but her enthusiasm had waned as the long days of walking dragged on. Her puffy jacket was zipped up tight, her toque pulled low, and she had a crust of dried snot on her upper lip.

“Why don’t you take a breather,” he told her. “I’ll get the campfire going and find some fresh water to boil.”

“Okay, Dad,” she said, sleepily. “That’s fine with me.”

Though he was the smallest man in the group, barely an inch taller than Emma, with short legs and a bad hip, Tommy came jogging into the campsite. The man had been trudging along like all the others, but from time to time, he experienced little bursts of energy. The same was true of his personality, and he now clapped his hands as he said, “I’ll scout the area around the camp and make sure we’re not on a predator hunting trail. Don’t want a hungry mama bear to wander in while we’re sleeping. Although, actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing one with my own eyes, as long as she was far away and minding her own business.”

“If you see a bear, let us know,” Greg said, as he dug the waterproof matches out of a side pocket on his backpack. “We’ll take a shot at it and scare it off.”

“Don’t shoot the bear,” Emma said.

“No, no, we won’t hurt it unless we have to.”

Eustace studied the map for a minute then said, “I’m going over to the pipeline for a bit. I think I can figure out how close the nearest way station is by the serial numbers. I’ll have to get up real close, maybe climb up on one of the concrete pads.”

“That’s a good idea,” Greg said, as he began clearing a space for the firepit. “The sooner we get some fresh supplies, the better.”

As Eustace and Tommy left the campsite by different paths, Tuck and Emma relaxed beside the gear. It was a chilly afternoon, the cold getting worse, and Greg could feel it biting even through his jacket. At least it hadn’t rained in a few days, which meant the sticks he gathered were relatively dry. As he worked on getting fire going, Tuck and Emma were chatting about local plants. They had Emma’s survivalist manual open between them, and Tuck was pointing out some of the plants from the book.

“You see that one over there with the little white flowers on top?” he was saying. “That’s called bistort or snakeroot. Here it is in your book. You can eat the leaves and shoots. I never tried it before. Not sure if it tastes good.”

Once the fire was going really good, Greg left it burning and went to find a source of fresh water. They’d encountered numerous small, meandering creeks during their long hike, and today was no exception. Down the slope to the west, he came upon a small trickle of water working its way down a rocky ledge. He collected it in two canteens and brought it back to camp.

By then, Tuck and Emma were walking around the campsite, identifying various plants. Greg pulled out the small enamelware pot they’d brought with them and began boiling the water in batches.

“Oh, wow, we’ve got animal tracks,” Tuck said suddenly. “Look at that, would you?”

Greg felt a jolt of fear and turned to them, almost knocking the pot off the crude framework he’d set over the fire. Had they inadvertently camped in a dangerous area? It would be just their luck. But Tuck and Emma were smiling.

“What is it?” Greg asked. “What kind of animal?”

“Maybe a deer,” Tuck said. “I’m not that good at reading tracks. What do you think, Emma?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. The hoof prints aren’t as clear in real life as they are in the book, but deer seems most likely.”

Tuck walked back over to the campfire. Greg noticed a bit of a limp. The poor guy had pushed himself to his limit during the hike. Despite everything, Greg felt sorry for him. He was a tough old fellow, but this was clearly more than he’d bargained for. As he sat down again on the grass, he stretched out his right leg and rested his heel on a nearby rock.

“Are you okay, Grandpa?” Emma asked.

“Just feeling my age,” he replied, rubbing his leg above the knee. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing works quite the way it’s supposed to when you get old, but I’ll be fine. I’ve got a lot more in me than it might seem.”

Once the water had boiled and cooled again, Greg dipped a cup into it and gave it a sip. Immediately, a rank metallic taste filled his mouth, and he gagged and spat it out.

“Oh, this water is foul,” he said. “Like drinking the seepage from an industrial plant.”

“Can I try it?” Emma asked.

“Just a small sip,” he said, handing her the cup. “Don’t swallow it.”

She dipped the cup into the pot and took a drink. Like him, she immediately spat it out, but then she wiped her tongue on her sleeve.

“Yuck, what’s wrong with it?” she asked.

“Something bad is in the water table here,” he noted. “It’s polluted, just as I suspected. We’ll have to get our drinking water elsewhere. I have to pour this out. Sorry.”

“Just as you suspected?” Emma asked, but Greg decided to leave that question alone for now.

He picked up the pot and carried it out beyond the camp. Once he was out of sight, he squatted, unzipped his jacket, and reached into an inner pocket. Producing a small plastic tube, he filled it with water from the pot, sealed it tight, and put it back into his pocket. Then he dumped the rest of the water on the ground.

Of course, he knew damn well why the water wasn’t potable. It was exactly what the whistleblower had said, and exactly what he’d suspected when he’d arranged the trip. Eustace’s company had been allowing third parties to bury industrial and chemical waste on their land. According to the whistleblower, a lot of money had changed hands for the privilege. It seemed there was something to the story after all. Greg wouldn’t know that for sure until he had the sample analyzed in a lab, but he had tasted for himself, and now he knew something was wrong. He had just risen again, shaking the last drops of water out of the pot, when he heard Emma cry out. Racing back to the camp, he found Tuck sitting in the same spot, but Emma was just visible between the trees, standing next to Tommy.

“What happened?” Greg asked. “Why did she yell?”

Tuck shrugged. “Tommy called her over. No telling what he found.”

Greg rushed past his father and found Tommy and Emma clearing the ground. It didn’t take long to see what they’d found. More animal tracks, but these were much bigger, with distinctive claw marks in the soft earth.

“This is very recent,” Emma said, when her dad stepped up beside her. “Is it tracking us, following us along the pipeline? Is it hiding somewhere right now, waiting until our backs are turned or we’re sleeping? Dad, what do we do?” She started looking around wildly.

Greg tried to comfort her with a gentle pat on the back, but this only made her flinch.

“Now, now, let’s not get carried away here,” Tommy said, kneeling beside the tracks. He placed his hand, fingers splayed, beside the clearest of the tracks. The bear paw print was easily twice the size of his hand.

Grizzly, Greg thought, and felt a shiver run down his spine. And a big one, at that.

“It can’t be hunting us,” Tommy said, with a little grunt that sounded like he was unconvinced of his own claim. “Surely, if a big old bear was following us, we’d have heard her crashing about. I think it’s more likely she passed through the area shortly before we got here. Man, she must be a beautiful old bear. Look at the size of that paw! She could step on you and not even notice you were there.”

“Beautiful is not the first word that comes to mind,” Greg said. “Could she be tracking the deer? The deer tracks seemed a little older.”

“Could be,” Tommy said, and gave a little whoop. “The hunt is on. I bet she could eat a whole deer in three bites.”

“You almost sound excited,” Emma said.

“Grizzlies are my favorite animal,” Tommy said. “I know they can be dangerous, but you gotta admit, they’re majestic creatures. I love them.”

“You won’t love a grizzly if it’s chomping on your head,” Tuck shouted from the clearing.

“Aw, we’re just cruising through its usual stomping grounds, that’s all,” Tommy said with a wave of his hand. “This isn’t a horror movie monster we’re talking about here. It’s an animal trying to mind its own business. As long as we’re careful and no one wanders off alone, it shouldn’t mess with us.”

“Well, let’s keep our eyes and ears open,” Greg said. “We’ve got a couple of guns. If it comes around again, do not run from it, and do not scream. The last thing you want is it thinking you are prey.”

He started back into the camp. When he got there, his father was still massaging his leg, but now he was grimacing. And he was digging in deep. Greg was tempted to keep walking past him, if only to avoid another dismissive reply, but he paused beside his father and spoke.

“Dad, what’s wrong with your leg? Did you get injured?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tuck replied, and immediately ceased massaging his leg. Instead, he reached for the hiking staff on the ground beside him. As he continued to speak, he jabbed the stick into the ground and slowly, achingly rose. “I’m just an old man, tired from another day hiking through the mountains. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with my leg. We all get sore. Nothing unusual about that.”

And with that, as if to prove his point, he hobbled toward the campfire, leaning heavily on the hiking staff, and took a seat beside Emma. Greg joined them, though he knew he couldn’t relax for long. He had to find a source of water that didn’t taste like industrial waste.

Both Eustace and he had brought hunting rifles. Eustace carried his Winchester around with him, tucked through a strap on his pack. Greg had a Remington Model 700 into which he’d installed a detachable magazine conversion kit. He picked it up now in passing and set it on the ground nearby. Best to keep it within arm’s reach from now on. As he sat there with the others, gazing into the flickering fire and considering their predicament, he had a troubling thought that wouldn’t go away.

We’re never getting out of the wilderness.

“We should probably set up the tents,” Tommy said, after a couple of minutes. “I’ll be asleep in no time. I’m not even all that hungry, to be honest.”

“I guess we can always eat the bistort,” Tuck said. “Might be smart to have a full belly.”

Just then, they heard some massive thing crashing through the underbrush, panting loudly. Greg fumbled around on the ground, trying to grab the gun with shaking hands. But then Eustace appeared, tapping the side of the machete against a tree as he entered the camp, as if to announce his appearance.

“Wow, Eustace, we thought you might’ve been a big, old grizzly bear,” Tommy said. And did he seem just a little bit disappointed?

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called a bear,” Eustace said, swaying slightly from side to side as he walked toward the campfire. “Good news is, I figured out where we are by the serial number of a length of pipe. We’re just a few kilometers from the next way station, and there’s a good chance it’ll be staffed. You know what that means? Real food, probably, clean water, maybe even a working radio or two or three.”

Greg didn’t want to get his hopes up, but the possibility of a functioning radio was so compelling that he was tempted to get up right then and continue hiking into the night. Tuck wouldn’t make it, though, he knew that, and Tommy was already bleary-eyed from lack of sleep.

Tomorrow, though, he told himself. We may get out of here tomorrow.

14

Eustace headed off in the direction the girl had pointed happy to do this on his own. He couldn’t understand why they thought it was a good idea to bring a female child on a hunting trip. More than once, he wondered why she wasn’t home learning how to cook. Or at the very least, staying out of everyone’s way. He was not going to admit that she’d actually been useful but he was glad she was the one to climb that tree. If she’d fallen, at least she was expendable. Unlike him.

Cresting the top of the hill, he took a deep breath and surveyed the area around him. This was all his and he was not prepared to lose it. Not after he’d worked so hard to get the pipeline built. He’d had to grease far too many regulators’ palms to get past all those environmental hippies trying to stop him.

He found an easy path down and began hunting around on the underside of the pipeline until he spotted a serial number. Pulling out the charred company map, he carefully opened it, then lined it up with the way station numbers on the map. They were closer than he’d feared. This was good news. They were in his territory now and everything would be going his way soon enough.

Taking note of the direction they needed to go, he backtracked back up the path to camp, his once tired steps had a bit more spring to them as he looked forward to sharing the news. He even tried to whistle a tune but all that came out was wheezy air followed by a cough.

As he neared camp, he slowed down, taking quieter steps when he heard voices. Wouldn’t hurt to find out what they talk about when I’m not around.

He saw Greg huddled over a crackling fire where a small pot sat atop. Good. He was hungry. But then, he’d watched as the man raised what could only be water to his lips and took a sip, and he’d seen the response. And one sentence stuck out. One sentence went right through him like sudden cold wind.

“It’s polluted, just as I suspected.”

Eustace froze, holding his breath, as the words sank in and he quickly backed up to where he couldn’t be seen from the camp. He began pacing around in a circle, his fury slowly building.

Just as you suspected, eh? he thought. So that’s what this is all about. Good to know, Greg Healy.

The environmental lawyer had invited the natural gas company boss on a camping trip to gain access to company land. Yeah, it had seemed weird from the outset. Eustace was an acquaintance of Tuck Healy, but still…

Sweet-talking me into this trip so you could get evidence to sue my company, you lawyer scumbag? Eustace thought, grinding his teeth to keep from shouting in anger. Was that your big plan? You’re doing the dirty work of that backstabbing whistleblower.

The anger, as it often did, began like heat low in his belly, then radiated upward until it filled every part of him, every thought until it morphed into a violent tsunami ready to wipe everything out of his path.

“Calm yourself,” he whispered. “Don’t let on that you heard anything. Don’t let him know.”

Moving closer to the camp, he hid behind a tree. Peeking around, he saw Greg return to the fire and set the pot aside while shaking his head. There was more movement in the camp and he shifted back behind the tree to remain hidden. He heard them talking about tracks and Tommy going on and on about grizzlies and he fervently wished one would attack the camp now, as it would save him a lot of trouble.

Still, he’d seen enough. The veil was pulled back, and the situation was clear.

Eustace worked to compose himself before returning to the camp, a task that proved far more difficult than he expected. As he approached the camp, he made as much noise as he could to let them know he was coming. The others didn’t realize he could be almost completely quiet when he wanted to. The gasping and heaving were as much a verbal tic as anything. His anger was still too close to the surface and his boots hit the ground harder than necessary and he kicked angrily at anything in his path. His blood was still boiling as he contemplated different responses to what he’d seen and for the first time, he was glad they were in a SHTF scenario as it would make things easier. Well. Some things, as he certainly wouldn’t need to make anything look like an accident. But first he needed to cool his thoughts.

Slowly, he was able to stuff the anger back down low, even though he knew it would continue to simmer until it would eventually blow. Just not now. Plastering a phony smile on his face, he stepped out from between the trees to rejoin the others in the camp.

For now, we’re all just friends and fellow hikers, he told himself, but I’ll have to deal with this guy eventually. He’s a snake, and he brought me here to entrap me, but I’m not as dumb as he thinks. He’s going to learn that the hard way.

In a last burst of anger, he slapped the side of the machete blade against a tree just before he stepped into the camp, but then he let his smile grow until his cheeks ached.

15

The presence of calf-killing mountain lions had diminished Darryl’s usual fondness for walking the property, but Grandma wanted him to patrol the fence. She’d insisted that he take the rifle, though he felt a little silly walking around with the Winchester slung over his shoulder like some militiaman. At least he was alone, so no one could see this silliness. As he strolled along, he mostly kept his gaze on the ground directly in front of him, though he glanced toward the distant trees from time to time.

Would I even hear a mountain lion if it snuck up behind me? he wondered.

They’d already begun work on transforming the low, flimsy fence into a veritable fortress wall, using scrap lumber from one of the sheds to build a tall, ugly thing that slashed across the pasture like an eyesore. He had reached the far corner of the fenced-in area when he felt a strange crawling unease. It started near the top of his spine and slowly worked its way down, like fingers dancing down his back. At first, he shrugged his shoulders, as if to dislodge the weird feeling, but then he began to envision an enormous cat creeping through the high grass. What if it was coming up behind him at that very moment?

Suddenly, it seemed so certain that he pulled the rifle off his shoulder and spun toward the tree line, looking for slithering shapes in the grass. Instead, he saw a person walking directly behind him, and he was so surprised, he almost dropped the rifle. It bounced in his hands, as he stumbled backward.

She wore an oversized green hooded sweatshirt, and her hands were crammed deep in the front pocket. Since her head was tipped forward, her long, black hair was in her face, but he saw her eyes glinting in the afternoon light.

“Where the heck did you come from?” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. His heart was hammering against his ribs. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

“Well, it’s not like I was going to attack you or anything,” she said. “I’m just out for a walk. I can’t help it if you’re lost in your own little world and don’t notice what’s going on in your immediate vicinity.”

“But what are you doing over here?” he asked. Now that his initial shock had passed, he was embarrassed at his reaction, and he had to struggle not to react grumpily to the girl. “Why did you walk all the way over here from your house?”

She shrugged, coming to a stop in front of him. Despite her strangeness, Darryl didn’t find her unattractive. She had a nice smile and interesting eyes, even if she partially hid her face behind her hair.

“I’m here,” she said, “because there’s nothing to do. I finished all my chores this morning, and it sucks hanging around the house. Everyone’s stressed out and rude over there, so I just decided to get away for a while. You’re about the only person my age that I know in this town. Is it such a big deal if I walk over to visit our neighbors?”

Darryl thought about the endless hours of hard work that filled his days now, from simple tasks around the house to the never-ending chore of trying to keep the herd alive. He barely had a free minute to himself. In fact, this walk around the perimeter was the closest he’d come to leisure time during daylight hours since the power went out. And here was this stranger girl wandering from house to house because she had nothing to do.

It irritated him to no end, but he realized it wasn’t Justine’s fault. She had the advantage of not living on a woefully understaffed dairy farm.

“Well, I have to walk the fence,” he said, turning around and resuming his slog. “We’re keeping an eye out for predators.”

“I can help,” she said, walking alongside him. “I probably have better hearing than you, based on recent incidents.”

He sighed and tried to change the subject. “By the way, your parents don’t happen to have any curing salt in their stash of supplies, do they? We really need some, and there’s no easy way to get it.”

Justine shrugged again. “Maybe. Actually, I don’t know. I’d have to ask them. We have a lot of stuff—like, a lot of stuff—but they’re pretty secretive about it.”

“Next time you talk to your parents, tell them we’d be willing to trade for it,” Darryl said. “We need to cure a large amount of meat.”

She shrugged a third time—it seemed to be her favorite gesture. “I’ll mention it, but I can’t promise anything.”

“I realize that,” he replied.

With that, they fell into an awkward silence. Darryl really didn’t know what else to talk about, and he was trying to pay attention to their surroundings anyway. After a few minutes of this, as Darryl approached the corner of the fence, Justine grunted and said, “Well, I guess I’ll head off home. They might wonder where I went.”

“Okay, stay safe,” he replied.

He was thinking, of course, of wild animals roaming in the woods, but she gave him a strange little smile as she turned and headed away. He watched her go, partly to make sure she wasn’t going to turn around and try to sneak up on him again. She glanced over her shoulder at him and gave an awkward little wave.

“I’ll let you know what my parents say!”

“Thanks,” Darryl said.

When she finally reached the trees, Darryl turned back around and resumed walking along the fence.

What a strange girl, he thought.

Yes, and what a contradiction. Brooding but mischievous, hiding behind her hair but forward and outspoken. After a couple of minutes, he realized he’d been thinking about her nonstop, picturing her face, her smile, her eyes… He shook his head.

What the heck is wrong with you? he thought. That entire family is odd. Just stop it.

He’d reached the place where the new fence met the old fence, and some extra boards had been left here beside a bucket of nails and a hammer. The fence posts were mostly in place. What remained to be done was the rather tedious work of nailing the boards to the crossbeams. Darryl decided to work for a while, if only to give himself something else to occupy his mind.

The girl is on your mind because you’re getting stir-crazy, he told himself. That’s all it is.

He picked up one of the boards and set it against the crossbeam. It was a bit awkward, and he could have used a second person to help brace it while he drove in the nails, but his mom and grandma were busy with other tasks. He managed to get exactly one board nailed into place before he realized he was thinking about the girl again.

She walked all the way over here just to see me, he thought. That’s a long way. Maybe she’s desperate for company. There couldn’t be more to it than that…could there?

He felt a sudden pang of loneliness. It was so sharp that he had to pause and collect himself. He started to reach for another board, but then he tossed the hammer onto the ground.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered. “It’ll keep until later.”

All he’d done for days was work, and the only people he saw were his mother and grandmother. That’s what it was. Being around someone his own age, someone nice to look at, someone interesting—and even odd—was a refreshing change. Darryl turned to look for her, but she was long gone.

Maybe she’s still lingering out there somewhere, he told himself, not wanting to go home.

He picked up the Winchester and started walking in the direction she’d gone, moving briskly through the tall grass. Only when he was drawing close to the trees did it occur to him how silly his thought was. Justine was probably all the way home by now. Even if she didn’t want to go home, she wasn’t going to stand around in the woods until he came looking for her. Still, he was committed to his course, and he made it all the way to the trees before coming to a stop.

Instead of returning to work, he sat down at the base of a large pine tree and put the rifle beside him. Staring back across the ranch at the unfinished fence, at the lonely house, cows idling in the pasture, the loneliness hit him again so hard that it made him shiver. How long was this terrible deadness going to continue in the world? When could they finally go back to normal life?

This is not the apocalypse I would have chosen, he thought. Isolated on a rural ranch all the way up here in northern British Columbia with my mom and grandmother.

At least Justine was someone else. And with that, he found his thoughts drifting off again. There was her face, her hair hanging on either side like curtains, that weird little smile appearing at seemingly random moments.

“Okay, you’re getting obsessed,” he muttered, smacking himself in the cheek to snap himself out of it. “Isolation is breaking your brain. Go do some work and be useful.”

When he heard the crack of a tree branch and the rustle of leaves coming from over his shoulder, he assumed it was her. Then he heard a strange, throaty growl, like someone was dragging their fingers through gravel. With a gasp, Darryl whipped around, rising to his knees and fumbling for the rifle.

He saw the animal immediately. It must have been close to a hundred and fifty pounds, an enormous mountain lion with its big yellow eyes fixed on him. It was perched on a large rock just beyond the tree where Darryl was sitting, and he could see the tension in its shoulder. It was preparing to leap. For a second, neither moved, and Darryl marveled at how huge and beautiful the animal was—and how terrifying. His heart leapt into his throat as the reality of the situation sank in.

He managed to grab the rifle, but as he was rising to his feet, the animal leapt. As it bore down on him, he cried out, and his shrill voice echoed far out over the pasture. Then the paws slammed into his chest, and he was shoved backward. He slammed into the ground, still screaming, trying to bring the rifle up. The animal’s paws slid off his chest, and its face came in low, foul breath filling his nostrils.

Darryl pulled his knees up, trying to drive them against the creature’s underbelly to force it back, but it was like pushing against jelly. The cat merely arched it’s back against the pressure but kept its face close. It was trying to go for his neck or throat, mouth open, teeth bared, but Darryl had his forearm under its jaw.

At some point, he realized he was shouting and cursing at the top of his lungs, though the cat seemed unfazed by the noise. One of its claws dug through the dirt and pierced his jacket, and Darryl felt a sudden, sharp pain in his shoulder. With a surge of adrenaline, he rolled to one side, brought the Winchester up, and drove the barrel into the cat’s ribs. The cat snarled loudly—it sounded exactly like a housecat whose voice had been pitched down an octave, a fact that Darryl found strangely disorienting. He jabbed the cat with the gun barrel again, and it backed away, swiping at the air.

The snarl became a hateful hiss as the mountain lion crouched, head lowered, preparing to pounce again. Darryl managed to set the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. He took aim, and, as the cat bared its teeth, he pulled the trigger.

16

The endless gray gas pipe had begun to feel like a lifeline surrounded on both sides by dispassionate alien territory. This was particularly ironic, Greg knew, considering what he’d just confirmed on their long hike through the wilderness. As Greg had suspected long before coming on the trip, Eustace’s company was poisoning the environment. Though he still wasn’t sure how it was happening, he’d tasted it.

Of course, he didn’t breathe a word of this in front of Eustace, though he’d scribbled a few notes and stashed them away with the sealed vial of water. Everyone was quiet and cranky most of the time these days, and Tuck often lagged behind. From time to time, they had to pause to let him catch up. Tommy tried to encourage him, but Greg’s old man just didn’t have the vitality of the rest of the group, even with the help of his hiking staff. Still, he never complained. Greg had to give his dad credit for that.

Finally, on the following afternoon, they crested a rise and saw a broad, open prairie before them. It was the first significant change in the landscape, and the impact on the group was electric. For a moment, seeing so much flat, open grassland stretching out before him, Greg felt practically giddy, and the soreness in his legs seemed to melt away.

Unfortunately, he could see that it was only a small area, maybe a kilometer across, practically a hiccup in the landscape between two sections of forest. Still, it was like coming up for air after being underwater for a long time. Eustace paused for a minute, the machete resting on his shoulder, and whistled softly.

“That’s a sight to behold, eh?” he said over his shoulder. “I never thought featureless land could look so beautiful.”

“It’s quite nice,” Greg said, “and the flat ground will be a lot easier on the legs, you know?”

“Yep.” Eustace took one of his deep, wet breaths and resumed walking.

The wild grass was high, coming up to the big man’s knees. It practically swallowed Emma, who seemed to be wading through almost as if it were liquid. Tommy and Tuck managed to catch up to them, though Tuck was wheezing and leaning heavily on the staff.

“I wish it was all flat like this,” Tommy said, adjusting his toque as a stiff breeze swept over the field. “It sure would be easier on my pal here.”

“I’m fine,” Tuck replied. “I just take a little longer to get things done.”

“I hear you, buddy.” Tommy clapped him on the back, but this almost tipped Tuck off-balance. Laughing awkwardly, Tommy grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him from falling.

When it didn’t have trees towering above it on either side, the pipeline seemed even more massive—a towering gray behemoth bisecting the field. Greg found it disconcerting, but he soon forgot about the creepy gas pipe as he felt warmth on his face. It had been so cold for so long that the sudden heat on his face was shocking. Squinting, he gazed up at the cloudless sky.

“That’s nice,” he noted. “A bit of warm weather in late autumn.”

“We’re going to get sweaty real fast with all of our winter clothes on,” Emma noted, pushing her toque back so some of her long, blonde hair spilled out.

She stumbled suddenly, as if she’d tripped. Greg reached down and grabbed her arm.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Stepped on my own shoelace,” she said. “I can barely see through the grass to tie it. Hang on.”

She came to a stop and bent to tie the laces of her hiking boots. To reach her laces, Emma had to use one arm to sweep some of the tall grass aside. When she did that, Tommy uttered a little squawk, like he’d been goosed, and rushed forward. It was such strange behavior that Greg froze, even as the small, pot-bellied fellow charged right at Emma. It looked like he was going to barrel into her, but then he thrust his right arm out, planting his hand against her side, and shoved her.

She didn’t see it coming, despite the yell, and was entirely unprepared. With a startled cry, she stumbled to one side, tripped over her own feet, and fell into the grass.

“What the heck…?” Greg said.

Tommy reached toward his backpack and grabbed something. Greg heard the distinctive sound of metal sliding against canvas, and suddenly the little man had the Remington rifle in his hand.

“Wait…what?” Greg managed to say, as he made a fumbling attempt to get the gun out of his hands.

Tommy spun around, raised the gun, and fired into the ground right in front of his own feet. The crack of the rifle echoed far out over the field and seemed to bounce back from distant mountains seconds later. As soon as he was done, he dropped the gun and bent down, reaching into the grass. Suddenly, with a gasp, he recoiled and stumbled backward.

“Son of a…” Tommy shook his right hand in the air, as if he’d injured it. “He got me.”

Finally, Greg saw it, the coiled shape deep in the grass, and the shock at Tommy’s sudden attack turned to cold fear. The snake was still twitching, and he heard the sound of its rattle dying out. Tommy had blown it wide open, its blood and meat hanging out.

“I grabbed too soon,” Tommy said, grasping his right wrist with his left hand. “He wasn’t quite dead. Damn, guys. Look at that.”

He had two small puncture wounds in his hand just above his thumb, as neat as if he’d used a small mechanical hole punch. The wounds had already begun to bleed quite badly. Greg’s father pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and pressed it to the wound.

“I can’t believe it,” Tommy said, in a breathless voice, his eyes wide in either surprise or fear. “I thought I killed it, but it had one bite left.”

“Well, what did you have to grab him for?” Tuck said in that curdled voice that always sound like he was disappointed with the world.

“I was trying to toss him aside,” Tommy said.

Greg gave the snake a wide berth as he rushed to his daughter’s side. She was sitting in the grass, nearly swallowed by it. He reached down to help her up, but she buried her face in her hands and started crying.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have seen it. It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

“It’s not your fault,” Greg said. “I don’t know how Tommy spotted it. Good eye. I thought those damn rattlesnakes are supposed to give a warning before they bite.”

“Not always,” Tuck said.

Tommy was moaning, and he already seemed to be swooning. Eustace used the machete to clear a space in the high grass, and then he and Tuck helped the injured man sit down. Greg dumped his pack on the ground and unzipped a side pocket, pulling out one of their small first aid kits.

“Guys, our friend here needs antivenom, and we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Eustace said.

Emma was crying harder now, and Greg knew his daughter’s exhaustion was making her guilt worse. If he didn’t do something, she was well on her way to a full-blown meltdown. It was just a reminder that she wasn’t quite as old as she often acted, still hovering just beyond the border of childhood. Fortunately, Greg knew a way to pull her out of it.

“Emma, I really need your help right now,” he said, kneeling beside Tommy. “Can you come here?”

“I should have b-been watching for snakes,” she said, sobbing into her hands. “I knew they could be in the area. I knew it.”

“Honey, we’ve got to provide aid to our friend here, okay?” Greg said, unzipping the first aid kit. “You had first aid training when you were a junior life guard, right? And when you were in scouting? Isn’t that true?”

“Yes.” Already, her crying seemed to be tapering off. She sniffed, wiped her face furiously on the sleeve of her jacket, and crawled toward Greg. “It was one of my first badges in Girl Guides.”

“That’s great,” he said. “Come here and help me treat his wound. Tommy needs our help now.”

He was amazed at how quickly her tears dried once she had an important task to do. Tommy was rocking back and forth, his right hand resting on his knees. Tuck had taken a seat in the grass beside him, still pressing the handkerchief to the wound.

As they were doing that, Eustace approached the snake and gave it a couple of good chops with the machete. Then he picked up the pieces one at a time on the flat of the blade and tossed them aside.

“Well, it won’t bite anyone now,” he said. “Next time, aim for the head, Tommy.”

“Oh, geez, I’ll try to remember that,” Tommy replied, speaking through his teeth. “I was aiming for his butt. My mistake.”

It was such a strange, sarcastic comment that Greg almost laughed at the man. Emma grabbed the first aid kit out of his hand and pulled out a roll of bandages.

“We need to bandage the area tightly,” she said, “especially his wrist and arm above the wound. Let’s work fast, Dad. Also, you have to keep your hand below your heart. That’ll prevent the venom from spreading.”

Greg grabbed Tommy’s forearm, and the man gasped, as if it already hurt to touch. Working with Emma, he began to wind the bandage tightly, beginning at his hand, covering the bite marks, then slowly working the bandage down his hand toward his wrist.

“Can’t we just suck out the poison like the cowboys do?” Tommy asked, grimacing.

“It’s not poison,” Emma replied. “It’s venom. And, no, sucking out the venom doesn’t work. It can still enter your bloodstream from inside your mouth.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame,” Tommy said. “John Wayne lied to me, and True Grit was my favorite movie when I was a kid.”

They used the entire roll of bandages, winding it from his hand halfway up his forearm. Tommy’s fingers looked red and swollen, but Greg didn’t know whether this was from the venom or from the tightness of the bandage.

“This doesn’t fix the problem, Dad,” Emma said. “It only buys us more time. Maybe that way station can radio a hospital or clinic in the nearest town?”

“Tommy, can you walk fast?” Eustace said. “We’ve still got a way to go.”

“If I gotta walk fast to keep my arm from rotting off, I’ll do it,” Tommy said.

He struggled to stand up, but couldn’t seem to do it on his own. Tuck tried to help, but the old man mostly just got in the way. Finally, Greg rose, put his arms around Tommy, and hoisted him to his feet. As he did that, Emma repacked the first aid kit.

“We’ve been worried about a bear eating us,” Eustace said, “when we should have been looking out for snakes.” He shook his head. “Okay, folks, we’re going to pick up the pace, for Tommy’s sake. Grit your teeth and move fast. Let’s go.”

With a grunt of either disgust or disappointment, Eustace scratched at his thick, red beard. Then he turned, wiped a bit of snake goo off the side of the machete blade with his thumb, and resumed walking. Sure enough, he was moving faster now, and Greg hurried to catch up.

17

Darryl tried to drag the carcass back to the barn by himself, but he didn’t make it far. Finally, he trudged back to the house and found his mother in the living room. Together, they managed to drag the mountain lion into the front of the barn to a large, open area in the corner of the barn just for cleaning and skinning animals. Grandma said they mostly used it for deer, though—when a cow had to be put down, she preferred to do it elsewhere on the property.

Getting it skinned was a whole other ordeal, not as easy as his grandpa had always made it look. Cutting and pulling, cutting and pulling, all the while his mother telling him to slow down and take his time. Finally, it was done, and now the hide was stretched out on a large wooden rack, the un-air-conditioned room warm and damp and reeking of blood and fat.

“Is this really worth all the hard work?” Darryl asked his mom, as she wiped her hands on a towel. “We’re not going to eat mountain lion meat, and do we really need the hide? We have plenty of clothes and blankets and stuff.”

“We might enjoy a bit of mountain lion meat,” Marion said. “Why not?”

Now, he was scraping the hide with a drawknife that was just a little too dull. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw his grandmother standing in the doorway, hands on her hips as she watched him work.

“You’re doing a great job,” Tabitha said. “Keep it steady. Not too hard.”

“But what’s the point?” Darryl asked. It wasn’t a particularly large hide, but scraping the whole thing was taking such a long time.

“Maybe I’ll make a nice jacket out of it,” Tabitha said. “No, we don’t need the hide, you’re right, but it’s good practice. If the stores don’t open up again, we’ll have to learn to live off the land.”

Seeing his grandmother’s face when he first dragged the mountain lion into the barn had been well worth the hard work. It took a lot to impress her, and she was still beaming at him as he worked. That didn’t make scraping the flesh and fat off the hide any less disgusting, of course.

“Not too hard,” Tabitha said, wagging a finger at him. “You’re doing great, but if you scrape too hard, you’ll damage the hide.”

“Yeah, that’s what it says here.” Darryl nodded in the direction of the book.

Grandma had presented him with a picture book on tanning animal hides, and it was propped open on a nearby shelf where he could see it. Tanning Hide the Natural Way, it was called. The skinned carcass was hanging from hooks in the corner, and Darryl glanced at the big teeth. When he thought of how close those teeth had come to clamping down on his neck, he shuddered.

“The next step is the real fun part,” Grandma said. “We get to extract the brain.”

“Are you going to help me with that?” Darryl replied. “I never extracted a brain before.”

“You’re doing a fine job,” she said. “Tell you what, I’ll take your next fence patrol, and we’ll call it even. Now, I’m going to leave you to it. Careful with the brain. Don’t drop it!”

And with that, she left the room. He heard her moving across the barn, opening the big sliding door on its track.

“She just wants you to learn practical skills,” Darryl’s mom said. “Actually, she was pretty proud of you for bring down that mountain lion.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He had neglected to tell them just how close he’d come to getting eaten. A claw had nicked him on the shoulder, poking a hole in his jacket, but he’d cleaned the wound and bandaged it on his own.

He was roughly halfway done scraping the hide, but as he adjusted position, his shoe squished in a mound of blood and fat. According to the next page of the book, the next step was to crack open the cat’s skull and retrieve the brain. There were big, glossy pictures showing just how to do it. The room already stank, especially with no working AC or fans. He couldn’t imagine what the brain would smell like.

Despite the grueling work, he found he didn’t completely hate this. There was a part of him that had watched his grandfather work when he was little and felt awed by the man’s self-reliance and confidence. It was nice to discover that he could follow in Tuck’s footsteps when necessary.

“Get every bit of meat, fat, and flesh,” his mother said.

“Grandma said I was scraping too hard,” he replied, dragging the drawknife along one edge of the hide.

“You were, and now you’re scraping too lightly.”

“Feels like I’m trying to earn a scouting badge,” Darryl said, “but that was Emma’s thing. I never wanted to be a scout.”

His mother’s lips grew tight. Mention of their missing family members clearly bothered her. Did she actually think they were lost out there for good? Surely not. Not with Tuck and Tommy accompanying them. Those guys practically lived in the wilderness.

Once he finished scraping the hide, he dropped the big, dull drawknife onto the shelf beside the open book and grabbed a towel from an open drawer. He took his time wiping his hands, glancing at the nearby hammer and chisel that he would use to retrieve the mountain lion’s brain.

Yeah, this part is going to be disgusting, he thought, but there’s no getting around it. Gotta cure the hide.

At least it gave him something to do other than fret over an unfinished college paper that no longer seemed to matter. He was finding life without a smartphone a lot more challenging than he would have imagined. Focusing his mind on difficult tasks seemed to help, and this work was more interesting, and disgusting, than building the fence.

“We should make a hat out of it,” he said.

“Why is that?” his mother asked.

“So I can tell people, ‘A mountain lion tried to bite me, but I made a hat out of it.’”

It made him chuckle, but his mother didn’t seem to find it funny.

“Did it really almost bite you?” she asked.

“It was doomed the second it hissed at me,” he replied. “Don’t worry, Mom.”

He picked up the hammer and chisel and carried them over to a table behind the hanging carcass, but he heard the barn door creaking again, the distinct sound of Grandma’s heavy boots on the floor. Suddenly, she pushed past Marion and entered the room.

“Darryl, come with me,” she said, out of breath.

“Right now?” he replied, gesturing toward the mountain lion carcass. “I was just about to…” He waved the hammer. “You know, the fun part.”

Tabitha glanced at Darryl’s mom. “Can you handle that part, Marion? I need the boy’s help.”

Marion made a brief disgusted face before saying, “I suppose so. Dad taught me well, but…there’s a reason I became an engineer and moved to the big city.”

Darryl handed his mom the hammer and chisel and followed Tabitha out of the room. She led him out of the barn and toward a large shed behind the house, moving so fast Darryl struggled to keep up with her. His arms and shoulders ached from all the work of dragging and skinning the mountain lion, but he didn’t mind. At least he was going to stay in good shape in the apocalypse.

Grandma finally stopped when she reached the shed door, spinning her hand at him.

“You thought skinning a mountain lion was fun,” she said, swinging the door open. “You’ll really enjoy this.”

She waved him inside. When he stepped into the large shed, he saw the cow in the corner, and he felt instantly sick to his stomach. Yes, they’d talked about this, and he was familiar with the process. But he’d never been responsible for doing it. The cow was in a narrow pen, its head held fast by a head-gate, staring with perhaps a glint of curiosity but no real fear. Darryl knew this animal. He’d seen her in the pasture. He remembered the shape of her spots.

“It has to be done,” Grandma said. She’d clearly read the expression on his face. “The herd’s too big. They won’t all survive, and we need the meat.”

“Yeah, I know,” Darryl said with a sigh. “I get it.”

Grandma reached onto a nearby table and picked up the 12-gauge shotgun she used for such occasions. Then she grabbed a large folding knife and passed it to Darryl. He unfolded it, marveling at the whiteness of the blade. His hand was trembling.

“You know how this works?” she asked.

Darryl nodded. “You shoot. I immediately cut her throat.”

“Don’t hesitate,” Tabitha said, racking the shotgun and moving toward the cow. “It’s more humane to do it fast. Cut deep, all the way through, and all the way across.”

“I know,” he said, moving up behind her.

“Thanks to all of that curing salt from the Carmichaels, we’ll have steaks and burgers for weeks.”

I just want to buy my steaks pre-cut at Loblaws, like normal, he thought, as his grandma pressed the barrel of the shotgun against the cow’s head, at a spot right between her eyes.

The blast was so loud inside the shed that Darryl’s ears immediately began to ring, but he rushed forward with the knife. The cow lurched once in the pen, then seemed to settle back in place. Raising the blade, Darryl jabbed it into the side of the animal’s neck and, steeling himself, dragged it across her throat, cutting deep, as blood gushed all over the plastic apron he was wearing. Some of it seeped under the apron. He felt it soaking into his shirt.

Yep, this is gross, too, he thought, even as he continued to cut. It’s all disgusting and bloody and smelly. Welcome to the apocalypse. I hope all of these ANPRIM guys choke on their own stupidity.

18

Skinning and butchering the cow turned out to be a much bigger job than skinning the mountain lion. In fact, it took them most of the afternoon. The reek of blood and offal soaked into everything, and Darryl felt hot and sticky by the end. The cow’s carcass was hanging by the tendons of its back legs from massive hooks in the ceiling of the shed, all bled out and bloodless. The head had been removed, the forelimbs cut and snapped. They’d gutted it and buried the massive bile-spewing and feces-oozing guts.

I think I lost my appetite about two hours ago, Darryl thought. All of this for a few hamburgers? Is it too late to go vegan?

“I remember helping my father butcher a cow when I was just a few years younger than you,” Tabitha said, using an enormous saw to cut through the sacral vertebrae. “I should have passed these skills on a lot sooner to my kids and grandkids. You wouldn’t be having so much trouble right now. We killed her as humanely as we could, you know. She had it a heck of a lot easier than the calf that got chewed up by the big cat.”

“I know, Grandma,” he replied, slightly embarrassed. He hadn’t complained, or said much of anything really, but she had apparently read his emotions on his face. “We have to do what we have to do.”

“That’s exactly it,” she replied. “That’s the attitude that will get us through all of this. Don’t you forget it.”

She wore out eventually, and Darryl had to take over, sawing down the backbone to split the carcass.

By the time they were done, the carcass cut into individual slabs of meat according to a butcher’s chart that Tabitha had produced, Darryl felt absolutely drenched in sweat, grime, blood, and unidentifiable biological filth. He was thoroughly exhausted, and he had not a shred of appetite left, but he also felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment.

We can take care of ourselves, he thought. We can feed ourselves. We don’t have to become desperate little schemers like some of the people in town.

That, at least, was reassuring.

Just as they were finishing up, Darryl’s mom appeared, sweating and out of breath. She approached the big table where they’d displayed all the large cuts of meat. Grandma made a broad gesture with her hand, as if she were a game show host presenting the grand prize.

“Well, what do you think?” she said. “Me and your boy did this all by ourselves.”

“Where do you plan to store all of this meat?” Marion asked. “Surely we can’t leave it sitting in a shed like this, even if it’s packed in salt.”

“Actually, I have an idea about that,” Darryl replied. He’d thought quite a bit about storing the meat. In fact, until the raw grossness of butchering had stolen his appetite, he’d spent a lot of time thinking about how they were going to make it last. Maybe someday I’ll be hungry again. There are some good cuts of meat here.

“Let’s hear it, son,” Marion said.

“The root cellar,” he replied.

“The root cellar collapsed a long time ago,” Tabitha said, wiping her hands on a towel. “My parents used it when I was young, but I never had a need to store vegetables like that.”

“Okay, then we’ll dig it out,” Darryl said, “reinforce the walls, make it better than before. We can use it to store the cured meat, as well as any other supplies that need a cool, dry place. Heck, we could store your diabetes medicine down there, or just about anything that needs safekeeping.”

“I don’t need any medicine,” Tabitha grumbled. She seemed strangely offended, as if somehow Darryl had insulted her. She huffed out a breath before speaking again. “Diabetes has been a part of my life for years now, and I have never needed to take meds for it. I know what I’m doing.” As she headed to the shed door, she said, “Let’s go get the salt. We don’t want to leave the meat sitting here.”

And with that, she walked out of the shed. Darryl was so taken aback that he didn’t follow her right away. His mother gave him a sympathetic shrug.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

“She’s always controlled her diabetes through her diet,” Marion said. “I guess she just hates the idea of having to depend on medication for anything. Don’t take it personally.”

Grandma was moving fast, heading to the porch, where they’d stacked the big bags of curing salt. The Carmichaels had been quick to let them have it, which Darryl found strange, and they’d only said, “Maybe you can pay us back sometime down the road.”

“We need to keep an eye on your grandma,” Marion said. “With all the extra work she’s doing, she’s burning a lot of extra calories, but she’s not eating more to compensate. I don’t think she can keep this up. I tried to convince her to let you and me handle the work today, but she insisted. Help me keep an eye on her, would you? I’ll feel better.”

“What am I looking for?” Darryl asked.

“Symptoms,” Marion replied. “Fatigue, irritability, blurred vision, thirst…actually, just anything unusual. She might try to hide obvious symptoms. She’s determined to be self-reliant, and she’s never liked having to take medications, so we’ll have to make sure she eats and rests. Your grandma is healthy, but the world has changed and watching her diet may not be enough anymore.”

“She’s going to need meds eventually,” he said. “Will we be able to convince her to take them?”

Instead of replying, Marion just sighed. It was answer enough.

“Let’s go help,” she said, heading out of the shed.

Darryl started to untie the heavy, plastic apron, which was splashed with blood and gore, but then he decided to keep it on a little longer. He wasn’t done handling meat yet, after all. He followed his mother outside and across the yard, where Grandma was already trying to wrestle the first big bag of salt off the pile.

“Our family can survive out there, you know,” Marion said suddenly. “Emma did her research before the trip, and my dad has plenty of experience. They have hunting and fishing gear, good camping gear. They’ll be fine.”

The change in subject caught Darryl off guard, and he didn’t know what to say. However, the quaver in her voice, the way she nodded to herself, struck him. Suddenly, she seemed so unsure. He watched the way she fiddled absently with a button on the sleeve of her shirt.

“Don’t you think so, Darryl?” She glanced at him and managed a faltering smile. “Tell me you think so.”

It was perhaps the first time in his life he’d caught a glimpse of the real person named Marion Healy, and not just his mother. Nervous, unsure, needing reassurance.

“I suppose they could last up there indefinitely,” he said, after a moment. “Plenty of fish, deer, edible plants. Even if they run out of ammo, they have fishing poles, tackle, and all sorts of game roaming about. Grandpa also knows how to trap small animals. I wouldn’t worry about them. Heck, they might be better off than us.”

He watched in amazement as his words strengthened her smile

“You’re right,” she said. “Of course, you are.”

Had she ever confided in him like that? His mother was smart and highly educated, but she’d always come across as somewhat aloof, analytical, and practical. On the one hand, it made Darryl feel good that she’d confided in him, that she’d turned to him in a moment of flagging confidence like he was an adult. On the other hand, if the veneer of aloof practicality was falling away, maybe she knew things were worse than she was letting on.

19

They made camp in the early afternoon on a small, grassy hilltop in sight of the endless pipeline. Greg would have preferred to keep going—the way station was getting close—but poor Tommy was in a miserable state. The tables had turned, and now it was gnarled, old Tuck Healy constantly encouraging his friend to keep going, calling the rest of the group to slow down when the little guy started to lag.

As Eustace and Greg cleared space, cutting or ripping out the tallest grass, Emma unrolled their small tents. Tuck and Tommy came trudging up the hill last, the smaller man bent over and panting loudly. He was drenched in sweat, and he’d unzipped his jacket despite the onset of colder air. His messy hair had wilted like rain-drenched wool.

Greg moved close to Eustace and spoke softly. “How much farther to the way station? Our friend isn’t doing too well.”

Eustace sighed and stabbed the machete into the ground. “It’s a heck of a lot farther when we’re just creeping along like this and stopping to camp in the middle of the day,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at Tuck and Tommy, who were shuffling toward the tents. “I hate to say it, but it might be better if we just leave him.”

Greg looked for some indication the man was joking, but he had an ugly scowl on his face. It didn’t help that his beard had grown wilder in the last few days, making him look increasingly savage.

“We’re not leaving him behind,” Greg said, trying not to raise his voice. Nothing good would come from a shouting match with Eustace. “If it comes down to it, we’ll make a stretcher and carry him.”

“Who’s going to carry him?” Eustace said. “You and your old man? Hardly. Look, I want as many people as possible to survive, that’s all I’m saying.” He gave Greg a long, hard look, eyebrows slowly descending like the shutting of gates.

“Let’s just drop it,” Greg said. “Everyone’s tired and cranky. We’ll talk about it after we’re all rested.”

And with that, he turned and walked toward his daughter, but he heard Eustace grumble, “I’m not cranky. I’m just honest. Maybe you don’t know the difference.”

Emma had set up the three tents like the corners of a triangle, and now she was using a small entrenching tool to dig a firepit. Greg was alarmed, if not entirely surprised, by Eustace’s words. Would he really abandon a member of their party so easily?

Don’t assume he wouldn’t, Greg told himself.

The man was, after all, a reflection of his company, and his company clearly didn’t mind taking money under the table to let companies poison the groundwater in otherwise-pristine British Columbia wilderness. That took a degree of cutthroat detachment. Greg decided not to pursue it for the time being, as he sat down beside Emma and helped his daughter unpack their food. They didn’t have much left. A pouch of beef jerky, some stale biscuits in a resealable bag, and maybe one generous bite of dried fruit.

We’ll have to stop somewhere and hunt, Greg thought. The food won’t last another day.

He’d put it off thus far, hoping to reach the way station before Tommy’s condition got much worse, but there was still no sign of the place. Just endless gray pipe that seemed to be pointing into infinity. The other men slowly settled down around the firepit, where Emma was carefully piling up sticks and kindling. They had nothing to cook, but a little bit of light and heat would help when the evening chill settled in.

Greg parceled out most of the remaining food, but when he went to hand Tommy a chunk of jerky, the man moaned and batted it aside. His eyes were glassy, and he was pouring sweat. When Tuck tried to grab his hand and give him the jerky, his moan became a gasp of pain, even though he’d only touched the uninjured left hand.

“What was that? What was…that snapped at me just now?” Tommy asked, slurring his words.

“It’s food,” Tuck said, speaking loudly. “Take it.”

“No, I’m not hungry,” Tommy replied, waving him off. “My mouth tastes funny. Give it to Tuck. He needs his energy. That’s my buddy, y’know?”

Tommy’s right arm was swollen and red, the flesh bulging against the edges of the bandage. There just wasn’t much else they could do for him at this point, not without access to antivenom. The poor guy huddled on one side of camp, his arm resting on his knees.

“I think maybe I’ll go lie down,” he said finally. “I feel better when I’m lying down.”

“Don’t you think you should eat first?” Greg said. “Force something down, just so your body has strength.”

“No, I don’t have any appetite. I told you that.” He struggled to his feet, and finally Tuck had to get up and help him. “I feel sort of sick to my stomach, to be honest.”

Tuck guided his friend toward his tent, where an unrolled sleeping bag was already waiting for him. But instead of crawling inside, Tommy dropped down onto the grass in front.

“Give me a second,” he said. “I’ll go inside when I’m ready, Tuck. Go eat with the others.”

He brushed a hand at Tuck, and finally the old man shuffled back over to the firepit. Greg’s dad was in bad enough shape himself, walking now in a perpetual stoop as if his back were slowly folding in on itself.

What are we going to do with these two? Greg wondered. How the heck do we get them out of the wilderness alive?

They mostly ate in silence, staring dully at the firepit as Emma worked to get it going. It was windy and a bit wet, so she had more trouble than usual. However, by shielding her pile of kindling with one hand and leaning close, blowing gently into first sparks, she finally managed to produce a small, smoking flame.

Greg had just finished his small bit of a jerky and the last of the biscuits when he heard a loud crunch coming from somewhere in the trees just beyond the small campsite. It was the unmistakable sound of some very large foot stepping on twigs and dead leaves. Greg lifted his gaze from the fire, locked eyes with Eustace for a moment, then turned to look over his shoulder.

Emma started to say something, but Eustace put a finger to his lips. They heard a second footfall, louder than the first, followed by a low chuffing sound, as of some enormous beast sniffing the air. Greg couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from, nor did he see the creature, but he stared at the trees beyond the clearing. Rising slowly, he beckoned the others to get up.

Tuck rose and thrust his hiking staff out in front of him as if it were a weapon, but Greg went for his backpack, signaling for Emma to stay behind him. He pulled the Remington Model 700 out from under its strap, as Eustace went to his own pack to retrieve the Winchester.

“Dad, there—”

Emma had just started to speak, her voice a tiny squeak, when the creature burst out of the trees with a roar. It was an enormous grizzly bear, with a shoulder height roughly equal to her. It came from the south, angling toward the tents. Most of the people who had been around the firepit were now clustered together beside the packs, but poor Tommy was sitting on the ground by himself, much closer to the charging bear. He managed to turn and look at it before casting himself down onto the grass, as if he thought the ground might swallow and hide him.

Greg couldn’t believe how fast the animal moved, and a desperate surge of fear swept through his whole body. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to run away as fast as he could, but he dropped to one knee, resisting the urge, and raised the Remington. Eustace was still fumbling with his own rifle, shaking so badly that he couldn’t get it free of its strap.

As the massive bear closed in on Tommy, towering over him like a wall of fur, saliva, and teeth, Greg took aim and pulled the trigger. He felt the butt of the rifle kick against his shoulder, heard the loud crack of the gunshot. He even saw the bullet hit the bear on its left shoulder, a section of fur popping open as if the creature had ruptured.

But it kept right on coming.

“Tommy, play dead,” Tuck shouted, his voice cracking. “Play dead, for God’s sake!”

Tommy pushed himself up with his left arm, as if he intended to crawl away, but the bear was on him. It clamped its enormous mouth on his right shoulder and swung its head to one side, yanking him off the ground. He shrieked, a piercing sound that scarcely seemed human, as the bear began to shake him back and forth.

“Shoot it, Dad. Shoot it,” Emma cried. “Oh no, Dad! Hurry!”

He took aim, but Tommy was in the way, so he shuffled to one side, trying to get a clear shot. Eustace finally had the Winchester free, and he moved the other way, circling around the bear on its left side. The bear continued to shake Tommy, as his shriek became a ragged, croaking sound.

Greg reached the nearest tent, where he had a clear shot of the bear’s right flank. He dropped to his right knee, took aim, and opened fire. At the same time, Eustace fired the Winchester. The animal was a massive target, almost impossible to miss, and as Greg unloaded the magazine, he saw puffs of fur and smoke as the bullets hit.

Tommy was like a ragdoll in its mouth, and as it swung him back and forth, his blood splashed on the grass, on the tent, on his end of his sleeping bag. He was no longer making any sound. Greg’s last shot hit the bear just behind the ear, and it finally flinched, drawing back. When it did, it let go of Tommy and he flew up and over his tent, landing in the grass on the far side and rolling a short distance, arms and legs flopping about like boneless bags.

Both rifles were empty now, and for a second, the bear just stood there, its head turned to one side, giving out deep, wheezing breaths. Greg had the wild idea that it would charge again, and he turned the rifle, just in case he had to use it as a makeshift club. But then the bear backed up, its tongue lolling from the side of its mouth, gave a last gasp, and dropped.

It settled down on its forepaws, laid its head on its side in the grass, and, as blood poured from its mouth, it let out a last, rattling breath. A terrible quiet fell over the campsite. Even the wind seemed to cease. Greg was frozen, shaking so violently that he finally had to set the rifle down beside him.

“Dad, help him.” Emma spoke into the silence, and he could tell she was crying.

That broke Greg out of the moment, and he rose. Tommy was crumpled on his side in the grass, his arms at strange angles. Greg rushed to his side, moving low, just in case the bear wasn’t actually dead. Emma caught up to him before he got there.

“Don’t look,” he told her.

But she ignored him and kept coming. The position of Tommy’s body left the wound entirely exposed. The bear had torn a large chunk of his neck and most of his left shoulder so that it hung by a small bit of skin and muscle. His collarbone and windpipe were exposed, jugular torn, which caused blood to pool quickly on the ground around him.

Greg stumbled to a stop, feeling so nauseous and dizzy that he wasn’t sure if he would vomit or faint first. He thrust his left arm out to keep his daughter from getting any closer.

“We have to help him,” she said, sobbing, as she tried to push past his arm.

He took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. “There’s nothing we can do,” he said.

“We…we have to stop the bleeding,” she said.

Greg grabbed his daughter and pulled her into an embrace. “The bleeding has already stopped. Emma, he’s gone.”

20

The door to the root cellar was set at an angle against a low stone wall a few meters behind the house and looked like it hadn’t been opened in a very long time. When Darryl pulled on the rusted handle, the door resisted. He had to lean back, putting his full weight into it to get the weathered wood to finally snap loose from the hinges. He fell on his butt, dragging the door into his lap.

I guess we’ll be installing a new door, he thought, casting the old brittle door aside.

He peered down the steps into the dark cellar. The wall on at least one side had collapsed inward, creating a big pile of bricks and dirt. Darryl had anticipated this. His grandmother had told him that the root cellar had collapsed. Nevertheless, as he picked up his shovel and started down the steps, he realized just how much work remained to be done, and he groaned.

It’s better than scraping fat off a mountain lion skin, he reminded himself, or sawing through a cow’s spine.

There was no easier way to clear out the cellar than to just start shoveling, so that’s what he did. One shovelful at a time, he began working his way into the room. It soon became clear that the supporting framework of the crumbled wall was still intact. The whole wall hadn’t fallen, only the bricks that had filled in the gaps. That, at least, was good news.

It was noticeably cooler below the ground, though somewhat musty. He soon fell into a comfortable rhythm: down the steps, shovel full of dirt, up the steps, dump the shovel, back down the steps. After an hour of work, he’d created a large pile of dirt, junk, scrap metal, and bricks in the field behind the house, and the root cellar was mostly cleared. A few shelves had even survived along the back wall.

Though he managed to work fast, he had trouble keeping his mind on what he was doing. What his mother had said about his grandma’s health kept nagging at him. If anything happened to Grandma, they would be in real trouble, and it seemed she was neglecting her health. Still, what could he do about it?

You know what you could do about it, he told himself. You know exactly what you could do. If Grandma won’t take care of herself, you’ll have to take care of her.

Darryl set the shovel down and brushed his hands together. When he went to look for his mom and grandma, he found them in the barn. Marion was sitting on a stool in front of a large box, packing slabs of meat into salt. They’d opted to dry cure as much of the meat as possible, using large plastic tubs to store it. As she did that, Tabitha was in the back of the barn milking one of the cows. They both looked up as he entered the barn.

“How’s that root cellar coming along?” Tabitha asked.

“Just fine, so far,” he replied. “Actually, it’ll need a bit of structural work to shore up the walls. I…uh, I thought about maybe talking to Justine about it. I’m pretty sure the Carmichaels have a root cellar over there, and I could use a bit of advice. I could at least take a look and see what they’ve done.”

“Oh.” His grandmother gave him a little smile. “Justine Carmichael. That’s who you want to talk to, is it?”

“No, it’s not like that,” he replied, perhaps a bit too forcefully. He felt his face burning. “I just want to talk to her about the root cellar.”

“I completely understand, believe me,” Tabitha said, and resumed her work. “You go right ahead and talk to that girl.”

Darryl’s mom didn’t seem the find the situation amusing. Just the opposite, in fact. “If you’re going to the Carmichaels’ house, take the rifle with you,” she said. “I’m not worried about them, of course, but you’ll have to walk through the woods, and we’re not going to risk another animal attack. Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t,” he replied, “and I’ll take the long way by road so nothing can leap out of the woods at me.”

“Hurry back,” Marion said. “I mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He gave her a little salute and headed out of the barn. As he started down the gravel driveway, he felt uneasy about lying to them. But he knew if he told them his real plan, neither would go along with it. Still, he had to deal with the situation as soon as possible, or it would continue to bother him. He swung by the shed where he’d left the rifle earlier and grabbed it off a shelf. The meat hooks hung overhead, still flecked with blood.

Darryl checked to make sure the Winchester was loaded, swung it over his shoulder, and headed for the road. It was already late afternoon, but he thought he could run his errand and make it back home before nightfall. If his mother complained about how long it took, he could tell her that he’d gotten lost in conversation. When he reached the mailbox, he looked left and right at the empty road—then he turned toward town.

He moved at a brisk pace, the rifle clanking against his shoulder. When he passed Horace’s mailbox, he made a mental note to check on the old guy later. He’d already stopped in a couple of times to make sure their neighbor still had enough food and clean water, but he felt bad for the guy. Horace lived all alone, and he couldn’t get around much.

We should bring him some of that meat, Darryl thought. He has to be sick of canned vegetables by now.

They had plenty of meat, and surely Grandma wouldn’t mind sharing with her closest neighbor.

When he reached the outskirts of town, he was surprised to find the streets mostly empty. He’d expected to see people milling about outside, maybe sitting on their porches having little chats or strolling about. What else was there to do? The first people he spotted, however, were a couple of local citizens walking nearby. The stern cop from before was moving down Main Street on her horse, but the two men were pacing near the edge of town, both of them prominently displaying shotguns. They had the collars on their jackets pulled high, hats pulled low, so that they presented little more than unfriendly eyes.

As Darryl approached, one of the men—the larger of the two—moved to intercept him, pointing the shotgun at the ground near his feet. He reached up with his free hand and pulled the collar of his jacket down, exposing a thick black beard.

“Hey there, young man, are you a local?” he asked. “What’s your business in town?”

Darryl was tempted to ignore both questions. His grandmother certainly would have. Actually, she would have given the men some sarcastic remark before walking past them. Darryl decided not to provoke them, especially since they were both armed.

“Yeah, I’m local,” he said. “Our house is just down the street. I just need to talk to Mayor Filmore for a minute. Is he around?”

The man glanced at the Winchester, frowned, then finally said, “Yeah, he’s in his office. We’ll take you there.” He turned and motioned at the other guy, then he waved Darryl past him. “Is he expecting you?”

“No, sir,” Darryl replied, “but I won’t take up too much of his time, I promise.”

“Good, because he’s a busy man.”

They walked on either side of him as he headed toward the town hall. When he stepped inside the building, Darryl saw that the chairs had all been folded and stacked against the walls, leaving the main room empty except for a single white plastic table in the middle. One of the doors on the far side of the room was open, revealing a small, cluttered office.

“Leave your gun on that table there, if you don’t mind,” the bearded escort said. When Darryl hesitated, he added, “It’s just a precaution, kid. Conversations with the mayor can get heated. We don’t want anything to get out of control.”

“I’m not here to argue with him,” Darryl said, placing the Winchester on the table. “This is a friendly meeting.”

“That’s what they all say,” the guard replied.

They waved him on. As he approached the open office door, he saw Mayor Leo Filmore seated at his desk, scribbling away on a notepad. He looked as gaunt as ever, his eyes perhaps more sunken than usual. He was wearing a gaudy multicolored sweater as he worked. When Darryl stepped through the door, the mayor looked up from his work, quickly turning a wary scowl into a faint smile. His hair was wildly messy, as if he’d just recently taken off a hat.

“Oh, you’re Tabitha’s grandson, right?” he said. “Darryl, I believe? I’m so bad with names.”

“Yes, sir,” Darryl replied, taking a seat in a small plastic chair—the only other chair in the room.

“What can I help you with today?”

“Well, sir, I tried to talk to you about this at the town meeting last week, but it didn’t go so well. You mentioned that you’ve got a storehouse of medication. I’d like to cut some kind of deal for diabetes meds. It’s for my grandma, you see.”

The mayor’s smile changed, took on a weird edge, and for a second, Darryl didn’t like it. “Yes, I seem to recall. Well, you’ve come to the right place, son. Of course, we have diabetes meds—plenty, in fact. How much did you have in mind?”

“As much as you can spare,” he replied. “She’s been trying to treat her diabetes through diet alone, but I don’t know how long that’s going to be effective, and the thing is, we really need her to stay healthy. We can’t run the ranch without her.”

Mayor Filmore nodded gravely, drummed his nice silver pen on the desktop for a second, then said, “I sympathize with your situation, and we can definitely work out a deal that is mutually beneficial. Let me know if this sounds fair to you. I’ll give you six months’ worth of diabetes meds in exchange for, let’s say, two dairy cows.”

Two cows? That was a steeper price than he’d expected. Darryl had planned to trade some meat or milk, but two whole cows? He felt queasy, and he almost excused himself and left the room.

“Here’s the thing, the community could really use the milk,” the mayor continued, “so you’d be doing a service for all of these desperate people. Plus, it’s a good deal. I happen to have glyburide here. Do you have any idea how much six months’ worth of that stuff is going to be worth in the upcoming days? That’s like gold bars, son.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Darryl said. Even so, he started to rise, then sat back down. What was the point of going home empty-handed? Anyway, they had more milk on the ranch than they could even use. Cows were being slaughtered to keep them from dying of mastitis. Losing two of them might, in a sense, be a good thing. “I guess it’s a fair trade.”

“Good,” the mayor said. “I’m glad you agree.”

“But I’ll need to see those meds first,” Darryl said. “Just to be sure, you know…not that I don’t trust you.”

Mayor Filmore laughed and leaned back in his chair. When he did, Darryl saw the butt of a large black pistol sticking out of a holster at his belt. He couldn’t identify the make and model, but it was a beast of a revolver.

“Kid, do you think I’m an idiot?” the mayor said. “You came to me with this deal. I didn’t come to you. If you don’t trust me to keep my end of the bargain, you shouldn’t have wasted my time. If you want those meds, you bring me two dairy cows. Heck, I’ll make it easy on you. Walk those cows to the end of your driveway, and I’ll meet you there with a box of meds. After sunset, when it’s fully dark. Now, if that doesn’t work for you, then move along. I’ve got work to do.”

Darryl tried his best not to scowl at the man, but he couldn’t quite help himself. For a man who often seemed so wimpy and waffling, Filmore had a rude edge when he wanted to.

It’s this deal or nothing, Darryl reminded himself. At least you won’t have to butcher those cows.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “That’s fair, I guess.”

The mayor’s smile returned full force then. He rose from his chair and stepped around the desk, headed toward the office door. Darryl took this as his hint to leave.

“Young man, I have to compliment you,” the mayor said, grasping Darryl’s hand. “You’re becoming the man of the family, doing what needs to be done to take care of your grandma and the town. Most people your age are just thinking about themselves.”

Shaking hands with him was like grasping a warm, moist slab of salmon, so Darryl quickly pulled his hand out of the mayor’s grasp.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied. “Right after sunset at the end of our driveway. I’ll be there with the cows.”

“Your meds will be waiting,” the mayor replied, then made a sweeping gesture, as if to brush him out of the office. “Have a nice day.”

Darryl left without another word. The escorts were waiting for him in the big room. As soon as he picked up the Winchester, they fell in beside him and accompanied him back outside and across town. Once they reached the road, the men veered off, and Darryl continued walking home alone.

Was it a mistake? he wondered. Maybe, but I don’t have a choice. I have to take care of Grandma, and this is the only option. She’ll probably be mad at me, especially since she doesn’t seem to like the mayor, but I’m trying to save her life.

Still, he felt guilty for going behind Tabitha’s back, and the guilt only got worse the closer he got to home. When he finally slunk back onto the ranch, he avoided his mother and grandmother and went straight to the root cellar.

They’ll understand once I have the meds, he thought, as he picked up the shovel and started down the steps.

21

A shallow grave at the base of a large spruce tree, a mound of dirt covered in rocks and leaves—that was the only burial they could provide for poor Tommy Riedel. They stood at the foot of the grave together for a few minutes, but no one said anything. Emma cried again, and Tuck brushed away a tear. Greg thought his father might say a word or two, but he didn’t. As for Greg, he felt only a low, awful weight. He couldn’t bring himself to speak or pray. Poor Tommy deserved better, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The gloomy feeling was so thick, he was practically wading through it.

Eustace finally stooped down, picked up a loose rock, and placed it on the center of the grave. Then he rose, nodded at Greg, and started away. Apparently, that was the signal that it was time to move on. Greg hugged his daughter. She’d never faced death before. He was worried about the long-term effects the trauma of the incident would give her, but what could be done about it?

They trudged back across the campground, passing the vast bloody carcass of the bear, and proceeded to pick up their gear and pack.

“Should we butcher it for meat?” he said, gesturing at the bear.

“It’s full of lead,” Eustace noted.

“We can cut around the bullets,” Greg said. “We’re practically out of food.”

Eustace glanced at him, at the bear, at Tuck. “Nah, I don’t think so. We’re really close now, and the way station will have plenty of food. I think we’ve seen enough blood and meat for one day. You do what you want, Greg, but I’m moving on.”

“Leave it be,” Tuck said. “I’ll pick some edible plants later today. Sorry, I just can’t bring myself to do anything right now. Either you understand or you don’t.”

And with that, Tuck walked away. Greg understood the sentiment, though it still seemed foolish.

“So be it,” he said, finally.

The tents had already been taken down, and Tommy’s bedroll remained sitting on the grass. No reason to carry it now.

Poor guy, Greg thought. Nobody should have to go through that.

It was a somber group that marched out of the campsite and headed down the hill toward the pipeline. Eustace had traded the machete for the rifle, which he now carried at his side, as if he expected other bears to come seeking revenge.

“I just don’t understand why it attacked,” Tuck said. He was the first to break the silence since leaving camp, but he sounded rough. “We didn’t do anything to provoke that damn bear. We were all minding our business, and Tommy was just sitting there. He wasn’t a threat.”

“It was a female,” Eustace said. “Probably had a cub in the area.”

“We didn’t see a cub, though,” Tuck replied.

“Well, maybe it ran off. Or maybe there wasn’t a cub. Maybe the bear just smelled our food. I’m sorry it didn’t explain itself. We just have to be more careful from now on.”

Eustace was trying to set a quick pace, but Greg knew his father would be a problem. Already, the old man was beginning to lag. Greg thought about saying something, maybe even offering to carry the guy somehow, but he knew his father wouldn’t appreciate it.

They reached the edge of the clearing beside the pipeline and turned south. Greg could feel the mood of the group getting worse, the somber feeling curdling into despair. It seemed like a dangerous turn. A hopeless group would make unwise decisions—already had, in fact. Finally, wanting to somehow lighten the mood, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Well, guys, you have to admit,” he said, “if there’s any way Tommy would have wanted to go…I mean, it was his favorite animal, right?”

“That’s not funny, Dad,” Emma said.

Eustace gave him a brief, disapproving look. When Greg turned to gauge his father’s reaction, he saw that Tuck was about ten feet back. He signaled for the others to slow down so he could catch up again. Instead of slowing down for Tuck to catch up, Eustace pointing at a small stream that spilled out of the woods nearby.

“We’ll take a brief water break,” he said. “Let’s boil plenty of water and fill up all the canteens. That’ll give some of us plenty of time to rest. No more jokes about Tommy, okay?”

“Sorry.”

Eustace moved close to the stream, set his rifle down, and dumped his pack on the ground. When the others got there, Emma went to work digging out a small firepit, but she didn’t say a word. She wouldn’t look at Greg either. He started to give her a hug, then he decided to leave her alone for now. Tuck came stumbling into camp last, limping badly and leaning heavily on the hiking staff. He stopped, grimacing, then slowly, achingly sat down near the firepit.

“Are you okay?” Greg asked, unclipping his canteen.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said.

“You’re limping pretty badly,” Greg said.

“I know it,” Tuck replied. “Better go get the water. It’ll take time to boil.”

Hopefully, it won’t taste like chemical waste this time, Greg thought.

Greg grabbed their enamel cooking pot and carried it to the stream. As he was kneeling beside the water and filling it, Eustace moved in front of him, gave him a questioning look, and nodded in the direction of Greg’s father.

“Something’s wrong with the old guy,” Eustace said. He was trying to speak softly, but his rumbling voice carried. Fortunately, Tuck’s hearing wasn’t very good. “More than just being tired or old as the hills. Do you see the way he’s walking?”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Greg said. “His right leg has been bothering him.”

Greg brought the pots of water back to Emma, as she got a small fire going. They had a folding metal framework that went over the fire. He placed the pots on top.

It took a few minutes to get the water boiling, and everyone waited in silence, the weight of Tommy’s death hanging heavy over them all. Greg stared dull-eyed into the pots, watching bubbles slowly form and rise to the top. He let them boil for a while, then took them off the fire and set them aside. After that, they had another long, quiet wait for the water too cool down enough to funnel into the canteens. Still, no one said a word.

Emma smothered the fire with dirt and stomped out the embers, as Eustace stood to one side and gazed at his majestic pipeline. Tuck was idly massaging his right leg just above the knee. Greg tasted the water once it was cool enough and found that it, thankfully, had no bad taste. Once he had refilled the canteens, he packed up their gear again, shouldered his pack, and picked up the Remington.

“Okay, that’ll do for now,” he said finally.

He helped his daughter to her feet, then he turned to his father. Tuck got his left leg under him, jabbed the hiking staff into the ground, then started to stand. He made it about halfway before crying out in pain and grabbing his right leg, collapsing in the grass.

“Okay, Dad, what’s going on?” Greg asked. “You’ve been limping on that leg all day. What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Tuck replied, through clenched teeth as he sat up.

“Show me,” Greg replied.

Tuck hesitated a moment, his face twisted in agony, before grabbing the hem of his pant leg and slowly rolling it back, uncovering a nasty, hastily bandaged wound. When he peeled back the bandage, he revealed a deep gash that started on the outside of his shin about halfway between his ankle and knee and ran back around to his calf. The bandage was soaked with blood and pus, and the wound itself was oozing. The entire lower half of his leg was red and inflamed.

Emma gasped loudly, but Greg went instantly cold. Eustace walked up behind them and muttered, “Oh, for God’s sake. The man’s leg is rotting off.”

“How long have you had that wound?” Greg asked.

“A while,” Tuck replied. “Injured it when I fell on our walk back from the crash site.” He started to roll the pant leg back down, but the old bandage got caught. He pressed the filthy bandage back in place. “It wasn’t bothering me all that much until today, but the leg still works. I’m not crippled.”

“You should have told us about this,” Greg said, fighting the rising tide of anger. It was a classic Tuck move, of course—ignore a problem until it became everyone’s problem. “You kept falling behind, and nobody had any idea why.”

“What difference would it have made?” Tuck said sourly, rolling his pant leg back into place. “You couldn’t have done anything about it anyway. I figured it was best to keep on going as long as I can.”

Eustace gave a dramatic sigh and dragged his fingers through this thick, red beard. “Well, this isn’t going to work. The man can’t walk. He can’t even stand up. What are we supposed to do? Tie a rope around his shoulders and drag him?”

“Give me a minute,” Tuck said. “I’ll get up.”

“Don’t bother,” Eustace replied, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. “Listen, we’re not that far from the way station now. Heck, we’d be there already if we’d kept up our pace and hadn’t run into trouble. Why don’t I go on ahead and try to get help? I’ll move a heck of a lot faster on my own. You two stay here and try to care for the old man. If you can, follow at your own pace. Just keep following the pipeline. Sound good?”

He stared hard at Greg for a second, clearly waiting for a response. Greg’s first instinct was to argue with him, but he didn’t have a better plan. Tuck was in sorry shape.

“Okay, so be it,” Greg said finally. “I guess it’s all we can do at this point.”

“Exactly,” Eustace said. “Tuck, you hang in there. I’ll move as fast as I can.”

And with that, he tipped them a little salute, turned, and walked away. Greg watched him head south down a slight slope, his shadow cast long by the late sun. At his side, Emma was breathing fast, and when he glanced at her, he saw that she was gnawing the heck out of her thumbnail.

“We’ll be fine,” he said, giving her a brief hug. Then he turned to his father.

Tuck was trying to get to his feet again, baring his teeth as he leaned on the staff. Greg put an arm around him to help and felt his father’s wiry frame—all skin and muscle—through his jacket. Emma moved to the other side and took his arm, adding to the combined effort, and they were finally able to get him to his feet. They maintained their hold on him as he took a couple of stumbling steps forward, but Greg felt him tense up.

“Can’t believe you have to help me like this,” he grumbled.

It was the same dry, unhappy tone that his father used with almost everything he said, but under the circumstances, it got deep under Greg’s skin.

“Oh, gee, Dad, I’m sorry you have to endure my help for once,” he snapped.

Emma made a soft disapproving sound, but Tuck said nothing for a second. He just kept stumbling forward.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Tuck said, after a moment. “I know you’re capable of taking care of me.” And then, to Greg’s astonishment, he added, “You’re capable of anything you put your mind to.”

The compliment was unexpected, and Greg was so stunned he didn’t know how to respond. He felt two distinct emotions clashing within—one gentle, the other sharp—and he was afraid of what he might say if the harsher emotion won out. In the end, they both had their way.

“If you really feel that way, then why are you so rude all the time? Why do you always push me away? Even now, when I’m helping you walk to safety, you seem resentful.”

Tuck shook his head. “Boy, I was never pushing you away. I don’t know why you don’t get that.”

“Okay, Dad,” Greg said. “Whatever you say.”

They were shuffling slowly in the direction of Eustace, but he was already a little red speck fading into the distance.

“No, not whatever I say,” Tuck replied. “You always thought I was pushing you away, but I was actually getting out of your way. There’s a difference.”

It was the most the old man had ever spoken of their broken, distant relationship, and Greg didn’t know what to make of it. Was Tuck really trying to have a little family counseling session a day after his friend was killed by a wild bear? Maybe talking helped him keep his mind off the pain.

“Ever since you were young,” Tuck continued, “I knew you’d grow up to do great things. You didn’t need some old rancher like me interfering with your plans, mucking it all up.”

Years of neglect had given Greg a hard shell, particularly where the old man was concerned, so the words didn’t quite sink in. Still, he found them odd, and not entirely believable. His father had always been cold to him. Was he now trying to claim that it had somehow been meant to help his son succeed in life?

I don’t even know how to respond to that, Greg thought. Neglect your son so he succeeds in life? What an absurd notion.

He was still trying to figure out how to respond when Emma spoke up, sparing him the awkwardness.

“I think Mom and Grandma would be happy to see you guys talking like this,” she said. “You barely ever talk to each other. It’s a shame it took getting hurt to make you do it.”

“It’s not always so easy to say what you want to say,” Tuck replied.

Greg was supporting his father’s weight, but it soon became clear that Emma was doing most of the work of guiding him. She’d taken the hiking staff out of his hand, and she now held his arm and directed him as he limped forward.

“It’s fine, Dad,” Greg finally managed to say. It’s fine? What’s fine? My entire lonely childhood? Did I really just tell this old geezer it was fine? Greg decided to leave it at that. “Just go easy on that leg. We’re not in a hurry here. Eustace will bring back help.”

“I know it,” he replied. “I’m doing what I can.”

After this, he seemed to fall back into his usual silence, as they made very slow progress, staying close to the pipeline. Tuck’s unexpected comments lingered in Greg’s mind as they walked. He tried not to think about it, but it brought back a lot of unpleasant feelings, mostly from his teenage years. The distant, cold, uninvolved old man roaming the ranch—his father.

Just getting out of my way, Greg thought, bitterly. And yet. At least he’d said something. At least he’d offered some kind of explanation. So you didn’t hate me, then. That’s good to know.

Within an hour or so, Tuck had slowed even more, and he could barely put any pressure at all on the injured leg. Greg was bearing most of his weight and trying not to lose his balance in the process. They managed to keep moving forward, inch by inch, Emma guiding Tuck by the arm. Eventually, as the sun sank down and rested upon the mountaintops to the west, they paused to take a break. They sat at the base of a small hill, the pipeline veering slightly to the left to cut through a gulley. Tuck seemed to be struggling to catch his breath, and he drank almost half of a canteen.

As they rested, Emma insisted on changing his bandage. Tuck tried to refuse, but he didn’t have the strength to stop her. A clean bandage and some antiseptic probably wouldn’t make much difference, but perhaps Emma felt better doing something.

“I just want to go home,” she said, as she packed away the first aid kit.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Greg said. “I wish there was a faster way out of here. Let’s just hope Eustace gets help.”

“What if he doesn’t come back?” she said. “What if he leaves us?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Greg said. Would he?

Tuck finally lay down on his side, propping his head on his hand. Greg decided to give him a few more minutes before trying to drag him to his feet again. He set the canteen within the old man’s reach and rose, surveying the land around them. Not much to see, but the setting sun seemed ominous. Should they camp or keep going?

“How close are we?” Emma asked, walking up beside him.

“Not sure,” he replied. “Maybe we should hike up the hill there and take a look.”

He headed up the slope, but Emma raced past him. She had the most energy of the group, for sure, even after days of hiking. Greg didn’t bother trying to keep up with her. When she reached the crest of the hill, she shaded her eyes from the setting sun and took a panoramic view of their surroundings. When she was facing southwest, she stopped, gave a little whoop, and began pointing.

“I see it, Dad. I see it!”

When he got there, he looked in the direction she was pointing, tracing the gray line of the gas pipe into the distance. The way station was a small fenced area with a couple metal buildings and a small lookout tower. There wasn’t much to it.

Movement caught his eye and drew his gaze to a couple of small figures in the distance, one bright red and one green—Christmas colors.

“Eustace,” Greg noted. “He’s on his way back.”

He went back down the hill to Tuck, where he found his father sprawled in the grass, his eyes half-lidded. The old man was breathing heavily. Greg knelt down and pulled him into a seated position.

“Dad, Eustace is on the way,” he said. “Looks like he’s got help with him.”

“Where’d that water go?” Tuck mumbled, feeling around on the ground nearby.

Greg put the canteen in his hand, and he managed to unscrew the lid, finishing off the rest of the water. Then he tossed the canteen back onto the ground.

“Who’s coming?” he said.

“Eustace.”

“Oh. That guy. He was a never more than an acquaintance, anyway. Tommy was my best friend.”

“I hear you, Dad,” Greg said. “Just take it easy.”

Tuck started to lie down again, but Greg kept an arm around his shoulders. Emma stayed on the hilltop, occasionally waving her hands over her head. A few minutes later, Greg heard Eustace’s deep voice coming to them like a rumbling echo from a strange dream. Not long after, he appeared on the hilltop like a Viking king returning in triumph, a broad wall of a man dwarfing the hiking pack on his back. Another person walked with him, a rough-looking fellow with a scruffy beard, beady eyes, and a big wrinkly face. His padded jacket and toque were slightly different shades of bright green, his gloves a mismatched shade of orange.

“The rescue party is here, buddy,” Eustace said, coming down the hill, Emma trailing after him. Seeing Tuck’s condition, he added, “Well, I guess we’ll be lugging him along, eh?”

“Seems like it,” the man in green said.

Eustace pointed at his companion, then pointed at Greg. “This is John Bennett, one of my workers. John, this is Greg Healy—not a bad guy, even though he’s a sleazy lawyer.” He laughed, as if he meant it as a joke, but Greg noted a little unfriendly glint in his eye.

Greg and John shook hands. The man had a firm handshake, and he lingered a second too long. Greg finally pulled his hand free.

“John, let’s pick this fellow up,” Eustace said, gesturing at Tuck. “Let’s see if we can’t save his life.”

22

With a pile of bricks balanced in his arms, Darryl took a moment to admire his work in the root cellar before heading for the stairs. He’d cleaned the place up nicely, shoveled out all of the loose dirt, tidied up the shelves, and now he just had to remove a bit more of the collapsed wall. He mounted the stairs and approached the giant mound of loose dirt and debris, dumping the bricks.

Turning back, he saw his mother watching him from the back corner of the house. She clapped for him.

“It’s not a performance, Mom,” he said.

“Take a break,” she said. “The sun is going down.”

He glanced to the west, where the sun had just begun to settle on the treetops, casting long shadows across the ranch.

“I’d rather keep working,” he said. “A couple more hours, and I’ll be done. I’ve got the oil lamp on a shelf down there. I’m fine.”

“Don’t you want some dinner?” she asked. “Grandma is going to cook some of the steaks.”

“I’ll eat better when I know the job is done,” he replied. “Save me a steak. I don’t mind eating it cold.”

In truth, of course, he’d mostly been avoiding his mother and grandmother, afraid that he might do or say something to give himself away. They’d always been able to read him when he was little, especially when he’d been up to no good.

“The cellar is all cleared out,” he explained. “I just have to insulate and reinforce the walls. After that, I’ll come in.”

“If you insist,” his mother said with a shrug. “Don’t stay up all night. Keep the gun handy.” She gestured at the Winchester, which was propped against the back wall of the house.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, heading back down the steps.

As he returned to the cellar, he heard his mom walking away. It didn’t take long for the cellar to become too dark, so he lit the oil lamp on the shelf and went back to work. He’d brought straw from the barn to use as insulation, boards from the shed to reinforce the walls and ceiling. Darryl wasn’t entirely sure if he was doing this exactly right. After all, he couldn’t search the internet for root cellar plans. However, it made sense in his mind. The insulation should help to keep the heat out once spring and summer rolled around, especially if he packed it in tight against the walls.

He went to work, nailing boards against the surviving framework, filling in the spaces behind the walls with straw. As the sun set outside, he worked his way around the cellar. In the end, it didn’t look particularly nice, but it was functional. He stood at the bottom step and admired his handiwork.

But it was more than admiration for a job well done. Staring at the root cellar, he felt proud of himself. He was taking care of things. The newly dead world hadn’t defeated him. More than that, he was taking care of business, providing for the family.

I’m pretty good at this kind of stuff, he thought. I can kill and skin a mountain lion, butcher a cow, barter in town for medicine, and build a root cellar. Who would have thought I was so well-suited for this new way of life? The joke’s on you, ANPRIM, you Luddite scumbags.

The final step to complete the root cellar was replacing the door. He’d found an old but sturdy door among the junk in Grandma’s shed, but he had to do some repair work on the frame. Though it was now full-on dark, his only light coming from the flickering lamp, he decided to finish the task. He took his time. After all, once he was done with the root cellar, he had a final task before he turned in for the night.

His work on the door wasn’t amazing. It fit in the frame, and the hinges worked. However, the door had some resistance when he pulled on it, and the hinges squeaked terribly. It was functional, though, and he decided to call it complete. He grabbed the lamp, stashed his tools in the cellar, and headed to the barn.

Just get this done as fast as possible, he thought. Grandma won’t like it, but you’re doing her a favor. She needs the medicine, and she has too many cows to take care of. She’ll understand…eventually.

He extinguished the lamp as he moved around in front of the house, and he noted that the windows were all dark. Perhaps it was even later than he realized. Mom and Grandma were hopefully sound asleep. He waited a moment there beside the porch, just in case someone had spotted the lamp. Finally, confident he was alone, he went to the barn and slipped inside.

The cows were mere shapes in their stalls, but Darryl knew his way around. He’d also made his selection. While working on the cellar, he’d considered the best candidates for the trade, and he’d settled on two young cows. He went to their stalls now, opened the gates, and gently woke them. They seemed confused, their big brown eyes looking about, but were otherwise passive as he put halters in place and attached lead lines.

“Don’t worry, girls,” he said softly, leading them out of their stalls. “You’re not becoming meat. You’re just going to serve the community. People need milk for their breakfast cereal, after all. You can begrudge them that.”

He led them out of the barn and down the driveway, fingers crossed that they wouldn’t decide to moo. Fortunately, they were still sleepy, and they followed him dutifully away from the barn and the house. Still, it was slow-going, and Darryl’s nerves were on edge.

When Grandma sees the box of meds, she’ll be glad I did this, he told himself.

He almost believed it. Once he had moved into the trees, out of sight of the house, he felt safer. He reached the road and stopped beside the mailbox. The dark and quiet were ominous, and he huddled between the cows, as if they might somehow protect him.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long. Soon, he heard footsteps on the road, and he saw a light shifting back and forth. Three men appeared in the distance, one of them carrying a small flashlight to show the way. He recognized the man in front: a tall, lanky fellow in an oversized sweater. Mayor Filmore shifted the flashlight beam to catch Darryl and the cows. The men behind him were bundled up tight, their faces mostly hidden by the high collars of their jackets. Both men carried shotguns, and one of them had a satchel slung over his shoulder.

“Right on time,” Filmore said, once he was close. “This young man stays on top of things, doesn’t he?”

He extended a gloved hand to Darryl, and Darryl stepped out from between the cows to accept the handshake.

“You’ve got the meds?” he asked.

“Of course,” the mayor replied, snapping his fingers at the man with the satchel. “I didn’t walk all the way here just to kill time.”

While that man rooted around in the satchel, the other man stepped forward and took the lead lines from Darryl. The two men were familiar—the same two who had escorted him into the town hall earlier. He didn’t know their names, but in his mind, he gave them the nicknames Ricky and Julian just because they were two big-bellied weirdos.

Ricky, the man with the satchel, produced a surprisingly small cardboard box, which he passed to Mayor Filmore, who then handed it to Darryl.

“This is it?” Darryl asked, opening the lid. There were a few small pill bottles inside, none of which were more than half full. “This is six months’ worth of diabetes meds?”

Mayor Filmore gave a brief, weird laugh, as if embarrassed. “Well, probably more like two months, but doses vary, so I’m sure you can find a way to make it last.”

After all he had risked, not to mention how tired and sore he was from working all day, Darryl felt instantly furious, and he had to struggle for a moment to get control of himself. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything rude.

“That wasn’t the deal,” he said, finally. “Two months wasn’t the deal.”

The mayor shrugged. Already Julian was leading the cows away, headed back down the road. Darryl was tempted to rush after him and snatch the leads out of his hand. Instead, he just stood there, clutching the box, and shaking with anger.

“We don’t have that much to go around at the moment,” the mayor said. “You’ll get the rest of the meds eventually. Hey, kid, be happy with what you got. Meds of any kind are scarce, but diabetes meds are scarcer than gold. Besides, aren’t we doing you a favor taking these cows off your hands? You guys don’t have proper fencing in place yet, so predators are a problem. You don’t have workers to help take care of the cows. Seems to me you’re in pretty serious trouble.”

Unable to contain himself, Darryl started after Julian, intending to grab at least one of the cows. However, the mayor stepped in his way and planted a hand against his chest, pushing him backward. Then he reached into his jacket and produced a handgun.

“You need some perspective here, kid,” he said, pointing the gun at Darryl.

Darryl froze.

“You have any idea how easy it would be to shoot you right now and get away with it?” the mayor said. “No one would ever know or suspect it was me. That’s assuming anyone found your body before the coyotes turned you into a meal.” He let the words linger for a second, before adding, “You did the right thing. Let’s not ruin the moment. Turn around and walk back home.”

But Darryl couldn’t move, caught between hate and horror, clenching his hands so tightly they ached.

“You’re a crook,” he said. “I should have known. At least the Carmichaels stick to their agreements and don’t rip people off. I’ll barter with them in the future. I’m done with you.”

That just made the mayor laugh, and he waved off Darryl as he turned to leave. Ricky lowered his shotgun at Darryl and held it there. Finally, Darryl turned and headed back home, seething all the way up the driveway. He felt stupid. The mayor had played him.

Big, smart man taking care of business, he thought, bitterly. You’re just a dumb kid who fell for an easy scam.

Still, he’d gotten some meds, which was better than nothing. He shook the box and listened to the pills rattling around, trying to comfort himself, but it didn’t work. The meds wouldn’t cover the cost of two cows, and in the morning, when Grandma saw they were missing, she was going to be pissed. Especially when she saw how little he’d gotten in return.

She’ll never trust me again, he thought, dragging a shoe through the gravel.

23

Greg couldn’t believe his eyes. Stacks of Canadian Armed Forces MREs in their light-brown packaging covered the shelf above the kitchen counter. Greg couldn’t help himself—he had to rifle through the packs to see what foods were available. Eustace and John guided Tuck to a padded chair in the corner and helped him prop his injured leg on a small plastic crate.

The workers’ building at the way station was fairly cramped, a small space lit by a couple of oil lanterns. A single folding table with a few metal chairs around it dominated the center of the main room. A counter, a couple of cabinets, and a propane stove in the corner made up the kitchen area, and a small door led to a messy office that had just enough room for a small desk and computer.

As Emma took a seat at the table, burying her face in the crook of her arm, Greg flipped through the MREs. Hoping to perk her up at least a little bit, he read them out loud.

“Hungarian goulash, beef ravioli, beef chop suey, tarragon chicken, cheese tortellini, scalloped potatoes and ham, ham steak with mustard sauce.”

“I’m not hungry,” she replied, her voice muffled by her sleeve.

“You need to eat something,” he said, “so which one could you stomach?”

Emma groaned. “Ham, I guess, but I’m scraping off the mustard sauce.”

“Maybe the mustard comes in a separate pack,” he said, grabbing the MRE off the shelf and setting it in front of her. “Just eat as much as you can. We all need to get our strength back.”

“Do we?” she muttered, but she pulled the MRE toward her.

As his daughter ripped into the plastic pouch, Greg went over to Tuck. They’d rolled his pant leg back to reveal the blood- and pus-soaked bandage. John Bennett gagged and grabbed his stomach.

“It’s rotten,” he said. “Look at that. His whole leg is rotten.”

Eustace shushed him.

“We used up all the bandages in our first aid kit,” Greg said. “I don’t suppose you’ve got first aid supplies around here?”

“You might think so,” John said. “Nearest doctor’s a heck of a long way from here. But, no, we don’t have any kind of medical supplies in the way station.”

“Really? That’s surprising,” Greg said. He turned and looked at John to make sure the guy wasn’t joking.

“That’s the way it is,” John replied, his eyes flicking briefly to Eustace. “What can I say?” He started to smile, as if he were about to laugh, but he cleared his throat instead and turned away.

It was such a weird moment that Greg wasn’t sure what to do about it. Was is possible John was lying about the first aid kit? Why the heck would he do that? What did he have to gain? Greg decided to ignore it for now and went to the shelf, grabbing an MRE—scalloped potatoes and ham—and bringing it to Tuck. The old man looked at him, glassy-eyed, and seemed confused for a second, as if he had no idea where he was.

“It’s food, Dad,” Greg said. “Here.”

He pulled out a pocketknife and cut open the MRE pouch, but when he handed it to Tuck, the old man overturned it and dumped all the little packets out onto his lap. In the absence of first aid supplies, Greg did his best to clean Tuck’s festering wound, using some antiseptic and a paper towel—not ideal, but better than nothing.

Tuck managed to get the pouch of scalloped potatoes open, and he began scooping them out with a finger and eating them. Greg started to retrieve the little spork, but then he thought better of it. Tuck was in a delirious state. Better to let him do things his own way for now. At least he was eating.

Once the wound was clean, he turned to discard the wadded paper towels. Emma was sitting at the table nibbling at the little slab of ham from her MRE. Eustace and John were standing beside each other near the front door, their shadows dancing on the wall beside them in the harsh lamplight.

No, Greg didn’t like it here. Even though they were inside a building for the first time in what felt like forever, it seemed somehow less safe. He felt enclosed, and Eustace and John weren’t exactly the best company.

“Grandpa needs a fresh bandage, Dad,” Emma said, after a while. “Cleaning it won’t do much good if you just put the filthy old bandage back on there.”

“We’re out of bandages,” he replied, taking a seat at the table.

“Well, I have an idea.” She pushed the rest of her MRE in front of him and rose from the table. “You eat this. I’ll take care of Grandpa.”

As Greg worked his way through the various packets in the MRE, starting with the Snickers, his daughter got a bar of soap from beside the sink and went to Tuck’s side. He watched as she produced a pocketknife of her own, pulled a clean t-shirt out of her pack, and cut a long strip from the shirt. She then tossed away the old bandage and thoroughly scrubbed the wound, doing a much better, and rougher, job than Greg. He could tell his old man was trying not to wince or cry out.

“The trick is to keep it really, really clean,” Emma said. “That’s our only chance to stop the infection.”

She wrapped the long strip of cloth around the leg and tied it in place.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Tuck said, when she was done. “I’m awful glad you’re here.”

“Take care of yourself, Grandpa,” she replied.

Helping the old man seemed to have brought her out of her funk. That was one good thing, at least, in an otherwise deteriorating situation. When she finished, Emma washed up in the sink, using one of the many water bottles stocked in a cabinet in the kitchen area. Greg had eaten as much as he could stand, so he consolidated his trash inside the MRE pouch and moved his chair closer to Tuck.

“How are you feeling now, Dad?” he asked.

Tuck had finished his scalloped potatoes, and he didn’t seem interested in anything else from the MRE. Greg picked up all the packets and bags and set them on the table. As he did, his hand brushed Tuck’s arm, and he felt hot flesh. He pressed the back of his hand against the old man’s cheek.

“I think you’re running a fever,” he said. He turned to Eustace and John, who were still standing beside the door, chatting quietly. “Hey, do you have a blanket in here somewhere?”

John glanced at him, glanced at Eustace, then went to a closet door and pulled out a folded wool blanket. He tossed it to Greg, who caught it in the air.

“You make your dad comfortable,” Eustace said. “I’ve got to look at a few things—business stuff, you know. Be right back.” And with that, he beckoned John and stepped outside.

John followed him, and the door swung shut behind them with a bang. Greg tried to ignore their strange behavior. Maybe they were trying to hide something from him. Evidence, perhaps?

I couldn’t care less about the case right now, Greg thought, but I guess ol’ Eustace doesn’t know that.

He pulled the blanket over his dad, but as he did, he also grabbed the rifle out of his pack and slipped it under the blanket. It was more of an instinct than a plan.

“I’m entrusting this to you,” he said to Tuck. “I don’t expect any trouble, but just in case…well, you’ll know what to do.”

Tuck reached over and brushed the barrel of the gun through the sheet, then he grinned broadly. He looked up at Greg and nodded. Greg felt something strange then, a warm feeling he’d never felt before. As his father leaned back in the seat, Greg tucked in the blanket.

Trust, he realized. We just trusted each other.

That was it.

“Emma, we’d better get some rest,” Greg said. “We’ve got another long day ahead of us, and we’ll want to set out early.”

“Okay, Dad,” she replied. “I’m tired, but I don’t know how fast I’ll fall asleep.”

He unrolled her sleeping bag along the wall beside the table, then unrolled his own sleeping bag near Tuck’s seat. The old man was already curled up under his blanket, his hands tucked behind his head and his eyes shut. Greg dimmed the lamps and took off his jacket, setting it on the ground nearby. Then he lay down on his sleeping bag.

“Good night,” Emma said.

“Good night,” he replied.

“How much longer do you think we’ll have to walk?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Try not to think about it right now, okay?”

To this, she sighed, crawling deep into her sleeping back until only the top of her head was visible. She was soon asleep, breathing loudly through her mouth. Though Eustace and John still weren’t back, Greg decided not to wait for them. He wasn’t gathering evidence against the company, not now, not when people were dying. That would wait.

Though the floor was cold, hard, and uncomfortable, the sleeping bag too thin, and the air quite cold, he still found himself falling asleep within minutes. Just before he slipped away, he thought of his father’s words earlier that day. I wasn’t pushing you away. I was getting out of your way. For some reason, it struck him differently now, and his last feeling was a quiet sadness.

And then he drifted into the dreamless dark.

It didn’t last long. Soon, he had a sense of a great looming presence, and it dragged him back into the dim lamplight. When he opened his eyes, he saw a vast shadow above him and thought for a second that it was a bear. Somehow, it had gotten into the building. He thrashed in his sleeping bag, but then someone shushed him.

Slowly, the shape came into focus, and he realized it was Eustace’s worker, John Bennett, still wearing his big green jacket and toque. He was bent over, as if he’d been studying Greg in his sleep. That alone was disturbing enough, but then Greg realized his right hand was thrust downward, and some object hovered near Greg’s face. Light glinted off a silver surface. A pistol, the barrel mere inches from his left temple. John raised his left hand and pressed it to his lips.

24

Tabitha swore in ways Darryl had never imagined, and as she paced furiously in the barn, he slunk back into a shadowy corner. It was Darryl’s own fault that she’d discovered the missing cows right away, as he’d accidentally left the front barn door ajar. However, thus far, she had not accused him. She peered into the stalls again, rooted around on the ground, then kicked some dirt and stomped her foot.

You’re going to have to tell her the truth, Darryl thought. Get it over with, because the longer you wait, the worse it’s going to be when she finds out.

His mother was standing in the open barn door, her hands in her jacket pockets. Darryl glanced at her, but she wasn’t paying attention to him. Mostly, she was just watching her mother throw a fit.

“It’s the fence,” Tabitha said. “That unfinished fence. Someone or something got through and dragged them off. I was afraid this was going to happen again. That’s why I said we need to hurry up and build the stupid thing!”

Darryl’s thoughts kept going back to Filmore and the gun, to the sudden change in the man’s demeanor. He’d seen the real person last night, and he still felt foolish that he hadn’t realized the kind of man he was dealing with.

Leo Filmore is a crook, he thought. His men are crooks, too.

More than that, they were dangerous. He knew that now. They’d cheated him right to his face, then threatened his life when he dared to complain.

“It could have been someone from town,” Tabitha said. “One of those creepy little rednecks could’ve done it. They’d have no trouble getting in here, not without a tall fence to keep them out.”

It’ll have to be a fence that can keep us safe from the mayor, Darryl thought. He thinks I’m an easy target now.

He was still remembering the previous night’s events when he realized Tabitha was standing right in front of him. He blinked rapidly, clearing his mind, and met her gaze.

“Yes, Grandma?”

“How quickly can you finish the fence?” she asked. “It needs to surround the entire property—by that I mean the barn, the sheds, the root cellar, and the house.”

“Now that the root cellar is done, I’ll make it my primary focus,” he replied.

“Good,” she said. “The sooner the better. Now, show me this root cellar. Come on. We’ve got a lot of work to do today.” She snapped her fingers at him. Oh yes, Grandma was in a foul mood.

Well, it’s your own fault, stupid, he chided himself, as he strode past his mother and through the barn door.

Fortunately, Grandma had given him the perfect opportunity to change the subject, so he hurried away from the barn and past the house. The newly framed door for the root cellar didn’t look great in the morning sun. It was a little bit off-center, and the hinges were spaced unevenly. When he opened the door, the loud squeal made him flinch. Still, he led her down the steps and showed off his handiwork.

“You feel how much cooler it is down here?” he said. “That’ll be great in the summer. We can store all of that salt-cured meat, milk, and anything else that needs to stay cool. What do you think?”

Tabitha and Marion stood at the bottom step and looked around. Unlike the door, the interior was nice and orderly. The old barn boards that had become the walls looked quaint, and the shelves were all aligned nicely.

“I’m impressed,” Tabitha said, after a moment. “This looks like a professional job. Good work.”

“It’s great,” Marion added. “Looks like you made the walls sturdier than before”

“Yep,” he replied. “Plus, I insulated them. Thought it would be cooler that way.”

“Great work.”

Under normal circumstances, Darryl would have felt proud of himself. It took a lot to impress Grandma and Mom. Both were competent and skilled individuals. Sadly, his mood was spoiled by his shady dealings with the mayor.

I’ll make it up to them by keeping them safe, he thought. I’ll build the strongest, sturdiest fence ever.

“Darryl, your mother and I will move the salted beef down here,” Tabitha said, turning to leave. “Please, get to work on that fence.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, following her out of the root cellar.

He retrieved his tools and a can of nails and headed toward the fence. As he did, he began to envision additional safety measures. He wasn’t just keeping out predators now, he was potentially keeping out corrupt and shady local officials. What if he made the fence so high, no one could climb it? What if he made it like a fortress wall, with platforms at the corners as lookout posts? What if he mounted sharp blades or spikes to the top of every post?

He could see all of this in his mind, but he didn’t think he had the materials for it. What he really wanted to do was seal off the entire ranch from the outside world, but that just wasn’t feasible. He would have to settle for something far less. He considered the scrap wood and figured they had enough that he could add a few feet on top, and he could make the fence sturdier, harder to break through.

He’d stacked up a bunch of the scrap wood in a wheelbarrow, and he added his tools now, pushing the wheelbarrow out into the pasture. Since he was the only one working on the fence, his plans were going to take a long time to realize, but he was determined to do it right. He owed that to his family. As he passed the barn, he ducked inside to retrieve some cow bells that he figured he could use for a makeshift alarm system, then added a few empty cans from a storage shelf.

He spent the next couple of hours working on the fence, though he didn’t get far. He had to backtrack to areas he’d worked on previously in order to add the additional height. Using fishing line, he strung the bells and empty cans along the top. He’d been so anxious all morning that he’d forgotten all about the box of meds, but it came to him as he was working on the fence. He’d stashed it under the porch before going to bed, but he knew he needed a better hiding place. The root cellar seemed like the perfect location. He even had a spot in mind, a dark corner to the left of the door, where it would be hidden by a low shelf.

When he saw his mother and grandmother headed to the barn with milking pails, he figured it was his best chance to get it done. He needed a break from the fence anyway. He waited until they were inside the barn, then he set his tools down in the wheelbarrow, and scurried off toward the house. When he reached the porch, he checked over his shoulder to make sure they were still in the barn, then he thrust his hand deep underneath, rooting around behind a bush, until he felt the cardboard box. Pulling it out, he pressed it against his belly, wrapped his arms around it to hide it as best he could, and hurried toward the root cellar.

You’re acting like a criminal, he said. Why don’t you just show her the meds?

But he wasn’t ready for that. The timing was off—too close to the loss of the cows. If he showed her the meds now, she would ask questions, and she might connect the dots. Better to bring it up later. Once he reached the root cellar, he opened the door, winced as the hinges shrieked his presence to the whole ranch, then slipped down into the dimness.

The smell of salt beef hung heavy in the air, and he saw the crate of meat lining the wall. He set the box in the back corner, but he realized it wasn’t entirely hidden from the door. Wanting to hide it completely, he went back up to his debris pile and got a few bricks. He used them to build a crude wall around the box until it was completely hidden. He took another minute to adjust the positions of the bricks, trying to create something that didn’t look deliberate. When he was satisfied, he rose, brushed off his hands, and turned.

As he approached the stairs, a shadow cut through the beam of sunlight in the open door. His mother appeared on the top step.

“What are you doing back down there?” she asked.

Darryl immediately turned away so she wouldn’t see the shock on his face—it felt a little like getting caught stealing candy out of her purse when he was a boy. His gaze went to the tubs of salted beef.

“Oh…uh, I was going to select one of the big cuts of meat,” he said, pointing at the nearest tub, “so I could take it over to the Carmichaels…you know, as part of our agreement when they gave us the curing salt.”

Too many lies, he chided himself. They’re spiraling out of control.

But he fixed what he hoped was a bland expression on his face and turned back around to his mother. If she suspected anything, she didn’t show it. On the contrary, she was beaming.

“You know, Darryl, I’m proud of everything you’ve accomplished since this whole mess started,” she said. “You’ve really stepped up and taken some initiative. Of course, you should take some of the meat to the Carmichaels. That was the original agreement. Why don’t you go right now? Be generous, okay? And hurry back.”

He hadn’t intended to go to the Carmichaels’ house. It was the furthest thing from his mind. His priority was the fence, but his own lie had gotten him into a mess now. The slabs of cured meat were wrapped and neatly stacked in the tubs, which were in turn lined up on a shelf. Darryl leaned down and grabbed a large brisket, the butcher paper crinkling as he picked it up and slung it over his shoulder.

“Okay…I guess…I guess I’ll head there right now,” he said.

“Hurry back,” Marion replied, moving out of his way.

25

The sight of the gun mere inches from his head was so unexpected that for a second Greg couldn’t process it. He wanted to believe it was a dream, but his senses were telling him otherwise. Then he heard the table creak, and he shifted his gaze to see Eustace. The big man had planted himself on the table, propping his feet on a chair. In his hands, he held the Winchester rifle, and Greg realized it was pointed at the sleeping shape of Emma on the floor.

“What the heck are you doing?” Greg said. “Have you guys lost your minds?”

That, in turn, woke Emma, who thrashed in her sleeping bag, lifted her head, and saw the gun pointed at her.

“Dad! Dad!” she cried.

“Just stay still, Emma,” he replied. “Don’t do anything. Let me handle this.”

With a whimper, Emma retreated deep into her sleeping bag. For some reason, this made Eustace chuckle.

“Why are you doing this?” Greg shouted. “What is wrong with you two? You’re not actually going to shoot us.”

“I’ve been sort of debating the issue for a while now,” Eustace said, spinning a finger beside his head. “There’s a bunch of different ways this could go. John here, he’s a loyal employee, a good company man, I’ll tell you that, and he talked some sense into me.”

“I don’t understand,” Emma cried, her voice muffled inside the sleeping bag.

“Honey, don’t say anything,” Greg replied. “Just lie real still and let me handle it.”

Greg couldn’t tell if Tuck was awake or not, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off the gun. How the heck were they supposed to get out of this? Eustace had an amused look on his face, as if it thoroughly entertained him. The precariousness of the situation struck Greg. If something happened to them, no one would ever know. The EMP had made it so much easier to cover up a crime.

“So, here’s what we’re going to do,” Eustace said. “My friend John and I are going to liberate you folks of all of your supplies, and then we’re going to part ways. As bad as that sounds, it’s better than my original plan, where you never would have woken up in the first place.”

“You’re robbing us?” Greg said. “Why? What’s the point?”

“The point is, the world has gone to hell,” John said. “We’re all stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. Nobody’s coming to rescue us, so we’re going to need everything we can get our hands on to survive. It’s Darwinism, pal, survival of the fittest.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Eustace said, turning his cold gaze on Greg. By the dark glint in his eyes, Greg knew the man was capable of just about anything. Yes, these were the eyes of a ruthless and soulless man. “Plus, I don’t much like you, lawyer. I don’t care for the work you do. Why should I put my life and livelihood at risk to help a man like you? What, I’m supposed to march you out of here just so you can take me to court over some foolish idealism?”

Tuck made a strange snorting sound then. At first, Greg thought he was snoring, but then he realized it was a sound of derision. The old man was awake and shifting on his seat.

Don’t let them know you’ve got the gun, Greg thought. Keep it hidden, Dad.

“Well, you’re a fine piece of work, Eustace Simpson,” Tuck said. “We’re better off sticking together. If you had any brains at all, you’d realize that.”

“I’m just being realistic,” Eustace said. “With fewer people, supplies will last longer. Things could’ve been a whole lot worse. I could have shot you in your sleep. Just remember that.”

“Wait,” Greg said, trying to buy time so his groggy mind could think. “If we give you our stuff willingly, does that mean you’ll you let us live?”

“Well,” John said, rising from the table, “we’re going to start by taking your rifle, then we’re going to take your packs, then we might just toss you outside and let you fend for yourselves. If you play nice, that’s as bad as it’ll be.” He stretched out a hand toward Greg. “Eustace says you have a nice, new Remington rifle. I didn’t see it lying around. Maybe you’ve got it tucked underneath you? Hand it over.”

“I don’t have it,” Greg replied, showing the man his empty hands.

“He’s lying,” Eustace said. “Look under the sleeping bag. He’s got it hidden somewhere close.”

Greg slowly reached over, trying not to make any sudden movement, and pulled the corner of his sleeping bag back, revealing that it was empty underneath. “See? I don’t have it. Look, there’s my pack.” He nodded in the direction of his pack, which was lying on the floor at the foot of the sleeping bag. “You can see it’s not there either. I don’t have the gun. I lost it somewhere along the way.”

John and Eustace glanced at each other, then Eustace rose from the table with a great heave of air.

“You’re lying,” he said, as he came around the table. “There’s no way you lost that rifle. John, anybody does anything weird, you shoot. Got it?”

“Got it,” John replied.

Greg had put all of their packs in the same corner, piling them so that they leaned against each other. Eustace began digging through them, turning the packs over, opening pouches and zippers, as if somehow the rifle might be hidden inside. He was muttering curses under his breath. Greg dared a glance in his father’s direction.

Tuck was wide awake and sitting up straight in his chair, but the blanket was still pulled all the way to his shoulders. Still, Greg saw movement under the blanket near his left hip and knew the old man was clutching the rifle. When he made eye contact with his father, Greg slowly shook his head.

Don’t do anything rash, he thought, trying to send his words to Tuck somehow. Wait for the right moment, or we’re all dead.

Enraged, Eustace picked up Greg’s pack and flung it across the room. It hit the far edge of the table and went spinning into the wall, gushing all of its contents onto the floor. The red of Eustace’s cheeks and forehead was so bright now that it matched his fiery hair. He rose and turned toward Greg, fury in his eyes, as if he intended to kill him then and there.

“I don’t know what you’ve done with your rifle,” he said. He swiped Greg’s jacket off the floor and shook it out, as if the gun might fall out of a pocket. Then he tossed the jacket aside. When he did, a small glass object fell onto the floor nearby. Greg spotted it, but the others didn’t seem to notice. “There’s no way in heck you lost that rifle. Where is it? Where did you put it?”

“I told you, I lost it,” Greg said, though the lie was feeling increasingly flimsy. “I think maybe I set it down the last time we were boiling water and forgot to pick it up again. I’ll walk back to that spot with you and find it, if you want.” He glanced at the glass object. It was the polluted water sample, and it had rolled to a stop close to the heel of Eustace’s right foot.

“I’ve had just about enough of you,” Eustace snarled, then heaved Emma’s pack across the room.

For a moment, Eustace’s back was turned, and John glanced in the direction of the flying pack. Greg used the opportunity to kick the vial of water, sending it rolling across the room. It went under the table and came out near the kitchen counter.

“He hid it somewhere,” Eustace raged, pounding a fist against the table. “He hid that gun somewhere, and I’m going to find it? You hear me? I’m going to find it.” He kicked one of the folded chairs and sent it flying.

“You want me to shoot him, boss?” John said.

“No, I want you to find that goddamn rifle first,” Eustace shouted, kicking a second chair. “He hid it around here somewhere.”

Greg glanced at his father, made eye contact with him, and raised his eyebrows. He meant it as a signal—Be ready, Dad—but he couldn’t tell if the old man understood him. Tuck was just sitting there with a sour expression on his face.

“Shoot the kid,” John said. “That’ll make him talk. You don’t even have to kill her. Shoot her in the leg or something.”

Greg felt a stab of fear as Eustace looked from him to Emma. His daughter was still curled up in her sleeping bag, as if she thought hiding would keep her safe.

“Maybe you have a point,” Eustace said. “Heck, let’s just shoot them all. We’ll find the damn rifle once they’re dead. I’ve had enough of this.”

He started back around the table, raising the rifle. John uttered a weird little laugh and waved his pistol in Greg’s face.

“Goodbye, lawyer scumbag,” he said.

As he rounded the end of the table, however, Eustace’s big boot came down on the glass vial, and it popped. The sound was surprisingly loud, like the pop of a small firecracker. Emma screamed, as if she thought it was a gunshot, and Eustace stumbled to one side, looking down to see what he’d stepped on. Startled, John wheeled around.

And in that moment, as a confused Eustace looked at the little bits of glass on the carpet, Tuck made his move. With his right hand, he swept his blanket aside. With his left hand, he raised the Remington Model 700, the butt planted against the armrest of the couch.

John never saw it coming. When Tuck pulled the trigger, a bright flash filled the dim room, and the thunderous boom seemed to shake the entire building. It was so loud that Greg went instantly deaf, even as the top of John’s head exploded like a soft melon. Blood splashed on the ceiling, on the far wall, on the table, as the company man slumped to one side. He hit the edge of the table and rolled onto the floor, his hand releasing the pistol in the process.

A shriek Greg initially thought was Emma actually came from Eustace, who was flailing his arms and backing away from the dead man. Greg started crawling toward John, intending to grab the handgun, but his hands slipped on the bloody carpet. Eustace turned and fled, headed for the door. He pulled it open, just as Tuck fired a second time. Greg saw the thin wall split open inches from Eustace’s back, but then he was through the door and racing out into the bitter night. Frigid wind blasted into the room.

Rising, Greg grabbed the handgun in passing and hopped over the corpse. He reached the front door and kicked it shut. He had a last glimpse of Eustace running full-steam into the night, following the pipeline. Greg set the deadbolt and stood there a moment, out of breath and shaking badly. Finally, he turned. Emma was sitting up, crying and covering her mouth with her hands. Tuck had slumped back into his seat, grimacing as he laid the rifle across his knees.

“Dad, that was an amazing shot,” he said. “I think you just saved our lives.”

“Missed the second one, though,” Tuck said sourly. “He was the one I really wanted to shoot. Never liked that guy. Only tolerated him because he was Tommy’s friend.”

“Is he gone?” Emma asked, staring with wide-eyed horror at the body on the floor. “Will he come back?”

“I don’t know,” Greg said.

“He won’t come back, not anytime soon,” Tuck said. He held the rifle up and gestured for Greg to come and take it. “That boy ran out of here like a kicked cat. Did you hear him? You were right not to trust him, son, and smart to give me the gun.”

Greg walked over and took the rifle from his hands, setting it on the table. The room stank of gunpowder and blood, a potent mix that turned Greg’s stomach. He grabbed the crumpled blanket from beside Tuck and draped it over the body.

Emma was up now, wiping her eyes. She’d stopped crying, and Greg saw a marked change in her demeanor. The terror was gone, replaced with that steely eyed look she got when preparing to deal with a problem. She sniffed, shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, and approached the table.

“Honey, are you okay?” Greg asked.

“I’m fine, Dad,” she said. “It all just happened so suddenly. I sort of suspected that Eustace was a creep, but I didn’t expect to wake up and find him pointing a gun at me. I hope a bear eats him out there.”

“If we’re lucky,” Greg said.

“We have to get the dead body out of here,” she said, pointing at the lump under the blanket. “It’s so disgusting, and it smells awful.”

“I’ll handle it,” he said.

Emma shook her head. “No, I want to help, Dad. I have to be useful if we’re going to get out of here. I’m okay now, I promise.”

“Okay, put your jacket on first,” Greg said.

While Emma put her big, puffy jacket on and zipped it up, Greg wrapped the blanket around the body and tied the corners. It was a nasty, unpleasant business. The damage to John’s head was both surprising and sickening. The bullet seemed to have entered at his right temple, angled upward, and come out near the top of his skull. A massive amount of blood—along with various chunks—was splattered across the wall, cabinet, and carpet.

“If you give me a second, I’ll get up and help you drag him outside,” Tuck said.

“Just rest, Dad,” Greg said. “You did your part tonight. Emma and I will carry him away from the building, but we won’t go far. It’s dark and frigid out there, and Eustace could be lurking somewhere nearby.”

He grabbed the knotted blanket nearest John’s head and began dragging him toward the door, picking up the Remington in passing. Emma came up behind him, bundled up tight, and grabbed the knot near John’s ankles. She lifted his legs and helped carry him to the door.

Greg had to set the body down for a second to unlock and open the door. When he did, a bitter cold swirled into the room, biting deeply. Greg’s flannel shirt did little to keep out the brutal wind. Pointing the rifle out into the dark, he resumed dragging the body outside.

The dim lamplight from inside the building didn’t reach far, and there was only a sliver of moon winking through a gap in the clouds. Greg saw the massive pipeline fading into the blackness, and not much else, but he listened for a moment, holding his breath. If Eustace was nearby, he would make a sound. The man couldn’t breathe without shaking the ground beneath him.

Greg waited a few seconds, straining to hear into the night, but it was still and quiet. Finally, he resumed carrying the body outside, turning his face away from the bitter wind.

“If he appears, rush back inside the building,” Greg told his daughter.

“I think he’s running away,” Emma said. “He seems like a coward.”

They dragged the body to one side of the door, out into the open so it wasn’t right beside the building in case some wild animal decided to have a snack. There were a lot of loose leaves, needles, and debris here, so he spent a few seconds piling them on the body, but it soon became clear that there wasn’t enough to fully cover him. Giving his daughter a final, grave look, he started back toward the building.

I wish she’d never had to see such awful things, he thought. I hope she’ll be okay.

26

The Carmichaels lived in an enormous, two-story farmhouse that was about as ugly and run-down as any inhabited building Darryl had ever seen. The formerly white wood siding had turned an ugly gray-brown, as it was coated in dust, dirt, cobwebs, and unidentifiable stains. One side of the porch was partially collapsed, and it looked like the other side was being propped up by a stack of cinder blocks. The curtains in the front windows were mismatched, and some of them appeared to be old blankets that had simply been tacked into place.

The strangest thing about the house, however, was the sheer number of bean cans. The Carmichaels seemed to absolutely love Heinz beans, and the turquoise cans were dumped all over the porch, as if they’d looted a Heinz warehouse. It was so weird and distracting that Darryl didn’t notice the front door was ajar until he’d mounted the creaking steps. He was lugging a large brisket wrapped in butcher paper in a pillowcase, but he set it on a small wicker stool as he reached the front door.

“Hello?” he said. “Excuse me? Is anyone home? Sorry to bother you.”

He knocked on the door, which made it swing open. Just beyond the door, there was a tiny entryway with a peeling linoleum floor and a stack of dirty clothes in the corner. Darryl could see part of the dim living room beyond, and it looked like an absolute dump. A cardboard box tipped on its side, a dirty dinner plate sitting on a shelf, shoes in no particular order, a wad of paper towels. It was all random filth.

Who the heck are these people? Darryl wondered. Justine is a strange girl, but I didn’t know they lived like this.

The Carmichaels were their closest neighbors, but the property couldn’t have been more different than Tabitha’s ranch. As he moved toward the living room, he smelled the place, a nostril-searing mix of garbage, maybe rotting food, and some kind of metallic smell.

“Hello?” he said again. His voice sounded too loud in the quiet house. “It’s Darryl Healy. I’ve brought some meat, you know, for our deal.”

He poked his head into the living room. The Carmichaels had a battered brown couch against the wall beneath the living room window, a strange coffee table made of a big piece of polished stone, and a small flat-screen TV on a wheeled cart against the opposite wall. Trash was everywhere. It looked like a giant had picked up the house, given it a good shake, and turned it upside down before setting it down again.

They can’t actually live like this, can they? he wondered.

When he’d picked up the curing salt from them, they’d insisted on meeting him off property, pushing the bags of salt in a wheelbarrow. Now, he understood why. The smell in the living room was twice as bad.

Just leave the brisket on the coffee table and get out of here, he told himself. This place is a cesspool.

He started to turn back toward the front door, intending to grab the bag of meat from the porch, but something caught his eye. Another shoe, he thought, tipped on its side just beyond the coffee table, but then he saw a rolled sock, the blue end of a denim pant leg.

“Hello?” he said a third time, a plaintive sound. He could scarcely believe it came from his own throat.

Darryl eased deeper into the living room, moving toward the far wall. As he did, he saw the other foot, then the legs folded at uncomfortable angles, and finally the body. The woman lay on her stomach, twisted at the hips as if she’d gone down hard while trying to turn around. Her arms were stretched out, hands curled against the baseboard, and her gray hair was spread out on the floor around her head. A large amount of blood had soaked through the back of her shirt, and he saw three distinct holes punched through the fabric—entry wounds from large-caliber bullets. The blood had darkened enough that he knew she had been dead for at least a few hours.

Justine’s mom. He recognized her, even though he barely knew her, and she’d been shot in the back. Darryl felt suddenly terrible exposed. Though the house was dead quiet, every shadow and every pile of trash seemed to be hiding a threat. He turned to leave. When he did, he spotted the second body. The man was folded up in a narrow space between the couch and the corner. It looked like he’d fallen backward and slid down the wall, leaving a streak of blood on the dusty plaster. His chin was pressed against his chest, one hand raised as if he’d tried to block the shot, but most of his face was a mask of blood from the hole on the left side of his forehead.

Mr. Carmichael. Darryl found himself unable to move and was just standing there staring at that mask of blood, when he realized he was hearing noises coming from upstairs. It sounded like at least two people, and they were moving fast, as if they’d burst suddenly out of hiding. Darryl staggered toward the front door, kicking the corner of the coffee table in passing. The burst of pain in his shin made him stumble, but he caught himself against the wall and launched himself at the open door.

“Wait. Wait.” The voice was right behind him, at the bottom of the stairs beside the television. “Darryl Healy, don’t run. Please.”

He knew that voice, and it only made him want to run that much more. But they came fast, two people, one moving around in front to block off his escape. Mayor Filmore, wearing the same oversized sweater and toque from the night before—he looked disheveled and pale.

“Can you believe this?” he said. “It’s shocking. Such a nice family.”

Darryl turned to head for the kitchen, but the second person was standing in his way. It was the police officer with the short black hair. She wore a long black coat and black jeans.

“Do you happen to know anything about this?” the mayor said, gesturing at the body of Mr. Carmichael.

“Me?” Darryl replied, his heart leaping into his throat. “Why would I know anything about this? I just got here. You’re the one lurking in the house.”

“Investigating,” the police officer said. “They’ve been dead for a while. Did you hear the gunshots?”

“No, I didn’t hear anything,” he said.

“Where were you two or three hours ago?”

Darryl found this line of questioning so ridiculous, he was tempted not to answer. Were they actually trying to pin this on him? “I was working on a root cellar at my grandma’s ranch.”

“Root cellar,” Mayor Filmore said, rolling the words around his mouth as if they tasted good. “Well, somebody knows what happened here, and we’re going to get to the bottom of it.” He thrust a finger in Darryl’s face and held it there strangely for a second. “This is Officer Pam Grasier. She’s heading up the investigation, so if you know anything, if you’ve seen or heard anything suspicious, I hope you’ll tell her what you know.”

The desire to flee was so intense, Darryl’s legs felt like pins and needles, but he didn’t see any easy escape, not now. “Why would I know anything? Like I said, you guys got here before me. If anyone knows anything, it’s you two.”

“As Leo told you, we are investigating the killing of this family,” Officer Grasier said. She had a mean little voice, sharp as a pushpin. “The bodies of the children are in an upstairs bedroom. It seems they were killed first.”

The children? That meant Justine and her sister. It was too horrible to think about. Suddenly, Darryl was on the verge of tears, but he refused to cry in front of these two weirdos.

“Who…who did it?” he asked. “Who would have killed the entire family?”

“Sadly, there’s a very good chance it was a murder-suicide,” the mayor said, “performed by the father. Based on reports from individuals in town, Reggie was having trouble supporting his family. I gave him a chance to work with me a week ago, but he turned me down. I guess he couldn’t make ends meet, and he saw this as the only way out.” He sighed and shook his head. “I feel partially responsible. I knew they were struggling, but I should have kept a closer eye on them. I didn’t realize how bad it was. Had you seen Reggie lately? Did he give any indication that he was troubled?”

“I mean…I saw the guy a few times, sure,” Darryl said. “He was kind of goofy, but I definitely didn’t think he was capable of something like this.”

He glanced at the body in the corner. Bullet wound in the forehead? Not a likely spot for a suicide, and the body had fallen in such as awkward way, it looked more like he’d been surprised. He didn’t believe the mayor for one second. Still, Darryl was all too aware of how precarious his situation was. He had to find a way to get out of there, and that meant he needed to divert the mayor’s attention somehow.

And then it came to him.

“Actually, I don’t think he was having trouble providing for his family,” Darryl said. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but the guy had a huge stash of supplies hidden behind a fake wall in his barn. Did you know about that?”

Filmore’s eyes widened, and he got a weird, hungry look on his face. “Oh, really? How do you know about this?”

“His daughter told me,” Darryl said. His voice was shaking—he was finding it harder to keep lying—but he hoped the mayor would chalk it up to fear or grief. “Justine wasn’t supposed to tell me, said it was a strict family secret. Reggie didn’t want anyone to know, not even you, but she told me anyway. It’s probably enough to feed the whole town.”

“Very good.” Mayor Filmore seemed like he was struggling not to smile. “Son, could you show me the way?” He waved toward the back of the house.

“Sure,” Darryl replied. “Follow me.”

As he started toward the kitchen, he felt the mayor’s hand on his back. It almost seemed like an affectionate gesture, but it made his skin crawl.

“You know, Darryl, we had an unpleasant interaction the other night,” the mayor said, following him through the kitchen toward the back door. “I’m sorry about that. I let my temper get the better of me. So much stress these days, you see. But after this, I’ll call it even. I don’t know why poor Reggie went off the deep end, but maybe his loss can be the city’s gain.”

Through most of this, Officer Grasier had been staring hard at Darryl’s face, as if trying to read his expression. Now, she fell in beside him, walking so close that they brushed shoulders.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner,” Darryl said, “but Justine made me promise to keep it a secret, and…well…I’m a pushover, I guess.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re doing the right thing now. It’s just a shame that this terrible tragedy happened to the family. I wanted better for them.”

The kitchen was an absolute dump, just like the rest of the house, but Darryl saw that many of the drawers and cabinets were wide open. The refrigerator door and pantry were also ajar. At least some of the mess was the result of someone rooting through the house, and not just the accumulated filth of a troubled family. As he made his way to the back door beyond the kitchen, he tried not to think about poor Justine—poor, weird Justine.

The barn was a dilapidated building that looked like it had been hastily repaired on numerous occasions over the years, creating a patchwork look that was almost charming if not for the rotten places and holes in the walls that had yet to be fixed—and now, perhaps, never would be. The barn door was missing, and the rusted husk of an old tractor was visible inside.

“There’s a hatch hidden in the back of the barn behind the tractor,” Darryl said, trying to shape the lie as he walked. “I’ve seen it, but I’ve never been down there. However, I know for sure there’s stuff down there because Justine brought up some big cans of food. Beans, I think.”

“Just show me the way in, son,” Mayor Filmore said. “I’ll take it from there.”

The roof of the barn was collapsing, with some of the beams hanging so low that they almost touched the tractor. Of course, Darryl had never been inside. It didn’t look safe. The whole thing seemed like it was one stiff breeze away from crumbling in on itself.

“It’s near the back,” he said. “We have to squeeze past the tractor, but take it slow. I scraped myself on a sharp edge the last time I came back here.”

The old Versatile tractor had been parked at an angle—or maybe it had died in that spot and never been fixed—which left only a narrow gap on either end between the vehicle and the barn walls. Darryl chose the narrower of the two and slipped through, but when he brushed the wall with his back, he heard and felt a shudder go up the wall and ripple across the collapsing roof.

The air was so dusty, he almost felt like he could push through it, and he fought an urge to start coughing. Fortunately, when he moved through the narrow gap, Mayor Filmore and Officer Grasier were forced to get behind him.

“Right over there,” Darryl said, pointing into the back-right corner, where a mound of rancid old hay had clearly been disturbed at some point. That was to his advantage. “They keep it covered.”

“Well, if you’re going to hide a bunch of stuff, this is the place to do it,” Mayor Filmore muttered. “Nobody would think to look in here.”

“Exactly,” Darryl said. “I guess Mr. Carmichael was an old hand at this sort of thing.”

He was still pointing into the far-right corner as he passed the tractor, but his attention was actually drawn to the near corner on his left where a fence board had fallen out of the framework, leaving a small gap. He could see the forest just a few feet beyond the opening.

“It’s under all that hay there,” Darryl said. “We just have to sweep it—”

He stopped speaking mid-sentence, hoping to catch his followers off guard. Letting the fear drive him, he took off running toward the hole in the back wall. The mayor let out a startled cry, but he was still moving through the gap beside the tractor. As Darryl raced toward the opening, his feet slid on the hay-strewn floor. He leapt at the back wall and did an awkward somersault through the hole. As he spun, he heard the explosive sound of a gunshot.

He rolled through the hole in the wall, wound up on his belly, and scrambled to one side. As he rose, he heard a second gunshot from inside the barn, and a chunk of old, soft wood exploded near a corner of the barn. He didn’t pause to consider how close he’d come to getting shot. His whole body tingled with desperation as he ran as fast as he could into the forest, tracing a zigzagging pattern and aiming for the thickest underbrush. The mayor was shouting somewhere behind him, but he didn’t bother to look back. He just ran, moving in a great arc through the forest and toward the back of the ranch property.

As he ran full out, his breath rasping in his ears, he allowed himself to think it openly for the first time.

Mayor Filmore killed them! He killed the entire Carmichael family! He killed Justine and her little sister! He gunned them down in cold blood right inside their own house!

It was too much, and as he ran, his vision blurred from the tears. He had to warn his mother and grandmother. What if the Healys were next?

27

“We’re taking absolutely as much as we can take,” Greg said, pulling open the cabinets above the sink. “He was going to rob us, possibly kill us. Turnabout’s fair play.”

“Hey, I’m not disagreeing with you,” Tuck said. “I’m just saying we need to prioritize food and water. That silverware in your pack’s not going to do much good.” The old man had tried to help with the looting, but he was still too weak. Finally, Greg had insisted he take a seat and relax.

“Fair enough,” Greg replied, digging the forks and spoons out of his pack and setting them back in a drawer.

Emma picked her way through the MREs, selecting the foods she liked best and stuffing them into her pack. Greg was impressed with how fully she seemed to have recovered from the previous night’s harrowing events. Emma was all business now, moving methodically as they looted the way station.

As she loaded up on MREs, Greg went through the drawers and cabinets. The cabinet above the sink was full of small cardboard boxes. He grabbed the first one and opened it, revealing a container of hospital-grade bandages.

“Well, what do you know?” he said. “John told me they had no first aid supplies.” He dumped the bandages on the counter. “Look at that.”

“He wasn’t about to waste a bandage on a man he planned to kill,” Tuck said.

In the next box, Greg found small tubes of antibacterial ointment. In a third box, he found a big bottle of painkillers. “It’s like a clinic here. Dad, we need to clean and rebandage your wound. We’ve got the means to do it properly now.”

“Finish what you’re doing first,” Tuck replied. “I’m fine for now.”

Indeed, he seemed about the same as the night before. He wasn’t worse, which Greg took as a good sign, and he was more clearheaded today. Still, his body was clearly fighting an infection, and antibacterial ointment wasn’t what they needed. It was, however, all they had to work with.

He loaded up as much of the medical supplies as his pack would take, while Emma filled up her pack with MREs and bottles of water. Then they went to work on Tuck’s infected leg. When they peeled back the cloth bandage, Greg inadvertently gagged at the smell. Emma gave him a disapproving frown as she uncapped a new tube of antibacterial ointment.

“Come on, Dad,” she said. “It’s not that bad. You can’t throw up when you’re treating someone. That’s not good bedside manner.”

“Sorry,” he replied. “Guess I wouldn’t have made a good nurse.”

They cleaned the wound thoroughly and slathered it in antibacterial ointment, then bandaged the whole bottom half of his leg. It wasn’t enough. The man needed serious medical attention, and the meager supplies in a first aid kit weren’t going to cut it.

“We have to get you to a doctor, a real doctor,” Greg said. “Can you walk?”

“I’m going to walk, whether my right leg likes it or not,” Tuck replied. “I’ve got my hiking staff. Load me up on those pain pills, and I’ll be good to go.”

They decided to leave Tuck’s pack behind. It was just too much, but Greg dumped a bunch of pain pills in his jacket pocket. After that, he finished rooting through the closets. In the cluttered office, he found a large map of the area tacked to the wall. The way station was marked with a red arrow sticker. Greg traced the pipeline with his finger. Suddenly, his finger brushed the edge of a name that he recognized.

Glenvell.

Home. Was it really that close? He couldn’t believe it. Had they really already hiked that far? He tore the map down and went back to the other room, where Emma was rolling up the sleeping bags.

“Guys, we’re not that far from home,” he said, pointing to the map. “Just a few more kilometers and we’ll be out of the wilderness and crossing farmland. Then it’s just a little bit farther and we’re home.”

Emma stared at him, as if she could barely process what he’d said. “Home,” she said, as if it were a strange, new word.

“That’s right,” Greg replied. “I mean, we still have quite a trek ahead of us, but the end is in sight. Dad, you just have to put up with this for another couple of days.”

“I’ll manage,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

A final pass through the office turned up mostly paperwork, though he found a small clear-plastic compass, which he slipped in his jacket pocket. Greg briefly considered taking the map, but it was large and unwieldy. It was also ancient, brittle paper that probably wouldn’t last long. The pipeline would take them where they needed to go.

He helped Tuck stand, gave him the hiking staff, then shouldered his heavy pack. Emma was dwarfed by her MRE-filled pack, but she gave him a thumbs-up. At least they wouldn’t go hungry. He pocketed John’s Ruger, picked up the Remington rifle, and headed outside. The morning air was blustery and cold, and he pulled his toque down a little lower to cover the tops of his ears. As he turned to circle around the building, he saw the body of Eustace’s worker. The man had been uncovered in the night. At first, Greg assumed a wild animal had been at him, but then he realized the knots on the blanket were untied. Furthermore, John’s jacket had been removed. He decided not to say anything about it, hoping they could just walk past the body without drawing attention to it.

“Eustace looted his own guy,” Emma said. “Can you believe it? He came back in the night and robbed the corpse of his own employee.”

“Well, that seems in character, doesn’t it?” Tuck said, limping along with his hiking staff. “We best keep an eye out for him. He seems capable of just about anything.”

“Will do,” Greg said, gazing off into the woods.

As they set out to the south, moving past the way station, it soon became clear that Tuck was going to be a problem. The old man had a pronounced limp, and every step on his injured leg made him grunt. The hiking staff just wasn’t enough, and all the pain pills in the world wouldn’t make a rotting leg comfortably bear his weight. Finally, Greg thrust the rifle at Emma.

“I want you to carry this,” he said. “You know how to use it?”

Emma reached out to take it, then drew her hands back. “Are you sure, Dad?”

“Yes, I’ve still got the pistol,” he said, “but I want you to carry the rifle. Do you know how to use it?”

“Of course,” she replied, taking the Remington out of his hands.

“You won’t hesitate to use it, will you?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. Especially if it’s Eustace.”

“Good.”

Greg moved up beside Tuck. “Dad, I’m going to help you out. You won’t resent me for it, will you?”

His father made an exasperated sound, but then, surprisingly, he smiled. “You’re not planning to carry me like a baby, I hope. I’d like to keep at least a shred of dignity.”

“Not quite.” He put an arm around his father’s shoulders. “Don’t put any of your weight on the right leg. Lean on me instead.”

“Got it,” Tuck said.

It wasn’t much better than Tuck limping along on his own, but Greg thought the old man might last longer this way. It was strange being so close to the father he’d never really known. Yet somehow, he didn’t hate it. This was the closest he’d ever come to hugging the old man.

Strange how things work out, he thought.

* * *

In the end, Greg wasn’t comfortable walking out in the open. It made them too much of a target, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being followed, even though he never saw anyone behind them. Finally, he diverted course into the trees, where at least they had some cover, and used the compass to keep them moving south. The new course slowed them down a bit, but the sense of safety was well worth it. The others strongly agreed. Walking out in the open with a wild, wandering Eustace in the area felt like too big a risk.

Fortunately, after about half an hour, Tuck’s pain pills seemed to kick in, and he was able to walk on his own for a while. Greg pulled out the compass again to make sure they were still headed in the right direction.

Emma perked up suddenly, cocking her head to one side and holding up a finger.

“Do you hear that?” she asked.

Indeed, when she said it, Greg realized he could hear the distant roar of water coming from somewhere to their right.

“Sounds like a river,” he said.

“If it’s a river, we should follow it,” she said. “It will lead us to civilization, and then we won’t have to trust a broken compass or walk out in the open by the pipeline.”

“Too bad we can’t build a raft and just float home,” Tuck said.

“Why can’t we?” Emma asked. “With all these trees around us, there’s plenty of raw material. All we’d have to do is lash a bunch of big branches together, right? Or maybe we could chop down a small tree and hollow it out to make a canoe. That’s what some of the First Nations people used to do. I read about that.”

“I don’t know that we have either the skill or tools to do that,” Greg said, “but let’s find the river first and discuss it when we get there.”

He veered in the direction of the sound, moving down a slight slope. The trees seemed to thin out, and within a few minutes, they came in sight of a small but swift-flowing creek that was running in a southeasterly direction.

“Well, we’re not going to be able to float a canoe on that,” Emma said. She sounded genuinely disappointed.

“Maybe on the next camping trip,” Greg said.

“On the next camping trip, let’s leave the sleazy corporate guy at home, Dad,” Emma said. “That’s all I care about.”

“You got it.”

There were just enough trees alongside the creek to provide a bit of cover, and the terrain was a lot easier. Tuck’s limp was barely noticeable now, though he still leaned heavily on the hiking staff. Emma had the lead, walking with the rifle pointed in front of her, as if she were marching into battle. She seemed to be right in her element now, despite the recent traumas, picking out the best path as they followed the course of the creek. They walked maybe another hour before Greg realized they were approaching some kind of clearing. The creek flowed out of the woods into an open, grassy field so vast that he couldn’t see trees on the other side. Emma gasped and picked up speed. When she reached a break in the trees, she turned back.

“Dad, we made it,” she cried, tears springing into her eyes. “Civilization. Hurry. Come and see.”

Greg rushed to her side, letting Tuck take his time. He stepped out of the trees and saw vast prairie land stretching out as far as the eye could see. In the distance, the creek dipped into a culvert and ran under a dirt road. There was even a small farmhouse off to their right, gleaming white in the middle of a sea of grass. Closer at hand, an old rusting pickup truck sat in the field like a marker welcoming them back to the world of human beings. After more than a week of trekking through hostile wilderness, it didn’t seem real. Like a dream image.

Emma flung herself against him and hugged him tight. “Dad, we made it. We’re going to be home soon. We made it all the way down out of the mountains, and we’re safe now!”

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “I never thought I’d be so excited to see a rusted-out junk vehicle.”

He approached the pickup truck, reaching out to run his fingers along the dented hood. It was a 70s model pickup, so old and rotted that he wasn’t sure of the make. Perhaps it belonged to the distant farmer’s family. Tuck came shuffling out of the woods then and approached the truck.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d make it this far,” he said, leaning against the hood. “Feels nice to be out of the woods. I’m sick of trees.”

“I hear you, Dad.”

Emma moved past the truck, gazing across the sea of grass to the farmhouse, lowering the rifle.

“I think maybe I see someone there,” she said. “You think that might be the owner of the house? Maybe he can help Grandpa with his—”

Greg heard a loud bang then, as if someone had smacked the truck with a hammer. Dust puffed off the left front fender. The gunshot followed a second later. He had just enough time to note the hole punched through the rusted metal when Emma uttered an ear-piercing shriek and collapsed in the high grass, as a second gunshot echoed out over the vast field.

Greg glanced in the direction of the farmhouse and saw the flash of a muzzle as their distant attacker took a third shot. He grabbed Tuck by his jacket and pulled him down behind the truck, even as a fourth bullet shattered the cracked windshield and sent bits of glass raining down on top of them.

28

Though he’d dreamed of building lookout towers along the fence, the best Darryl had been able to do in his limited time was to mount a platform high in a tree near the back of the barn. Fortunately, he’d had just enough time to reinforce it a little so it could bear his weight, as well as add a low wall on the side facing the trees. He was sitting there now, the Winchester in his hands, but he was absolutely exhausted. Still, he couldn’t afford to take even a small break from his watch.

He’d told his mother and grandmother everything about his experience at the Carmichaels, of course, and they’d both agreed about the most likely sequence of events. The mayor had come looking for the family’s stash of supplies, and when they’d refused to hand it over, the mayor and his police officer crony had killed them. Darryl had turned up while they were in the middle of trying to figure out where the family hid all of their stuff, but they’d only managed to find a stash of Heinz Beans in the pantry.

I wish I hadn’t left the brisket sitting on the porch, he thought. I hate to think that I gave that sleazeball mayor anything else.

It was only a matter of time before the mayor made some kind of move. How would it happen? Unfortunately, he had a lot of resources at his disposal, including local police and those volunteer guards, Ricky and Julian. This realization kept Darryl alert long after the exhaustion had seeped into every part of his body. Even so, he eventually dozed off.

He only managed a shallow sleep, and soon, a strange creaking sound brought him out of it. He opened his eyes, smacked his cheeks, and rose from the platform. He stared into the nearby forest, looking for movement, but the forest was still. No wind. It was a calm afternoon.

Did I dream that sound? he wondered.

But then he heard it again, a soft creaking as of an unoiled axle. He began looking around, and turned his gaze toward the driveway. Finally, he spotted it, a strange shape coming out of the shadows at the end of the driveway. A small handcart, it looked like it had been cobbled together from scraps and garbage. A man sat in the cart, stacks of bags and boxes piled around him.

Even from this distance, Darryl recognized him: mid-sixties, with gray hair and a deeply lined face, a fairly athletic build for a man of his age. Horace was dressed in a short-sleeved dress shirt and khaki pants, but the pant legs were rolled back to the knees, revealing the prosthetic legs. Darryl was surprised enough to see Horace creaking his way onto the ranch, but he was shocked to see his mother and grandmother pushing the cart. Grandma did not need to be exerting herself like that, not in her condition.

Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Darryl clambered down from the platform, picking his way along the largest branches. Then he ran along the fence and hopped one of the unfinished sections. He met them about halfway down the driveway.

“Hello there, young man,” Horace Bouchard said. He looked ragged and weary, his hair grown wild and his beard approaching Santa Claus levels, but he greeted Darryl warmly. He seemed relatively upbeat. Had they told him about the seriousness of the situation?

“Good afternoon, sir,” Darryl replied.

A long metal pole had been bolted in place as a single crosswise handlebar on the back of the wagon, and Tabitha and Marion were both using it to keep the wagon moving. Horace seemed to have brought enough bags and boxes that it looked like he was going on an extended tour of the province.

“Mom, Grandma, please let me do that,” he said, waving them aside. “You guys pushed that all the way from Mr. Bouchard’s house? You must be tired by now.”

It didn’t take much persuading. Grandma, in particular, rarely admitted defeat, but in this case, she let out a long groan, let go of the handlebar, and motioned for Darryl to take her place. Mom gave way as well, dabbing her face with her sleeve.

“I’m so sorry,” Horace said. “I tried to insist on walking here, but they only let me get to the end of my porch before they piled me in with the baggage.”

“You’re in no condition to walk that far,” Marion said.

Darryl leaned into the handlebar and began pushing. The axles were, indeed, quite rusty and only gave way with significant effort, but once he got the handcart moving, it became a lot easier to keep it going.

“I’ve told Horace everything,” Grandma said. “He knows about the murder of the Carmichaels, and we told him that we’re pretty sure we know who did it.”

“I always knew Filmore was a snake,” Horace said. “I didn’t think he had it in him to kill a whole family like that, but these are desperate times. I guess he sees himself as some kind of new-world warlord or something. Can you imagine?”

“Horace has his own supply of survival food,” Grandma said. “If Filmore is going door to door, killing and looting, that puts a target on Horace’s back. I won’t let anyone else get hurt, if I can help it, so he’s going to join us here at the ranch.”

“Strength in numbers,” Horace said. He had what Darryl recognized as a large plastic rifle case, and he patted it now. “I brought my guns. If Leo thinks he’s going to come here and mess with us, he’ll have a fight on his hands.”

“Darryl, we need to prepare,” Grandma said. “There’s a lot of work to be done, and we need to do it as soon as possible. Filmore will come against us sooner or later, don’t doubt that for a second, but he will coordinate something sneaky, I imagine. I don’t intend to wait around and see what he comes up with.”

“What do you mean, Grandma?” he asked.

“Your mother and I have already discussed this, and we’re on the same page,” she replied. “The only way to be safe, to really be safe,” she said, “is to make a preemptive strike. If we wait until he makes a move, he’ll have the advantage, but if we move against him, he might not expect it.”

“We have to move fast and strike hard,” Marion said. “That’s our only chance.”

Darryl was shocked to hear them speaking this way, yet at the same time, some deeper part of him felt a rush of excitement. He thought of poor, awkward Justine and realized he wanted revenge. Yes, he wanted it very badly.

“You know, the mayor’s got a lot of people working for him,” he said. “The local police are on his side, and he’s got a number of guards roaming around town, all armed. It won’t be easy.”

“It won’t be easy,” Grandma agreed. “For now, let’s get that fence done this afternoon, if we can. Darryl, I know you’ve got to be tired—we all are—but can you head that up? Tomorrow, we make our move.”

Darryl nodded.

Tomorrow? I guess we’re at war, he thought.

29

The last of the scrap lumber was in a small pile at the end of the current section of new fencing. All four of them were working together to get it done, but it was clear they would not have enough wood to finish. They’d made it across the driveway and the front of the house, but they needed enough wood to turn and build back toward the far corner of the house.

Horace was seated on a box, hammering in a board. The man was a pro with a hammer and nail. Three strikes to drive a nail all the way in. Darryl found it fascinating, and soon became a bit embarrassed at how many nails he bent and ruined in his relatively mediocre efforts. Grandma and Mom followed along behind them, attaching the upper boards.

They’d made good time. The fence was ugly as heck, but it was definitely functional. At least it would prevent snipers from taking potshots at the house from the woods. Darryl was already exhausted, but somehow, the impending encounter with Mayor Filmore kept him working. He had the rifle close at all times, and Horace had produced a strangely beautiful rifle called a SIG Sauer CROSS Rifle. It was sleek and black, with a bunch of holes and open spaces in the stock. Darryl had never seen anything like it, barely understood what he was looking at, and wondered if such a rifle was even legal.

“Grandma, we’re going to need more wood to finish the fence,” Darryl said.

“We’ve done enough for tonight,” she said. “The sun’s going down, and we won’t be able to work in the dark. Let’s pick up again early in the morning.” She shuffled over and sat down on the box beside Horace. “We’ll have to set rotating watches tonight. No telling when Filmore will make his move, so starting now, we must be ready to respond at all times.”

“Come on, Mom,” Marion said, offering Tabitha her hand. “You need to go inside and rest. I’ll put together something for dinner.”

They trudged back to the house, Horace leaning on Darryl, and Tabitha leaning on Marion. Dinner consisted of steak and mashed potatoes, and while Darryl was hungry, he was electric with anxiety. A terrible showdown was coming. He felt it looming on the horizon, and it made him want to keep the Winchester in his grip at all times.

He slept with the gun beside his bed, and his watch seemed to come all too soon. He had volunteered to take the darkest hours of the night, and he sat on the porch, rifle in hands, listening to the familiar night sounds of the ranch. Though he had one of the oil lamps and a box of matches nearby, he didn’t dare make any light. Instead, he stared across the shadowy yard, saw the fence looming now on either side of the driveway, and listened.

Any moment now, he thought. Filmore could make his move at any moment. What if he marches out here in the dead of night with all of his guards and that creepy cop? I guess I’d have to wake everyone up and start shooting.

He kept thinking about Justine. Poor Justine. It made him heartsick to think of her, to remember her face, her voice. How could he do it? How could the mayor shoot her with no remorse? Taking the cows was one thing. Slaughtering a whole family, including the kids, was something else altogether, and Darryl could scarcely wrap his head around it. Had the mayor always been so depraved, or had the loss of accountability corrupted his mind somehow?

We have to take him out, Darryl said. The community won’t be safe until he’s gone, and he deserves it. I don’t know if that’s part of Grandma’s plan, but it should be.

When his shift was over, he crept back into the house to wake his mother. Horace had taken the downstairs guest room, and he heard the man snoring as he made his way to the stairs. He found his mother sound asleep in her room, and when he shook her awake, she snorted and thrashed on the bed.

“Emma, go back to bed,” she growled. “It’s too early.”

“Mom, it’s me,” Darryl said. “Your turn to watch.”

She sat up with a groan, covering her face with her hands. “Oh God, where are they?” she said in a sleepy croak. “Darryl, where are Greg and Emma? What if they’re lost out there forever, walking in circles, slowly running out of food? How do we find them?” She seemed on the verge of tears, but she sat up straight suddenly, sucked in her breath, and swiped her hair out of her face. “No, no, not going to think about that. Get a hold of yourself. Concentrate on the task at hand.”

His mother didn’t look well. She’d lost weight and was starting to seem too thin. Still, she rose from the bed, pulled on her slippers, and took the rifle from his hands without complaint.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said.

“Nope, forget it,” she replied. “I just had a bad dream. Let’s not talk about it. Your father will do his best to get back to us. He can handle just about anything the wilderness throws at him. I believe that.”

Did she believe it? He couldn’t tell. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but mostly he tried not to think about it. They had enough to worry about in their immediate vicinity. Still, it was one more thing to keep him awake as he returned to his bedroom.

It seemed he had just fallen asleep when his grandmother called his name from the hallway. Darryl opened his eyes and saw sunlight bleeding through the blinds. He was sprawled sideways on his bed, his feet on the floor, and he had a terrible headache. When he sat up, every limb cried out in protest. It couldn’t be helped.

Today’s D-Day, he thought, trudging across the room. Today we make our move.

When he got downstairs, he saw Tabitha, Marion, and Horace huddled around the table, deep in conversation. He joined them, as his grandmother handed him a hot cup of a tea.

“I’ve got a mission for you this morning,” Tabitha said, sliding a small ceramic container of milk toward him. “It involves some risk, so I need you to be extra careful.”

“If it’s sniping that piece of crap mayor through the window of the town hall, count me in,” he said, stirring a splash of milk into his tea.

“No, that comes a little later,” she said. “First, I need you to take the wheelbarrow and make your way back to the Carmichaels. They’ve got a scrap wood pile in the backyard. Load up as much as you can and bring it back.”

Darryl cringed. He would have preferred to go just about anywhere but that house.

“You should be safe,” Tabitha said. “It’s still quite early. But take the rifle anyway, and be extra careful. If you run into trouble…well, protect yourself by all possible means.”

He raised the tea to his lips, felt the steam on his face, then set the cup down again. His stomach felt like it had been turned upside down. “Okay, I’ll get it over with then,” he said, pushing back his chair.

“Please, be extra careful,” his mother said, as he crossed the living room.

“Son, if you see that slimy mayor, you shoot him,” Horace called. “Don’t give him a second to act, talk, or breathe. The minute he shows his face, you take a shot and get out of there.”

“Okay, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“Aim for the torso,” Horace said. “That’s the biggest target. Don’t try no fancy head shot—leave that to the professionals—and don’t bother trying to wound him in the leg or some other nonsense. You put that rabid dog down.”

“I…I will,” Darryl replied.

The Winchester was propped in the corner beside the front door, and he grabbed it in passing. Yes, he thought he could do that if it came to it. He’d never harmed another person in his entire life, never even been in a fist fight, but if he had to shoot Filmore, he felt like he could do it. More than that, he sort of hoped he got the chance. For Justine.

Despite this, pushing the wheelbarrow through the woods was a nerve-wracking experience. The stupid thing made so much noise, it seemed like it would announce his approach to anyone in the area. He put the rifle in the wheelbarrow because he thought he could grab it faster that way. It was loaded—he’d double-checked—and the safety was off.

He slowed to a crawl as he came in sight of the house. It looked exactly the same—a run-down old farmhouse surrounded by a trash-strewn and cluttered yard—yet he felt a heaviness as he approached. The weight of the crime lingered in the air. He made his way toward the backyard and parked the wheelbarrow, then peeked around a large tree to make sure the coast was clear.

He waited a few seconds to make sure the property was empty, then he pushed the wheelbarrow out into the open. The back door of the house was still wide open, as if Filmore hadn’t bothered to shut it after their incident the day before. Darryl was tempted to close it, but he kept going.

Just get some wood, and get the heck out of here, he told himself, parking the wheelbarrow beside the woodpile.

He slung the rifle over his shoulder and began picking the most intact boards out of the woodpile, stacking them in the bed of the wheelbarrow. Most of them appeared to be old boards from the barn, and only about one in ten were intact enough to be useful. Still, he picked through the pile for a few minutes, grabbing what he could.

He was in the process of dragging a board out of the middle of the pile when he heard the distinct sound of a footstep on a creaking stair. It came from behind him, and he almost shouted in panic. He just managed to bite his tongue as he grabbed the rifle. Spinning around, he fumbled with the rifle, fear making him awkward, as he aimed for the back door.

A small figure was standing on the top step, one hand clutching the doorframe. Her face was mostly hidden in the deep well of a gray hooded sweatshirt, but her long, black hair hung out on either side. In her right hand, she held a hammer, as if she’d intended to attack him, but she was frozen now, her eyes glinting from within the hood.

“Justine,” Darryl said, breathing the name. “You’re alive.”

30

He felt bits of shattered glass in his hair and heard it trickling down his back as he crawled through the high grass behind the truck. The shooter fired another round, which slammed into the rusty side of the truck and caused the whole frame to shudder. Tuck crawled up beside him, moving with surprising speed considering his injured leg. Emma was moaning, a shape writhing in the grass, almost hidden. As Tuck crawled toward her, he put his weight on the injured leg. It must have hurt like heck, but he didn’t show any pain.

“Shoot back, son,” he snarled at Greg. “Return fire. Get him!”

Greg’s instinct was to rush to his daughter, but he picked up the Remington rifle, checked to make sure it was loaded, and moved to the truck instead. He started to rise when he heard another shot, though the bullet didn’t hit the truck this time.

Aim fast and fire, he told himself. Don’t make yourself a target.

He glanced at Tuck and Emma. She was still just a lump in the grass, but Tuck was pulling off his belt, as if to fashion a tourniquet. Resting his finger against the trigger, Greg rose above the hood of the truck. He aimed in the direction where he’d seen the distant figure and fired. The rifle kicked against his shoulder, forcing him to take a step back in order to maintain his balance. The report of the rifle crackled across the field.

Only then did Greg realize the distant figure was gone. The farmhouse still stood there in the distance, but the shooter had vanished. Greg spun around, looking in all directions, fearing that somehow the shooter was trying to sneak around for a clear shot. However, he saw only end tracks of empty field on three sides and the dense wall of trees behind. Maybe the shooter had retreated back into the house.

Greg dropped back down and shuffled over to Tuck and Emma.

“Did you get him?” Tuck asked.

“No, he’s gone,” Greg replied.

“He’s not gone,” Tuck said. “He’s moved into hiding somewhere. Keep that gun handy, and the next time he pops out of his hole, blast him.”

Emma was on her back, her hands pressed to her face. Tuck had wrapped his belt around her thigh, and he was pulling it taut. The bullet had hit her just above and to the right of her knee. He saw a small ragged hole torn through her jeans, blood already seeping through.

“Dad, who did it?” she moaned. “Who shot me? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Greg replied. “Some lunatic off in the distance. Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get him.”

Emma tried to sit up, but Tuck put a hand against her shoulder and gently pushed her back down. As he did that, Greg dumped his pack on the ground, set the rifle aside, and unzipped a side pocket. He pulled out some of the medical supplies they lifted from the way station: a stack of bandages, some antibacterial ointment, a roll of gauze, and a small bottle of ibuprofen. He started to open one of the bandages when Tuck seized it from his hand.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said. “Keep an eye out for the shooter. Give me all of that stuff. You’ve got a job to do.” He snatched all of the first aid supplies out of Greg’s hand and jammed them into his coat pockets.

“Okay, fine,” Greg grumbled. “Emma, you’re going to be okay. Just lie still and let Tuck treat your wound.”

“I got shot,” she said, in a breathless voice. “I can’t believe I got shot. My whole leg feels like it’s on fire.”

Greg was teetering between terror and a violent rage. When he picked up the gun again, he felt heat from the barrel bleeding through the padded cloth. He rose again, peeking through the passenger side window of the rusted truck at the distant house.

When the shooter began shouting at them, it came from an unexpected direction. At first, he thought it was echoing off the trees, but then he realized that the stranger was speaking from somewhere in the woods. He turned, aiming the rifle in that direction, but he saw only shadows beneath the boughs. The woods opened up on either side of the creek, but nothing moved there except the burbling water.

“Hey. Hey!” The shooter’s voice, deep and thunderous. “I’m not going to shoot again if I don’t have to. Do you hear me? You can get out of this alive!”

I know that voice, Greg realized, and it made the rage flare up into a white-hot fire. He took a blind shot into the woods.

“Did you get him?” Tuck asked.

“I have no idea where he is,” Greg replied, “but I know who it is.”

“Of course,” Tuck said. “It’s that damned Eustace. I hear him. I’d recognize that dumb voice anywhere.”

Greg heard the rip of denim as Tuck split open Emma’s pant leg.

“I don’t know what you’re firing at,” Eustace shouted back, after a moment, “but you weren’t even close, my friend. Now, listen, you can waste your ammo and take potshots into the forest, or you can get out of here alive. Which do you prefer?”

Greg was still scanning for movement in the trees, looking for some hint of that big, red shape. He was so furious it took a massive force of will to stay where he was. His whole body cried out for him to charge like a wild animal into the woods, seeking his prey. He was clutching the rifle so tightly now that his hands ached.

“What do you want, Eustace?” he shouted.

“I want you to leave all of your supplies and your weapons,” he replied. “Set them on the ground there and walk away. You do that, and I’ll let you get out of this.”

“You shot my daughter!” Greg shouted.

“Sorry about that,” Eustace replied. “I was actually aiming for you. I guess my aim’s not as good as I thought. Now, I’m not playing a game here, Greg. Leave your stuff, all of your stuff, and walk away right now!”

“My daughter is injured,” Greg replied. “We have to treat her wound!”

A bullet hit the top of the truck and ricocheted off, making an almost melodic sound, like a descending note on a flute. But Greg was still staring at the trees, and he saw the brief flash of light from the barrel. It drew his gaze to a large boulder near the creek.

“I’ve got him,” Greg muttered. “I know where he’s hiding. Idiot just gave away his position.”

“Well, we can’t sit here and let him take shots at us,” Tuck said. “We’re close enough to civilization—we don’t need all of those MREs. If you can’t hit the guy, let’s give him the supplies and get out of here.”

“I don’t trust him to keep his end of the bargain,” Greg said. “Anyway, he doesn’t have unlimited ammo.”

“All he needs is a single good shot,” Tuck said. “Look, your daughter is bleeding badly here, son. We need to get her out of here.”

He looked back at Emma. Her face was scrunched up in pain, her hands locked together and twisting. Though Tuck had applied a makeshift tourniquet and bandaged the wound, her right pant leg was already soaked with blood.

“He’ll shoot us in the back,” Greg said. “Even if we leave all of our stuff. There’s no way Eustace is going to let us march back to town and report his villainy.”

He aimed in the direction of the boulder, but of course, he couldn’t see Eustace. The big man had found one of the few objects wide enough to hide behind. After a moment, Greg felt something pulling at the rifle, and he realized it was Tuck.

“The second he pokes his head out, I’ve got him,” Greg said.

“No, give me the rifle,” Tuck said. “He’s well hidden back there. You won’t see him until he takes another shot, and then it might be too late. Give me the gun.”

“I admit, you’re probably a better shot than me, Dad,” Greg said, relinquishing the rifle to the old man, “but we have more than one gun.”

“I’ll keep him pinned behind the boulder,” Tuck said. “You pick up Emma and get her out of here.”

“What?” He stared hard at the old man. Had Tuck lost his mind? “You’re not going to sit here and try to outgun Eustace while I make a run for it. We’re all getting out of here.”

“Even if we tried to make a run for it together, I wouldn’t be able to keep up,” Tuck said. “You know that. Son, my leg is worse than I let on. You think I’m getting better, but I just got better at hiding the pain. After all this crawling around, I’m not even sure I can stand on my own anymore. You’ll have to carry Emma, but I’ll keep Eustace busy until you’re out of range.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Dad, I’m not leaving—”

Tuck grabbed him by the shoulders. “Look, who cares about the damned supplies? We stole half of them from the way station anyway. Dump everything right now, pick up your daughter, and get out of here!”

“I don’t care about the supplies, old man,” Greg said. “I don’t want to leave you!”

He said it in anger, but as soon as the words were out, something hitched in his throat. He stared into the old man’s eyes as some great well of suppressed emotion rose inside of him, some feeling he hadn’t even realized was down there. Tuck’s face softened, and finally he shook his head.

“Son, you and I both know this rotting leg is going to be the end of me,” Tuck said, softly, prying the rifle out of Greg’s hands. “Don’t let Emma’s wound be the end of her. If I can protect my son and granddaughter and give them a chance to make it home, then that’s all I need. That would be a life well-lived. Okay?”

Greg stared at the worn, leathery face of his father, this man who had become practically a stranger to him over the years, and he thought of all the lost words, all the unsaid things that lingered between them. He felt the wasted time—so many years. It was all sort of piled up inside of him. And now they were out of time. It was never going to be more than this.

He leaned forward and gave the old man a hug, and it was still so damned awkward. Even then, knowing what was going to happen, it felt like hugging a stranger.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said.

“Sorry for what?” Tuck replied.

Greg didn’t have an answer for this. He wasn’t even sure why he’d apologized.

“Let’s not be sorry about things we can’t change,” Tuck said. “Let’s just get on with saving that wonderful child over there. We’re okay, son. You and me. We’re okay.”

Greg nodded, squeezed his father’s shoulder, and said, “Yeah, Dad. We’re okay.” So much weight in so few words, but he knew he could leave it at that. Crawling past Tuck, he went to Emma’s side.

“Okay, you’ve had some time to discuss the matter,” Eustace shouted from the distance. “Let’s have it, folks. What it’s going to be?”

Emma was on her back, rocking gently from side to side, as if to comfort herself. Greg slid his arms under her.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said, lifting her.

“I love you, Grandpa,” she said in a quavering voice, tears spilling down her face.

“I love you, too, kiddo,” he replied. “Take care of your old man. He’s a good guy.”

Greg marveled at how small Emma still felt. He cradled her in his arms as he rose. He glanced back at Tuck and saw the old man positioning himself against the side of the truck, bracing his left arm against the running board as he took aim toward the boulder.

“Now, Greg,” he said. “Go for it.”

As he said it, he opened fire, taking three quick shots into the woods. That got Greg moving. He tightened his grip on Emma and took off running across the open field, following the general path of the creek toward civilization. As he did, he heard Tuck shouting from behind him.

“There’s our answer, Eustace! How do you like it? Want to hear it again?”

Tuck took three more shots toward the boulder, and Greg heard Eustace cursing somewhere in the shadows.

31

On the way back through the woods, Darryl tried to broach the subject with her. Justine hadn’t said much, and as soon as he asked a question about her family, she just started crying. Her hooded sweatshirt was covered with dirt, as if she’d spent the night crawling around on the ground. Her face was red and blotchy, though she kept it mostly hidden behind her long black hair.

As they headed for the ranch, moving through the shadowy trees, she kept casting furtive glances over her shoulder, as if afraid she might be followed. There was so much he wanted to know. How had she survived? Was she injured? The mayor had said that she was dead in an upstairs bedroom. Had he lied, or had Justine somehow played dead?

Finally, he decided to try circling around the issue. “So, are you hungry or anything?” he asked. “We can fix you something to eat as soon as we get to the house.”

She didn’t respond for a few seconds, and he checked to make sure she wasn’t crying again. Finally, she said, “I don’t know if I’m hungry or not. I can’t really tell. My stomach doesn’t feel good, but I don’t know if it’s hunger or just feeling terrible about everything. I guess I should be hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten recently?” he asked.

“Everything is kind of a blur,” Justine replied cryptically. “I can’t remember what I did. Lost a few hours there. Or days, I dunno. I remember sleeping in the woods.”

She left it at that, and he decided not to press the issue. If she wasn’t ready to talk, she wasn’t ready to talk. So be it.

They finally stepped out of the trees onto the ranch, and he saw the big eyesore fence surrounding the property. Though it was quite ugly, with mismatched wood and hastily aligned boards, it made him feel better to see the house and barn enclosed like that. He even had a couple of lookout platforms at strategic corners. Seeing this, Justine gasped.

“Who built all of this?” she asked. “There’s so much more of it now.”

“We all did,” Darryl replied. “Well, I did quite a bit of it by myself.”

Justine made a soft whistling sound. “I guess you’ve never built a fence before.”

He decided not to let the comment hurt his feelings. “Actually, no, this was my first fence, and I was working kind of fast.”

“Doesn’t really matter what it looks like, I suppose,” she added. “Just as long as it keeps the bad people out.”

“Exactly.”

He’d built a large gate across the driveway, reinforcing the hinges so it couldn’t easily be forced open. As he pushed the wheelbarrow through, he pulled it shut behind him and set the crude wooden brace in place to hold it shut. Tabitha was on the porch repairing a small wicker chair as they approached, and she rose to meet them.

“Justine Carmichael,” she said. “You poor thing. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

And then, to Darryl’s surprise, his grandmother rushed down the porch steps and crushed Justine in a big, motherly embrace. Justine melted and sobbed against her shoulder. Darryl stood beside them awkwardly for a few seconds, then made his way to the porch and sat down on the edge, placing the rifle beside him.

After a moment, his mother appeared, stepping outside with a big jug of tea. She set the tea and some cups on a nearby table. By then, Justine had pulled away from Tabitha, wiping her eyes furiously on the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“Come, dear, have a seat,” Tabitha said, ushering her onto the porch. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“Have a nice cup of tea,” Marion added, pouring the first glass and handing it to Justine. “It always makes me feel better.”

“Thanks,” Justine said, holding the cup with both hands as she sat down, cross-legged, beside Darryl.

She took a long drink of her tea, coughed, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, then took another. Darryl felt a sudden urge to put an arm around her, to offer some kind of comfort, but it was just a bit too much. Instead, he just sat there staring off across the yard.

“Justine, dear, what happened?” Tabitha asked, speaking softly. For a crusty old rancher, she could sound really gentle and comforting when she wanted to. “I know it’s not easy to talk about, but there are things we need to know.”

“Well…” Justine took another sip, then set the half-empty cup on the porch between her and Darryl. “Mom and Dad had been fighting for days about her job. Before the event, she managed a warehouse in town. Actually, I think it’s a grocery distribution center for stores in the area.”

“I know the place,” Marion said. “I’ve seen the delivery truck at the gas station.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Justine said. “Anyway, after we lost power, Dad wanted her to basically loot the warehouse. I mean, she used to bring home a bunch of stuff from the warehouse anyway, like food that was out of date or packages that broke open. Maybe more than that. Heck, they used to sell it to neighbors. But now Dad wanted all of it. He said it would either go to waste or get stolen by others, but even with everything going on, Mom didn’t want to steal from her place of work. She said, ‘It still belongs to the company.’”

She looked back at Tabitha and said, as if she thought the situation needed clarification, “My mom was the breadwinner of our family. Dad’s been on disability for years, even though I always thought he could probably work. Anyway, he thought since the company wasn’t paying Mom that she should basically take her pay out of the warehouse in terms of goods—all of the food and drinks, basically.”

“I’m sure Mayor Filmore has had his eye on that place from day one,” Tabitha said.

“Probably,” Justine said. Just hearing Tabitha say the man’s name made her visibly wince. “Anyway, my little sister has anemia…I mean…had anemia. Most people outside the family don’t know that, but it was really bad, and it got worse after the power went out. Cold hands and feet, dizziness, and she was getting more and more pale. Mostly, I guess it was from malnutrition, but Dad finally convinced Mom to go to the warehouse to get beans, because they’re supposed to be good for the anemia. He gave her a big hiker’s backpack and told her to load it up, and she set off into town. I don’t even like baked beans. Ugh!”

For a moment, Justine seemed to lose her train of thought, her gaze lifting into the blue sky. Then she shook her head, as if coming back to herself, and said, “She came back later with a ton of Heinz beans, like, more than any person would ever want to eat, but I guess word had gotten back to the mayor. One of the volunteer guards must have spotted her going into the warehouse, so the next morning, Filmore showed up at our house. At first, he was all friendly and professional, just making polite conversation, but then he asked about all the cans on the porch. He wanted to know where we got the food from, what we were doing with it, who we were bartering with, and when my parents refused to tell him, his mood changed fast. It’s like he pulled the mask off, you know?”

Darryl recalled his own nighttime encounter with the mayor. Yes, he’d seen that sudden change himself, hadn’t he? However, as he recalled the encounter, he also thought of an offhand comment he’d made to Filmore about cutting deals with the Carmichaels. The mayor might have put two and two together—wrongly, of course—thinking that the Carmichaels were looting in town and bartering the food with other area residents.

Did I inadvertently cause all of this? he wondered, feeling a stab of guilt. He bent over, gripping his head with his hands.

“My parents insisted on playing dumb, even when he got angry,” Justine continued, “and finally the mayor stormed out of there. It was weird. I was upstairs through the whole thing; I heard the entire conversation through the heater vent. I didn’t know the mayor had such a sinister side to him.”

“Leo Filmore has always been a vile little weasel of a man,” Tabitha said. “He’s a stain on the earth. We should have run him out of town years ago, but his time is coming. Believe me.”

Justine glanced up at Darryl, knitting her eyebrows, clearly intrigued by Grandma’s comment. Darryl shrugged and nodded. Yeah, his time is coming.

“Well, the mayor finally stormed out of our house, cussing up a storm, and after that, Dad and Mom decided we were going to leave the house and move into the warehouse,” Justine continued. “They thought it would be safer. It’s definitely more fire-resistant than our old house, and it’s got big, heavy door that bolts shut. They planned on making the move in the dead of night, so we spent the day getting ready for the move. I was sent out to gather some supplies in town, and I didn’t get back home until that afternoon. I knew something was wrong because the front door was wide open.”

She picked up her tea, but then she just held it in her hands and stared at it. Her gaze became distant, as if she were seeing through the tea, through the ground, and right into the center of the earth. Nobody prodded her to speak, so the quiet stretched on for almost a full minute. Darryl even looked at his grandma at one point, wondering if she was going to do anything, but she was seated on the rocking chair, calmly waiting.

“I could see through the porch window that he had my whole family on the couch, and he was holding them at gunpoint,” Justine said. “That cop from town was there, too. I don’t know her name. She’s always riding that stupid horse up and down the road. Anyway, I ducked down beneath the porch and watched as my mom handed him the big ring of keys for the warehouse. ‘Just take it and go,’ she said. ‘You’ve got what you want. Take it and go!’ But then she screamed. I think he pointed the gun at her. Maybe she tried to run away, but then…”

She took a drink, but held it in her mouth a second before swallowing.

“Then he just shot her. Just like that. It was so loud, and it kind of flashed through the window a few times. Dad jumped up from the couch and tried to rush him, but that lady cop shot him, too, and then my sister, Sadie, screamed and ran upstairs. Filmore followed her, and then I heard more shots. They fired their guns so many times. So many times.” Her voice trailed off into a whisper, and she wiped away tears. “When I heard them coming back down the stairs, I ran away. I went into the woods and just fled and cried, and my heart felt like it was going to break through my ribs, and finally, I collapsed out there in the middle of nowhere, and that’s where I was until today.”

Darryl’s guilt had welled up inside of him until he could barely breathe. Why had he ever thought to make a deal with that slimy mayor? How stupid. How absolutely stupid. Finally, he couldn’t sit still, so he rose and walked to the far corner of the porch, leaning against the handrail.

“Justine, thank you for sharing all of that,” Marion said. “I know it wasn’t easy to talk about, but we needed to know. The mayor’s not going to get away with what he’s done.”

“You can’t do anything to him,” she said. “He’s surrounded by armed people now. He’s become like a little tyrant king there in the town hall.”

“He’s not invulnerable,” Marion said, “and he’s going to pay for what he’s done.”

Tabitha spoke then, sudden and rather loud. “Darryl, what is it you’re hiding?”

Shocked by her words, he spun around to find that she had shifted her chair in his direction. Her look was both curious and severe. What had she read in his expression? How had he given himself away?

“What do you mean, Grandma?” he replied.

“I know Justine’s story was disturbing,” she said, “but you look guilty. What are you hiding? I think you’d better tell us everything. And I do mean everything.”

All eyes were on him now, and he glanced from Justine to his mother to his grandmother, then straight down at the gray floorboards beneath his feet.

“Is it about the mayor?” Tabitha asked. “Did you know something about what he planned to do?”

“No, I had no idea he would ever hurt anybody like that,” Darryl said, “but…well, actually, yes, it’s about the mayor.”

I’m not getting out of this one, he thought, and even if I did, this guilt is too much. Just get it over with. Tell them and take the consequences, stupid.

“Okay,” he said, working himself up to it. “Okay, here’s the truth.” He couldn’t look at his family, didn’t even want them in his peripheral vision, so he stared off in the direction of the barn. “Remember those two cows that disappeared? Well, they weren’t dragged off by wild animals. I gave them to Mayor Filmore in exchange for a few months’ worth of diabetes medicine.” He heard all three of the women behind him gasp, and it made an almost harmonic sound, but it also made his whole body clench.

He plunged on. “Well, we had more cows than we could take care of, and Grandma will need that medication eventually, and we can’t afford to let her get sick, so I did what I thought was best. Only, the mayor kind of screwed me over and didn’t give me as much medicine as he promised, and then he also threatened me, but…” He trailed off. He hadn’t even gotten to the worst of it yet, but he needed a moment to gather his courage.

In the silence, he heard his grandmother’s breathing, fast and angry little breaths, but it was his mother who spoke first.

“I’m shocked,” she said. “I can’t believe you would do business with that snake and not even talk to us first.”

Tabitha shushed her. “What else, Darryl? You were going to admit something else, weren’t you?”

“The thing is…I might have mentioned in passing that the Carmichaels were cutting deals with people,” he said. “I might have said something about trading with us for curing salt. It just sort of came up in conversation, and now I’m afraid I turned the mayor’s attention in their direction, so…” He trailed off again, unsure how to end his confession. In the silence that followed, he felt about as low as he’d ever felt. Justine hadn’t responded. Indeed, he couldn’t see her, so he had no idea how she’d taken the news, but he didn’t dare look at her. If he saw blame in those brown eyes, he would never recover.

“Your decision to make a deal with the mayor was incredibly stupid,” his grandmother said, in a low voice that could have cut paper. “I thought you had enough sense to see what kind of man he is when we interacted with him at the town meeting. The fact that you might have also turned his attention to the Carmichaels just makes this whole thing even more idiotic. On top of that, you risked your own life dealing with that man. I’m very disappointed.”

Those were the words that finally pierced all the way through, and he bowed his head in shame. He heard his grandmother rise from her seat, heard her footsteps getting closer, and he tensed himself for some kind of blow. Instead, he felt her arms sliding around his shoulders as she hugged him.

“You were trying to help me,” she said. “I get it. If you’d done this for personal gain, I’d have real reason to be mad. I appreciate you thinking about me and wanting to help, but you should have come to us first. We would have talked about it as a family and come to a joint decision. And we would have found another way than dealing with him.”

“I was just trying to take care of things,” he said, “to take some initiative, but I won’t do it again. We’ll talk about it together from now on.”

His mother approached and hugged him as well, but Darryl looked past her shoulder to Justine. The girl was leaning against the support post for the porch, staring off toward the gate, her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt. He couldn’t tell how she felt about what he’d said because her face was mostly in shadow.

She hates me, he thought, and I don’t blame her.

“Well,” Tabitha said, stooping down to pick up the rifle. “What’s done is done. Mayor Filmore needs to be stopped, and we’re going to stop him. Today.”

“Today?” Darryl said, almost choking on the word.

“That’s right,” Tabitha replied.

Justine blew her breath out loudly then. “You didn’t cause it, Darryl,” she said. “Ironically, it was all of those cans of beans on the porch that caused it. Can you imagine that? A bunch of Heinz beans got my whole family killed, because that mayor is an evil, greedy piece of garbage.” She turned and looked at him. He had expected to see tears in her eyes, but she was scowling darkly, her upper lip drawn back. “I want him to pay. I want to help make him pay. Let’s kill that snake.”

32

They didn’t like Tabitha’s plan, and they didn’t have to like it. Tabitha knew there was no way a frontal assault on the town hall would work. Four people would never make it past all of the guards and police to get to the mayor’s office. Anyway, the risk was too great. Tabitha wasn’t about to put Darryl and Marion in such danger.

Of the three, I’m the most expendable, she thought. Of course, she didn’t say this to them. It would have just made them resist all the harder, so instead, she’d just done it.

“I’m going into town,” she said, “by myself. That’s all there is to it. If I’m not back in a couple of hours, assume the worst.”

And then she’d walked away, as Darryl, Marion, and the Carmichael girl gaped at her from the porch. Tabitha didn’t bother taking the gun with her. It would only have added to the tension. Plus, if she got into a violent confrontation in town, she wasn’t going to shoot her way out of there, not with so many guards and cops. Instead, she took a nice, big slab of ribs, wrapped it in butcher paper, and stuffed it into a backpack.

She hoped the mayor’s greed would lower his defenses, and during her walk into town, she worked through the conversation in her mind. It was actually a rather nice walk. She used the dirt road, and everything was green and quiet. It was chilly today, but not unbearable. A thin coat was enough.

Keep your anger in check, she told herself. You’re pretending to be friends now.

Easier said than done. Her anger toward the slimy old mayor was like a bottomless well of bile. All of her worries about Tuck and Greg, her frustrations at keeping the ranch going, and her rage about the killing of the Carmichaels was directed at one man now. One awful man, but she couldn’t let it show.

As she approached the edge of town, she heard the clop of hooves. A moment later, the police officer with the short black hair, the woman named Pam Grasier, appeared, riding her horse down the road. She had a shotgun in the crook of her right arm, a wide-brimmed hat pulled so low her eyes were hidden. When she spotted Tabitha, she drew up short, turning the horse to block her.

“Tabitha Healy,” she said. “Are you headed into town?”

Ask the obvious, why don’t you, stupid? Tabitha thought, but she managed to fix a pleasant expression on her face.

“I’m here to barter with the mayor,” Tabitha replied. “I’ve got a deal that he’s going to want to know about. Could be good for the town. I know we’re not best buddies or anything, but there’s no reason we can’t do business together, Leo and me.”

Pam stared hard at her for a few seconds. Finally, she motioned with her hand and turned the horse toward town.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “Follow me. I’ll escort you to his office.”

Tabitha moved alongside the horse as they went the rest of the way into town. When she got there, she saw a few people moving through town, all of them armed. Of those armed people, two broke away and approached her, falling in line behind the police horse as they escorted her the rest of the way.

When they reached the town hall, she noted that the windows and front door had been reinforced with metal bars. Were they expecting an invasion?

Maybe they should be, Tabitha thought.

Pam Grasier stopped her horse, climbed down, and tied the reins to the town hall’s mailbox post. Then she pulled open the front door and waved Tabitha inside.

“Go on in,” she said. “He’s in the back office.”

The big meeting room had numerous bags and boxes stacked up along the walls now, mostly food items. Tabitha assumed much of it had come from the warehouse, and certainly there were a few cans of Heinz beans here and there. Mayor Filmore was seated at his desk in the back office, furiously scribbling in a large ledger book, when they approached. He looked up, saw Tabitha, and turned a bewildered gaze to Pam Grasier.

“What the heck is going on here?” he said. Did he sound a little bit nervous? Tabitha thought so, and she relished in that fact.

“She wants to make some kind of deal with you,” Pam said. “Would you rather I sent her away?”

The mayor hesitated a moment before shaking his head. “No, no, that’s fine.” He gestured at a seat across from his desk. “Tabitha, have a seat. Pam, wait by the door.”

As Tabitha stepped into the office, the cop took up a position just outside of his door, still clutching the shotgun. Tabitha sat down in the cold, uncomfortable plastic chair across from his desk, slipped the backpack off her shoulder, and set it on the ground.

“I’m a little bit surprised to see you here,” the mayor said, anxiously tapping a pen against the desktop. “Our last conversation wasn’t all that friendly, as I recall.”

As Tabitha reached down to unzip the backpack, she heard the cop moving, heard the clink of the shotgun being repositioned. “Well, this might surprise you a little bit, but we’ve decided to join the community,” she said, glancing warily at the cop. Only when she was sure the shotgun wasn’t pointed directly at her did she resume opening the backpack.

“Is that so?” the mayor said, tipping his head back so that he was looking at her down the bridge of his long nose. “I can’t imagine how you came to this decision, Tabitha. You didn’t respond well to my suggestion at the town meeting.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “That’s because I don’t like you.” She gave him the winningest smile she could muster, but he only glowered in return. “But whether I like you or not is irrelevant. You’re the man in charge here, and I’m ready to play my part in helping your town.”

“What a remarkable turn of events,” he said, in a low voice that suggested he didn’t buy it for one second. “How did you come to this decision?”

This is it, she told herself. Sell the lie. Seem weary, not wary. Tired, not angry.

She let out a long, shaky sigh and said, “My grandson told me about the cows. I know he made a trade with you for some medication.”

“Oh, did he?” For a moment, she thought a look of intense anger passed over his face, but it was quickly replaced with a look of frowning contempt. “That kid’s no good at keeping his mouth shut, I guess.”

“Yeah, I was mad at first,” Tabitha said. “Going behind my back like that without telling me. However, I’m going to level with you, Leo, no matter how much it wounds my pride. The truth is, we no longer have the manpower to deal with our dairy herd. It’s just three of us, and we can hardly keep the cows milked. Darryl thought he was doing me a favor. The poor boy said he didn’t want me to lose hope.” She paused a moment and tried to look like she was wrestling with emotion. “After we heard about what happened at the Carmichaels…murder-suicide…well, I guess it’s not all that surprising. People see a bleak future, and they don’t want to face it.”

She dared a glance at the mayor and realized he was looking away, a distance in his eyes. “Yeah, shame about the Carmichaels,” he said. “Good family.”

“I’ll wind up with a bunch of dead cows, and then what’ll I do?” she said. “Yeah, I can see how a person might lose hope.” She pulled out the ribs, the paper crackling in her hands. The cop took a step into the room, as if she thought it might somehow be a weapon, but the smell of salted meat soon filled the office. “Anyway, I’m not going to let that happen. I am responsible for what happens to my family. Darryl was right to cut a deal. I can’t take care of the ranch, so…” She set the meat on the cleanest corner of the desk. The mayor peeled back the paper and took a look. “I’m basically going to give you control of the ranch. You can divvy up the meat as you see fit. It’s better than watching all of the cows die and rot, and we just can’t do it on our own.”

The mayor stared at the red edge of meat for a few seconds, a blank expression on his face, as if he had no emotion at all. Finally, he put the paper back in place, blinked a few times as if to clear his mind, and then gave Tabitha the barest hint of a smile.

“It’s certainly the right decision. I’ll give you that,” he said. “We would have to take a look at the ranch to make sure it’s worth our time. Is the meat here a gift?”

“A peace offering,” Tabitha said. “Look, I’m basically giving the ranch to the community. Do with it as you please. My family and I will just go on living our lives in the house. If you want to take a look around, come on out this afternoon. Bring Pam here, bring your guards, whatever you want to do. I know I can be a stubborn old cuss, and we haven’t always gotten along, but I’m swallowing my pride. This is just what it’s come to.” She gave him a look that she hoped appeared to be slight embarrassment.

He nodded slowly and resumed tapping his pen. “Tell you what, Tabitha. I’ve got some business to attend to, but I’ll come out your way in a few hours. Of course, I’ll have a few of my guards with me. I hope you understand. Guns, like fences, make good neighbors. It’s not because I don’t believe you.”

“I completely understand,” Tabitha said, zipping up the backpack. “Bring your guards. We won’t be any trouble. The ranch belongs to the town now. That’s it.”

And with that, she rose. As she headed for the door, Pam Grasier stepped to one side, giving her a cool look. Maybe the cop didn’t buy her story.

As long as Filmore does, we’re fine, she thought.

“You’ve made the right decision,” the mayor said, as she headed out of his office. “For your family.”

Yes, I have, she thought, striding across the meeting room, past all of the stacks of stolen and acquired food.

33

Tabitha huddled with Darryl, Marion, Horace, and Justine on the porch. She felt her heartbeat in the back of her throat, an incessant drumbeat warning her about what was to come.

“He bought it,” she said. “Maybe not completely, but enough that he’s willing to come here this afternoon. He’ll have guards with him. I don’t know how many, so let’s be ready. I’ve opened the gun case, so each of us will be armed. Justine, can you handle a weapon?”

“I think so,” she replied. “We used to go deer hunting. I’m a decent shot, actually. At least, that’s what my dad told me.”

“Good,” Tabitha said. “Then I have just the place for you. Let’s take our positions. Darryl, you get to be the welcome wagon. Are you okay with that?”

“Whatever I have to do,” he replied. He sounded out of breath. No doubt as anxious as the rest of them. “I bet he’ll have Ricky and Julian with him. Let’s just get this over with.”

Ricky and Julian? She didn’t know what to make of that, but she let it go.

Horace had been silent through most of this, but he spoke now with the calm certainty of a man who knew the business of killing. “When it’s time to pull the trigger, you can’t hesitate. Don’t think about what you’re doing in that moment. Just do it. All of the bad feelings can wait until later. Got me?” He gave a sharp look to each of them in turn.

“I won’t have any problem shooting them,” Justine muttered, staring straight down at her own feet. “I want to shoot them.”

“Good,” Horace replied. “But make sure you wait until you’ve got a clear shot. Try to make every bullet count, because you never know how many shots you’re going to get.”

Justine nodded. “I understand.”

In the end, Tabitha and Marion sat on the porch. It was important that they not look suspicious or ready for trouble, so they set a pitcher of tea and a couple of glasses on the small table between them. Tabitha had the Winchester propped against the handrail nearby, and Marion had Tuck’s old Walther PPK pistol in her jacket pocket. Darryl took up position as the welcome wagon by the front gate, which was wide open, ready to receive their guests. Justine and Horace were in hiding. The mayor couldn’t know that Justine was alive, much less hiding out on the Healy ranch, and Horace was their ace up the sleeve.

And what if Filmore doesn’t show up? Tabitha thought, as she rocked in her rocking chair. What if he’s not dumb enough to fall for my little ploy?

She was right in the middle of these thoughts when they appeared in the distance. Mayor Filmore in his tacky sweater appeared on the driveway with armed guards on either side of him and Pam Grasier, walking behind him. There were four guards, each with rifles, the cop had a shotgun, and they were holding them in such a way that the weapons were immediately visible from a distance. Everything inside of Tabitha screamed at her to get up, grab the Winchester, and open fire, but she forced herself to remain seated. She needed them inside the fence first.

“This is it,” Tabitha said, glancing at Marion. “Let’s all play nice until we’re ready to start shooting.”

“Ugh,” Marion replied. “I’m just trying not to throw up.”

As the mayor and his entourage approached, Darryl stepped through the open gate and raised a hand in greeting. The mayor returned the gesture—a good sign. However, watching him approach, Tabitha felt the anxiety building within her until her whole body shook with it.

Play the part until the gate is shut and Darryl is out of the way, she told herself, trying to suppress the fear. Then get it over with as fast as you can.

They were lucky he’d only brought four guards and one cop. He could have brought the whole town.

“Hey there,” Darryl said, as the mayor drew near. He did a good job of sounding slightly annoyed to see the man. If he’d been too friendly, the mayor would have known something was wrong. The two had a troubled history, after all. “Come on in. Grandma’s right over there.”

“Looks like we’re doing business again, son,” the mayor said, clapping Darryl on the shoulder. “Who would have imagined it, right? But let’s be friends, because we’re about to be neighbors.”

Darryl ducked his head and said nothing to this. A good choice, a believable reaction, Tabitha thought. As Pam Grasier brought up the rear, looking back and forth, Darryl pushed the gate shut behind her. The mayor seemed to react negatively to this, frowning and turning, so Tabitha quickly rose and headed toward the steps.

“Thanks for coming,” she said. “Let me give you the grand tour.”

Instead of responding to her, however, the mayor gestured at Pam. “Wait outside the gate.”

She nodded and turned, brushing Darryl aside before he could set the bar. Pulling the gate open, she slipped through the gap. Darryl quickly shut the gate again behind her and set the bar in place. Only then did the mayor turn and give Tabitha his big slimy politician’s smile.

“It’s just the three of you, right?” he said.

“Of course,” Tabitha replied. “Who else would be here? None of my workers ever showed up after the power went out. I have no idea what happened to them.”

“And Tuck is still out in the woods on his hunting trip?” he asked.

“That’s right,” she said.

When she reached the bottom step, she stopped, reaching out to rest her hand on the nearby post and hoping like heck that it wasn’t visibly trembling. The mayor came toward her, flanked by his guards, as Darryl eased backward in the opposite direction.

“Well, Tabitha, I’m glad you came to your senses about all of this,” the mayor said. “Why don’t you show me the herd? I don’t need a full tour of the ranch. My people can assess what you’ve got. We’ll log it all and add it to the city registry. Believe me, this is the right approach.”

Just then, the first shot rang out. Tabitha saw the flash high up in a tree at the far corner of the fence. Darryl had built a simple platform about halfway up. It was mostly hidden by the leaves, but Tabitha could see a shoulder and the rounded edge of a gray hood.

It was a dead shot, exploding out of the front of the guard’s coat, casting out a cloud of white stuffing. He managed a single brief cry, but all the strength seemed to leave his body instantly. He collapsed straight down, legs folding beneath him, as he landed in a heap on the dirt. Immediately, like startled kittens, the guards scattered in all directions. The mayor gave Tabitha a hateful look over his shoulder as he rushed after them.

A second shot rang out then. It came from the direction of the barn. The door there was slightly ajar, but inside the building was only darkness. Horace Bouchard was well hidden. A second guard grabbed his face, blood spurting through his fingers as he stumbled to a stop, dropped his shotgun, then fell forward onto the driveway.

“This is it, Marion,” Tabitha said, rushing back across the porch to grab the Winchester. “We can’t let him get out of here alive.”

She picked up the rifle, raised it, and turned back around. She heard a third shot coming from the tree, but it only kicked up some gravel as it pinged off the driveway. Filmore and his remaining guards disappeared behind the small storage shed between the house and barn. Tabitha fired at the shed, hitting the side and punching a hole through the corrugated aluminum.

As she did, she saw the barrel of a gun poke around the side of the shed. She just had time to stumble backward out of sight before the guard opened fire. He sent three shots toward the porch. Two of them missed completely, but the third smashed through the handrail and cast splinters across the porch. Marion dragged her chair around in front of her as cover.

“I knew it,” Filmore shrieked from behind the shed. “I knew you were up to something! I’m going to kill your whole family, Tabitha Healy. Do you hear me?”

She looked for Darryl and spotted him running along the fence toward the distant tree. As he did, another series of shots rang out, and she saw puffs of dust and wood as they hit the fence just behind him. Darryl cast himself onto the ground, but he had no cover. He was supposed to run for the tree, but he’d lingered too long by the gate.

Tabitha stepped out from behind the house, but the other gun was still pointed at her. She saw a guard peeking around the edge of the shed. As soon as she appeared, he took a shot. She slipped back out of sight, but she felt the bullet whizz past her, felt the heat on her face and heard the high-pitched sizzle as it cut through the air.

Too close, she thought.

“You guards,” Tabitha shouted. “How can you work for this man? Don’t you see what kind of person he is? Don’t you realize he’s a lunatic?”

“Yeah, but he’s a lunatic with food,” one of the guards replied.

Darryl was crawling toward the tree. As he did, Justine took a few shots from the platform toward the shed. Tabitha saw the flash of her rifle through the leaves. The guards returned fire, but then shots began coming at them from the barn, each one punching through the shed.

“Give up or you’re all dead,” the mayor shouted.

“I don’t think you’re the one to demand surrender here, Leo,” Tabitha replied. It did cross her mind then that Pam Grasier was on the other side of the fence. She hadn’t returned fire yet. What was she doing? “We’ve got you surrounded!”

“Except I came prepared,” the mayor replied, shouting so loudly that his voice cracked. “I knew you might double-cross me. I didn’t suddenly forget what kind of woman you are just because you dumped some ribs on my desk. I placed a sniper in the woods. You’re not getting out of this alive unless you surrender!”

“I don’t believe you,” Tabitha replied. “A sniper couldn’t see over the fence.”

“He can if he’s up in a tall tree,” he replied. “Get ready. This is the moment you die!”

34

Greg had run out of breath hours ago, but somehow, he still managed to keep moving. Though the darkness wanted to creep in, he was still awake, gasping desperately for air, his clothes filled with sweat like an unsqueezed sponge. Emma was on his back now, her arms draped over his shoulder, like a makeshift piggyback ride, but there was no strength in her grip. He had to hold on to her arms as he ran to keep her from sliding off. He heard her pained breathing in his ear.

At some point, his run became a jog, and then it just became trudging, dragging his legs through the high grass as he forced himself to keep moving forward, following the course of the small, meandering creek.

“Emma, are you still awake, baby?” he said, between gasps for breath. “Talk to me, honey. How are you doing?”

“I’m…okay, Daddy,” she slurred in response. “My leg really, really hurts, though.”

“Do you need to stop and rest for a little bit?” he asked. The rifle was tucked awkwardly under his arm, and he kept almost dropping it.

“No, I don’t want to stop,” she said. “I just want to go home.”

“I’m trying to get us there,” he said. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

Finally, he spotted a paved road in the distance, cutting through the field like a scar. In a fenced pasture alongside the road, a single horse was grazing, but Greg saw reins hanging down. As he got closer, he realized the horse was saddled—perhaps someone had been riding it. A few large trees grew along the edges of the pasture, but otherwise, it was all open ground, and Greg didn’t see any other people.

He stumbled to a stop. As soon as he gave in to the exhaustion, his whole body hit a wall, and he was forced to lower himself to the ground. He set Emma on her back in the grass, checking her leg to make sure the bandage was still in place. It was soaked with blood, but the blood had mostly dried by now.

“Why did we stop here?” Emma asked, looking at him through half-lidded, sleepy eyes. “We’re not home yet, are we?”

“No, but I think I found us a ride,” Greg said. “I just need to check and make sure it’s available. Wait here. I’ll be right back. Don’t move, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said with a sigh.

He pulled her hood up and adjusted her toque, folded her hands on her belly, and made sure she was as comfortable as possible. Then he rose and crept toward the fence. There was a house off in the distance, near the far side of the pasture, but he didn’t see any other people. There was no sign of the rider. The horse was just standing there and grazing as if it hadn’t a care in the world. Climbing the fence, Greg began to speak gently to the animal.

“Hey there, girl,” he said, holding out a hand. “How are you doing, girl? Are you over here all by yourself? Is everything okay over here?”

The horse looked at him briefly then resumed grazing. The ground along the fence was rocky, and a particularly large rock poked up from the ground just to the horse’s right flank. As Greg circled around in front of the animal, he spotted a pair of booted feet sticking out from behind the rock. Then he saw the legs, the torso, the entire body. The man might’ve been in his late thirties or early forties. He was paunchy, dressed like a cowhand, with leather chaps, a dark brown cowboy hat, and a leather vest.

“Sir, are you hurt?” Greg asked.

He saw blood on the rocks, blood on the side of the man’s head, and a very large, dark puddle on the dusty ground in between. The horse didn’t seem bothered by Greg’s presence and tolerated him as he knelt beside the rider.

“Sir?” he asked again.

He pressed two fingers against the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. He was dead. Indeed, his skin had already turned the ugly sallow color of corpse flesh. Greg tipped the hat back to uncover the man’s face and realized that his eyes were open but unfocused. He had traces of blood and foam around his mouth.

“What did you do?” Greg asked the horse. “Did you throw him? Did he try to get you to jump the fence? That was not a nice thing to do, girl.”

Greg searched the man and found a .38 Magnum in a holster on his right hip. Looking around to make sure no one was nearby, he drew the gun from the holster, checked to make sure it was loaded, then tucked it into his jacket pocket with John’s pistol. As he was doing that, he heard strange breathing right at his ear. He turned to find that the horse had come up behind him, still chewing grass. She seemed docile and friendly. Maybe she’d been out there in the pasture for a while, waiting for her rider to wake up.

“Hey there, you poor thing,” he said. With one hand, he grabbed the reins. With the other, he gently stroked her neck. “How long have you been standing out here all alone?”

He rose and led the horse back across the pasture. She came willingly. Actually, she seemed rather content to finally have a person with her again. As he approached the fence, he realized Emma was sitting up in the grass and staring at the horse.

“Oh my gosh,” she cried. “What a beautiful roan mare. Dad, that’s a red roan. I recognize the color of its coat. She was probably a really expensive horse.”

“Well, she was all alone out there,” Greg said. “Looks like her rider got thrown. Sorry there’s not a carriage to ride in. I hope you’re okay in the saddle.”

“I don’t care if my leg hurts,” Emma said. “I want to ride.”

In the end, Greg had to dismantle part of the crude split-rail fence in order to get the horse on the other side. He wasn’t about to attempt a jump. Even if he’d been an expert at such things, he didn’t want to wind up like the previous rider. He gave the horse a quick examination to make sure there was nothing wrong with her. She was shoed, and she had a really nice trail-riding saddle on her back, all supple black leather. When he picked up Emma and hoisted her into the saddle, the horse actually shifted position to make it easier.

Fortunately, she was a fairly large animal, so he assumed she would easily bear their combined weight. Still, as he climbed into the saddle, he moved slowly to make sure the horse was okay with it. He slid into the saddle behind Emma and reached around her to grab the reins.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Let’s just go,” she replied.

Greg gave the reins a little shake, and the horse began to move. He guided her back toward the road.

“I’m pretty sure this road will lead us home,” he said. “In fact, it should take us right by the ranch.”

“I just hope we’re close,” Emma said, her head lolling back against his chest. “I’m so tired, Dad.”

“Just hang in there a little longer,” he replied.

Being on horseback made a world of difference. It wasn’t comfortable. Indeed, Greg had never found horseback riding particularly pleasant. Still, it gave him a chance to catch his breath, and though they were close to home, he moved slow enough to make things bearable. It was afternoon, the air getting colder and heavier, and all of Greg’s sweat soon began to absorb the cold. Emma hovered somewhere just above sleep, leaning against him.

After an hour or so, Greg thought he recognized their surroundings. They passed a driveway that led to an old, white farmhouse. The family name on the side of the mailbox was familiar to him: Carmichael. Another kilometer brought them home. Suddenly, he rode around a bend in the road and saw a familiar mailbox sitting on a metal post.

“Healy,” he said, reading aloud. “That’s it.”

“Are we home, Dad?” Emma said, slurring her words.

“Can you believe it?” he replied. “We marched all the way down from the mountains right to your grandma’s mailbox. Amazing.” As he said it, he felt a terrible pang of sadness for Tuck and Tommy. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d abandoned them in the wilderness. As he turned toward the driveway, he heard his father’s final words ringing in his head: We’re okay, son. You and me. We’re okay. The ache of those words robbed him of any joy at finally coming home.

He didn’t have long to dwell on it. As he started down the driveway, trees rising up on either side, a voice spoke from nearby. It startled him and he fumbled to get the rifle which was slung over his back.

“Hold it right there,” the voice said. “Don’t make another move.”

Greg lowered his hand and reined in the horse. Emma had flopped to one side, and he tightened his arms on either side her. Then he slowly, very slowly, turned toward the direction of the voice. The strange man was seated on a deer stand high up in a spruce tree in sight of both the driveway and the nearby road. He had some kind of long rifle, and it was trained on Greg.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Greg said. “Who are you?”

The man was all bundled up in a coat, gloves, heavy boots, and toque, the collar of his coat pulled up to hide his mouth. Instead of answering Greg’s question, he said, “Get down off the horse. You are not allowed on this property.”

“Not allowed on this property?” Greg said. “On whose authority? My family lives here.”

“On the order of Mayor Filmore,” the man replied. “Now, get down off your horse and set the gun on the ground, or you’re going to get shot.”

Greg had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, and he was so weary from the long hours of relentless travel, that he could barely process what was going on. As he clambered down off the horse, he grabbed his daughter and lowered her to the ground, setting her on the driveway so her back was against a tree. He tried to position her so she was out of the direct line of fire, but he made every movement slow and deliberate. No need to startle the deer stand desperado.

“Now, put the gun down,” the man said. “You make the slightest move to point it at me, and I’ll kill both of you. I might even shoot the horse for good measure.”

“I’m just trying to get my daughter home to safety,” Greg said, sliding the rifle off his shoulder and lowering it to the ground by the strap. “She’s wounded and needs medical care. Can’t you see that?”

The man was quiet for a second. To be safe, Greg took a step back from the gun and held up his hands. He made eye contact with Emma and tried to give her a reassuring smile, but she only stared up at him with sleepy eyes. After a moment, Greg realized the man in the deer stand was mumbling something under his breath. He only made out part of it.

“…not sure how to handle it…don’t want another shot kid…”

Just then, as Greg was trying to pick out the man’s words, he heard a distant gunshot coming from the direction of the ranch. Startled, Greg’s instinct was to step in front of Emma. Up in the tree, the guard swore loudly and rose on his deer stand.

“What the heck are they doing over there?” he said. He raised his rifle, using the scope like a telescope to peer into the distance.

As soon as the man was no longer looking down at Greg and Emma, Greg dropped to his knee, picked up his rifle, and pointed it at the deer stand. In his desperation, he didn’t take time to aim but squeezed off a shot immediately. The bullet smashed through the edge of the stand and appeared to clip the man’s right leg before embedding into the tree behind him.

“Hey,” the man shouted. He stumbled backward, trying to adjust his grip on his own rifle. In the process, he dropped the rifle. It hit the stand and went spinning off into the woods. At the same time, the man’s left heel came down on the side of the deer stand and slipped over the edge.

Greg pulled the trigger a second time, but the magazine was empty. Realizing this, he raised the rifle like a club and rushed at the deer stand. Seeing him coming, the guard appeared to panic, and that was all it took to lose his balance completely. He fell from the stand, arms flailing wildly as if he thought he could fly. Then he slammed into the driveway ten feet below, bounced, and rolled to the other side.

More gunshots came from the direction of the ranch.

“Dad, that’s Mom and Grandma,” Emma croaked.

“I know,” Greg replied.

He reached the guard and rolled him onto his back, pulling his collar down and his toque up. The man was out cold, eyes rolled back in his head, one side of his face already turning red from impacting the gravel driveway. His breathing sounded coarse and unhealthy. Greg rolled him into his side and quickly searched his pockets to make sure he didn’t have any other weapons. He found only a small pocketknife, which he took. Then he went to look for the dropped rifle.

“Dad, we have to help them,” Emma said. “Someone’s shooting at them!”

“We’re going to,” Greg replied. “Trust me.”

He dug the rifle out of the weeds. It was a Bushmaster AR-15—a really nice gun that felt sturdy as a steel I-beam in his hands, and it had an enormous scope on it. Greg checked to make sure the rifle was loaded, then pointed the gun down the long, straight driveway in the direction of the ranch. When he peered through the scope, it took a second to focus. He saw a strange, hideous fence that appeared to have been cobbled together from scrap lumber. It was tall, crooked, with an enormous gate across the driveway. Greg thought he saw a puff of smoke rising from behind the gate.

Then he saw a dark figure running in front of the fence, and he moved his finger to the trigger.

“What do you see?” Emma asked.

“Not sure yet,” he replied, “but we’re going to protect our family. Nobody hurts the Healys.”

35

Sniper! The word rang in Darryl’s head. He’d reached the base of the tree, intending to climb, but instead, to avoid getting shot, he’d crawled around behind the trunk. Now, with the mayor’s threat lingering in the air, everyone was frozen in place. The only person he could see from his position behind the tree was Justine, who was perched on the edge of the platform above him, her rifle pointed in the direction of the small shed between the house and barn. He heard her breathing, loud and shallow.

Two guards were dead. The other two were hiding with the mayor behind the shed—Ricky and Julian, those cow-poaching losers.

Finally, Darryl dared to peek around the tree. He saw his grandmother pressed up against the window on the porch, his mother huddled behind one of the rocking chairs, both with their guns at the ready. Filmore and one of his guards were just visible at the edge of the shed, and the guard had a rifle trained on the barn.

The silence stretched on for a few tense seconds. Where would the mayor have placed a sniper? Maybe he was referring to Pam Grasier? She was on the other side somewhere. Darryl had made sure to construct the fence in such a way that there were no gaps between fence boards, though of course the brittle old wood wasn’t bulletproof.

Maybe the mayor is bluffing, he thought. There’s no way a small town like this has a sniper with a thermal imaging scope.

If so, how long would he let the tense silence stretch on? Above him, he heard Justine shuffling around, heard the soft clank of her rifle, and when he glanced up, he saw her shifting position, bracing herself against a large branch.

Okay, someone make a move, Darryl thought.

Just then, a gunshot split the still air like thunder, and Darryl shuddered against the tree. He looked in the direction of the shed just in time to see Filmore’s guard—the one he’d nicknamed Julian—stumble out from behind the shed, clutching his throat. Blood was already pouring down the man’s neck and spilling over the collar of his shirt. He dropped his rifle, wobbled on his feet for a second, then collapsed on his face in the dirt.

“Horace,” Justine muttered. “Great shot!”

Filmore ducked back behind the shed, but Darryl heard him cussing up a storm.

“You’re all going to pay for what you’ve done,” he snarled. “I won’t leave a single member of this family alive. I swear to God! You’ll be rotting in the back field, and everything you’ve built will be mine. Do you hear me, Tabitha Healy? I swear to God, all of it will belong to me!”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you, mayor,” she replied from the porch, saying the man’s title like it tasted bad. “You’re going to kill us like you killed the Carmichaels, is that it?”

“That’s exactly it,” he replied. “They were trying to run a criminal enterprise in my town with their secret warehouse, and they got what they deserved. So will you! You set a trap and ambushed us.”

“I did,” Tabitha replied. “So I guess you’d better stop talking and start making us pay for it. Aren’t you tired of your own voice yet, Filmore? I know I am.”

Suddenly, Filmore burst out from behind the shed with a large silver pistol in his hand. He fired a few shots in the direction of the barn door, then turned and fired toward the tree. As Darryl flattened himself against the ground, he heard bullets sizzling through the branches. Justine thrashed about, but Darryl wasn’t sure if she’d been hit.

The mayor kept coming, circling around the shed and firing toward the porch. A bullet went through the side wall and came out through the living room window, shattering glass very close to Tabitha. Darryl wanted to call out a warning to her, but it was happening too fast. As his grandmother scrambled for cover, the mayor kept coming, firing another shot that split a handrail post inches from where she was now hunched down.

“I will kill everyone,” the mayor shouted. “I’ll kill your whole worthless family.”

The next gunshot came from the platform above Darryl. It seemed so close and so loud, and he clapped his hands over his ears. Justine’s aim was excellent. The mayor’s green toque burst open, and a large portion of his head exploded out in a red mist. He did a weird, slow spin, then dropped straight down, collapsing in an awkward tangle of strengthless arms and legs.

The echo of her final gunshot seemed to last forever, ringing in the air, as a massive puddle of blood and brains spread around the mayor’s folded body. Tabitha finally rose from her spot, gazing at the dead body on the front yard, then turned toward Justine’s tree porch. She gave the girl a thumbs-up with her free hand.

“I know there’s at least one more of you behind the shed,” Tabitha shouted. “And one more somewhere on the other side of the fence. I don’t know about any sniper. I’m kind of doubting that one. Here’s the thing, fellas, if you drop your weapons and come out with your hands up, we’ll let you live. Flee the area. Don’t go back home for anything. Just leave town. If we see you again, you die. How does that sound? Does that seem like a fair trade?”

After a moment, the final guard, Ricky, came marching timidly out from behind the shed, his hands raised high.

“He made us do it,” the guard said. “The mayor killed some people, and he threatened our families. We had no choice!”

“Well, you have a choice now,” Tabitha replied. “You’re surrounded. You’ve got at least four guns trained on you, so if you want to get out of here alive, keep those hands way up high like that.”

The guard looked down at the dead body of the mayor and made a disgusted sound, as if he were on the verge of vomiting. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. I never did. He made us come here. I had nothing to do with killing the Carmichaels. That was Leo and Pam.”

Justine climbed down from her platform then, and Darryl stepped out from hiding. Tabitha and Marion came down from the porch, and Horace stumbled out of the barn. All guns were trained on the surviving guard. Darryl realized the man was shaking badly, and he saw wide, horrified eyes peering out from under his toque.

“I told Leo he’d gone too far,” Ricky said. “I told him it would end badly. He wouldn’t listen. He never listened to anyone but himself.”

They all headed for the gate. Darryl slid the latch bar out of the way and pulled the gate open. As he did, Tabitha aimed her rifle toward the opening, but they saw no sign of Pam Grasier on the other side. She dared to peek her head through the gap, Marion providing cover.

“No sign of the cop,” Tabitha said, after a moment. “I’m guessing she hightailed it out of here when the shooting started.” She turned to the lone guard. “If you see her, you pass along my message. I don’t want any trouble from you, her, or any of Leo’s other lackeys. Tell her to get out of town and never come back. Got it?”

“She won’t do nothing,” the guard said. “You’ll never see her again. You’ll never see any of us. I swear!”

Justine came up behind the man and jabbed the barrel of her rifle between his shoulder blades. Darryl saw the glint of her teeth inside her hood and realized she was smiling.

“You can go,” Tabitha said, after a moment. “Run like the wind, because I might decide to shoot you in the back. In fact, I’m still sort of debating the matter. What do you think, Justine?”

“I wouldn’t mind killing them all,” she said, in a breathless voice. “Maybe I’d even enjoy it.”

Tabitha leaned in close to the guard and said softly, “Run.”

And he did. The guard whimpered and took off running through the open gate. Darryl watched as he raced across the open pasture land, heading for the tree line to the east. He’d never seen a more frantic, terrified man. He was like a wild rabbit trying to escape a diving hawk. Darryl waited until the guard reached the trees, then he pushed the gate shut and set the bar.

Suddenly, before he could think or react, he was crushed in an embrace. Tabitha had set her gun down and pulled Justine, Marion, and Darryl all together. He was pinned between them, Justine’s face very close to his. He heard harsh breathing, and thought he saw wetness on the girl’s cheeks, as if she’d been crying—even while smiling.

“I’m so proud of all of you,” Tabitha said.

When she finally let them go, Darryl stumbled back against the fence. Tabitha grabbed Justine by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Justine nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Horace reached them then—he’d missed out on the awkward embrace. “Well, that takes care of that,” he said, leaning against a fence post.

They had about a minute of peace before a sudden bang startled them. Everyone scrambled for their guns, except for Darryl, who stumbled backward looking for cover. Then a voice spoke.

“Let us in! Let us in!”

He didn’t know that voice. It was deep, scratchy, the voice of a madman. Every gun barrel raised in the direction of the gate.

“Hurry! Open the gate!”

“Who the heck are you?” Tabitha asked.

And then another voice spoke. Though she sounded tired, possibly in pain, Darryl recognized her immediately.

“Grandma, Mom, please, we need help.”

Emma! Darryl felt a surge of emotion, tears springing to his eyes, as he rushed toward the gate.

36

The rest of that day was a blur for Greg, whose mind was still lost somewhere in the mountainous wilderness of northern British Columbia. The following morning, he would have a vague, blurry memory of dragging the body of Mayor Filmore across the yard and past the new root cellar, as the man’s shattered skull left smears in the grass and dirt. He didn’t lament the mayor’s death, not after hearing about what he’d done to the Carmichaels, but there was still something sad and stomach-churning about seeing him like this, his odd sweater spattered with blood, his face frozen in gape-mouthed horror.

“I hope to God something like this never happens again,” he said, as he rolled the body up against the corpse of one of his guards.

Darryl and Justine were dragging the last body, a guard who had been shot right through the heart. The poor man looked almost peaceful, eyes close, mouth fixed in what might have been mistaken for a smile. As they positioned the body next to the mayor, Greg adjusted the men’s hands and legs so they weren’t sprawled out.

“I just talked to this weirdo the other day,” Darryl said, gesturing at the mayor. “It’s hard to believe he’s dead now.”

Greg, Darryl, and Justine stood over the bodies for a few seconds.

“Well, he had it coming anyway,” Justine said, finally. “Good riddance.”

As if her words were some kind of closing prayer at a funeral, they dispersed then, but Greg knew he would have to come back later and dig graves for them. Otherwise, they might attract predators.

Although, maybe that would be a fitting end for Filmore, he thought. The man preyed on his own townsfolk, after all.

Tabitha, Marion, and Horace were inside, where they’d turned the dining room table into a makeshift surgical bed. Marion was doing most of the work. She’d removed Emma’s jeans, along with the tourniquet and bandage, and she was currently cleaning the wound. The others sat in the corner and handed her various medical supplies as she asked for them.

It was clear that Tabitha had been crying, from the glistening on her wrinkled cheeks, but Greg could tell she was making a massive effort to compose herself. He’d told her about Tuck, of course, though he wondered if perhaps he should have waited. She hadn’t said much, just nodded and walked away.

“The bullet is still lodged in here,” Marion said. Emma was drugged, but she moaned in pain. “I think I can get it out. It’s not in a bad spot.”

Greg mostly felt in the way, so he took a seat on the living room couch. Darryl and Justine joined him. After a moment, he felt himself drifting off into a restless sleep, so tired that his whole body just wanted to crumble.

“It’s out,” Marion said. Greg heard the plink of the bullet landing on the table. “Let’s stitch this leg up. Tabitha, hand me the needle and thread. Are they still too hot to handle?”

“I think they’re fine now,” Tabitha replied. “I took them out of the boiling water a few minutes ago.”

At some point, Greg fell asleep, though he was not out long. He awoke to someone shaking him, and when he opened his eyes, he saw his mother looming over him. Everyone else was gone, but he heard movement upstairs.

“Emma?” he croaked.

“She’ll be fine,” Tabitha replied. His mother looked old, so old her face seemed to have come loose from her skull. “They’re putting her to bed right now. I’ve given her some yarrow to fight infection and help her heal.”

“That’s good,” Greg replied, rubbing his face. He was sunburned, and it hurt to touch his cheeks.

“You need rest, too,” Tabitha said. “You’re going out there tomorrow to get Tuck. Take the horse. It’ll be faster that way. I won’t leave him in some farmer’s field. We’ll bury him properly right here on the ranch, where he belongs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Greg said.

As soon as she let go of his shoulders, he sank back into the couch and fell asleep again.

* * *

The cart looked like it had been cobbled together from garbage, but it was at least functional, and they had managed to attach it to the horse’s harness. Greg rode in the saddle, while Horace accompanied him in the cart, and of course, they were both armed. Greg took the nice sniper rifle that he’d looted off the guard, while Horace seemed to prefer his Sig Sauer. Fortunately, the horse had been watered and well fed and had enjoyed a nice rest in the barn near the cattle.

As they set off down the road, headed back the way they’d come, Greg felt the anger building within him again. He kept his eyes wide open, looking for any sign of trouble along the way, but part of him hoped they would run into Eustace.

“It was all so senseless,” he said. “There was no reason for it. We could have walked out of there together. It’s not like I would have pursued the case against Eustace’s company, not with the whole country on hold.”

He didn’t realize he was thinking out loud until Horace responded. “You’re referring to that gas man? Let’s hope your dad got him. I think he did. Sounds like he was an old hunter, probably a good shot.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Greg muttered, trying to stave off the hateful feelings. It had been easier for him when he’d been exhausted. Now that he was awake and alert, he felt the absolute waste of it all, and it was dredging up something dangerous within him.

He had a few hours to dwell on this as he rode back the way he’d come, spotting the familiar split-rail fence, the vast weedy field, and eventually, the rusted-out truck sitting near the creek. Here he found the body of Tuck Healy, his father. He was on his back, his arms curled over his body, his face turned to one side. The gun and packs were still with him.

Eustace didn’t loot him, at least, Greg thought. Maybe that means he’s dead, too.

He picked up his father, felt the smallness of the man, and carried him to the cart. There were three bullet wounds in his chest and belly.

I hope it was quick, Greg thought.

Though there was sadness, he mostly felt anger, burning and seething in every thought.

“Sorry it turned out this way,” Horace said, helping him load the stiff body onto the bed of hay they’d put in the cart.

“He gave his life to save me and Emma,” Greg noted. “It never should have come to this. If Eustace is lucky, he’s a corpse out there in the woods somewhere. It’ll be the worst day of his life if we ever cross paths again, I swear to God.” He slammed the cart latch shut, pounded it with his fist harder than he needed to, and walked away.

37

Greg was confident that the funeral was what Tuck would have wanted: his loved ones and neighbors gathered together in a quiet spot on the ranch, remembering him with softly spoken memories. He’d never been much for big displays of emotion or grand events, though there were a few tears. Still, Greg mostly found himself daydreaming about revenge. These thoughts had lodged in his mind, and he couldn’t seem to shake them.

After the funeral, he excused himself and went to the porch, sitting in one of the rocking chairs and brooding darkly, his hands gripping the armrests. He saw Darryl and Justine walking together near the fence, chatting about something. Marion went upstairs to check on Emma, which gave him a few quiet minutes to himself.

At some point in the midst of his brooding, he realized that his mother was standing beside his chair. He looked up and met her gaze. She was still wearing the black jacket and slacks that she’d put on for the funeral. However, she had a smile on her face now for some reason.

“Mom?” he asked. “What is it?”

She thrust something at him. “I found this in his toolshed when looking for the other shovels. I hadn’t noticed it before. It’s dusty, so it must’ve been out there a long time.”

He realized she was holding a small photo album, and he took it from her hands. The cover was a sepia image of a house with the word FAMILY embossed in gold lettering. He began flipping through it. Page after page of old, color-faded photographs of a young Greg. Three years old, five years old, ten years old. Waving a Canucks hockey pennant, running in the yard, swinging on a swing set, blowing out the candles on a birthday cake, riding on a pony with his father beside him.

When he reached the end of the photo album, Greg flipped back to the cover, looking on the inside to see if there was any date or information written there. Instead, he found two words scribbled in blue ballpoint pen in his father’s distinctive looping script: My son.

It was the thing that finally broke through the great wall of anger and the hate that so filled his mind. He ran his fingers back and forth over the words his father had written and felt tears tracing their way down his stubbly cheeks.

We’re okay, Dad.

When he finally looked up again, he realized Darryl and Justine were on the porch now, quietly staring at him, at the photo album. He brushed the tears away and nodded at his son.

“Sorry, Dad,” Darryl said. “Sorry for what happened to Grandpa.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied.

“Good,” Darryl said. He started to move toward the house but paused, then he said, “I’m really glad you made it back out of the wilderness. It’s good to have you home.”

“Thanks, Son. It’s really good to be here.”

“I like it better when you’re home,” Darryl said, opening the front door.

* * *

The days seemed to have passed quickly since returning home. Greg stood on the porch on a chilly Saturday morning and gazed out at the blanket of snow that now covered the yard and balanced on the tips of the fence posts. The town was clear. They’d ridden in like a posse only to find that all of Filmore’s guards were gone. A few townsfolk remained, and some of the local families had taken responsibility for distributing all the food and supplies that had been stockpiled in the town hall.

Greg was content to leave them to it. He just wanted to stay on the ranch for now. It was quiet here, and everyone had settled in. He had a cup of hot apple cider in his hand, and he felt the warmth through his glove as he raised it to his mouth.

“She’s become a member of the family,” Marion noted. She was standing at the porch railing beside him.

Justine and Darryl were shoveling a path from the barn to the house, and from time to time, he heard them laugh, as if they were having the most amusing conversation.

“It’s good for Darryl,” Greg said, “and I’m glad she has a home. She’s certainly been a big help. Always pitches in.”

Seeing everything clean and white, it felt like a fresh start. This new world was going to be hard. Surviving the winter would create plenty of challenges, but he was ready to face them. They all were. As he sipped his tea, he leaned against the handrail, feeling a rough edge where a bullet had clipped it. Marion took his hand and held it.

“We’ll carry on,” he said. “We have no choice.”

“I know,” she replied. “I’m not afraid of the future, not anymore.”

Epilogue

The warehouse was well hidden, tucked behind a tall fence and well back from the road, and the driveway had no sign indicating the purpose of the strange, windowless building. A small sign above the door had the company name—P&C Food Distributors—but you had to be pretty close to notice it. Of course, an observant person would have noticed that the driveway was extra wide, providing plenty of room for trucks, and parking lots surrounded the building on three sides. There were also a couple of loading bays near the back.

The building itself was tall but not particularly impressive, maybe three times the size of the town hall. Still, the thought of all it contained was almost more than he could stand. As he approached the door, he raised the Winchester rifle again. The lock was blasted out of the door. He could see the twisted metal where it had been. The door was partially open as well, revealing a dim interior.

Aiming the gun into the gap, he ducked behind the small guard shack a few feet before the door and hunkered down. After a moment, he sensed movement inside the building. They’d come back for a second round.

“You’re not getting in here, whoever you are,” the voice said. Sounded like a woman, but a deep-voiced woman, someone tough and experienced, he thought. “Do you hear me? You’re just one man, and you’re not getting in here. We can wait you out. Hours, days, weeks, however long it takes.”

“I already blasted open the front door,” he shouted back. “I’m coming through.”

“We’ll bar the door,” she replied.

“Then I’ll blast my way through the back door, through the ceiling, through wall. Whatever it takes.” He raised the gunsight to his eye, aiming for the narrow gap in the door.

“The second you step inside, we’ll kill you,” the woman shouted back.

“I’m armed, and you aren’t,” he replied.

This caused a moment of silence. He had them now.

“You don’t know that,” the woman said, finally. “You don’t know if we’re armed or not.”

“Well, you haven’t returned fire,” he said. “I find that a bit odd, but if I’m wrong, prove it. Take just one shot at me. Just one. Go on.”

Again, there was no immediate response. He heard people moving inside the building and saw shadows in the darkness.

“How about this?” he said. “How about we don’t kill each other? I’ve got nothing against any of you. If you agree to follow my lead, I’ll not only let all of you live, I’ll share the spoils with you. It’s the best offer you’re going to get from anyone these days. You’ve got a few seconds to decide before I force my way in.”

He rose and stepped out from behind the guard station. Slowly, the warehouse door swung open, and a woman stepped forward. She had close-cropped black hair and rather severe, sharply angled face. However, as she emerged from the gloom, she raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Don’t shoot,” she said. “We’re not your enemies. We’re just trying to survive.”

“I know,” he replied. “I heard your story in town. Ambushed, half your people gunned down by a crazed family of ranchers.” Behind her, he saw two or three others, men bundled up in heavy coats. As he approached them, his boots crunched on the fresh snow. “I’ll tell you what, friends, if you’ll follow my lead, you won’t have to worry about those rascally Healys or any other townsfolk. In fact, I’ll make sure you don’t have any more problems from anyone. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good,” the woman said, giving way as he approached the door. He saw the other men behind her nodding. They looked scared, desperate, like wounded dogs. They were not only unarmed but fearful, broken.

“You can be the leader,” one of the men said. “But…who are you? What’s your name?”

“The name’s Eustace,” he said, as he passed through the door. In the distance, he saw boxes and bags stacked on shelves all the way to the ceiling. Cans of beans, vegetables, fruit, meat, more than he’d hoped for. “But you can call me, the boss.”

End of Survive the Fall

EMP: Return of the Wild West Book One

Blurb

They’ll face an impossible choice in this new post-apocalyptic reality.

Winter has arrived on the Healys’ Montana ranch. After discovering evidence of the cold-hearted execution of his father, Greg Healy has become consumed with a burning desire for revenge. While he hides his true purpose of scoping out the murderous enemy behind fruitless hunting trips, further responsibility is thrust upon Greg’s teenage son, Darryl. The ranch has become a hollow shell without the calm assurance and steady hand his father once provided, stability Darryl needs more than ever with the shocking secret he keeps.

The fractures in the family only grow as each side becomes entrenched behind resentments that threaten to shatter an increasingly uncertain future. But as the Healy family drifts farther apart, the enemy has been anything but idle. Eustace has amassed a new and lethal force with a single goal: Take the Healys’ ranch by any means necessary and make them pay for permanently disabling him.

And when Eustace kidnaps one of their own, the Healys will face the most difficult choice of all: Sacrifice the ranch or risk the destruction of their family.

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.

Prologue

Sometimes, Eustace felt like he was losing his mind. Of the people working for him in the warehouse, only one showed any real competence, and sadly, she was currently in town on assignment. That left only local goons like Donald and Benny, who did what they were told but lacked any real skill. At the moment, Donald was attempting to hoist a large metal drum onto a concrete plinth beside the metal cage that housed the backup generator.

“Lift with your legs,” Eustace said. “If you throw your back out, you’ll be useless. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“I’m trying to,” Donald replied. “Can’t you see that?”

Donald had been a local police officer before everything went bust, and he still wore the same black coat and a shiny silver belt buckle. Apparently, he’d worked for the former mayor before that gentleman had gotten himself killed by crossing wires with Tabitha Healy. That didn’t speak well of the man’s competence.

Hopefully, I’ll be compensating for his lack of skill soon, Eustace thought.

He had big plans, but he couldn’t get out of this foul mood. Of course, it didn’t help that his left arm was largely useless now. He felt the wound burning beneath the bandages, a constant source of frustration and fear that set his nerves on edge. Though he could move the arm, he couldn’t bear any weight, his grip was close to nothing, and antibiotics hadn’t helped. The wound hadn’t started off all that bad. Indeed, he’d expected it to heal after a few days, but lately it had taken a turn for the worse. Without access to proper medical care, nothing could be done about it at the moment. He would just have to endure it.

Eustace was standing in the broad, open doorway that connected the loading bays with the rest of the warehouse. Before him, tall shelves ran in long rows all the way to the front wall. Currently, most of the shelves were bare. However, as he gazed across the length of the vast gray space, he could envision the warehouse bursting at the seams with food and supplies. He would make that vision a reality, no matter what it took. Of course, Eustace Simpson wasn’t interested in simply hoarding stuff for his own enjoyment. What was the use of that?

As he made his way across the warehouse, he spotted Benny, another of his recently acquired workers, repairing one of the shelves near a side door. Apparently, it had been damaged by the former mayor’s cronies during a looting. Benny was a dull-eyed former pig farmer, with rough skin like the surface of Mars and fat hands. He didn’t talk much unless directly addressed, which was just fine.

“Can you see it, Benny?” Eustace said as he passed him.

Benny was screwing a bracket to the underside of the shelf, and he only spared Eustace the briefest of glances.

“What’s that, boss?” he said.

“This warehouse as a central hub for the whole community,” Eustace replied. “People coming and going, making deals, trading, signing contracts. Heck, we might even have to expand.”

“Before we expand, we have to fill the space we’ve already got,” Benny replied.

“Oh, we will. We will.” Eustace wagged a finger at him. In truth, he spoke as much to convince himself as anyone. Inwardly, he suffered from a sour stomach and a constant fidgeting anxiety. He desperately needed competent people—dangerous people.

“People in town don’t like us,” Benny replied. “They preferred Mayor Filmore.”

“I don’t need you to remind me of how the locals feel, okay?” Eustace said. “There are going to be dramatic changes. Mark my words.”

“If you say so,” Benny replied.

The backup generator only produced enough power to get the lights and automatic doors working. It couldn’t handle the refrigerated storage or the HVAC, but at least the walls were insulated. That kept out the worst of the cold. Indeed, Benny had worked up a sweat.

Eustace turned. Donald was still struggling to get the oil drum onto the plinth, and he was bent at the back again. It would go a lot quicker if he had help, of course, but Eustace was determined to make the man do it himself.

“You’re still lifting with your back, Donald,” he shouted across the room. His voice echoed against the high ceiling. “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? I’ll thump your skull for you.”

“It’s heavy as hell,” Donald shouted back, dabbing his cheeks and forehead with his sleeve. “It’s a full drum of diesel oil. I need help.”

“No, you don’t. Toughen up. I’m sick of it, Donald.”

He heard a strange cry then. It came from the front office, where he’d stationed two of his men beside the building’s main entrance. The old grocery distribution warehouse was like a little fortress. It had insulated walls, solid metal doors, and no exterior windows. To keep an eye on the exterior, he had to either appoint someone to walk the perimeter or periodically peer out the doors.

“Sounds like we’ve got company,” he said, beckoning Benny to follow him.

With a scowl, Benny set down his screwdriver and followed Eustace to the front of the building. A small door led into a carpeted hallway that bent at a right angle before joining up with a sparse reception area. Eustace had plans for this part of the building, big plans, but that was not a priority. Supplies, weapons, and local control came first. It was all precarious, though. This was the most fragile time. The next few days would lay the foundation.

He strode down the hall and entered the reception area. The room had a table in the middle and a large, unadorned desk in the corner. At the moment, one of his men was standing near the table, rifle in hand, while another man stood with his back to the front door.

“What are you yelling about?” Eustace asked the man at the door.

“A whole bunch of people approaching the parking lot,” he replied. “They’re armed.”

“Is Pam with them?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. I didn’t get a good look. As soon as I saw the weapons, I shut the door, but the man in front seems dangerous.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. What kind of a guard are you? Worthless.” Eustace waved the man aside. When he didn’t move out of the way fast enough, Eustace planted a hand on his shoulder and shoved him. This sent the man stumbling toward the table, where he knocked over a couple of chairs before catching himself.

“Be ready,” Eustace said, laying his good hand on the door handle, “just in case it’s a bunch of hostile locals or roaming bandits. But don’t open fire unless I say so.”

“You got it, boss,” Benny said.

Eustace would have drawn his weapon—he always had a handgun holstered at his hip—but he couldn’t open the door and hold a pistol at the same time. His injured arm was no good for either task. He looked down at it, cursing under his breath, as he felt fresh blood seeping into the bandage.

I’ll get revenge, he thought, for the thousandth time. Whatever else happens, that’s a priority.

“Back me up, Benny,” Eustace said. “Come on.”

With his good hand, he turned the door handle and flung the door open, catching it with his foot. Then he reached for his pistol. He saw the group, six people bundled up against the cold, approaching from the driveway beyond the parking lot. Well-armed, each bore a rifle. The one in the lead had a pair of mirrored ski goggles hiding half his face, a high fur-lined hood hiding the rest.

“What do you want? Who are you?” Eustace called out, raising the handgun.

The man reached up and pushed the hood down, revealing a short and thick black beard, lips bisected by a shiny scar. Then he raised his goggles, revealing a set of small, fierce eyes.

“Is that any way to greet your only hope, Eustace Simpson?” he said.

A person behind him strode forward then, tipping back the broad-brimmed hat on her head to reveal a sharply angled face. “I found him at his sister’s house,” Pam Grasier said. “He seemed reluctant to come. That’s why it took so long.”

The man brushed past her and approached the front door.

“James,” Eustace said. “James Teagan.”

“I don’t like being summoned like a criminal,” James replied, waving Eustace aside.

Eustace wouldn’t have responded to such a gesture if it had been anyone else. For James Teagan, he willingly—if grumpily—stepped to one side, holding the door for him. The man strode inside the building as if he owned the place, giving a brief, unfriendly look at the two guards beside the table.

“There’s nothing hostile about sending a welcoming committee,” Eustace said.

“I told you I’m in town on personal business,” James replied. “I intended to come here as soon as I was good and ready. By the way, this town is in sorry shape. Is that your doing?”

“Of course not,” Eustace replied. “The mayor of the town was a bit of a loose cannon, which got him murdered. He left things in an unfortunate condition.”

Pam stepped through the door, following by four other men that Eustace didn’t know.

“I picked up a few more locals,” James said, gesturing at the men. “You need more muscle if you’re going to whip the community into shape.”

“Very good,” Eustace said, letting the door swing shut as the last of the men stepped through. Being both relieved and anxious at the same time produced a curious discomfort, and Eustace didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Well, if you’re looking for help with your little operation here, you’ve got it,” James said. “As long as you make it worth my while.”

“Don’t I always?”

James took a seat on the edge of the table, cradling his rifle like it was his very own child. “Well, I suppose if I’m going to help you whip things into the shape, I’ll need a grand tour. How do you feel about taking a nice long walk with me? I’d like to scout the area.”

Eustace nodded. “I was planning on taking a walk anyway.”

“Good,” James said. “Things are about to change, Eustace. You know what I’m capable of. This town doesn’t, but they’re going to learn.”

“That’s what I hope.”

1

It wasn’t the most beautiful, or technically precise, birthday cake he’d ever seen. Unlike the sheet cakes he was used to getting from Loblaw’s, this one was a bit crooked, sort of wilted on a couple of corners, and the icing was a bit lumpy. Still, it was a real, live birthday cake, made without any prepackaged grocery store ingredients, and that made it glorious.

“Wow, Grandma, that looks amazing,” Darryl Healy said. “It’s a real cake! How did you get all the ingredients?”

His grandmother, Tabitha Healy, was grinning. She was a leathery old woman, gnarled brown hands with prominent knuckles, rough skin, and short gray hair. And she had a voice to match. “Had to trade with a neighbor for the eggs. We’ll need some chickens on this ranch, I suppose, so we can get our own eggs, but there it is. We had all the rest of the ingredients, even a bit of cocoa powder. Chocolate is your favorite, as I recall?”

It wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to say it. “It’s the best, Grandma. Thank you.”

His entire family—his new family, as he thought of them—were all standing around the dining room table, where the cake was displayed on a glass cake stand for all to see and admire. Despite the fire crackling in the fireplace, it was cold in the house, and everyone was wearing multiple layers and thick sweaters. His mother, Marion Healy, was pouring iced tea into cups—well, iced tea wasn’t accurate, since they didn’t have ice, at least not clean ice. There had been a brief discussion of using snow in place of ice, but no one had been particularly excited about that.

“How did we have enough sugar for all of this?” Darryl asked, gesturing at the tea and the cake. “It must’ve taken a lot.”

Tabitha glanced at Marion, hesitated a moment, then said, “Well, actually, we had to use the last of the sugar, but don’t you worry about that. It’s your birthday, and we’re going to celebrate. We need to celebrate, if you ask me, after all we’ve been through.” She shook her head, and for a second Darryl thought she was going to cry. But she didn’t. Instead, she pressed her lips together tightly, took a deep breath through her nostrils, and seemed to regain control of herself.

Still missing Grandpa, Darryl thought. Of course, she was. The funeral had been a little over a month ago. Sometimes, Darryl felt as if all of the death and bloodshed hadn’t sunk in yet—the awful gunfight, dragging the bodies, all of it. That’s my life now.

“Emma did most of the work,” Tabitha added. “She found a recipe in an old recipe book of mine in the den, and she mixed the batter and made the frosting. Your sister is pretty good at whatever she puts her mind to.”

Darryl’s younger sister, Emma, was standing in the kitchen doorway in a puffy pink sweater, beaming. Darryl wasn’t surprised to learn that she’d baked the cake. She was always finding something to do around the ranch. Though she was the youngest person in the family, she had the most initiative, and she liked to find new tasks to occupy her mind. Darryl couldn’t keep up with her. The poor girl had been shot in the leg not a month earlier, and even that hadn’t slowed her down. Though she was mostly healed now, she walked with just a slight limp, hardly noticeable. But she never complained about the wound. In fact, she rarely mentioned it.

They’d managed to scrounge up a couple of candles for the birthday cake, and Darryl’s father brought a long match from the fireplace to light them. As the candles crackled and flickered, Darryl thought it felt like a little bit of normalcy in a world that had otherwise turned to absolute chaos.

“Blow out your candles,” Justine said, “but make a wish first. A good one. Don’t waste it.”

Justine Carmichael, his closest friend—and a lot more than just a friend—was standing beside him in her purple hooded sweatshirt. Her long black hair spilled out of the front of her hood on either side of her face and hung down like strange tassels. The only survivor of her family, she’d moved in with the Healys after her parents and sister were killed by the corrupt former mayor, Gene Marshall Filmore. She’d taken over the upstairs guest room, and as far as Darryl was concerned, she fit right in. It felt like she’d always been there.

Darryl leaned over, but he couldn’t think of a good birthday wish. He wanted to ask for something specific, something meaningful, but long seconds were passing and everyone was staring at him. For a better future, he thought finally, then he blew out the candles. Everyone applauded, as if he’d accomplished something, and he smiled, embarrassed.

“Seventeen years old,” Horace Bouchard said. The old man was the only one sitting down. He’d taken one of the padded chairs and pushed it back into a corner of the dining room. “Almost old enough to vote.” Horace had been the nearest neighbor to the Healy ranch for years—a crusty but kindhearted old Canadian Armed Forces veteran—but once violence broke out in town, he’d moved in with them as well. As a double amputee, he depended on a pair of prosthetic legs to get around. Though the legs were old and uncomfortable, he never complained.

“If there even are elections by the time he’s eighteen,” Darryl’s mother said.

She cut the first slice of cake and tipped it sideways onto a plate.

She handed the plate to Darryl, but he passed it to Justine, who accepted it with a nod and dug in.

“There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask,” Justine said, through a mouthful of cake. “So, you’re just now turning seventeen, but you’ve got college textbooks on your desk upstairs. What’s that all about?”

“He skipped a grade,” Marion explained, cutting a second slice of cake. “Just like me. Got started on college early.”

Darryl’s dad spoke up. “Skipping grades runs in the family, on Marion’s side, not my side.”

“Well, now, Greg, let’s not forget, your father skipped three grades,” Tabitha said.

“That’s because he dropped out of school to take care of the family farm,” Greg said.

“It still counts as skipping,” Tabitha said.

“If you say so.”

Darryl finally accepted a slice of cake. His mother made sure he got an enormous slice. He dug in with the fork and found that the texture wasn’t quite right. It was dense as a pound cake, and when he tasted it, he realized it wasn’t sweet enough. Still, it was cake, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten cake.

And this might be the last time ever, he realized. A world without birthday cake! How awful.

As if to confirm this thought, his mother said, “I guess for the next birthday, we’ll make waffles or something. I don’t know.”

“Wow, what if this is the last bite of cake I ever eat in my life?” Justine said, holding up the last small chunk of her cake on the end of her fork. “I guess I’d better burn it into my memory, like I did the last time I ate a slice of fresh pineapple. Gone forever. I’ll only eat cake in my dreams.” And with that, she plunged the cake into her mouth and appeared to roll it around on her tongue.

Watching her eat, with his whole family standing around the table, Darryl had a sudden realization. Even though the world had changed, even though they struggled every single day, and even though he might be eating the last piece of cake he would ever eat, he was still happier than he’d ever been. Before the EMP, he’d been struggling to find enough motivation to make it through college, just sort of drifting from day to day, but now he had purpose. He had work to do, people to care about.

By the somber look on Justine’s face, he assumed she didn’t feel quite the same way. She was mostly staring at her empty plate now, as if she were already reminiscing about the lost cake. He nudged her with his elbow, and she blinked rapidly, as if pulling herself out of her thoughts. Then she set the empty plate on the table.

“It was decent,” she said, softly.

“It won’t be the last cake ever,” Darryl’s sister said suddenly. There was a sharp edge to Emma’s voice, as if she found the idea offensive. “We’ll make another one somehow. Just you wait and see. Heck, we’ll grow our own sugar cane if we have to.”

“Not sure we can grow sugar cane in this environment,” Tabitha said, “but there are other kinds of natural sweeteners. Plenty of maple sugar, for example.”

“Maple cake,” Emma said, making a disgusted face. “No thanks. Maple belongs in cookies, not cake.”

From his seat in the corner, Horace Bouchard accepted the tiniest sliver of cake. “Can’t eat much more than this,” he said. “Never was much one for sweets. I’m more of a steak and potatoes guy.” And then he proceeded to pick up the entire slice and cram it all in his mouth. Horace was a tough-looking old guy. Though he was in his late sixties, Darryl could still see the hard edges of the old soldier. Firelight from the living room flickered faintly on the metal poles of his prosthetic legs.

“Now, steak we have,” Tabitha said. “We’ve got more salted beef down in the root cellar than we know what to do with. You’ll get your wish come dinner time, Horace.”

“That suits me just fine,” Horace said. “You put me to work, and I’ll earn that meal.”

“Oh, Horace, you’ve earned your keep around here and then some,” Tabitha said.

Darryl thought his grandmother looked tired, and he considered saying something. She also served herself a rather large piece of cake, which surely wasn’t good for her diabetic diet. Darryl worried about her health, and he kept an eye on her constantly, looking for signs or symptoms of a deteriorating condition. She pushed herself too much, and she’d been standing around all morning. Fortunately, she soon pulled a chair back and sat down, fanning herself with her hand.

After cake, Darryl grabbed his coat and made his way onto the porch, brushing off one of the rocking chairs before sitting down. Deep snow covered the front yard, hiding the driveway and piling up on the fence posts. After a minute, Justine joined him, having changed into ski pants. When she settled into her seat, she didn’t bother brushing off the snow.

“I like that feeling,” she said, “when you sink down into the snow. It’s sort of comforting.”

“Isn’t it cold on your butt?” he said.

“Sure, but I don’t mind the cold,” she replied with a shrug. She jammed her hands into the front pocket of her sweatshirt and gazed off toward the fence. Darryl heard a soft crunch as she slowly sank deeper into the snow of her seat.

Darryl rocked quietly for a minute. There was a profound silence, the piles of snow making the whole world feel insulated and still. Fortunately, the rest of the family took a hint and didn’t join them on the porch right away. He heard them moving around inside. Someone was stoking the fire in the fireplace. Someone else was headed upstairs.

Justine had pushed her hood back just enough to reveal her face. Dark eyes, round cheeks, jet-black hair—he’d grown very fond of that face. However, there was something downcast in her eyes, something distant in her gaze. She seemed upset, though he couldn’t imagine why. He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. What if she didn’t want to talk about it? Still, he hated to see her like this, especially on his birthday.

She wasn’t the only one. Darryl’s father hadn’t said more than ten words during the birthday celebration. Heck, he hadn’t said more than about twenty words in the last two days. Why now, after they’d done so much to recover from the attack, from the tragedy, from all of the awfulness after the EMP, why now were some sliding into despair?

Talk about it later, he told himself. For now, just try to enjoy the day. You’re seventeen. It’s your birthday, and things aren’t so bad anymore.

2

Eventually, everyone else made their way onto the porch. At first, Darryl thought they were just being nosy, but then he saw that his grandmother was carrying a big ceramic bowl of what appeared to be pink ice cream. His mother brought smaller bowls and spoons, and Horace Bouchard had a roll of paper towels.

“Whoa, where did you get ice cream?” Darryl asked.

“Made it with snow, of course,” Tabitha said. “Emma set a big bowl out early this morning to catch the snowfall, then we added some fresh cream, used the last of some sweet cherry flavoring I had in the kitchen, and here you go. Don’t worry, the snow is clean out here. This isn’t big city snow.”

She set the big bowl on the table between the chairs. As Marion began scooping ice cream into smaller bowls, Darryl rose from his rocking chair and offered it to Horace. The old veteran was standing at the railing, looking uncomfortable and leaning heavily on his crutch. When Darryl waved him toward the chair, he first shook his head, but then he seemed to think better of it. With a grunt, he lowered himself into the chair. The old man couldn’t bear his weight for long, and when he was tired, he could hardly stand at all.

Darryl joined his father at the handrail, gazing off across the snowy yard toward the fence. When initially constructed, they’d worked so quickly that the fence was an ugly, ill-designed mess. In the past few weeks, they’d done quite a bit of work reinforcing it, but it still looked much better when it was partially hidden by snow. As Darryl was considering this, his mother handed him a bowl of ice cream and handed another bowl to Justine.

“I know it sounds weird with all the snow we get around here, but I’ve never had this before,” Justine said, staring at the pink ice cream. “My parents never bothered to make it. They didn’t like it when I used to pluck the icicles off the house and eat them.” For a second, Darryl thought she might cry, but she merely sighed, shook her head, and scooped up some snow ice cream.

Darryl took a bite and found that it was decent. Not quite the texture of ice cream, but close enough. At least as good as the cake, and he didn’t have to fear that it would be the last time he would ever eat it. Still, he savored every bite.

“What do you think, Dad?” Darryl asked his father.

His father was mostly just holding his ice cream and staring off into the distance. When his dad didn’t answer right away, Darryl almost dropped the attempt, but too many people were around them. It was awkward, so he cleared his throat. Finally, his dad took another bite of ice cream and turned toward him, moving suddenly like a machine that had just been switched on.

“It’s pretty good,” he said. “I mean, personally, I always preferred Chapman’s Cherry Chocolate, but this is the next best thing. Good job, Mom.”

“The next best thing. What high praise,” Tabitha replied sarcastically.

Once again, Darryl’s sister, Emma, was standing in the front door and beaming. She’d probably taken the initiative to make the ice cream. She wasn’t even eating any herself. Apparently, watching others enjoy it was enough. Darryl was just about to say something—both complimenting her and picking on her the way only an older brother can—when he heard a sudden loud crack and snap.

He turned around, seeking the source of the sound. It sounded like a tree falling over. Everyone on the porch reacted as if they were under attack. Justine lunged to her feet. Marion and Tabitha stepped in front of Emma. Horace began struggling to his feet.

“What was that?” Darryl asked.

He turned toward the barn and saw movement beyond the tree at the far corner of the fence. As the initial crack turned into a cascade, a section of the fence crumbled onto the ground beside the tree. It looked like someone had given it an almighty shove from the other side, splintering the fence right down the middle and knocking over eight or nine boards.

“Quality construction,” Darryl noted, watching the boards collapse in a pile. He hoped the embarrassment didn’t show on his face. After all, he’d built that particular section of the fence all by himself. “Call the contractor and complain. We got ripped off.”

“It’s been a stormy winter,” Horace said. “Lots of high winds. Even a sturdy fence can get knocked over.”

Darryl’s dad gave a big harrumph and set his bowl of ice cream down on the handrail. He’d only taken a couple of bites. “Yeah, but we just finished reinforcing the fence. I don’t see why a big section of it would just topple over all of a sudden, even with the wind. The weight of the snow isn’t nearly enough to account for it.” He tossed his spoon into the bowl and headed for the porch stairs. “I’d better investigate. It’ll need to be fixed right away. The rest of you stay here and enjoy the party.”

He started down the steps, tromping through the deep snow with his boots.

“Dad, you can fix the fence later,” Emma called out. “We’re having Darryl’s party now. I have other activities planned. We’re going to play some games.”

“You go ahead and have fun without me,” Dad said. “I’ll be along in a little bit.”

“The ranch can wait,” Emma said, pushing past her mother. “It’s more important to celebrate Darryl’s birthday and spend time together.”

Marion stepped up beside her daughter. “I agree with Emma, Greg. Family needs to be celebrated, especially after all we’ve been through. Don’t worry about the fence. There will be plenty of time to fix it later.”

Greg paused a moment, stomping his boots deep into the snow. “Look, that’s a nice sentiment, but we’re nothing without this ranch. Safety must come first, always. Always. We know what’s out there in the world.”

Nobody spoke for a few seconds, and Darryl felt the tension in the air. Personally, Darryl thought his dad was right. They had plenty of time to sit around and eat snacks, birthday or not, but any chink in their armor put them at risk. Some passing bandit might see the broken fence as an opportunity, and they’d heard plenty of stories of banditry from neighbors. Still, Darryl wasn’t going to be the first to agree, not when he could see Emma scowling out of the corner of his eye.

Fortunately, Grandma ended the awkward silence. “I helped plan the party and all, but I’m afraid Greg is right. Let’s get that fence repaired. We have to stay on top of things. I mean, family can only thrive if we focus on survival. I’ll go get the tools and bring them to you at the fence.”

And with that, Grandma slipped past Marion and Emma and went inside.

“Yeah, I guess I’m with Grandma,” Darryl said. “We can still play games later, Emma, and the snow ice cream will stay cold out here on the porch, but we’d better fix the fence. Thanks for everything.”

Still, he couldn’t make eye contact with her as he headed down the steps toward his dad. Greg resumed trudging across the yard, dragging his feet as he went so that he left a long, deep trail behind him. As Darryl followed, he heard Emma give a low, grumbling sigh under her breath.

3

The snow was so deep against the fence, Greg would have to shovel the area before he could work. The boards had fallen beside the tree, and he stooped down to pick them up, leaning them against the trunk. Mostly, it just looked like shoddy construction. The old wood, scrap from a dismantled shed, had lacked enough support, and the little bit of extra weight and pressure from snow had finally pushed it over. As he was picking up the boards, he glanced in the direction of the porch. Emma and Marion had retreated back inside, leaving the big bowl of snow ice cream sitting on the table.

I wasn’t cranky or rude about it, he thought. I explained my reasoning in a calm manner. Why did Emma get so bent out of shape? She’s old enough to understand what’s most important, especially after all we went through in the wilderness.

His son, Darryl, was approaching, looking a bit sheepish, as if he were afraid to get too close to Greg. On the porch, Justine and Horace remained.

“I figured you could use some help,” Darryl said, kicking through the snow. “After all, I built the stupid fence. It’s my fault if it’s falling down all of a sudden.”

“You did the best you could with the resources at hand and limited time,” Greg said. “Do me a favor, son, and go get the snow shovels from the barn. We’ll have to clear this area.” He gestured at the deep snow drift against the fence.

“Sure,” Darryl replied. As he set off toward the front of the barn, Justine hopped up from her chair and came down the porch steps to intercept him. Even Horace looked like he was struggling to get up and join them, reaching for his crutch.

With a sigh, Greg resumed picking up the fallen boards, pulling out some of the loose nails with his bare hands. It felt like he’d ruined everyone’s day. Of course, his family didn’t know everything that he knew. They didn’t know about the animal tracks on the other side of the fence, evidence of at least one big cat that had tried to find an easy way over.

After a minute, Darryl and Justine reappeared, coming from the direction of the barn with large snow shovels in their hands. Greg approached and reached out to take the shovel from Darryl, but his son shook his head.

“I’ve got it, Dad,” he said.

“You sure?” Greg replied. “On your birthday?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

Greg relented and stepped back while Darryl and Justine went to work clearing snow along the fence. They worked well together, quickly falling into a rhythm where one dug in while the other turned and dumped. They made an interesting pair. Greg was happy that his son had found someone to spend time with, but Justine Carmichael was such an odd girl. She would spend long periods of time just quietly staring at things from under the shadow of her hood, and then she would be taken with fits of talkativeness. It was almost like she was two people. He’d noticed she wore the same style of hooded sweatshirts practically every day, and she liked to keep the hood up.

She’s helpful, and she rarely complains about anything, he reminded himself. Plus, she pretty much saved my family from that awful Mayor Filmore and his cronies, and she’s a decent shot at medium range.

While they were working, Tabitha walked out to them, carrying Tuck’s old rusty toolbox. She set it at Greg’s feet and motioned at it. “Will these do?” she asked.

“Those will do just fine,” he replied. “You go back on inside and let us handle this, Mom.”

“Don’t step on any rusty nails,” she said, as she headed back toward the house.

Darryl and Justine soon cleared a spot beside the fence, but they kept working, widening the clearing to provide plenty of room to work. Greg was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice anyone else coming up behind him until he heard a familiar clank and thump from just over his shoulder. He turned to see Horace Bouchard hobbling toward the fence. He had a crutch under his left armpit, but he was dragging the smaller porch chair with his right hand.

“I’m pretty handy at home repairs, you know,” Horace said. “I figured you might need me on the fence.”

“Don’t strain yourself there, Horace,” Greg said. “I’d hate for you to take a tumble.”

“That’s what this nice comfy chair is for,” Horace said, with a gap-toothed grin, setting the chair in front of the tree. “You know I’m not completely crippled, right? I can get around just fine, as long as I sit to rest now and again.”

“I know,” Greg said. “I would never underestimate you, sir. You’ve been a big help around here.”

Horace gave him another gummy grin. When he smiled, his wrinkled face bunched up around the cheeks in a way that made him seem about two hundred years old. His white hair had gotten long and wild, strands sticking out in all directions like uncontrollable weeds.

“I’ll tell you what you really need,” Horace said. “Replace this wooden fence with a stone wall. Turn the ranch into a fortress, then nobody’ll get in here. Of course, you’ll have to dig out your own rock quarry first, but that shouldn’t take too long.” If not for the smile on his face, Greg would have thought he was being serious. Horace had an especially dry sense of humor. It wasn’t always easy to tell when he was joking. “How deep down can the bedrock be in Northern BC, after all? Twenty meters, thirty?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Greg replied. “Maybe a brick wall. That would be something to consider, if we could get our hands on the bricks. Maybe we could salvage the ruins of an abandoned house.”

Darryl took a deep breath and tossed his snow shovel aside. “I think that’ll work, Dad. What do you say?”

Justine followed suit, deftly tossing her snow shovel in a low arc so that it landed right beside Darryl’s shovel. They’d cleared a space about five meters wide in front of the fence, opening an area roughly as long as the broken portion of the fence. The exposed grass was brown and mostly dead.

“That’ll work, guys,” Greg said. “Good job. Now, we just have to get these boards back up and strengthen them. Why don’t you go to the shed and get some more scrap wood? See what you can find.”

Justine gave him a weird little salute as the two headed off toward the big shed beside the house. The girl was frowning, but he couldn’t tell if she was in a bad mood, worried about something, or if it was just her normal expression.

Once they were gone, Greg approached the fence. It had broken roughly two meters from the bottom, toppling over at a spot just above the middle brace. As Greg stepped up to the fence, he heard Horace approaching. Greg grabbed the broken edge of the fence and leaned over, looking at the ground on the other side.

“Damn,” he muttered. There in the snow, he spotted several footprints. They were clear as day and very recent—fresh footprints tracing a path from the trees on the south side of the property right up to the broken portion of the fence and then back to the east, where the fence ran close to the barn. “A person did this,” he said, seething. “Damaged the fence while we were in the middle of our party. What kind of a lowlife would even think of doing something like that?”

“Well, whoever it was, they’re pretty bold walking right up to the property like that,” Horace said.

“Someone who would knock a section of the fence down like that is either desperate or crazy,” Greg said. “Either way, they’re dangerous. Looks like they headed toward the barn. I’d better make sure they didn’t get through. Stay here and wait for the kids, would you? Put them to work on repairs when they get back.”

“Will do, boss,” Horace said, returning to his chair. “Just be careful. Grab a weapon first.”

“Good idea.”

Greg diverted back to the house, where the bowls of ice cream sat forgotten and melting. He ducked inside, grabbing the Remington Model 700 rifle that he kept on a shelf near the front door. For the few seconds he was inside, he heard Emma and Tabitha chatting in the kitchen.

“Well, he doesn’t have to be a such a stick in the mud all the time,” Emma was saying. “It’s okay sometimes to just relax and spend time with your family. Who cares about a little bit of the fence breaking?”

“Your dad’s got a lot on his mind,” Tabitha replied.

Boy, you said it, Greg replied. He made a mental note to have a conversation with his daughter later. He couldn’t afford to let his kids start resenting him, especially when he was just trying to keep them safe.

He checked to make sure the rifle was loaded, then headed toward the barn. As he was crossing the yard, he saw Darryl pushing a wheelbarrow full of scrap lumber, while Justine lugged a bucket of nails

“What’s going on, Dad?” Darryl asked. “Are we in trouble?”

“Just checking something out,” Greg replied. “Get to work on that fence.”

As he walked past them toward the front of the barn, he heard Justine mutter, “That means we’re in trouble. Otherwise, he would’ve said no.”

You catch on fast, Greg thought.

He headed around to the backside of the barn, rifle at the ready in case some weirdo came leaping out of the shadows. The world was crazy enough now that such a thing wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. The snow was deep here, past mid-calf, so he found himself dragging his boots to make progress. The gap between the back of the barn and the fence was just wide enough to get the animals out and lead them into the pasture.

When he rounded the corner, he saw immediately that another section of fence had been removed. Unlike the big section that had toppled over, this was a more meticulous job. It looked like a few boards had been carefully pried away and set aside. Furthermore, the sliding back door of the barn was wide open.

“Sneaky little scumbag,” he muttered. Had they knocked down a section of fence just to draw attention away from the barn? Just to get the family busy working on repairs so they would be distracted?

Greg went to the back door of the barn and kicked it shut. He could see the tracks of a cow headed from the door through the gap in the fence and out across the yard, moving parallel with the human footprints at an angle toward the trees.

Greg felt such a rush of anger—of blind rage—that, for a minute, he had to just stand there at the fence, clutching the rifle, as his whole body shook with it. He wanted to aim the rifle in the direction the thief had gone and just unload, but he knew that was irrational.

Get ahold of yourself, he said. You can’t afford to be on edge. Deal with it calmly and rationally.

When he’d finally suppressed most of the anger, he headed back toward the others. Darryl, Justine, and Horace were already putting up the new boards, nailing them to the framework and reinforcing them with extra boards that went all the way to the ground.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Darryl asked again.

“You just keep working on the fence,” Greg replied. “One of the cows got out. I’m going to track it down. Looks like it headed into the trees.”

“Did someone steal one of our cows?” Darryl asked.

“It’s possible, but I’ll handle it,” Greg said. “If anything, it’s just a desperate loser who saw an opportunity.”

Horace had dragged the chair up beside the fence, and he was currently driving nails into the framework. The man had an amazing hammering technique. He could drive a nail all the way to the head in two or three blows, and he never missed.

“I’d go with you, Greg,” he said. “I just don’t think my legs would get through the snow drifts. Want me to get that sniper rifle and perch myself up in the tree there? My aim isn’t what it used to be, but I might be able to scare off any thieves, at least.”

“No, Horace, but thanks for the offer,” Greg said. “You three keep working. There’s another gap in the fence that needs to be fixed behind the barn. When you’re done here, work on that one too. I’ll head out and take care of our little thief.”

“Dad, be careful,” Darryl said.

“Don’t worry,” Greg said. “I’m just going to get back what he stole, but I’ll be ready for anything. Don’t tell your mom or grandma. No sense in worrying them. I’ll be back soon enough.”

He checked the rifle to make sure the safety was off and headed for the gate. When he got to it, he unlatched it and slid it open just enough to slip through, then pulled it shut behind him.

This thief picked the wrong family to mess with, he thought, heading along the fence toward the long tracks.

4

Justine was still in a funk, and Darryl wasn’t sure how to pull her out of it. She normally liked to talk about random little things when they worked, but at the moment she was mostly brooding. She’d retreated deeper into her hood, as she often did when she was in a bad mood. Horace didn’t seem to notice, but then again, the old man didn’t know Justine all that well. He was just humming away as he worked, his gnarled hands driving in nails with expert aim.

“We should double layer this whole section of fence,” Horace said, gesturing with his hammer. “And a little bit beyond. That’ll keep it from being pushed over again.”

“Pushed over?” Darryl asked. “So, it was definitely a person who did it? It wasn’t just knocked over by the wind or by shoddy construction?”

“It was some little twerp,” Horace said, picking up another board. “Your dad will take care of him, though, so don’t you worry about that.”

“I hope Dad doesn’t do something crazy,” Darryl said. “He doesn’t need to get in a gun battle with bandits over a stupid cow. We’ve got more cows than we need anyway.”

“It’s more than just the cow or the fence,” Horace said. “If you let people know your property is an easy target, thieves will keep coming back. It’s a lot safer to return to a place that’s easy pickings than to break into a new place you’re unsure about. Your dad has to set a precedent. You follow me?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Darryl said.

“Well, he’d better be careful not to shoot the cow,” Justine said, setting a board against the fence. “Because then what’s the point?”

“I don’t know,” Horace said. “Fresh meat instead of salted meat sounds pretty good to me.”

They continued to work for a while, but it soon became clear Horace couldn’t easily repair the upper part of the fence. While he was okay to stand for a while, he had to lean on his crutch to do so, which hindered work. Finally, he shoved a bunch of nails into his vest pocket, tucked a hammer under his belt, and said, “You kids keep working on this part of the fence. I’m going to drag my chair back behind the barn and see if I can’t work on the other part.”

“Do you need any help getting over there, sir?” Darryl asked.

“No, I believe I can make it,” Horace replied. “It’s good exercise. If I fall down and can’t get up, I’ll start shouting up a storm. I know you’ll hear it.”

Darryl had once rescued the old man from the second-floor landing of his house after hearing him shouting loud enough to be heard half a kilometer away. He could blast out noise when he really wanted to.

Horace grabbed the back of the chair, tucked the crutch under his armpit, and began making his way toward the barn one unsteady step at a time. Darryl watched him go before turning back to the fence. Justine had been quietly working through all of this. Indeed, she’d only made a few sporadic comments, mostly sarcastic. Though she hadn’t said anything to make him worry, there was something in the air. He felt the tension radiating off of her. Had something at the party upset her? If so, why wouldn’t she say anything?

She’s not going to bring it up, dummy, he scolded himself, raising a board to the upper part of the fence. And you won’t get her to bring it up by dancing around it, not this time. You’ll have to be direct.

Justine was hammering a nail, missed the head, and clipped the edge of her thumb before hitting the fence. She flung the hammer down and shouted a string of curses so loudly they echoed on the far side of the ranch. Then she flung her hood back, kicked through the snow, and jammed her thumb into her mouth.

“You kids okay over there?” Horace called from the back corner of the barn.

“It’s okay,” Darryl called back. “Justine just hit her thumb.”

“It’s not okay,” she growled, wiping her thumb on the side of her sweatshirt. “Don’t speak for me, please. I smashed my thumb. I know if I’m okay or not, and I’m not okay.” She turned her back to him, clutching the thumb in her other hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Can I take a look at it?”

“No, don’t look at it. There’s nothing to see.”

After that, an awkward silence fell between them. Darryl was frozen in the act of holding a board against the upper part of the framework, a nail pinched between thumb and forefinger. He thought maybe Justine would return to work, but she just kept standing there. Finally, he lowered the board and tossed the nail into the nearby bucket.

Get it over with, he told himself. If it’s something you did or said, you’ll have to face it eventually anyway.

“Hey, Justine, can I ask you a question?” He started to reach out to her, intending to maybe grab her shoulder, but then he thought better of it and lowered his hand.

“What? What is it?” she asked. She was still facing away from him, clutching her thumb. With her hood down, her long black hair hung past her shoulder blades. It almost looked like she’d traded the hood for a veil.

“Well, not to pry or anything…”

“No, you wouldn’t want to pry,” she muttered sourly. “That would be rude.”

“It’s just that…” Why was this so hard? What was he so afraid of? “You’ve kind of been in a bad mood…well, more of a strange mood, I guess, pretty much all day.

“That wasn’t a question,” Justine replied, grabbing her hood and pulling it back into place.

“Is something wrong?” he said, finally just blurting it out. “Did I do something or say something to hurt your feelings? There’s just been a weird vibe all day.”

He kept talking because she wasn’t responding, and he hated the thought of that awful silence falling between them again. However, he realized mid-sentence that she was crying. Soft at first, she soon began to sob, covering her face with her hands. He could see a red mark on the side of her thumb where she’d hit it with the hammer. But this? This wasn’t about the hammer.

“Something is wrong,” he said. “Oh God, what did I do?”

“I don’t want to say it,” she said, almost too quietly to be heard. “I tried to be normal during your party. I really tried, but I can’t keep it up all day.”

“What is it?” Darryl said, moving toward her. “You can tell me.”

She spun around, flinging her hair out of her eyes. Her face was all twisted up, her cheeks and forehead turned dark red. Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with both hands.

“Darryl…Darryl…” she said, barely above a whisper. “I can’t bring myself to say it. I just don’t want to.”

“So it’s something really bad,” he replied. “I knew it. Justine, tell me. Please.”

She bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut, and finally blurted it out. “I’m pregnant. That’s what it is. I’m pregnant.”

Nothing she could have said would have hit him harder. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. His mind reeling, he couldn’t think clearly.

“Wait. Wait a minute. Are you sure?” he said. “How…how can you be sure?”

“I can’t be without a test, but I’m late,” she said, wiping her cheeks on her sleeve. “Almost two weeks late. And there are other things. Other changes to my body.” She let go of his shirt and wandered over to the tree. “I’m pregnant, Darryl. Can you believe it? God, I’m so scared.” She leaned her forehead against the rough bark of the tree.

“But we only…just that one time…just once…” His lips felt numb, the words just sort of tumbling out.

“It only takes one time, dummy,” she said. And then she began crying again.

Darryl forced his stiff legs to carry him toward her. He reached out and gently laid his hands on her shoulders. He thought about pulling her into a hug, but he was afraid she might resist at that moment.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. Had words ever sounded so forced? “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of things.” It all felt wrong. He was seventeen. Too young to be having this conversation. “I’m sorry, Justine. We should have used protection. It was my fault for hanging out in your room so late that night.”

“It was a mutual decision,” she said, hiccupping. She wiped her face again with her sleeves and sniffed. “We didn’t have any protection to use anyway. Who were we going to ask? ‘Oh, hey, Tabitha, the next time you head into town do you think you could trade some salted beef for a pack of condoms? I’d like to fool around with your grandson.’ Yeah, that would’ve gone over well.”

She turned then and melted into his embrace. He pulled her close, patting her head, feeling a stomach-churning dread. He wasn’t nearly old enough to be a father, and their life situation couldn’t have been worse for it. How were they going to raise a baby under these conditions? No clinic, no grocery stores, no clothing stores, no disposable diapers or baby formula, almost no help at all.

“We just shouldn’t have done it, that’s all,” Justine said. “We knew it wasn’t safe. We’re not kids. We know better.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“I’m not sure exactly how far along I am,” she said. “I don’t know how to tell the others. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.”

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he said, speaking to himself as much as her. “Somehow, everything’s going to be okay.”

* * *

Greg could tell that there had been two people, one walking on either side of the cow as they led it away from the barn. He was no tracker, of course, so he couldn’t discern much more than that. One man seemed larger than the other, but that might have simply been a product of the way they walked. For her part, the cow seemed to have gone willingly. Her hoofprints went in a straight line from the hole in the fence across the snowy gap to the forest. Clearly, the men hadn’t made her nervous.

There had been reports of bandits in the area. Greg had heard of neighboring property being looted, but breaking open a fence to steal a cow seemed especially bold, and a big risk. What sort of people would attempt such a thing? As he approached the trees, he raised the rifle, leading with it, ready in case anyone jumped out of hiding. He paused to scan the snowy shadows beneath the boughs, but he didn’t see anything moving in there.

He resumed moving, stepping through a gap between trees to enter the eerie quiet of the forest. Indeed, the only sound at the moment was the soft crunch of his boots in the snow. The thieves had clearly gotten a good head start. Greg paused again, trying to hear something, anything.

After a moment, he thought he caught the faintest noise, some kind of thud, far in the distance, followed by what might have been the echo of voices. Did they sound angry? He couldn’t tell. Maybe he was imagining it, but he resumed moving, trying to pick up the pace. The track curved gradually to the southeast, as if the thieves were headed somewhere specific. Clearly, there had been purpose and planning in this.

Greg felt a moment of unease. It almost broke through the anger. If there was purpose and planning, then someone had specifically targeted his family. Who were they dealing with here? Mayor Filmore was dead, as were the worst of his guards. Whatever the case, the problem would have to be dealt with as soon as possible. Greg would not allow the situation to continue.

He had just stepped past a towering spruce tree when he saw vague movement far in the distance, Through gaps in the scrub brush, some large shape shifted. Greg came to a stop and went down on one knee, raising the rifle and bracing it against the tree. He peered through the scope, shifting the rifle slightly until he centered on the movement. The cow’s right flank. He saw her tail swinging, the bulge of a thigh.

Shifting the scope to the right, he spotted the first thief. A smallish man in a dark coat and hat, he appeared to be talking to someone, gesturing with his hands. The man was too far away to take a shot. Greg didn’t trust his aim, and he soon lost the chance as the man resumed moving.

Lowering the rifle, Greg rose and hurried after them.

You’re not getting away, he thought, whoever you are.

* * *

James Teagan hadn’t come into this situation completely naïve. He knew Eustace well enough by now to have some familiarity with his more obnoxious quirks. At the very least, Eustace’s plan to distract the family by knocking down another part of the fence seemed to have worked. Still, this was a problem, and he wasn’t willing to let it lie.

They seemed to be alone for the moment. The forest around them was deathly quiet. James turned and looked at his employer. He was a huge heap of a man in a ubiquitous red flannel jacket that reeked of body odor. Had the man ever bothered to wash it?

“You said we were scouting the area,” James reminded him. “Since when does scouting the area involve making a beeline straight for one specific ranch and stealing a cow?”

“That ranch is on the far side of our local community, practically the last house before you enter wilderness area,” Eustace replied. Though he spoke quietly, he had a deep voice that tended to carry. “I figured we’d start at the farthest point and work our way back.”

“No, you didn’t,” James replied. “You went straight to that ranch and immediately started taking the fence apart. You intended to steal from that family before we even set out.”

Eustace was quiet for a moment, as if formulating his response. That irritated James more than the theft itself. Was this the way it was going to be? No, if they were going to have a healthy working relationship, Eustace would have to stop these little games. James settled himself, pushing the frustration down until he was confident he could speak in a flat, emotionless voice.

“It has something to do with that specific family,” James said. “You have a grudge against them, perhaps. I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s time to level with me. When you first sent for me, I told you I would work for you again if you were willing to trust me.”

“Right, right.” Eustace glanced anxiously over his shoulder, as if he sensed something behind them. James heard nothing. The man was imagining things. “Okay, look, that ranch belongs to a family called the Healys. They’re going to be a problem.”

“How do you know?” James replied.

“We have a history,” Eustace said, and there was enough strain in his voice that James could tell this history was a violent one. “If we’re going to whip this community into shape, we have to put them on notice. I just figured I’d take care of it while we’re out here.”

“On notice for what?” James replied. “We’re supposed to be gathering supplies and equipment so we can create a hub to provide for the local community. At least, that’s what I was told when you sent for me. You never said anything about carrying on with a neighborhood feud.”

Eustace blew his breath. It puffed out of his beard like a toxic cloud. “Does this look like a feud to you?” He struggled to raise his left arm. It hovered there for a second, shaking badly, then flopped at his side again.

“Ah.”

It was clear now. Eustace’s injury.

Damned annoying, James thought. His personal grudge is going to be a problem. He won’t make rational decisions when it comes to the Healys. Still, I need the man. I’ll have to get control of this situation before it hinders our plans.

“Maybe we should move a little faster,” James said.

“Good idea,” Eustace replied. “Those Healys are nuts. They might overreact when they realize a cow is missing.”

5

Neither of them could concentrate on the fence. When Darryl tried to resume work, he couldn’t even hit a nail. He kept denting the wood with the hammer. Justine didn’t even try. She just sat down in the snow at the base of the tree, her hands in the front pocket of her sweatshirt, brooding darkly inside her hood. Finally, Darryl gave up. His mind was racing, his heart was pounding, and he felt clumsy.

He tossed the hammer back into his grandfather’s old toolbox and dumped a handful of nails into the bucket. Looking at his ugly handiwork, he backed away from the fence with a sigh. He could still hear Horace working away behind the barn. The old man had settled into a nice rhythm, driving in nails like he was tapping out a beat on a drum. He was probably humming a tune under his breath, as he often did when he worked.

I wish I was an old man who didn’t have to worry about things like this, Darryl thought. He knew it was a stupid, selfish thought. Horace had plenty of his own problems in life. Still, it was hard not to feel sorry for himself at the moment.

“Let’s forget about the fence for now,” Darryl said. “We did plenty. Do you want to go back inside the house?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk to other people,” Justine replied. She’d pulled her hood so far forward her face was entirely hidden in shadow. “I don’t want anyone to notice I’ve been crying or ask me any questions. I just want to sit somewhere quietly and be left alone.”

“Okay, I’ll cover for you. Come on.” He extended his hand to her. “If anyone tries to speak to you or look at you, I’ll deflect them.”

She accepted his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. Then they started back toward the house, using the tracks they’d already left behind. As they walked, Darryl thought she might let go of his hand, but she actually clamped down even tighter. Though he still felt shock, Darryl found that he had begun to access some part of his brain that was disconnected from the emotion.

Compartmentalization. The word came to him as he considered his current state.

When they reached the house, Darryl mounted the steps first and cracked open the front door, leaning in close to listen for the others. He heard voices upstairs. Grandma? Maybe Mom? He wasn’t sure. He poked his head through the door and saw the big wood-paneled living room. The familiar elk’s head glared down at him from its place above the couch, and didn’t its expression seem somewhat accusatory today?

Oh, what are you looking at? Darryl thought, returning the scowl.

The embers of a fire still glowed in the fireplace, but the cake and utensils had all been put away. There was nobody in the living room, and he didn’t think there was anyone in the kitchen or dining room either. He dared to push the door open a little farther.

“I think we’re safe,” he said. “Everyone’s upstairs.”

“My room is upstairs, too,” Justine said. “How do we get past them without being seen?”

“I’ll get you there. Trust me.” Still holding her hand, he stepped inside. As soon as she was through the door, he shut it behind her and headed for the stairs.

“We’ll take it slow,” he said, as he started up the stairs. “Step lightly. The stairs are noisy.”

He made his way up the stairs, moving as softly as possible. The old wood steps loved to creak and crack, and he couldn’t avoid the sound entirely. As he approached the second-floor landing, he realized Tabitha, Marion, and Emma were discussing plans for creating a garden in the field behind the root cellar.

At the top of the landing, Darryl poked his head around the corner. The door to the hobby room was ajar, and he saw Emma sitting in a bean bag, just visible, unraveling a ball of yarn, as if she were about to begin crocheting something. Darryl looked back at Justine and put a finger to his lips. She was wide-eyed and anxious, breathing loudly through her mouth.

As soon as he started down the hall, the floorboards gave him away. A single loud creak made the conversation in the hobby room suddenly cease.

“Darryl? Greg?” It was his mother.

“It’s me, Mom,” Darryl replied with a wince. “Just going to my room to take a little break.”

As he spoke, he made a spinning gesture at Justine and pointed toward her room. She took off running, moving on her tiptoes. A chair in the hobby room made a soft whooshing sound, as if someone were standing up. Darryl moved to intercept. Justine managed to fly past the door just as his mom’s face appeared in the opening.

“Dad and Horace are still out there dealing with stuff,” Darryl said, drawing her attention toward himself. “They’ll be back inside a little later, but I needed a break. Um…Dad said it’s fine since it’s my birthday and all.”

“That’s okay with me,” his mom said.

Justine disappeared into her room, just as Marion decided to glance in that direction.

“Anyway, I’m going to read a book or something until they’re done,” he said, moving past the hobby room. “I guess when they come back, we can play games or whatever you guys planned.”

“Sounds good,” Marion said. Her gaze lingered for a second, as if she saw something strange in his expression. He expected her to ask a question, but she finally backed into the room and returned to her chair.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Darryl rushed to Justine’s room and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. Justine had collapsed onto her bed, her arms crossed over her face. She seemed so small just then, barely more than a kid, though she was closing in on eighteen. Darryl took a seat on a corner of the bed.

Justine’s bedroom only had a bed, a small dresser, and a single chair. She’d tacked up a few abstract paintings which she’d retrieved from her house, but most of her personal possessions were dumped on shelves in the closet. It was a spare, uncomfortable room.

No place for a new mother, Darryl thought, but that only made his terror of the future rise.

“So…so…are you absolutely sure?” he asked. Maybe she was wrong, after all. Maybe she was confused. Maybe…something, anything.

“No, I can’t be absolutely sure until I feel the baby kicking,” she said, after a moment, her voice muffled by her arms. “I told you, I’m almost two weeks late for my period. Plus, there are other symptoms.”

“What other symptoms?”

She moved her arms and gave him a flat, unhappy look. “My breasts are more sensitive for one thing.”

Darryl laughed uncomfortably and looked away. “Oh, right. I didn’t know that was a sign of pregnancy.”

“You’re about to learn all sorts of things about pregnancy,” she said. “I hope you’re ready.”

“Are you?” he asked.

“Hell, no, but whatever.” She rolled onto her side, facing the wall. “We don’t have access to a pregnancy test. Believe me. I looked. I thought maybe your mom might have kept one stashed around here somewhere. I dug into the backs of all the bathroom drawers and cabinets. Nothing. Just old bandages, tampons, empty lipstick tubes, and weird creams of one kind or another. Someone in this house really suffers from itchy hemorrhoids, judging by all the rolled-up tubes of anus ointment I found.”

Darryl couldn’t bring himself to laugh, not authentically. He reached down and grabbed her boot, needing some kind of contact. Her boots and pants were soaking wet from all the snow, and the wetness was seeping into the quilt on her bed. He didn’t dare say anything about it, not now.

“I’m too young to be a mother,” Justine said softly. “Look at how we’re living, Darryl. We’re like hill people or something, or like Mennonites in the nineteenth century. I’ll have to give birth here in the house. There’s no hospital, no doctors—not unless we want to ride a horse all the way to the big city. Can you imagine? That means they’ll probably bring some untrained midwife or something right here into the bedroom, or worse yet, your grandma will be the midwife. Oh gosh, how mortifying. I can’t even begin to imagine it.”

This hadn’t occurred to Darryl yet, and it just compounded the fear. Yes, this was a bigger problem than he’d realized. He couldn’t begin to wrap his head around it, so he just sat there holding her damp boot and staring at the far wall. The abstract painting in front of him was a kind of purple spiral, and he could imagine that it was a vortex pulling him in, dragging him down into a void from which he would never escape.

* * *

The thieves were moving fast now, and Greg was determined not to let them get away. They were heading roughly south, in the general direction of the old Carmichael house, but he wasn’t yet close enough to see them. Ahead, through a break in the trees, he spotted an opening where a narrow backroad cut through the rural community. The dirt road was entirely blanketed in snow, but he could see that the footsteps of the thieves turned and headed in that direction.

They’re going toward town, Greg realized.

He dared more speed, running full-out toward the road, despite the extra noise. When he stepped through the trees into the opening, he turned and aimed his rifle due south down the road. He saw them then. Bodies in the distance, pulling the poor cow along on a lead line. Two people. The one on the right was wearing a heavy coat with a fur-lined hood. The other thief was a big bear of a man in a huge red flannel jacket. Though he had a toque pulled low to hide his hair, Greg recognized the shape of him.

It was like turning over a rock and finding the devil hiding underneath. Eustace Simpson. It could be no other. He was a lumbering mountain of a man with a thick neck, thick arms, a generous belly, red hair and beard. The shock of seeing him here caused Greg to stumble to a stop and catch himself against the nearest tree.

He survived the shootout with Tuck, Greg realized. Sorry you didn’t get him, Dad.

Then again, Tuck had probably saved Greg and Emma by engaging the man in a gunfight. Still, it was a shame that Eustace had been able to walk away from the fight.

Greg raised the rifle, trying to sight them, though they were quickly disappearing. The shock of seeing a man he’d assumed was dead, or at least long gone, made him clumsy. He braced his shoulder against the tree and tracked Eustace, finger sliding down to the trigger. He heard snatches of a conversation, bits and pieces of words carried to him on the wind. They seemed to be arguing about something. Who was the other guy? Greg didn’t recognize him from the back. The fur-lined coat wasn’t familiar.

Something about Eustace’s gait seem off. His left arm hung down and flopped about, as if there were something wrong with it. This, in turn, made the man move in an awkward limp. Unfortunately, Eustace was partially behind the cow, and Greg didn’t want to risk shooting the animal. He pushed away from the tree and resumed following them, trying to step quietly as he moved along the edge of the road. Eustace and the other man were approaching a bend in the road when they stopped. The other man began gesturing with his hands. Greg heard the backwash of angry words and knew they were now arguing with each other. Taking a few more steps, Greg found an old pine tree with a split trunk. He used the angle to brace the rifle and took aim at Eustace.

He murdered your father, Greg reminded himself, and now he intends to victimize your family. Your only safe option is to take him out.

Shooting a man in the back wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, even when that man was Eustace Simpson, but Greg found that when he tapped into the deep well of anger all hesitation fell away. He took careful aim at the big, red target in the distance, aiming high so he would hit him somewhere between the shoulder blades.

As he did, he realized it had begun to snow again. Fat snowflakes were falling, carried on a strong wind. It complicated his aim, but he knew he wouldn’t have a better chance than this. Eustace was standing still, jabbing his finger in the direction of the other man and shouting at him, as the poor cow just stood there patiently.

Now or never, he told himself. Take the shot.

6

They sat there in the silence for what might have been half an hour while Darryl listened to Justine’s soft breathing. He saw the rise and fall of her left shoulder, felt the soft rubber of boot, and he tried to think of the next thing to say. Maybe there was nothing else to say. Nature was going to take its course now, and that was that.

You should be comforting her, he told himself. She’s more scared than you are. Say something. Make it all better.

But he didn’t know what to say. He felt like he’d gotten stuck somehow in a blank space that he couldn’t pull himself out of. Finally, he forced words out of his mouth, even though he had little plan for what he was going to say.

“Do you want me to break the news to the others,” he said, “so you don’t have to? If I get it over with, then it’ll be done and you won’t have to worry about it.”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “Don’t say anything.”

“Okay, then, you can do it, I guess.”

She grunted. “No, I don’t want anyone to break the news to anybody, not until I’m good and ready. And maybe I’ll never be ready, and they’ll just think I’m eating too much until suddenly—surprise, surprise. How the heck did that get in there?” She uttered a soft, fragmented laugh. “The looks on their faces would almost be worth it. Maybe I could tell them I found it in the woods. ‘It’s a magic baby. The fairy people left it on a rock under a tall tree in the heart of the forest. Let’s name it Mortimer the Mysterious.’” This made her laugh harder. “You think they’d believe me?”

Somehow, Justine had found her way to maximum weirdness, but Darryl just couldn’t find humor in the moment. “I’ll keep it a secret as long as you want me to,” he said. “I promise, I won’t breathe a word of it.”

“Okay, good,” she said. Somehow, the laughter had turned to tears, and she was crying again, burying her face in the quilt. “I’m just scared, Darryl. I know I keep saying it, but I can’t help it. I never expected to get pregnant this young.”

He was tempted to slap himself on either cheek to snap out of his mood. This wasn’t really about him now. Justine had to carry the baby and deal with the pregnancy, so he was simply going to have to step up, whether he felt ready or not.

What a birthday present, he thought. Can we trade this in for more cake?

“Everything’s going to be just fine,” he told Justine. “I’m sure of it.”

“How can you keep saying that?” she said. “We don’t know what we’re doing. We’re new at this.”

“It doesn’t matter if we’re new at it,” he replied, giving her leg a gentle squeeze. “I can say it because I’m going to make sure of it. I’m going to take care of you, Justine, you and the baby. I helped create this situation, and now it’s time to accept responsibility for it. That’s all there is to it.”

He was speaking to himself mostly, trying to get the words to stick. They almost did—almost. It still didn’t seem quite real. Justine pushed against the bed and slowly sat up, dabbing her eyes on her palms. She gazed out the bedroom window for a second, where she had an expansive view of the back of the ranch. Darryl looked over her shoulder and saw the snowy lump that was the top of the root cellar. He could still recall all of the hard work he’d done to dig out the cellar. It seemed like it had happened years and years ago.

Suddenly, Justine turned and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him toward her. He fell, and they collapsed onto the bed in an embrace. Her hair tickled his face—it smelled of lavender soap—and she felt so small in his arms. They lay there as long as they dared before the fear of someone walking into the room drove them apart. Finally, Justine pushed him away and sat up, turning her gaze back to the window and the expanse of unbroken snow behind the house.

I’m going to be a father, Darryl thought. I need to stand up and be a man now, just like my own dad.

“What do you need right now?” he said. “What can I do for you at this moment that will make you feel better?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to tell you in the first place. Now that I’m over that hurdle, I just need to let it all sink in.”

“I’ll keep it a secret as long as you want me to,” he said.

“I hate lying,” Justine muttered, running her pinky finger through the condensation she’d left on the window glass. “I’ve always hated lying, but I…I need more time.”

“Well, we’re not exactly lying,” Darryl said. “We’re just delaying the truth until you’re ready.”

“You don’t have to make excuses,” Justine said. “We’re lying. Let’s call it what it is. For now, we’re lying.”

“Okay. In that case, I’ll lie as long as you want me to.”

“Thanks,” she said. He saw that she’d drawn a small heart in the condensation.

Just then, he heard a strange sound coming from somewhere outside of the house. He was so wrapped up in his current circumstances, and he’d bent so much of his mind and emotions toward dealing with the pregnancy, that he almost didn’t notice the sound at first. It only registered after a second. A sharp snap. Was it a tree falling down? More of the fence toppling over?

Justine turned and looked at him, her mouth dropping open.

“Did you hear that?” she said with a gasp.

Not a tree falling down, he realized. No, he knew this sound all too well.

“A gunshot,” he said, rising from the bed. “My dad…”

* * *

Greg pulled the trigger. Because the snow had dampened so much of the typical ambient sound, the crack of the rifle seemed especially loud. Eustace dropped instantly, disappearing behind the cow. Greg assumed he’d been killed, but then he saw the man, red against white snow, scrambling into the trees beside the road. The other man dropped backward, turning and stumbling as he tried to see who had fired at them, but Greg was well hidden behind the big pine tree.

The poor startled cow headed down the road, dragging her lead line behind her. This removed the major obstacle, and Greg tracked the red moving target as he slipped through gaps in the trees. He took a second shot, but the bullet pinged off a tree trunk with a burst of splinters. Eustace seemed to melt into the snow then, and Greg realized he had fallen flat on the ground and was actually rolling through the woods. It was so absurd he would’ve laughed, if not for the gravity of the situation.

Greg lost sight of the second man and shifted position to find him. In the few seconds he’d been tracking Eustace, the other man had caught up to the cow and circled around in front of her. He stooped down and grabbed the lead line, gathering it up. Briefly, Greg had a clear shot at the man, but he didn’t want to take it. He didn’t know this second person. Was he an ally of Eustace? Had he been forced to work for him? The uncertainty lingered just long enough for the man to move, and Greg to lose the shot.

As the cow continued to move south down the road, Greg saw a hint of bright red flash between her legs and realized Eustace had come back out of the forest. Both of the men were using the cow as cover as they continued to flee.

You’re not getting away, Eustace, Greg thought. You owe a debt to my family, and you’re going to pay it.

He pushed away from the tree and moved to follow them.

* * *

Well, Eustace Simpson had warned him. James Teagan had to give him credit for that. He’d said the family might overreact to the theft of the cow, and they most certainly had. Fortunately, this little backwoods nobody seemed to be a poor shot. He’d missed twice, even with a huge, red target like Eustace Simpson lumbering about.

Under his fur-lined winter coat, James Teagan had a Glock 22 in a holster on his tactical vest and an extra magazine. This moron didn’t realize who he was dealing with. Still, he wasn’t about to give him another clear shot. As Eustace crawled around in the snow, James dared to circle around the cow and grab the lead line. This put him out in the open for a couple of seconds, but he assumed the shooter was aiming for Eustace.

James gathered up the lead line and moved back in front of the cow, walking in a crouch so the large, spotted animal provided cover. After a moment, Eustace came lumbering out onto the road in front of the cow and angled back toward James. His face and beard were dusted with snow, his cheeks glowing from the cold. Already, a flurry had kicked up, and James could see it getting bad soon. So much the better. It would make it harder for their pursuer to get a clear shot.

“We should find somewhere to hide,” Eustace said, out of breath and wheezing. The man was a poster boy for congestive heart failure, as far as James could tell.

“He’s not going to shoot his own cow,” James replied. “Use the animal as cover until we get back to town. Then we’ll meet up with the rest of our people. This guy is already outnumbered, but in town, he’ll be swarmed.”

Eustace tried to copy James, hunching over as he walked along, but it looked ridiculous. Fortunately, the big heifer was docile enough that she hadn’t kicked up a fuss about being stolen or dragged around. She was trotting along as happy as she pleased, as if she were being rescued, instead of becoming hamburgers to feed Eustace Simpson’s growing army.

“I told you these people are crazy,” Eustace said, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder. “Is he still back there somewhere? I don’t hear him.”

“This whole stupid thing was your idea,” James replied. “What did you think they were going to do?”

Eustace looked back again, leaning to one side for a second and daring to gaze down the road behind them.

“Quit sticking your head out, or you’re going to get it blown off,” James said.

“He’s way back there,” Eustace replied. “I can barely see him. It’s Greg Healy. I’m sure of it. That guy has got it in for me. He was shooting to kill me. Make no mistake about that. Fortunately, he’s a poor shot.”

“I don’t care,” James said sharply. The fact that Eustace had a troubled personal history with one of the families in the area was already a major point of frustration. He’d been hired to get a handle on things and bring some order to the community, and that’s what he was going to do.

He yanked on the lead line to encourage the cow to pick up the pace a little bit. It didn’t work. The cow just ignored him. James noticed that Eustace was glaring at him. What an ugly face. The guy hadn’t been punched nearly enough in his life, that was clear.

Why do I keep working for this moron? James thought, bitterly. Because he has deep pockets, of course.

“Is there a problem, Eustace?” James said.

Eustace stroked his beard and reseated his toque—weak attempts to hide his frustration, James knew. Then he sniffed and said, “You know, you’re not always the friendliest guy, James. We’re out here getting shot at, and I’m trying to explain the situation to you.”

“Talk less, listen more, and you’ll live longer,” James said. “Come on. We’re heading back to the compound.”

Despite this, Eustace leaned to one side and looked back past the cow again. James half-hoped he would catch a bullet this time. Then again, it wouldn’t do to lose his employer.

“I don’t see him back there,” Eustace said. “I think we lost him. Maybe he gave up and returned home.”

“Don’t assume anything,” James replied. “Stay low. Quit peeking. Next time we go on a raid, let me strategize, okay?”

Eustace grumbled under his breath, hunched down again, and kept walking. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here,” he said, but so softly it was almost inaudible.

The road cut a long, straight course. The snowfall was getting heavy now, but James saw footprints in the distance. Soon, he spotted people stepping out of the trees on the left. They both wore heavy coats with the collars pulled up over their mouths, toques, and winter boots. One of them he’d already spoken to at length—a former police officer named Pam Grasier. She’d become one of Eustace’s cronies, though she’d formerly worked with the local mayor Gene Marshall Filmore.

As she stepped out onto the road, she looked at the cow, shook her head, and fell in beside them. She could be hard to read. Her face rarely betrayed her emotions. Actually, she was scowling almost all the time. James saw that as a positive quality. Being hard to read was always—always—an advantage.

“How did you wind up with a cow?” she said. “I thought you were scouting the area.”

“We’re making a point,” Eustace said. “Anyway, this cow will produce milk and, eventually, meat. This is how we consolidate resources: one cow at a time.”

As he spoke, he turned and looked back behind them again.

“Our pursuer?” James asked.

“Don’t see him,” Eustace replied. “I think we’re in the clear.”

“Too bad,” James said. “I was hoping to deal with that guy before he becomes an annoyance. He knows you, and he doesn’t seem to be scared of you. Not surprising. But he hasn’t met me yet.”

7

Greg was furious, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outnumbered. He’d thought he had a pretty good chance against Eustace and the other guy, but when they’d been joined by two others, he’d had to concede that his opportunity had passed. There was no way he would manage to take out Eustace plus three of his cronies. It would have to wait.

So he trudged home in a foul mood, gripping the rifle so tightly in his right hand that it shook. He heard the rattle of the bolt as he stomped back up the road and through the trees. The snow was coming down so heavily now that it was almost like a veil dropping down over the world. He could hear it—the soft crackle of big snowflakes touching down all around him, faint as a whisper.

When he came back in sight of the house, it looked like most of the repair work on the fence was complete. He heard a single hammer still tapping out a rhythm, and knew by the steady sound that it was Horace. Greg was in such a bad mood that he couldn’t bring himself to examine the quality of the work carefully. Instead, he passed through the gate, latched it, went to retrieve his father’s toolbox, then trudged back to the house.

As he was setting the rifle back on its shelf beside the front door, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Marion, Tabitha, and Emma appeared soon.

“Did you finish with the fence?” Marion asked.

“Close enough,” he replied, carrying the toolbox to a small table in the corner beside the couch. “Just a bit of unfinished business to take care of. It’ll wait for another day.”

He left it at that, and, fortunately, his wife didn’t prod for details.

* * *

It was about more than just repairing and reinforcing the fence. Greg was determined to make a point, and if Eustace and his lackeys dared to return, he wanted them to see how far he’d gone. He wanted them to witness the overreaction and understand the emotion behind it. Therefore, he spent the next couple of days strengthening almost the entire fence on the south side, using practically every bit of scrap wood he could come up with to reinforce it, make it taller, add additional supports, and top the posts with sharp objects.

Horace was ever reliable. Every time Greg went outside to work on the fence, even if he didn’t tell anyone where he was going or what he was doing, the veteran always came out to help him, dragging a chair from the porch. It soon became clear to Greg that Horace was more than willing to overwork himself into complete exhaustion, so he often had to insist the old man take a break. Still, he was incredibly helpful, which almost made up for the fact that Darryl and Justine had begun to make themselves scarce.

He occasionally spotted them roaming about the property, working on various tasks, but always just the two of them. They shoveled the walk, rearranged shelves in the shed and barn, worked in the root cellar, and patrolled the perimeter. They often seemed deep in conversation, so Greg didn’t bother to intrude. Darryl hadn’t even asked if Greg had managed to track down the thief or retrieve the cow.

I hope those kids don’t get so attached at the hip that they become useless, Greg thought, then felt bad for thinking it. Of course, they weren’t useless, and they seemed happy together. Why resent it?

On the morning of the third day, he declared the fence complete. Still, he knew Eustace well enough to know he would come back, so he summoned the family to a meeting in the living room after breakfast. Marion and Tabitha had been cleaning the grill outside, having cooked some meat that morning, and they walked in wiping their hands on dish towels. As they sat on the couch, Horace shuffled in from the dining room and took the recliner in the corner. Emma had been patching one of her old dresses at the end of the couch, and she continued to work as the meeting started.

Only Darryl and Justine lingered. They were in the kitchen, ostensibly cleaning the dishes, but when Greg finally went looking for them, he found them standing in front of the counter, a stack of clean dishes and a bucket of dirty water just sitting there. They seemed to have long since finished and were quietly chatting, their heads close, as if sharing secrets.

“Hey, guys, we’re meeting,” Greg said. “Come on in the living room, please.”

“On our way, Dad,” Darryl replied, without looking at him.

Even so, it still took them a good thirty seconds before they finally broke away from the counter and headed to the living room, where they sat together beneath the shadow of a massive, looming elk head. Greg moved to the fireplace and sat down on the brick hearth, where he had a good view of everyone.

“This seems awfully formal,” Tabitha said. “What are we meeting about? Is there a problem?”

His mother was very perceptive, and Greg had debated quite a bit with himself about how much he should tell them. In the end, he decided to leave Eustace out of the story for the time being. He wasn’t sure how Tabitha or Emma would react. They both had reasons to be furious with the man for what he’d done, and he was nervous about his mother’s reaction, particularly. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for his mother to load up on guns and march into town right then and there.

Horace knew the truth, of course, but Greg had asked him not to say anything. The footprints had been quickly covered by the snowfall. Still, he needed to justify what he was about to recommend, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable lying.

Where to draw the line?

“Well?” Tabitha said. “Are we having a meeting, or did you call us in here so we can admire your impressive silence?”

Greg forced a laugh and cleared his throat. “Not quite, Mother. Thanks for the sarcasm. No, the work on the fence is done. It’s a lot more secure.”

“You’re confident the wind can’t blow portions of it over now?” Marion asked.

“Pretty much,” Greg said. He glanced at Horace, and the old man gave a little nod, as if to say, Your secret is safe with me. “Look, we’re going to start making regular patrols of the property, just in case we’ve got wild animals or bandits in the area. We’ll take turns, preferably going in pairs, always armed, of course.”

Marion and Tabitha glanced at each other, and Emma stopped working on the dress, sticking the needle and thread into the arm of the couch like a pincushion.

“What’s this all about?” Tabitha asked. “Is it about the cow that got out? It didn’t just run away, did it?”

“Okay, here’s something I should have said before, but I didn’t want to worry anyone,” Greg said. “It’s possible something or someone took the cow. The snow was disturbed around the fence. It was probably a mountain lion. Possibly a bandit. We just don’t know, but we have to be safe.”

“I knew there was something going on that morning,” Marion said. “You were in a foul mood. Greg, you have to level with us about these things. If there’s a risk, danger, or threat, the family needs to know. That’s how we’re going to keep each other safe.”

She gave him a fierce look, and Greg finally dropped his gaze to his feet. I’ll tell her the full truth when Tabitha’s not around. She’ll understand.

“I get that, honey,” he said. “Anyway, we’ll create a schedule and make sure someone is patrolling the grounds at all times. Even at night, at least for the time being. Take a lantern, take a gun, go in pairs, and just listen for anything weird.”

“Me, too?” Emma asked. She had a tight-lipped look, as if she expected to be excluded.

“You, too,” Greg said. “You can patrol with Grandma or Mom or me.”

“Good,” Emma said, picking up the needle and thread. “I’m not afraid of a big cat. Darryl shot and skinned one. I bet I could, too.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

* * *

Greg volunteered to take the most difficult hours by himself. The wee hours of the morning were always the quietest and darkest, the most ominous, but he knew he could handle it. And so it was that he arose around three in the morning, eased himself out of bed without rousing Marion, and headed downstairs. Horace had taken the previous watch, insisting on having a turn despite his physical limitations. Greg found him near the gate, dragging the chair and lugging his nice SIG Sauer rifle over his shoulder.

Greg brought a small oil lamp with him, lighting the way as he headed down the steps. Horace saw the light and stopped, turning to meet him. They’d worn a track in the snow along the fence all around the property. It was bitterly cold, a bright half-moon overhead.

“Hey there, sir,” Greg said. “Looks like you’ve got a pretty good system going.”

“I drag the chair ten or twenty meters, sit down for a little while, and listen real good,” he said. “Then I pick myself up, grab the chair, and move it again. It works for me. Nothing out of the ordinary. No mountain lion, no big red thieves.”

“Great,” Greg said, clapping him on the back. “Get some rest. I’ll take over now.”

“You got it. Here, use the SIG.” Horace thrust the rifle at him, but Greg waved it off and pointed at the Remington slung over his shoulder.

“SIG’s got a better scope,” Horace noted. “You can see farther with it, which might come in handy if someone’s moving around in the forest.”

“Good point,” Greg said. He took the SIG and handed Horace the Remington.

Horace slung the strap of the Remington over his shoulder and started dragging the chair back toward the porch. “All this walking around in the clean air is doing wonders for me. I can tell you that.”

Greg hoped it was true. He didn’t want to keep pushing Horace Bouchard or take advantage of the man’s willingness to work. Greg dimmed the lamp, raised the rifle to his shoulder, and proceeded to follow the track that now encircled the property along the perimeter of the fence. It was so quiet he could practically hear his own heartbeat. Fresh snow blanketed everything, glowing faintly in the moonlight.

Show up, Eustace, he thought. I dare you. I’ll hear you coming by your labored breathing. Let me see that ugly face one more time before I blast it with the SIG.

The theft of the cow hadn’t been an isolated event. Greg knew the man well enough. Eustace was up to something. Maybe he’d been testing the family, trying to gauge how they would react. Or maybe he was planning a series of “hit and run” attacks as he gathered supplies. Perhaps he was even trying to take the place of Mayor Filmore.

Good. Move in permanently, Greg thought. That way I know where to find you.

“I’ll finish Tuck’s work,” he whispered. “I will end you, Eustace. Count on it. You came against my family, and I’m coming against you.”

He only realized belatedly that he was talking out loud, and he clamped his mouth shut. Better to pay attention and daydream about revenge later. He tried to put it out of his mind as he made a slow circuit of the property, listening for anything out of the ordinary. But it was an utterly calm night. As he circled back toward the house on the north side of the property, he saw candlelight flickering in a second-story bedroom window. Drawing near, he distinguished the vague shape of Justine through the cracked curtain. She appeared to be leaning on the windowsill and gazing out at the moonlit sky.

Can’t sleep? he thought. I know the feeling.

Finally, he stopped at a corner of the property and climbed the tree into the platform, wanting to see over the fence. The platform was about twenty feet up with no ladder, which meant he had to scramble up the branches like a squirrel. Fortunately, there were a few sturdy branches, so he only almost fell twice.

Once in the platform, he gazed to the south across the narrow expanse of snowy ground toward the tree line. All of Eustace’s footprints were gone by now, and there was no further sign of him. Still, Greg stayed here, turning off the lamp to let his eyes fully adjust to the dark. With the gun perched on a branch beside him, ready to fire, he sat and kept watch. His anger was just enough to keep him wide awake as the silent hours passed, his cold breath occasionally puffing out in front of him like smoke.

The first glimpse of morning sun had finally appeared on the eastern horizon, the merest hint of light glowing in the tops of the trees, when he heard the front door open and close. He turned and looked back toward the house, seeing a small figure descending the porch steps, bundled up in a big puffy coat and gloves. She approached the tree holding a thermos in her hands.

“Greg, why don’t you drink something warm,” Tabitha said to him as she reached the base of the tree. “It’s freezing cold out here.”

Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he began the delicate process of descending the tree. “This tree climbing business is for the young,” he said. “Darryl and Justine scramble in and out of the platform like it’s nothing. I need to install a rope ladder.”

He finally hopped onto the ground and took the thermos from his mother. He unscrewed the lid, and steam gushed out. Pouring a bit of the liquid into the cup lid, he took a sip and realized it was herbal tea. Not bad, but not sweetened. He would’ve preferred a little cream as well. Actually, he would’ve preferred coffee, but they’d run out of it weeks earlier. Still, he wouldn’t complain about an act of kindness.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said, feeling the steam against his cold cheeks.

“Drink it before it gets cold,” she said, turning toward the lightening sky in the east. “I was sort of hoping you’d wait for me up on the platform. I was planning to sit up there a little while.”

“That’s another reason I need to build a ladder for the thing,” he replied. “It’s not safe.”

“Oh, I can make it.” Tabitha waved him off and approached the tree.

“Are you sure, Mom?”

“Watch me.”

She reached up, grabbed a sturdy limb, and proceeded to pull herself up into the tree. Though she was in her sixties and diabetic, he watched as she clambered up the branches and pulled herself into the platform with a grunt.

“You’re making me look bad here, Mom,” he said, screwing the lid on the thermos and following her up. “Maybe we don’t need that ladder, after all.”

He joined her on the platform, and they sat quietly, Greg sipping his tea, as they gazed off at the snowbound trees that encircled the ranch. Slowly, the faint light in the east became bright, early morning sunlight casting long shadows across the property.

“Tuck used to love cold mornings like this,” Tabitha said, “when the sun is bright but the air is so crisp it feels like it might just take a bite out of you. In the dead of winter, I’d find him on the porch with no hat and just a thin coat, soaking it in. He said it was invigorating, that it made him feel like the master of his domain.”

She made a soft sound and bowed her head. When Greg glanced at her, he realized she was trying to discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes.

“I miss him,” she said, after a moment. “I can’t stop wishing he was still here. He would help you shoulder the burden of keeping the family safe. Too much has fallen on you.”

It should, perhaps, have been a touching moment, a chance to connect over their memories of Tuck, to bond through grief, but mention of Tuck instantly sent Greg spiraling into a very dark place. Of course, he had very few touching memories of his father because they’d spent so many years estranged. They’d finally managed to patch things up a little bit in the days, in the moments, before his death, but any long-term relationship with Tuck had been stolen from him.

Greg felt a potent mix of guilt and anger. It burned like poison in his guts.

I never should have let Eustace live, he thought. I should have killed him at the waystation. If I had, Emma would never have been injured, and Tuck would never have been killed.

While he couldn’t bring Tuck back, he could certainly correct the problem. Eustace had practically presented himself on a silver platter, as if to say, “Here I am. Finish the job.”

And I will, he thought. I swear to God, I will.

“You can head inside now,” Tabitha said. “It’s my turn to keep watch.”

“I doubt I’d be able to sleep,” he replied. “I think maybe I’ll head out and do a little hunting this morning. It’d be nice if I came across a deer or elk, but maybe I can track that mountain lion and deal with it as well.”

She gave him a long, hard look, as if she sensed that something was off in his voice. He plastered a little smile on his face and endured it.

“Okay, just be careful out there,” she said finally. “You said yourself it might have been a bandit. Are you sure you shouldn’t wake Darryl or Emma and take one of them with you?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” he replied, turning and lowering himself from the platform. “Let them sleep. I’ll be back by lunchtime—hopefully, dragging a carcass with me.”

And with that, he picked his way back down the tree.

* * *

It was a long walk through deep snow. He’d left the lamp on the porch and had only Horace’s SIG Sauer CROSS rifle with him. Still, even after keeping watch for a few hours, the turmoil he felt gave him a frenetic energy that enabled him to maintain a quick pace. He used the back road for a while, straining to make out any strange noises around him. When he drew close to town, he diverted back into the trees and circled north, wanting to avoid private homes.

A good hour of walking took him past the Carmichael house, past the back fence of Horace Bouchard’s house, and all the way to the north side of the small town of Glenvell. He expected to find Eustace somewhere in town, though he didn’t know where. He figured the best place to start was the big pole barn that served as the heart of Glenvell. It sat at the edge of a small parking lot behind a shopping center and gas station near the center of town. Glenvell Town Hall had served as Mayor Filmore’s headquarters during his brief, tyrannical reign, and he’d turned the building into a kind of storage depot.. Greg figured he could start there in his search for Eustace and work his way outward. He was sure to find some sign of him sooner or later. A man like Eustace Simpson didn’t just fade into the crowd.

However, as he was carefully picking his way through wild, overgrown wilderness to approach the north edge of town, he heard voices in the distance. He found a gap between two pine trees and squatted down, holding his breath to hear what they were saying. He couldn’t quite make it out. Fortunately, Horace’s rifle had a nice scope on it, so he raised the gun and peered through the scope, scanning the edge of town.

It didn’t take long to spot them. Four people in heavy coats marching down the street south of the town hall. They each had large backpacks hanging from their shoulders, and each one carried a rifle. He recognized one of them by her build: Officer Pam Grasier. They seemed to be headed somewhere in particular. Greg didn’t see Eustace among them—none of them were quite large enough—but he figured they could lead him to the man.

Okay, scumbags, lead me to the enemy, he thought, lowering the rifle. Let’s get this over with so we can all move on with our lives. What do you say?

He moved as quietly and cautiously as he could, staying deep within the woods. Fortunately, they were talking loudly enough that he kept hearing their voices. The sound served as a beacon, keeping him moving in the right direction. It soon became clear that they were actually headed out of town to the south. For some reason, they avoided the main road, sticking to what looked like a well-worn path in the trees due south of the town hall.

Greg caught a final glimpse of them as they disappeared through the trees in that direction. He waited until they were far enough that they wouldn’t hear his approach, then he crept after them. The path had been walked so many times that there was a clear and obvious trail through the snow, which made it easy to follow. He could also see the tracks of wheels, horse hooves, and drag marks.

Another hundred yards beyond the south edge of town, he came upon a familiar sight. A large rectangular building surrounded by a parking lot. The grocery distribution business had been the largest employer in the area prior to the loss of power. Greg raised the rifle scope again to peer at the building.

The tracks led across the snowy parking lot to a single metal door in the side of the building. As Greg watched, the four people approached the door and knocked. After a moment, it swung open and for a second, he caught a brief glimpse of a large figure inside the building dressed in red flannel.

There you are, Greg thought. I found you.

It was already midmorning now, and the bright sunlight made him feel increasingly exposed, even though he was crouching behind a large bush.

Now is not the time, he told himself. He’s secure inside that building, but I know where to find him. Now, I just need to wait for the right time to take him out.

Still, he lingered, gazing through the scope at the door, as the four cronies stepped inside.

Just a little longer, Eustace. With any luck, you’ll never see it coming.

8

It was enough. Knowing now where Eustace was holed up gave him just enough new information that he felt like the long hike hadn’t been a waste. Even better, he could now begin planning a proper ambush. A well-planned execution would be much better, safer, and more certain than simply traipsing off across town with a rifle and hoping for the best.

Buddy, your days are numbered, he thought, as he picked his way back toward the ranch. The moment you came against my family, you sealed your fate. It’s a shame Tuck didn’t get the job done, but I’ll gladly finish it for him.

After another hour, he reached the dirt road again, following it but keeping to the trees as he made his way back home. Just before he came in sight of the fence, he inadvertently startled a pheasant, which burst from some bushes and flew off in a low arc across the road. Greg brought the rifle up, aimed, and fired. He missed, but the bird landed not too far away, so he aimed again. The second shot hit the bird right in the neck, and Greg rushed to retrieve it. When he picked up the carcass, he realized he’d blasted its head off. The SIG ammunition was a bit too powerful for such a small target.

At least it would provide some cover for the real purpose of his trip. It wasn’t a large pheasant, and he fully expected to be mocked for it. Still, when he finally passed through the gate and latched it behind him, he found Tabitha and Marion sitting together on the porch, rocking and chatting. Greg had the little pheasant dangling from his left hand, and he held it up to show them.

“You were out there for more than two hours,” Tabitha said, “and that’s all you got to show for it? One little old bird? I was hoping for venison.”

“It wasn’t a good day for deer,” he replied. “Maybe the mountain lion scared them off.”

“Well, let’s hope they come back soon,” Tabitha said, rising from her chair. “That pheasant won’t be more than a snack, but I guess I can use it to liven up some of our staples. I’ll figure something out. Did you at least check the fish traps in the stream?”

“No, it slipped my mind. They probably need more time anyway.”

As he came up the steps, she took the pheasant from him and examined it. It was just a common pheasant, a mottled brown hen, with perhaps three good bites of meat in total. Greg tried to hide his embarrassment as he stepped around Tabitha and embraced his wife.

If they knew I’d spent most of that time tracking down and spying on Eustace, they would both give me hell, he thought. He hoped the guilt he felt didn’t show on his face.

“You took Horace’s fancy sniper rifle to hunt deer?” Marion said with a little laugh. “The Remington wasn’t good enough? What exactly were you hoping to find out there?”

“Horace offered it,” Greg said—not an untruth. “I didn’t want to say no. It’s a nice rifle. Feels sort of fancy lugging it around.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t depend on hunting for our food,” Tabitha said, heading inside with the bird. “We’d starve.”

“We’re fine on supplies,” Greg replied as he followed her through the door. “If we had to depend on hunting, I’d try a lot harder. Maybe I was just distracted. Can’t a guy roam out in the wilderness for a couple of hours with his gun and his thoughts?”

His mother turned and gave him a withering look. “Your gun and your thoughts, huh? Well, next time think about shooting a deer instead of blowing the head off a hen.”

“You got it,” he replied with a sheepish shrug. “You want me to clean and dress it?”

“Nope, I’d like to do it myself,” she replied. “I know I picked on you, but we haven’t had any sort of fowl meat in a while. I’m rather looking forward to it.”

“Too bad you didn’t get a few of them,” Marion said. “It’d make a nice change from all that salted beef.”

Marion followed Tabitha into the kitchen, which left Greg standing alone in the living room. He assumed Horace was in his room—they’d given him the master bedroom on the first floor behind the den, mostly so he didn’t have to worry about the stairs. Greg didn’t want to wake him, so he set the safety on the old man’s rifle and gently laid it on the mantel above the fireplace. He could feel the guilt at lying to his family crawling all over him, yet they seemed to have readily accepted the lie. If he’d said or done anything, or if there was anything weird in his expression, they didn’t seem to have noticed.

His family’s acceptance of the lie made him feel just a little bit better about the whole situation. Yet he was still restless, ready to put it all behind him. He needed to make a move on Eustace, though he knew he had to create a plan and wait for the right time. Lost in thought, he happened to turn around and notice Emma sitting at the dining room table. She had a small notebook open in front of her, and it looked like she was in the middle of sketching some plans—another self-appointed project, perhaps. However, at the moment she was staring at him fixedly with narrowed eyes.

Maybe I spoke too soon.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he said. “What are you working on over there?”

“Oh, just some ideas,” she replied, finally looking back at her notebook. “For stuff around the ranch.”

“Great.”

“Why are you just standing there like that?” she added, as she resumed scribbling in her notebook. “Is something wrong?”

“I guess…I’m just disappointed I didn’t do better this morning,” he added.

“Oh,” Emma said. “You looked weirdly excited about something for a second.”

“Just thinking about future hunts,” he said.

“I was hoping maybe you’d come up with a new idea for a project,” she said. “Oh well. If you do, let me know. I’m kind of bored right now.”

“Will do, kiddo.”

Feeling somewhat deflated, Greg headed upstairs to get some sleep. As he reached the landing, he saw the door at the very end of the hall was open. It was the guest room where Justine had been staying. However, at the moment, his son was sitting on the floor beside the bed all alone. He had his knees drawn up, his arms resting on top of them, and his head hanging down.

Greg moved a little closer and realized he was alone in the room. Justine wasn’t there, and Darryl seemed oblivious to his father’s approach. Greg let his footsteps become a little louder than necessary, but still it didn’t draw attention.

“Hey there, son,” he said finally.

Darryl finally lifted his head, blinked a few times rapidly, and gave him a questioning look.

“Where’s Justine?” Greg asked. “Is she around?”

“Downstairs bathroom,” Darryl replied. And then, as if to explain, “Said she doesn’t like to use the upstairs one. It’s too cramped, and the window is really small, so it gets dark in there, even during the day.”

“I see.” Darryl started to lower his head again, so Greg stepped through the door. “Hey, son, is…is everything okay?”

Darryl opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something, then he stopped himself. With a grunt, he rose from the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m fine,” he said, after a moment. “Actually, Dad, I’ve been meaning to ask you the same thing. Are you okay?”

The question took Greg by surprise, and he couldn’t formulate an answer. Darryl was the last person he had expected to confront him about his strange mood lately. After all, he’d been the most preoccupied. It took a second of fumbling around before Greg could articulate an answer.

“Everything is fine,” he said. “Just fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you never caught the mountain lion or whatever took the cow, for one thing,” Darryl said. “I figured you’d be frustrated about that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Greg said. “We can spare one cow, and, hey, it forced us to build a better, stronger fence. We’re ready if the thief comes back.”

Darryl shrugged. “Well, besides that, you’ve just seemed like you’re in a weird mood lately. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Just fine,” Greg managed to say again, trying to force a smile. “Thanks for asking.”

Darryl flopped back onto Justine’s bed, folding his hands on his stomach. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Everyone’s fine. So there you go. I enjoyed this little chat, Dad. Thanks.”

Despite the obvious sarcasm, Greg decided to let it go. What else could he say, anyway? Darryl wasn’t going to open up, Greg didn’t want to open up, and that was that. This whole dynamic reminded Greg just a bit too much of the relationship he’d had with Tuck.

“Well, I’d better go get a little sleep,” he said finally. “Been up since about two in the morning.”

“Don’t let me hold you back,” Darryl said, shutting his eyes.

Greg lingered a second longer, then turned and headed back down the hall to his bedroom. He pulled off his coat and snow pants and hung them on a hook on the back of the door. Then he pulled his winter boots off one by one and set them beside the bed, realizing that in his sleep-deprived state he must have left wet tracks all through the house. Finally, he flopped down on the covers, feeling a deep, warm exhaustion wash over him.

You can’t keep the lie going indefinitely, he thought. Sooner or later, they’re all going to find out that Eustace is alive and that he’s put down roots in Glenvell. Then again, if you kill him before they find out, it’ll be less of a problem.

Yes, he had to get it done soon. This thought was foremost in his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

9

Justine didn’t join Darryl for his watch after dinner that evening. She said she wasn’t feeling good and excused herself to go to bed. Of course, due to the tension, Darryl couldn’t help but worry that she was just trying to get away from him, but he didn’t dare ask. Her emotions were still so raw, he didn’t want to stir up trouble between them. They were united in purpose, but it felt like a tenuous unity, made fragile by fear.

The watch was interminable and entirely uneventful. He spent most of the time up in the platform, gazing off toward the trees as a light snow fell. When he got bored, or too anxious to sit still, he climbed down and made a circuit of the property, looking for any signs of damage to the fence or animal tracks. Nothing. It was quiet and frigid, and try as he might, he couldn’t find any way to keep his mind from running in circles.

Finally, when his watch ended, as the night had finally set in, his mother and grandmother came to take his place, and he trudged upstairs to get ready for bed. He considered checking on Justine, but her door was shut, and the small gap at the bottom of the door was utterly dark. Still, he lingered outside her door for a few seconds, debating with himself.

Will she be upset if I intrude, or will she be upset if I don’t intrude?

He didn’t blame her for the roller coaster of emotions, but he also didn’t always know what she wanted from him. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he went to his room and changed into a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants. It was chilly in the room. With only a large fireplace downstairs in the living room to provide heat for the entire house, his only recourse against the cold was to double up on blankets.

As he pulled the blankets back, he happened to glance at his desk, where the stack of college books sat, along with a notebook with abandoned notes from the days when college mattered, and his dead, dark cell phone. Some days, he was tempted to throw them all away, but he had an iota of hope left that the world would someday get back to normal.

Man, if I had a working smartphone, all of this would be a thousand times better, he thought.

“What the hell are we going to do?” he whispered into the darkness. “When are we going to break the news to everyone about Justine? We can’t hide it forever, but, God, everyone’s going to be mad at us.”

He shuddered to think about how his grandmother would react. Pulling the many layers of blankets over him, he curled up deep beneath and tried to put his problems out of his mind. Unfortunately, his restless mind made it difficult to sleep, and he spent a good hour or more tossing and turning, as if he were wrestling with his own mind and body to get them to submit.

Sleep. Sleep, stupid. Sleep! Don’t think about the pregnancy. Don’t worry about Justine. Don’t remember dead men in the front yard or Grandpa’s grave or the terrible, unseeable future. Just sleep!

And then it happened, and he slept long and hard, buried beneath the blankets as snow continued to build on the windowsill outside his bedroom.

He awoke to bright morning sunlight coming through the curtains. Sitting up, he pulled a curtain back and looked outside. The snow had ceased falling in the night, but it looked deeper in the yard. He wondered if it would just keep piling up and piling up until it buried the whole ranch.

Darryl pulled on his socks and rose from his bed, stepping lightly across the room. It was almost midmorning, but when he poked his head into the hallway, the house seemed strangely quiet. All of the usual sounds—the clatter of dishes, voices speaking, stairs creaking—were absent. In the hall, every bedroom door was shut. No one slept late these days. No one. There was simply too much to be done on the ranch. Had anyone drawn water from the well? Fed and milked the cows? Started to prepare breakfast?

He went down the hall to the stairs and listened. Downstairs was utterly silent. He went down to the living room and saw the Remington rifle sitting on its shelf. The front door was shut and bolted. The dining room and kitchen were empty.

What the hell? Did everyone just up and leave?

He went back upstairs and stood there for a moment. Finally, he heard what sounded like a soft groan coming from Justine’s room, so he hurried to the door. He knocked lightly. She said something that he didn’t quite make out, but he dared to open the door just enough to speak through the crack.

“Justine?” he whispered.

“I said, ‘Come in,’” she replied. Her voice sounded rough.

He poked his head through the door and saw her lying in bed, the sheet, blanket, and quilt folded down to her stomach. He went to her side and knelt down.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I feel like crap,” she replied. “My head hurts, my throat hurts, I have all kinds of weird aches and pains.”

He laid the back of his hand against her cheek, then her neck, then her forehead. She didn’t seem to have a fever.

“Is it something to do with the pregnancy?” he asked.

“No, I think it’s a cold,” she replied. “Do we have any medicine? I feel awful.”

“I’ll go ask Grandma,” he said.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She rolled over in bed and pulled the covers up, and he helped tuck them in.

Despite her illness, the brief, friendly interaction had a profound effect on his mood. A few gentle words made him feel like everything was better. He shut her door and went to Grandma’s room down the hall. His improved mood made him bold, and he knocked on her door repeatedly until he heard an angry croak from the other side.

“Grandma?” He dared to open the door. “Are you in here? Justine needs some…”

His words trailed off as he saw Tabitha still in bed. At this late hour? It was unthinkable. She had wrapped a heavy blanket around herself and had a couple of candles burning on a nightstand. Grandma’s room was filled with shelves covered in knickknacks, landscape paintings on the walls, and a big framed portrait of a relatively young Tuck and Tabitha standing together in some kind of professional photographer’s studio.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” Grandma said. Then she coughed and groaned. “I’m not feeling so hot this morning. Seems like I came down with a bit of a cold. Could you get me some medicine? We’ve got cold and flu syrup in the medicine chest.”

“Sure, Grandma. I think Justine is sick, too.”

“You’d better check on everyone else,” she said. “I think we’ve got something going around.”

He did just that, going to his parents’ room, then to Emma’s room, and finally down to Horace Bouchard’s room, and he found that every single one of them was sick. The entire household had come down with the same severe cold.

After finding a bottle of cold and flu medicine in the bathroom, he went from person to person, treating each of them like the household nurse. He started with Justine, of course.

“Do you think it’s safe to drink this?” he asked, as he worked the lid off the bottle of medicine.

“What does the label say?” she asked.

He read the tiny print. “It says if you’re pregnant to consult a doctor before taking it.”

“Damn,” she said with a sigh. “Just give me a little bit then. A half dose.”

“Are you sure about that?”

She sniffed and nodded. “If the baby can’t handle a half dose of over-the-counter cough medicine, he’s not going to be tough enough for the world.”

If she meant it as a joke, Darryl didn’t find it funny. Still, he doled out slightly less than a third of a dose, pouring it into the lid, and helping her sip it.

“It tastes like grape,” she noted. “Thanks.”

From there, Darryl worked his way from room to room, finishing with Horace. Everyone had the same symptoms: headache, sore throat, body aches.

Of all the sick, his father was in the foulest mood. Whatever had been bothering him the last few days had been magnified by the sickness, so much so that Darryl’s mom seemed to be occupying herself by reading a novel rather than talking to him.

“Maybe it was that damn pheasant we ate last night,” Greg grumbled. “Some kind of bird flu. Wouldn’t it be just my luck if it turned out I brought back a diseased bird for dinner?” If not for the fact that he rolled his eyes when he said it, Darryl might have thought he was being serious. “Son, you’ll have to take care of the chores on the ranch today. People need to stay in bed and get over this thing.”

“Of course,” Darryl said. “I’ve got it covered. You just rest, Dad.”

“No, I’ll handle my own tasks,” Greg added. “Don’t worry about that. But let everyone else rest. I’m not lying here in bed all day, no matter how bad I feel. I just need a few more minutes to rouse myself.”

“Are you sure about that, Greg?” Marion asked.

“Yeah, it’ll just put me in a worse mood if I stay here,” he said.

Marion gave him a brief, unhappy look. “Well, nobody wants you lying around and grumbling. Just don’t push yourself too hard, or you’ll end up a whole lot sicker.”

“I know,” he muttered.

“Darryl, are you sure you don’t feel any symptoms?” Marion asked.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

Actually, Darryl not only didn’t feel sick, but he was in a pretty good mood now, for the first time since learning about the pregnancy, actually. He didn’t care to analyze too deeply how the sickness in the household had contributed to this. As he put on his coat and boots, he realized just how much work he had to do. Every member of the family had regular chores they did every day, in the barn, in the house, root cellar, around the property, everywhere. All of it was on him now. At least the prospect of filling every hour of the day with activity meant he would have fewer hours to sit with Justine and agonize about the future.

He checked on Justine one last time, found her sleeping, then headed outside to take care of the daily chores, grabbing the Remington Model 700 in passing. He started with the cows, feeding them, milking them, making sure they were warm and comfortable. That, in itself, took almost two hours, and he was sore and exhausted by the end. He made tea and oatmeal for everyone—the best meal he could manage on his own—and served it to them one tray at a time in their bedrooms. Then he shoveled the common paths: from the porch to the barn, from the porch to the platform, from the shed to the barn. Then he checked the root cellar, walked the perimeter, climbed the platform, and did some other odd chores about the house.

It was a strange, solitary experience. Despite his father’s earlier insistence, he never came downstairs. The old man remained in bed all day, and each time Darryl checked on him, he seemed to be quietly brooding—and coughing and sniffling—while Marion read her book beside him.

By early afternoon, Darryl had finished almost every chore and found himself looking for something to do. He spent some time cleaning the rifles: the Remington Model 700, Horace’s SIG Sauer Cross, Tabitha’s .270 Winchester, the Bushmaster AR-15 they’d stolen from one of Mayor Filmore’s men. Then he rearranged some of the bookshelves and cupboards, though they didn’t need it.

You’ve handled things pretty well, Darryl told himself, standing in the kitchen and admiring the perfect rows of plates, cups, and bowls in the cupboard. You took care of everything all by yourself. Heck, you might make a pretty good father after all. If you can pick up the slack for an entire household of people, you can certainly take care of Justine and the baby.

It was the first time he’d dared to feel good about his unexpected, impending fatherhood. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all. This also made him want to keep busy. He remembered that his father had never gotten around to checking the traps in the stream, so he decided to take care of it. He made a final check on Justine and gave her a little more medicine. Then he grabbed the Remington rifle, took an empty wicker basket for the fish, and set off for the stream.

The stream was located about two hundred meters east of the property fence, deep in the woods. It wasn’t the biggest stream in the world, but it was possible to catch various kinds of trout, carp, whitefish, even bass. Since the banks of the stream were steep and rocky, Greg preferred to set up nets and traps, rather than stand and fish. Plus, the edges of the stream near the banks were still frozen solid.

As Darryl passed through the gate and circled the property, he thought again about what a good day it had been, despite the sickness. It made him feel better about the future. He was bound and determined to hold on to that feeling as long as possible.

He headed east, approaching the tree line. Along the way, he noted a set of small animal tracks circling through the snow. But no people, no mountain lions. It was cold, calm, and beautiful.

10

Emma still felt gross, her head still hurt, and her throat was scratchy, but she’d spent an entire day moping in her bedroom. By the next morning, she’d had enough of it. Even though she was doing only marginally better, she got dressed, brushed her teeth, put on some warm clothes, and made her way downstairs to get a few chores done. She hated being useless. There was too much work to do, and she had too many plans for the ranch.

When she got downstairs, she found Tabitha grumbling as she prepared a fresh pot of tea. Greg was out on the porch, wrapped up so tightly in winter clothes that no part of him showed except his eyes. He was grilling some beef sausages for breakfast. Marion had been setting out plates and cups, by the look of it, and given up halfway through, plopping herself down at the dining room table. Horace was nowhere to be seen. Emma assumed he was still in bed. Due to his age, she imagined the illness might have hit him hardest.

“Boy, everyone still looks half-dead,” Emma said, walking into the kitchen. “Winter colds are the worst.”

Grandma was heating water on the antique wood stove in the corner. The old stove was seeing a lot of use now that the power was gone. As the kettle began to whistle, Emma grabbed a towel and picked it up.

“Let me help, Grandma,” she said, carrying the kettle over to the counter. “I think I feel a little better than you.”

“I think you do,” Grandma croaked in reply. “I feel like a mummy that just crawled out of its tomb. A fresh pot of tea will help though.”

They practically lived off tea these days. In warm weather, Grandma preferred to make it by setting the pitcher on a warm windowsill, but in the bitter cold, a kettle of hot water would have to do. That meant getting a fire going in the old stove, which was no simple task on a cold morning. As Emma made cups of tea, she wished, not for the first time, that they had sugar and lemon to add to it. She carried the cups on a tray to the table.

“Why don’t you check on your father?” Marion asked. “See if the sausages are ready.”

“Sure, Mom.”

Emma set the tray down and headed back across the living room. She found her father rocking quietly in one of the chairs as the sausages crackled on the small charcoal grill.

“Mom wants to know if they’re ready?” she asked.

“Not quite,” he replied, then had a fit of coughing. “Few more minutes.”

Emma started to head back into the house when she spotted her brother. He was coming out of the barn with Grandpa’s old toolbox in his hand. In truth, though she hadn’t yet dared to say anything about it, she resented how little time or attention he paid to her these days. Even though she’d been shot, spent weeks recovering from the wound in her leg, and barely made it home—heck, she still had a slight limp—Darryl rarely spent any time with her. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a real conversation or worked on anything together.

He was always busy, either with Justine or working on his own. There was so much she could learn from him. She’d had some ideas about how to rebuild and reinforce the fence, but no one had asked for her input. The few times she’d asked to help Darryl with some project on the ranch, he’d politely declined or put her off until later (a later that never came). Even his birthday had been cut short by the stupid fence, and the birthday boy himself had walked out of the party.

He’s got a girlfriend now, she thought. I guess he doesn’t need a sister.

She’d started to feel pretty invisible. Emma had a whole notebook full of ideas for the garden, for a smokehouse, for an irrigation system, and many other things. Before the EMP, she’d planned to become park ranger or do some other work in nature, so she’d studied a lot about wilderness survival. Indeed, it had been her idea to collect acorns in the forest in order to grind them into flour. Even Grandma hadn’t thought of that.

Emma turned to her father, who was transferring the sausages from the grill to a plate with a small set of tongs.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“I’ll take these inside,” he said. “Why don’t you go get your brother and tell him to come and eat breakfast?”

“Okay.”

He closed the grill and shut the vent to smother the fire. Then he picked up the plate of sausages and headed for the front door. Emma almost let him go, but she suddenly blurted, “Hey, Dad?”

He paused at the door and looked back at her. There was something weird going on with him. The look on his face seemed to shift at random from angry scowls to strangely excited little grins. What was on his mind? She couldn’t imagine.

“Do you think after breakfast you could help me with a project?” she asked.

“Oh, what’s that?” he said, reaching for the door knob.

“Well, it’s just that I heard you mention something to Darryl about the netting on the fish traps getting worn out by the strong current,” she said.

“Yeah, we had to work with available materials,” he said. “The design was my idea, using scrap wood and hard-knotted netting to make small drum traps, but the current is too strong for them.”

“If you would show me how to repair the netting, I would take the responsibility for keeping the traps in good condition.” When he hesitated, she continued, “I could probably figure something out on my own, but if you showed me how you made the netting, it would at least give me a start. Heck, maybe I could improve the design.” She shrugged.

She could tell by the look on her father’s face that he was not excited about the idea, but he worked up a smile and replied, “That would be just fine. I’d be happy to.” It was the phoniest smile she’d ever seen, and when he immediately stepped inside, she regretted asking him.

I don’t want to do it if he’s just going to be secretly irritated about it, she thought. He doesn’t hide his real feelings as well as he thinks he does. Well, that’s what I get for bringing it up.

Fuming, she stomped down the porch steps, shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets. It was times like these when she missed having friends. How long had it been since she’d seen her friends in Vancouver? No way to call or text them, no social media. She didn’t even know if they were alive or dead. They, at least, hadn’t resented spending time with her.

She found her brother walking from the big shed back to the barn, and she hurried to catch up to him.

“Hey, Darryl,” she called. “Darryl.”

He kept going a few steps, as if he hadn’t even heard her. Finally, he stopped and slowly turned toward her. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.

“Did you want something?” he said.

For some reason, the question annoyed her more than it should have. Did she want something? Maybe to not be ignored. Maybe to not have her brother walk out on birthday parties that she’d planned for days. His question made her suddenly willful. Darryl was not Dad, and she didn’t have to tiptoe around him. He was just her brother, a self-involved, sometimes bratty boy who had grown into a self-involved, distracted young man.

“After breakfast, you’re going to show me how to make netting for the fish traps,” she said. “I just thought I’d tell you now, so you’d be mentally prepared. I’m taking over responsibility for tending the traps.”

“I am?” he replied. “You are?”

“Yes and yes,” she said. “Do you have a problem with that?” She drew herself up tall, as if to challenge him, daring him to back out.

“Well, I mean…I have to make sure Justine doesn’t need my help,” he said. “She’s still not at a hundred percent.”

“She doesn’t need your help,” Emma replied. “She’s still resting and getting over her cold. Look, if you can spend a whole hour roaming around the ranch before breakfast without her, you can spend an hour with me after breakfast working on the fishing nets. She’ll be fine.”

At this, Darryl rolled his eyes. “You don’t understand.”

She didn’t know what he meant by that comment, but she responded, “I understand just fine. You’re going to help me with the fishing traps and that’s it. We need to repair the netting and maybe come up with a better design.”

He stared at her flatly for a few seconds, and finally said, “Okay, come with me.” Still lugging Grandpa’s old toolbox, he headed for the porch, waving for her to follow him. “I’ll help you repair the traps. I’ll help you right now.”

“What does that mean?” she said, following him.

“Just follow me,” he said. “I’m going to help you with the traps.”

“You’re supposed to come to breakfast right now,” she said. “We can work on the nets afterward.”

“I can’t help you with the traps after breakfast,” he said, mounting the porch steps. He set the toolbox on the table between the chairs. “I can help you right now. Come on. I’ll show you.”

She fully expected him to walk right to the dining room table and sit down as if nothing had happened, but she wasn’t going to let this go. After more than a full day of lying in bed feeling miserable, her tolerance for being overlooked or ignored had greatly diminished. Glaring at her older brother’s back, she followed him inside.

In the dining room, her mother, father, and grandmother had already sat down at the table. Instead of joining them, Darryl crossed the living room to the den at the back of the house. It was a small, wood-paneled room with a fancy Persian carpet on the floor, a heavily curtained window, and a ton of bookshelves. At one time, it had been the place to watch television, but that old device sat like a brick on its stand in the corner.

Darryl went to one of the bookshelves and began rooting through the books. Grandma liked to shelf books thematically. One shelf for fiction, another for historical books, another for encyclopedias and dictionaries. Darryl seemed to be rooting through the “How To” and DIY books. Finally, he grabbed one and pulled it off the shelf. It was a big, fat book with a well-worn green cover. He thrust it at her.

She didn’t want to take it. This was just a lame joke meant to throw her off.

“What is this?” she said.

“Seriously, Emma, take it,” he said. “This is going to be a huge help. Not just with the fishing nets, but with a whole bunch of stuff. Take it. You’ll thank me.”

She read the title. Back to Basics: How to Learn and Enjoy Traditional American Skills. Then she opened the cover and saw that someone had scribbled a message there in bad handwriting: “For Tuck. Picked this up in Seattle. Some light reading for the cabin, perhaps? -Tabby”

“Now, look,” Darryl said. “I’m dealing with a lot of stuff right now. I know maybe it doesn’t look like it, but I am.”

“What kind of stuff are you dealing with?” she asked.

“Personal business,” he replied sharply. “The point is, it’ll be hard to teach anybody new skills. You can’t get on my case about it, okay?” Something on his face, the way he knitted his eyebrows and scrunched up his nose as he spoke, made her think he might be a lot more emotional than he was letting on. And why should that be? Was something wrong that she didn’t know about? It caught her off guard. “This book will teach you all sorts of stuff. Add it to your other survival books. It’s good. Trust me.”

And with that, he patted her on the shoulder and walked past her back into the living room. She flipped through the book and arrived at a chapter on building animal traps. There were a ton of full-color illustrations showing all kinds of animal traps, from snares to deadfalls. It was right up her alley.

I guess I can work with this, she thought.

She shut the book, tucked it under her arm, and headed to breakfast. No, she hadn’t succeeded in getting anyone to spend time with her, but she at least had something new and interesting to work on. Maybe when she trapped some tasty food and brought it home, her family would finally take notice.

11

Of course, what Darryl hadn’t dared tell his sister was that he’d found the Back to Basics book the evening before while looking for information on pregnancy and traditional childbirth. He’d read and reread the relevant chapters the previous evening while everyone was tossing and turning, coughing and feeling miserable in their beds. There’d been a lot of useful information, and he certainly felt more informed about delivering a baby using traditional methods, but it hadn’t comforted him at all. Not at all. What a terrifying prospect! There was so much that could go wrong having a baby at home instead of at a hospital.

This had been bothering him all day, and he gnawed on it and wrestled with it, gradually sinking deeper and deeper back into worry. Justine was still sleeping, so he couldn’t talk to her about it. Maybe she would feel better about the whole subject once she’d looked at the book, but it hadn’t worked for him.

As he took his place at the breakfast table, he noticed his mother and grandmother staring at him. Did they suspect something was wrong? He couldn’t tell. No one had asked him outright. Only his sister had come close to it, and he’d had to fight hard not to get furious at her. Could she leave him alone and stop prying? Didn’t she have someone else to bother?

Maybe that book will keep her busy, he thought.

“Eat up,” his father said.

Darryl reached across the table and grabbed the tongs, snagging a few sausages and putting them on his plate. Then he added some dried fruit, a few of Tabitha’s weird acorn flour biscuits. His mother poured him a glass of tea and slid it in front of him.

“Busy this morning?” she asked.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he replied, then took a big gulp of tea to avoid having to say more. The tea was warm, not sweet at all, and too watery. Still, better than nothing.

“How is Justine feeling today?” Mom asked.

“Still pretty crummy,” he said. “Sore throat, headache, all of that stuff, you know? We still have some cough medicine, but I was wondering…do we have any vitamins? That might help her fight off the cold.”

In truth, he wanted the vitamins for reasons that had nothing to do with her cold. He’d read quite a few alarming things about prenatal care. Their diet had become fairly restricted, and the lack of vitamins could lead to birth defects and a whole host of unfortunate complications.

“I’m afraid we’re all out of vitamins,” Tabitha said. “In the future, we’ll plant a wide variety of vegetables. That will ensure we have the nutrition we need.”

“When can we start planting vegetables?” he said. “The sooner, the better.”

His grandmother gave him a look that was both amused and confused, then she pointed at the small window on one side of the dining room. About four inches of snow was piled up on the windowsill.

“Well, we’re not going to plant anything in the dead of winter,” she said. “The ground has to thaw, so we can plow and prepare it. In this climate, that’s not going to happen until late March at the earliest.”

“Oh.” He stabbed at a sausage but found he didn’t really have any appetite. “There’s no other way to start growing vegetables earlier?”

“Well, of course, there is,” she replied. “Heck, we used to have an old greenhouse on the property, but it hasn’t been usable in probably fifteen or twenty years. The building is out beyond the fence on the far east side of the property. If it were in decent shape, we could grow some things year-round, but it’s a wreck. Most of the windows have probably fallen out.”

It was something, not much but something. He’d built a lot of the fence by himself. Surely, he could renovate an old greenhouse. He’d seen the building before but only in the distance. It was well beyond the fence, almost in the forest itself, overgrown and falling apart. In fact, he hadn’t even been sure it belonged to the Healys, which is why he hadn’t messed with it.

“I didn’t realize that was your property, Grandma. I think maybe I’ll go check it out after I eat,” he said. “You never know, we might be able to fix it up and make it useful again.”

Emma finally appeared then, taking her seat. She had the book under her arm, but she set it on the ground before pouring herself a cup of tea.

“You just really miss vegetables, do you?” Darryl’s mom asked him. “Can’t live without beets and radishes in your life?”

Darryl laughed uncomfortably to cover his real feelings. He didn’t need them probing for the reason until he was good and ready—until Justine was good and ready—to tell them.

“I don’t know about beets and radishes,” he said. “I was thinking more about leafy green vegetables, stuff with lots of vitamins. Maybe…” Seeking some excuse, he seized on the most obvious. “Maybe if we have more vitamins in our diets, we wouldn’t be prone to getting colds.”

As if his mention of it reminded her, Tabitha coughed, took a drink, and blew her nose into a handkerchief. Through all of this, Greg had been quietly eating, staring at nothing in particular, but he sat up now and said, “Sounds like a good project. It’ll keep you busy. Take a look at the greenhouse and let us know if it’s beyond repair or not.”

“I will, Dad,” he replied, cutting into a sausage. Maybe he could eat a little, after all.

* * *

The fence was reinforced like crazy by now. It looked even uglier than before, but it was taller and sturdy, topped with lots of jagged edges of sharp objects. If it didn’t dissuade thieves now, nothing would. Darryl considered this as he walked outside and followed the property line. He hadn’t thought much about the cow that had been stolen out of the barn. He’d been way too preoccupied to worry about it, especially when they still had more cows than they needed.

His dad could deal with the theft. Darryl had enough to worry about on his own. There was absolutely no room left in his mind or heart for any other problems. He finally arrived at the far east edge of the property, just beyond the fence, where the old greenhouse stood. It was so overgrown and in such poor condition that he’d barely noticed it when building the fence. He could see why they’d placed it in this spot. It was on a slight hill that put it in direct sunlight much of the day, the ridge of the roof running from east to west.

The building itself wasn’t large, which made him think this had been more of a hobby his grandparents had taken up at one time. Maybe it had proven to be more work than necessary. Before the EMP, they certainly hadn’t needed the vegetables when they could just drive to the farmer’s market.

A few small trees had sprouted up around the building, but Darryl shoved his way through the dry wall of branches, dragging his legs through the high snow, and passed through the door. The framework of the building appeared to be mostly intact, though he wouldn’t really know that for sure until he cleared the broken pieces out. As he crossed through the snowy interior, he heard glass crunch under his boots. About half of the panes had fallen in, many of them now underfoot.

It doesn’t matter, he thought. I can make this work.

It would be a big project. All the better. It would give him something to focus on so he wasn’t simply wandering the property worrying about the future. They already had a store of seeds in one of the sheds. If he could plant them by early spring, Justine would have plenty of fresh vegetables for herself and the baby.

Stooping down, he dug into the snow and rooted around until he found one of the panes of glass. He dug it out and set it on top of the snow. It was thick glass, slightly chipped along the edges, but otherwise in decent shape.

He would need help. That was the only complication. Some of the work would require two people. He considered the possibilities. Emma would certainly love to get to involved. His sister wanted to be an expert at everything. However, he felt like she would notice he was worried about something, and she had no qualms about asking probing or personal questions.

Dad was the safest choice. Darryl’s dad was just oblivious enough that he might not notice or care if Darryl was acting a little bit strange.

That settles it, then, he thought. Thanks, Dad, for being just a little bit dense.

12

It was hard work, and Darryl thoroughly enjoyed it. To bend all his attention and mental energy to a difficult and exhausting task was a gift. He didn’t have to wander and worry, try to avoid curious family members, and at the same time, he was directly building a future for Justine and the baby. Every scoop of the snow shovel was part of his effort to take care of them. Never had menial labor taken on such profound purpose, and it made him feel proud.

He began at the door, clearing snow and cutting down the biggest of the plants which had grown up in front of it. Then he worked his way through the building. It wasn’t a big building, maybe three meters wide by three-and-a-half meters long. He went in rows, shoveling snow from front to back and depositing it all by the woods. Along the way, he uncovered old panes of glass, strange debris that might have been garden stakes or rotted tools, and even some animal bones. Had a few more critters been squished by falling glass? That thought made Darryl glance up to ensure no wobbly panes were on the verge of dropping onto his head.

Some of the panes of glass were broken—at least two by his own footsteps. He assumed glass would be hard to come by, but he figured he could fill the gaps with plastic bags or old tarps.

I will make it work, no matter what, he told himself.

Shoveling out the entire building took at least two hours, but when he was done, the transformation was dramatic. It was so much easier to imagine the completed building. Now came the trickier work of restoring the windows and plugging the gaps. For that, he needed help, so he headed back to the house to find his father.

He found Greg scrubbing the grill with a metal brush on the porch, bent over his work with a scowl on his face. Dad had been as distracted and lost in his thoughts lately as Darryl. What in the heck could he possibly have to worry about? The stolen cow, perhaps, but was it really such a big deal? Maybe he was still feeling bad about what had happened on the trek out of the mountains. Tuck’s death had hit him hard, and he’d been furious about Emma getting shot, even though she had recovered well from the wound to her leg.

“Hey, Dad,” Darryl said, approaching the porch from the open gate. “I could use your help with the old greenhouse.”

Dad didn’t respond at all, didn’t even look up from the grill, and his lips were moving as if he were talking to himself under his breath. Darryl walked right up to the porch railing, pulled off his glove, and rapped on the side of the grill. This seemed to startle Greg, who slammed the grill lid shut and looked up.

“Yes, what is it?” he asked. “What?”

“I need your help,” Darryl replied. “I know you’re distracted. That’s fine. You don’t have to talk about anything. I just need your help with a project today.”

Greg gave him a confused look and said, “What project is this?”

“A project way out on the far side of the ranch,” Darryl replied. “Where nobody will bother you or try to figure out why you don’t want to talk to anyone or what’s really bothering you.”

The confused look quickly became a frown, and his father said, “I don’t know what you’re referring to. Nobody is bothering me.”

“Personally, I’d just rather do some work and not having people wondering why I don’t want to talk,” Darryl said. “It’s okay to be lost in my own thoughts and not have, like, Emma staring at me. But maybe you don’t feel the same way. Still, I could use your help. It’s up to you, Dad.”

The frown twisted into something so strange that Darryl knew he had him.

“Anyway, I’m going to go work in peace,” Darryl said, turning to leave.

“I don’t know why you’re being so weird about it,” Greg said, setting the wire brush on top of the grill. “If you really need help with your project, I’ll help. Let’s go.”

Darryl made sure his father didn’t see the smug look on his face. He’d set out the bait and pulled him right in. Yes, his father was worrying about something he didn’t want to talk about, just like Darryl. Now, it was confirmed. While Darryl was somewhat curious, he had a big enough worry of his own. He would respect his father’s secrecy and let him deal with it at his own pace.

And, hopefully, he will do the same for me in return, he thought.

They rounded up some tarps, nails, caulking, scraps of wood, a ladder, and the big toolbox, pushing it all in a wheelbarrow to the far east side of the ranch. Darryl was as good as his word. He didn’t ask his father a single question or attempt to engage him in conversation. They only exchanged words when absolutely necessary in order to coordinate work. Strangely, it felt like a curious form of father/son bonding.

Getting the wheelbarrow to the greenhouse took quite a bit of effort, as it became a kind of makeshift snowplow. Darryl started out pushing it, but once they were beyond the gate, Greg took the handles from him without a word and began powering his way through the snow. Upon arriving, they set to work immediately. Fortunately, Darryl’s father had a better sense of how to repair the building.

They replaced as many of the fallen window panes as they could, sealing them in place with caulking and, in some instances, repairing and reinforcing the frames around them. Once they ran out of unbroken window panes, they filled the remaining gaps with pieces cut from plastic tarps, pulling them taut and securing them in place around the frames.

Though the tarps didn’t work as windows, once all of the holes were covered, Darryl noticed an almost immediate rise in temperature. When they pulled the old door back into the doorframe, this only intensified. The late morning sun was shining brightly through the roof, and Darryl felt the first sheen of sweat on his forehead and cheeks.

“Wow, it really works,” he said. “This is nice.”

His father pulled his toque off and pushed his sweaty blond hair back from his forehead. “Yes, greenhouses work,” he said, and seemed on the verge of laughing. “That’s why people have used them for centuries.”

“Nice sarcasm, Dad,” Darryl replied.

“Thanks. I save my best sarcasm for you.”

At this, they smiled at each other, and Darryl felt a wonderful connection with his father. It was great. They were working side by side as equals, neither probing, questioning, or peering into each other’s secret worries.

“You must have been pretty young when this greenhouse was in good condition,” Darryl said.

“My parents built this place when I was seventeen or eighteen,” Greg replied, picking up some large pieces of broken windowpanes and setting them in the wheelbarrow. “I can’t remember for sure.”

“Wow, so you must have worked in here with Grandpa sometimes,” Darryl said, returning tools to the toolbox. “He would be really proud to see you fixing it up again. That’s cool, Dad.”

At this, Greg only grunted, and Darryl felt an immediate shift in his mood. He tried to ignore it as he continued picking up the tools, but his father rose, dusted off his hands, and pulled his toque back on.

“Well, I think this is enough for today,” he said. He wouldn’t look at Darryl. “I’ve got a lot of other things to do. Can you handle it from here?”

“I guess so,” Darryl replied.

“Good.” Greg turned to leave. “Might as well keep the wheelbarrow and tools in here for now.”

And with that, he pulled the door out of the frame, set it aside, and headed outside. Darryl watched him go, suppressing an urge to say something biting. Had a single reference to Grandpa really killed the mood so completely? Dad was a mess.

What the heck is going on in your head, old man? Darryl wondered. Maybe I don’t even want to know.

As he stood there seething, he heard a soft whistling. When he looked for the source, he saw one of the panes his father had replaced sliding out of the frame. It felt to the ground, hit some of the debris on the ground, and cracked into pieces.

“Quality work there, Dad,” Darryl grumbled. He stooped down and picked up the pieces, tossing them into the wheelbarrow.

Over the next hour or so, Darryl went back and examined all of the work his father had done, finding much of it subpar. Window panes had been shoddily installed, many of them on the verge of falling out. Darryl went to work fixing all of his dad’s mistakes, using duct tape to reinforce the caulking and strengthening the shoddy frames, fighting a rising tide of bitterness. Why had he asked the old man to help him in the first place if he was just going to give it minimal effort?

Well, so much for the father/son bonding, he thought. I should have kept a closer eye on him while he was working.

Darryl was in the middle of fixing part of the metal framework, balanced on top of a ladder, when he heard someone moving below him. He carefully repositioned himself on the ladder and looked down. To his surprise, he saw his sister, Emma, stepping through the door. She had the Back to Basics book tucked under her arm.

“I just saw Dad,” she said. “He said you guys were basically done on the repairs, but it looks like there’s still quite a bit of work to do.”

“Oh, he said we were basically done, did he?” Darryl replied, as he resumed his work. “Interesting.”

“It doesn’t look like you’re done,” she continued. “Not even close.”

Darryl grunted in disgust and set his tools down on top of the ladder. He was just annoyed enough with his father that he didn’t feel like protecting him. “Nope, we’re not done. Actually, I’m redoing a bunch of the work Dad did. I’m surprised at him. It’s like he was barely paying attention to what he was doing. Well, that’s what I get for asking him to help me.”

He descended the ladder and shifted it a few feet to the right, positioning it beneath another one of the panes his father had replaced.

“I’m not surprised,” Emma said. “You haven’t noticed how weird he’s been acting lately?”

Darryl didn’t want to look at her, lest she see the same weirdness on his own face. “Yeah, his heart definitely wasn’t in the work. Let’s put it that way.”

“He was in a bad mood on your birthday,” she said, “but it got a whole lot worse after the cow got taken. That’s when he completely shut down. It’s like he’s just focused on that one thing, you know?”

“I don’t know why the loss of a single cow is such a big deal,” Darryl replied. “Yeah, it’s frustrating, but we’ll be fine. Let the old man mope. What does it matter?”

“I’ve seen him like this before,” Emma said.

Darryl started to climb the ladder again, but he turned and sat down on the lowest step instead. “When?”

“Out in the woods. After Eustace turned against us.”

Darryl dared to look at her and saw that his sister was pacing in front of the door. She’d taken the book out from under her arm, and she was idly waving it back and forth.

“Either he’s planning something,” she said, “or he saw something really bad, and he doesn’t want to tell us what it is. Or both. That’s what I think.”

“Well, I wasn’t in the woods with you,” Darryl replied, putting his head in his hands, “but maybe you’re right. I haven’t been paying enough attention to him, but he’s definitely hiding something.”

“Should we force him to tell us?” Emma said.

“No,” Darryl said with a sigh. “Sometimes, people just need their privacy for a while, and pushing them will only make it worse.”

13

Greg found Horace Bouchard sitting up in bed. That, at least, was an improvement. The old veteran had a cup of hot tea steaming on the nightstand beside the bed, a big book on world history opened on his lap. Horace seemed quite fond of his proximity to all the bookshelves in the den, and he often spent his quiet hours reading.

He had a crumpled handkerchief stuffed into the breast pocket of his shirt. Otherwise, he looked like he was on the mend. He’d even combed his wispy hair and trimmed his beard.

“Hey there, sir, how are you feeling this morning?” Greg asked, standing in the doorway.

“Give me another day, chief, and I’ll be back out there building fencing and feeding cows,” Horace replied, closing the book but using his thumb to hold his place. “I’m not much one for laying around. This is the pits.”

“I know it’s not fun, but don’t rush it,” Greg said. “Take your time. You want to be back to a hundred percent before you go tromping around in the snow again. Doctor’s orders.”

“You got it.” Horace gave him a little salute.

“Hey, I just wanted to ask your permission to take your rifle out with me again today,” Greg said. “I used it the other day to go hunting, so I guess I’m asking for retroactive permission as well. It’s got a nicer scope than the Remington.”

In truth, he was only asking on the off chance Horace might go looking for the rifle to clean it and find out it was missing. That, in turn, could lead to awkward conversations with other family members, and Greg didn’t need that right now. He didn’t need any more scrutiny. Darryl clearly knew something was up, and if Darryl knew, others probably did as well. It was time to act. Once it was done, Greg could explain everything to everyone.

“That’s a high-powered rifle,” Horace said. “You planning to blow the heads off more pheasants? If you’re hunting small game, you might use a rifle with a smaller caliber bullet. You don’t want to damage the meat.”

“I’m hoping to find some deer or even elk,” Greg said. “Sorry if you had your heart set on pheasant.”

“Fresh venison sounds excellent,” Horace said. “Help yourself to the gun. In fact, you can use the SIG anytime you want. You don’t have to ask. I know you’ll take good care of it. Have a great time, Greg. I’d join you if I was feeling up to it.”

“Maybe next time.”

And with that, Greg left the room, gently shutting the bedroom door behind him. He headed into the living room and retrieved the SIG from the mantel above the fireplace, exactly where he’d left it the other day after tracking Eustace to the warehouse. It really was a beautiful gun. Though it was a bolt-action rifle, which meant he wouldn’t be able to pump out shots quite as fast, he figured it was better for long-range shooting. And if he was going to snipe Eustace Simpson, he wanted plenty of distance between them.

They kept boxes of ammunition on a shelf in the coat closet, and Greg grabbed a box of 6.5mm Creedmoor bullets—high-density ammo that was perfect for long-range game hunting. He loaded the rifle’s magazine, then loaded an extra magazine and shoved it in his coat pocket. He didn’t expect to need that many bullets, but he wanted to be prepared for any opportunity. If he got a chance to take a clean shot at Eustace, he was going to go for it.

Greg slung the rifle strap over his shoulder. As he shut the coat closet and turned to leave, he saw his wife standing in the dining room door, a dusty towel dangling from her right hand.

“Hey there, honey, I’m going out hunting for a little while,” he said, averting his eyes. He didn’t want her to notice the bloodthirst in his gaze. Technically, he hadn’t lied. He was indeed going out hunting, but he had one specific prey in mind.

“You spent hours out there last time and didn’t bring back much,” she replied. “Are you sure it’s worth it? Maybe all the snow has driven the game deeper into the woods.”

He couldn’t tell if there was suspicion behind her words or not, but he felt a twinge of guilt. So much lying. She was going to be furious when he finally told her the truth, but it had to be done. Eustace Simpson couldn’t be left alone to scheme, and Greg knew if he shared his plan with her, she would oppose it.

You’re not being deceptive if you actually do a bit of real hunting, he told him. Bring back a real deer, make killing Eustace a side quest, and then it’ll all be fine.

“This time, I’ll make it worthwhile,” he said. “You’ll see.”

She crossed the living room and gave him a hug, which he returned, though it made the guilt surge.

“Be safe out there,” she said.

“I will.”

The doubt and guilt were going to quickly smother him—he could feel it—so he stepped outside, shut the door behind him, and hurried to the gate. As soon as he passed through the gate, he heard the rattle and clank of the wheelbarrow being pushed through the snow. Darryl and Emma shortly appeared, coming from around the corner along the now well-worn path to the old greenhouse. He immediately locked eyes with Darryl, and he could tell that his son knew something was up.

“I’m going hunting for a little while,” Greg said. “I’ll bring back a deer for some fresh venison. How does that sound?”

“If you say so, Dad,” Darryl replied, as he picked up the handles and resumed pushing the wheelbarrow. “Watch yourself out there.”

As Darryl headed for the gate, Emma lingered. She looked like she was on the verge of saying something.

Too many secrets, Greg thought. It’s not good for the family. I have to finish this task quickly so we can get back to normal.

“You really like Horace’s rifle, don’t you?” Emma said, after a moment.

“It’s good at long range,” he replied. “Anyway, I’ll be back before dinner. Take care, Emma.”

“Of course. Watch out for the mountain lions. And bandits.”

“You got it, kiddo.”

And with that, he strode past her and hurried toward the trees. He could sense that she was staring hard at his back, but he kept going until he was out of sight of the house in the tangle of trees and undergrowth.

It will all be back to normal soon, he told himself. Everything’s going to be fine once I’ve taken care of business. We can put this whole Eustace business behind us and get on with our lives.

He adjusted the strap of the rifle on his shoulder and began working his way through the woods, headed toward the back road. He hadn’t gone far, maybe a couple hundred meters, when he heard something moving in the distance. Squatting beside a tree, he unshouldered the rifle and lifted the scope to his eye. It took a few seconds, but finally he spotted it. A buck standing in the middle of the snowy road, staring off in another direction—like an answer to a prayer he hadn’t prayed.

Really, the woods were crawling with big game. It wasn’t that big of a surprise. The timing wasn’t great. He would have preferred to bag an animal on his way back from dealing with Eustace, but he would take the opportunity as presented. This was exactly the cover he needed. Greg leaned his right shoulder against the tree trunk for extra stability and sighted the rifle down the animal’s neck to a spot just behind its shoulder.

Just then, the animal turned it head in his direction, as if it sensed him. Greg pulled the trigger. The gun had a fierce sound, and it kicked like hell. The buck leapt forward, startled, took a couple of steps, then dropped. On the ground, however, it thrashed, trying to get up again. Not a perfect shot. Greg took aim again, but he was dealing with a moving target now. He took another shot, and another, hitting it on its underbelly, and finally the buck flopped down, dead.

Your aim sucks, Greg chastised himself, rising from his place beside the tree. That was a much bigger target than Eustace, and he’s already a big target. If you can’t bring down a full-grown buck, how are you going to bring down a full-grown bearded idiot?

He just needed to concentrate a little harder, hold his breath, and steady his hand. He could do it. At least, he told himself he could as he hurried toward the carcass. He folded the stock of the rifle and slid the strap over his shoulder again, though he could feel the heat of the barrel against his back and shoulder. It was lightweight. He appreciated that about the rifle. Easy to carry, super compact, comfortable to hold, and had a great, long-range scope. It would make this whole messy business a lot easier, even with his poor aim.

As he knelt beside the carcass and drew his hunting knife, he felt good. He hadn’t entirely lied to his family. They would have heard the shots from the house, so they knew he was indeed hunting. He went to work field dressing the buck, gutting it right there on the snowy ground, splashing the blinding white snow with bright red blood and dark, greasy guts. It was, as always, a disgusting, smelly mess, and he didn’t have a way to really clean his gloves afterward except to scrub them in the snow.

When the hard work of field dressing the carcass was done, he produced a length of nylon rope, tied it to the buck’s back legs, and hoisted it up into a nearby spruce tree. It was hard work, and he was bloody and tired by the time he’d finished. It didn’t help that he wasn’t completely over his cold. He still had a bit of the achiness, and his energy level was lower than usual.

Finally, he buried the offal as best he could under the snow, spent some time trying to clean his gloves and knife, then he set off again, heading south toward Glenvell. If he’d had a way to contact his son, he would have told him to bring the wheelbarrow or cart and retrieve the buck. As it was, he would just have to hope a bear didn’t come along and snatch it.

He followed roughly the same path he’d taken on his previous scouting trip, weaving his way north of town, keeping to the trees, until he came in sight of the town hall. He saw a few people strolling through the town center, but it was mostly pretty quiet. The bitter cold had no doubt driven folks indoors. Indeed, he could see smoke trailing from many chimneys, and firelight flickered through a few windows. As he moved past town, he spotted a couple of the local guards pushing a small handcart along a well-worn path, and he hunkered down to watch them. The handcart was piled high with what appeared to be large cloth sacks, possibly full of flour or some other grain. They were taking it in the direction of the warehouse. Greg waited until they were well past him before moving after them, stepping as lightly as possible.

When he finally came in sight of the warehouse, he saw that they had cleared a large area of the parking lot just outside the small side door. Six people were there now, all bundled up so that Greg couldn’t tell who they were. A number of boxes and bags had been stacked here, and the contents of the handcart were currently being added to the piles.

He’s stockpiling supplies, Greg realized. Just like Mayor Filmore.

Among the bags and boxes were a number of large metal drums. They were unmarked, but when a couple of guards lifted one of them onto a dolly, Greg could tell they were heavy. As he watched, they positioned the barrels along the wall beside the door, but they took the bags, boxes, and other items through the door. Eustace appeared briefly on the other side, waving them inside the warehouse.

What the hell are you planning, Eustace? Greg wondered.

Because he was using the scope to watch them, Greg had the rifle pointed at Eustace, and for about two glorious seconds he had a perfect shot. His finger slid down to the trigger and rested there. But he hesitated. If he took the shot now, would he be able to get away from all of these guards? Not likely. And if they caught him, then what? What would become of his family?

The uncertainty was just enough to make him waste those two seconds, and by then, Eustace had ducked back out of sight. Clearly, Eustace was up to something. Consolidating supplies, certainly, but was there more to it than that? What was in the big metal drums? Greg decided to move a little closer to get a better look.

He crept forward, moving in a crouch and taking careful steps. He tried to use the trees, brush, and snow piles as cover, but when he got to within about thirty meters of the parking lot, he decided he’d taken as big a risk as he was willing to take. He crouched behind a pine tree with many low branches, raised the rifle, and gazed through the scope again.

Greg watched them for a while as they unloaded the handcart. Then a couple of guards set out again, headed back toward town. Shifting his gaze back to the open door, Greg caught a glimpse of the inside of the warehouse. Stacks and stacks of bags, boxes, and barrels. Was Eustace looting every house and business in the entire city, area, province? What was his plan here, and how had he put together this little ragtag army? Were they the former city guards that Mayor Filmore had employed?

He’s the CEO of a national energy company, Greg reminded himself. The guy has access to people and resources, and he knows how to motivate others. He has deep pockets and plenty of belligerence.

Eustace stepped into the door then, a great red wall blocking his view of the warehouse interior, and suddenly Greg had a perfect shot again. The sight was lined up right on the middle of his torso. Greg could even see the details on the buttons of his flannel coat.

Take the shot. Worry about the guards afterward. One bullet through the heart, then run like hell.

But one of the guards stepped in the way then, passing something to Eustace, and Greg saw the AR-15 hanging from the man’s shoulder. No, the risk was too great. Despite Greg’s burning need for revenge, now was not the time.

He was so furious at the missed opportunity that he was shaking. This made it hard to hold the scope still enough to see clearly. He lowered the rifle and slipped the strap over his shoulder.

Another time, he told himself. You’ll have better opportunities. Just keep an eye on him. At some point, he’ll step outside, move away from his guards, or give you a clean shot.

The guards pushing the handcart were just a little too close for comfort now, so Greg ducked behind the tree and listened as the sound receded in the direction of town. As he was doing that, he traced his own tracks back into the woods. He’d left fairly obvious footprints all along the way, and there was no falling snow now to cover them. He rose, intending to backtrack the same way, covering his tracks by using his own footprints.

As he started to move in that direction, he noticed something just to the right that had escaped his notice before. Another set of tracks headed toward his position from the east, circling around in the area, then curved back the way they’d come. Someone else had been out here recently. Had they spotted his tracks? He dared to moved close to them, stepping out from behind cover to do so but keeping low.

Someone’s patrolling the woods, he thought. If they’ve seen my tracks, they know someone’s been out here spying on the warehouse.

Yes, that seemed likely, and as he thought about it, Greg’s anger suddenly melted, replaced by a strangling fear. Whoever it was, they would see Greg’s footprints when they came back through, if they hadn’t already. There was no way to stop that now. He couldn’t possibly cover himself. He glanced in the direction of the warehouse just in time to see a guard carrying the last bag through the door, then he started back the way he’d come.

14

Greg stepped carefully in his own deep footprints, hoping that somehow, he might fool anyone who tried to track him. The last thing he wanted to do was lead Eustace’s men all the way back to his house. Had he put his whole family in danger? The foolishness of this whole secret assassination quest suddenly seemed clear to him. He was out of his league, dealing with a dangerous group of people. Eustace was not Mayor Filmore. The man had years of experience running a large national company, which included covering up secrets, probably bribing and threatening powerful people, and generally getting away with criminal activity. And now, in a world with so little accountability, Eustace Simpson had become more dangerous than ever.

Still, Greg couldn’t give up. He dared not abandon the mission. If anything, it was more imperative than ever that he take out Eustace.

He has to die, Greg thought, for the thousandth time. But how do I pull this off? What if my cover is already blown?

Somehow, he had to get Eustace away from his guards or at least away from the warehouse. Greg needed more advantageous circumstances before he took his shot. While he hated the idea of returning home with the mission incomplete, he didn’t see that he had much choice.

Of course, just retracing his steps wouldn’t throw anyone off his trail. He would have to walk some loops in the woods, try to lead any trackers astray. It was going to be an ordeal. As he was planning it out in his mind, he heard distant shouting somewhere behind him. Greg froze. A woman’s voice, coming from the direction of the warehouse. She was shouting something over and over, and he held his breath and strained to make it out.

“He’s back. He’s back. I spotted him. He’s back.”

The realization that she was talking about him was like a jolt of electricity. Greg lurched forward. At the same time, he looked back over his shoulder, but he could no longer see the warehouse through all the trees and brush. The woman’s voice was soon joined by others, frantic people shouting over each other. In the middle of the noise, there was one voice sharper and angrier than the others, and Greg knew it was the boss.

“Go, go, go, hurry,” he said. “Follow his tracks this time and get him. If you can, cut him off before he gets home. Don’t come back empty-handed.”

It was too late to backtrack or hide his footsteps. Greg pulled the rifle off his shoulder and took off running as fast as he could in the deep snow. He hadn’t gone far when he heard his pursuers somewhere behind him. He didn’t dare look back for fear of tripping or falling. The terrain before him was treacherous, with the deceptively smooth snow hiding all sorts of roots, plants, and vines that he could trip on. He kept to his own tracks as best he could, if only to have an easier path.

The path went due east, then gradually curved to the north, meandering through the trees. He was moving so fast now, it felt reckless, stepping high so he didn’t have to drag his legs through snow. His pursuers made no attempt to be quiet. Indeed, if anything, they were making far more noise than was necessary, shouting and cursing as they went.

Greg had gone another fifty meters or so when he stumbled on a root half-buried in the snow and fell against the rough bark of a black walnut tree. He managed to soften the blow slightly by thrusting his bent arms in front of him, but in the process, he lost his grip on the rifle. It fell, hit another root, and tumbled into a snow drift.

Using the momentum from his fall, Greg dropped his knees and thrust his hands into the snow, rooting around for the rifle. It had gone deep, but his left hand found the narrow stock and grabbed hold. Just then, he heard the sharp crack of another rifle as a bullet hit the trunk of the tree just above his head with a burst of bark. He felt the small pieces of bark bouncing off the back of his head and neck, saw others landing in the snow around him.

He dared a glance back and saw a distant figure through a gap between trees. More than a hundred meters back but coming fast, some kind of long rifle in his hands. He was dressed all in black, with a fur-lined hood, and had what appeared to be tinted snow goggles over his eyes. Greg pulled Horace’s rifle out of the snow drift and lunged behind the nearest tree for cover.

He was tempted to shoot back, but he feared that would only make himself vulnerable to his pursuers. Instead, he lifted the rifle in both hands, rose, and took off again, trying to keep the tree at his back as he cut a new path through deeper and more tangled woods. He could no longer high-step over the snow, so he tried to bulldoze with way through by brute strength alone. It was slower, but at least he had more obstacles between him and his pursuers.

As he cut a path back in the direction of town, he could hear his pursuers spreading out behind him. One voice was moving to his left, another to his right, others staying in the middle. They were trying to cut him off. This caused a surge of adrenaline that overcame the lingering achiness in his body. He reached a large tangle of snow-dusted vines, but instead of going around them, he charged right through. He felt the vines pulling at his coat, at his snow pants, and he heard fabric ripping somewhere. But the sheer force of his advance tore through and he kept going.

Ahead, he saw buildings on the edge of town. A couple of small houses in a cul-de-sac, the corner of the small shopping center. He debated briefly whether or not it was safer to move closer to town. Would they be less likely to fire on him? Probably not. Even if there was collateral damage, Eustace would just claim he was defending his property from a burglar.

Greg didn’t want to put any innocent lives at risk, so he turned the other way, coming up alongside the backyard fence of one of the houses. Just then, he heard the crack of a rifle again and saw a puff of snow about ten feet to his right. When he looked back, he saw a figure that he knew immediately to be Officer Pam Grasier. She had found a gap between two trees just wide enough to take a shot at him.

In a fit of panic, Greg tossed his rifle over the fence, leapt up onto the center crossbeam, and pulled himself up. He rolled over the tops of the fenceposts and fell into the backyard. On the way down, he hit some plastic surface, felt it buckle under his weight, then he slammed into the ground. He picked himself up and cast about for the rifle.

He’d fallen on a small, plastic playground slide, knocking it down in the process. The rifle had fallen a few feet away. He scrambled for it on his hands and knees and picked it up. As he rose, he glanced toward the back of the house at a sliding glass door and saw someone standing in a gap between the vertical blinds. An old, white-haired woman in a purple housedress, she gaped at him like he was an alien that had fallen out of the sky.

He waved her away and tried to mouth the words, “Hide. Get down,” though he was sure she didn’t understand him. She didn’t react. Feeling pain in his side from landing on the slide, Greg ran for the gate in the fence on the east side, pushed it open, and slipped through. Then he took off running again into the deepest and most overgrown part of the woods. Here, at least, the snow was not as deep, blocked by the dense canopy of evergreen boughs overhead. This enabled him to sprint full-out, the rifle tucked against his chest and belly. Out of breath, his blood rushing in his head, he cut a zigzagging path—east then north, then east, then north—as he gradually worked his way around the outskirts of Glenvell.

Soon, he caught a glimpse of the town hall far to his left. This gave him enough of an indication of his location that he was able to adjust course. He heard a third gunshot, but it sounded farther away. Where the bullet hit, he had no idea. Out of breath, in pain, his legs on fire, he forced himself to keep moving as fast as his body would carry him, eventually reaching the back road that cut through the neighborhood. He saw his own tracks crossing the road here, and he followed them, hoping to somehow confuse his pursuers.

Finally, after perhaps another thirty minutes of running full-out, he felt his legs buckle, and he stumbled to a stop, catching himself against a small pine tree. Gasping for breath, his lungs burning and his legs on fire, he planted the butt of the rifle against his shoulder and turned, aiming back behind him. In between breaths, he heard sounds of his pursuers, but they seemed very far away now. He waited a minute, but they didn’t seem to get any closer.

Finally, when he’d caught his breath, he resumed moving. He wanted to head back to the hanging deer carcass and drag the thing home, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He had to confuse his pursuers somehow, so he began walking in strange looping patterns through the woods, creating crisscrossing tracks that seemed to go in every direction. At one point, he came in sight of the rural highway, and he created a set of tracks leading right into the ditch, heading south for a while before cutting back into the woods.

After almost an hour of this, he paused again and listened for his pursuers. He didn’t hear them at all. He didn’t hear anything. The snowy woods had grown deathly quiet, but he stood there for a bit, aiming the rifle into the distance and waiting. When the silence endured for a few more minutes, he finally started back toward home. Along the way, he passed through the backyard of the old Carmichael place and saw the rotting barn and old, empty house sitting in the snow like a forgotten grave.

From there, he was able to adjust course and head for the deer carcass. He had a pretty good idea of where he’d left it, hanging from the sturdy limb of a spruce tree a few meters north of the back road. Along the way, he saw other tracks, which could have been his. He wasn’t sure. He’d left many paths in the woods that day.

Finally, he spotted blood in the snow ahead of him and knew it was the place where he’d buried the guts. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and ran toward it. However, when he came in sight of the spruce tree, he saw only a length of nylon rope, still tied to the branch and hanging down but severed. The deer was gone, and among the many footprints in the area, there was a distinct drag mark heading south.

They got my deer, he thought, muttering every profanity in the book. Eustace’s people got my deer!

He raised the gun and aimed in the direction of the drag mark, but whoever had taken it was long gone. He was utterly alone in the cold, quiet woods. And Greg realized that part of him wanted to go after them, to gun them down and wrest back the deer that was rightfully his. It was a dark realization, and he felt suddenly as if he were on the verge of crossing a terrible line. Shooting someone to defend his family was one thing, killing someone for stealing meat was something else altogether, but the feeling was there. He couldn’t deny it.

Keep it together, Healy, he scolded himself. Forget about the deer.

The light had changed overhead, and he realized he’d wasted so much time on this complete failure of a mission that the afternoon was edging toward early evening. He’d left the house hours ago.

Even so, he waited a bit longer, standing there beneath the length of severed nylon rope until the shadows grew long and evening settled in. Only then, in the relative safety of the dimming light, did he dare to trudge back home. Clearly, Eustace knew he was spying on them, which only made him angrier and more determined to kill the man.

At the same time, he was coming home empty-handed after wasting hours in the woods. Could he still keep the lie going? He dreaded the idea of telling his family—especially his wife and his mother—the full truth about what he’d been up to, but maybe it was time.

Worry about that later, he told himself. For now, just get home.

* * *

The behavior of Eustace’s little ragtag band was embarrassing. They wore their emotions so close to the surface. Even the former cop, Pam Grasier—normally so stoic—stormed through the warehouse door, ripped her hat off and flung it to the ground, and yanked the scarf from around her neck, wadded it up, and threw it. The others stomped in like children that had just lost a youth hockey game.

Must I be associated with these people? James Teagan thought. These untrained yokels have never heard of professional detachment.

He’d dragged the field-dressed deer all the way back by himself. Couldn’t they see how calm he was? Didn’t they see what it was like to maintain control? Little children pretending to be tough guys, that’s what they were. It sickened him.

He was in the process of hoisting the carcass using a pulley and chain that hung from the ceiling of the warehouse when Eustace strode up, scowling at everyone. At least their target had done them the favor of preparing the animal. It was already gutted and bled out. That was the nastiest part of the work, and it was done.

“That guy’s a lot faster than I expected,” Pam Grasier said, stooping down to pick up the broad-brimmed hat she’d tossed on the ground. “He’s not a small guy, but it was like chasing a rabbit through the snow. I just couldn’t catch up to him. I don’t know why.”

“He knew what he was doing. The guy’s no amateur.” A wannabe villain with a round baby face, Donald was perhaps the most annoying of all Eustace’s cronies. James avoided talking to the man as much as possible. He was dressed all in black, except for the big shiny silver belt buckle, which gleamed as soon as he unzipped his padded jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He also had a squeaky little voice that made him sound like a kid. He’d served as a local cop alongside Pam for years, apparently.

“He’s just a local rancher,” said the third guy. An employee of Eustace’s company, Benny was a class above the others—or below, depending on the point of view. He had rough skin, deep-set black eyes, and a flinty little stare. He was carrying an old SKS rifle that looked like it had sat in someone’s closet for twenty years. He propped it against the wall as he entered the room. “Don’t give him too much credit. If a man is scared enough, he’ll run like a rabbit.”

Pam, Donald, and Benny passed James, all of them avoiding looking in his direction as they headed deeper into the warehouse. That was fine. James didn’t want to be friends with these people. He wanted them to be anxious and quick to do what they were told.

“Close that damn door,” James said, gesturing at the side door of the warehouse, which that deep-eyed cretin Benny had left ajar.

Of the three, Donald rushed back at his command and promptly shut the door, setting the deadbolt. James took note of this. He didn’t bother to thank the man. Thanks were for favors, not orders. Instead, James drew the enormous buck knife from its sheath under his coat and went to work skinning the deer.

The warehouse had been a grocery distribution business at one time, which meant originally much of it had been refrigerated. Now, it was just a big, dim room with no windows and a bunch of tall shelves running in long rows from front to back. They’d managed to fuel up one of the generators, which provided just enough power to get the lights working, but the other generator was fried—a consequence of the capricious nature of the EMP. That meant they didn’t have enough power to run the cold storage. Unfortunate, but they would make do. Already, the shelves were beginning to fill with the growing stacks of “acquired” supplies.

For a few minutes, James heard the cronies grumbling and complaining as they moved through the warehouse, but he tuned it all out and made short work of the deer. He had just finished removing the hide and was draping it over the back of some chairs that he’d lined up when he heard familiar unhealthy breathing coming from behind him. Eustace came waddling up. Because it was insulated, the interior of the warehouse was quite a bit warmer than the outside air, so Eustace had removed his flannel coat, hat, and gloves. Underneath, he had a sweat-soaked, long-sleeve t-shirt. His red beard and hair were sticking out in a comical way, but he had an angry glint in his eyes.

That anger better not be directed at me, James thought. None of this is my fault.

James decided to nip it in the bud.

“You’ve got to whip these people into shape,” he said. He’d learned that it was best to set the agenda in any conversation with Eustace Simpson. It put him off balance just enough to make it easier to deal with him. “They’re bungling fools, and they show their emotions too easily.”

“I sent you to chase after a spy, and instead of bringing back the spy, alive or dead, you brought back a deer carcass,” Eustace said, with a bitter laugh. “How does that work? Did you wind up chasing the wrong animal?”

“Let’s call it a consolation prize,” James said, wiping his hands on an old rag he’d taken from the employee break room. “We can cure the meat and add it to your supplies. At least we didn’t come back empty-handed.”

“I don’t care about that,” Eustace said, with a swipe of his big hands. He had fingers as thick as sausage rolls. James found himself wondering if the man had ever strangled anyone to death. He had the right hands for it. “What did you find? Was someone spying on us?”

“Yeah, he was watching the warehouse for sure,” James replied, using the rag to clean the blade of his knife. “He got pretty close, too, so I’m sure he now has some idea of what’s going on here.”

Eustace balled up his fists. “Damn. It was one guy! How did you manage to lose him?”

James shrugged, opening his coat and sliding his knife into the sheath. “He had a head start, and he’s fast even in the snow. Plus, the woods are fairly overgrown, and the snow made it hard to catch up. What do you want me to say, Eustace?” The big man’s outburst could’ve made him furious, dangerously so, if he let it, but James chose to ignore him. He could do that when necessary, just let offenses roll off his back, by simply disconnecting himself from the moment. A useful skill that had served him well in his career, especially when he’d worked for Eustace and his company. The man was prone to outbursts, and he fed off negative responses. James had seen it plenty of times, but it didn’t work with him.

Eustace seemed to collect himself, tucking his thumbs under his belt, and he stepped past James. He gave a long, throaty growl. Much of his anger seemed to go with it. “It was Greg Healy,” he said, after a moment. “I just know it. He followed us back here after we took the cow. I should’ve dealt with him a long time ago. I had plenty of opportunities, and I didn’t take them. What is he up to?”

James needed to go and get a much larger knife, ideally a big sturdy cleaver, so he could begin butchering the deer, but he figured he should finish dealing with Eustace first. He preferred to butcher carcasses in peace. “Look, there’s no way to know for sure who it was or what he wants right now. Next time he comes around, we’ll catch him and ask a few questions. Okay? So quit throwing a fit about it.”

“Forget trying to catch him,” Eustace said, with a swipe of his hands. “I want him dead. Him and his whole family.”

James sighed. Emotional overreactions and vengeance only caused unnecessary problems. Didn’t this big idiot realize that? “We don’t need him dead,” James replied. “We definitely don’t need to kill his entire family. Come on, man. Think rationally. If we play this right, we might be able to convince that family to join up with us, or at least stay out of our way. It’s to their advantage, and to ours. This family seems to be thriving over there on the ranch. They clearly know how to live off the land.”

“You’re delusional,” Eustace said. “You can’t convince those damned Healys to do anything they don’t want to do. They are a truly obnoxious tribe. You don’t know them like I do.”

“You’re right. I don’t,” James replied, “but maybe it’s time I get to know them.”

15

Rarely in his life had Darryl worked so hard on something and achieved such an impressive-looking end result. Of course, he’d spent days, hours on end, building the fence, but the end result had looked exactly like a fence built by a modestly skilled sixteen-year-old. The greenhouse was a different story altogether. His father had contributed a bit, and Emma had helped out a lot, but Darryl felt like he’d largely redeemed himself from the shoddy work he’d done on the fence. The greenhouse was really starting to look nice, and more than that, it already seemed functional on the inside. At least, it was warm enough.

On the second day of work, as he finished up preparing the ground inside the greenhouse, scouring it of debris and rocks, he had to pause and marvel at the place. Yes, seven glass panes were missing, replaced with tarps, but all the others were firmly back in place, and he’d even managed to repair some of the weak spots in the framework.

I think it may be time for a grand unveiling, he thought, leaning his rake against the wall. This is the best thing I’ve done around here since the root cellar.

He’d even reframed the wooden door, so it opened and closed smoothly now. The door itself would need to be replaced at some point. It was slightly warped from age, but it would work for now. He stepped outside and pushed the door shut, then headed back toward the house.

Of course, his pride wasn’t just about the quality of the repair work. Far more importantly, it was proof that he would be able to care for Justine and the baby. If he could show her, if she could see proof that he was getting everything ready, maybe she would worry a bit less about the future, maybe she could climb out of the funk she’d fallen into.

Darryl followed the fence back to the gate. He’d worn a nice path along the way now. At some point, before he planted anything in the greenhouse, he would need to extend the fence to surround it. No reason to leave it out in the open where thieves could steal his crops. However, to do that, he would need to find more scrap wood.

I have plenty of time, he thought. It’ll all be done long before the baby arrives.

When he stepped through the gate, he saw his father sitting on the porch. Horace’s rifle was resting on the handrail beside him, as if he’d been out hunting again. Greg seemed to have taken a liking to the SIG. Darryl assumed it was because of the big scope. Still, it hadn’t done him much good. After days of hunting, he’d still only brought back the single pheasant.

“Hey, Dad,” Darryl said, approaching the fence. “No luck again today?”

His father stirred slowly, as if struggling to get out of his own head. “No, I didn’t get anything. Another bad day of hunting.” Oh yeah, by the sharp tone, Darryl could tell he was in a foul mood. “Maybe tomorrow. I’ll keep trying. I’m persistent when I need to be.” He wouldn’t even look at Darryl.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Darryl agreed. “Hey, I was going to round everyone up and show them the greenhouse. All the work is done. It looks pretty good. Want to see it?”

“Yeah, right, sure,” Greg replied, then reached up to pull his toque down lower.

Darryl decided to leave it at that and made his way inside. Maybe Dad needed to take up a new hobby, or maybe there was something else going on out there in the woods that he didn’t want to talk about.

Darryl found Grandma, Mom, and Emma in the dining room. It looked like they were in the process of repairing the fishing traps—a task that normally would have fallen to Greg. Horace Bouchard was in the den. He was finally up and about, feeling good enough to leave his bed, but still quite weak. The books in the den were keeping him busy. Still, just to make him feel welcome, Darryl invited him to come. He politely declined and went back to flipping through the pages of an outdated world atlas.

The others at least came willingly. Emma had contributed to the work, and she made sure to point this out a few times as they all headed back outside.

“Some of the work definitely took two people,” she said, as they passed through the gate. “The ground was really uneven, so someone basically had to prop up the ladder and bear the full weight of it while Darryl replaced the windows.”

“Yeah, it helped a lot,” Darryl replied. “I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

Greg came with them, but he lagged behind. When Marion tried to engage him in conversation, he barely responded. Mom was generally pretty patient, but Darryl knew she would eventually reach her limit with his moping. Then things would get really exciting around the house.

Great, he thought sourly, then Justine will be more determined than ever not to say anything about the pregnancy.

They came in sight of the greenhouse then, and Darryl marveled again at just how good it looked. The rusty framework needed a paint job, and the door was ugly, but otherwise the building looked sturdy. Darryl approached the front and turned, holding up his hand as if presenting it to his family. Emma was beaming, her hands on her hips, as if to bask in the glow of her own participation.

“It hasn’t looked that good in many years,” Tabitha said, approaching the greenhouse and reaching out to set her gloved hand on the corner. “My goodness. Look at you, Darryl. You’ve really stepped up, haven’t you?” She came toward him, reached out, and set her hand on his shoulder.

His mother approached and gave him a hug. “I’m proud of you, Darryl. You’ll make a great dad someday. You really take initiative and get things done.”

Make a great dad someday? Did she know? No, surely not. Darryl decided not to entertain the suspicion and received the praise without worrying about it.

“Thanks, Mom. I worked really hard.” He looked past his mom and saw Emma standing there with her hands on her hips, and her beaming smiling was starting to slip. “Emma, thanks for all your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” she replied, wagging a finger at him, “and don’t you forget it.”

After disentangling himself from his mother and grandmother, he opened the door and ushered them inside. He noticed that his father was standing back a few feet, his arms crossed over his chest, scowling at the building. The man looked thoroughly unhappy. Was he annoyed, like Emma, that his contribution had been overlooked? It seemed unlikely, but Darryl decided to cover all of his bases.

“Thanks for your help, too, Dad,” Darryl said. “I know you’ve got enough of your own stuff to worry about, so I appreciate it.”

His dad just gave him a weird little nod and waved him off. Darryl didn’t know what to make of it, but it was awkward enough that he turned and walked into the greenhouse. Was it possible that his dad was upset at the compliment? He’d spent days hunting with almost nothing to show for it, and everyone was tiptoeing around him as a result, but his son was making actual progress toward providing for the family. Was that the issue?

Dad, I don’t need another problem to deal with, Darryl thought, fighting the first stirring of real resentment. Get your act together and deal with your issues, whatever they are. I have enough on my plate. We need peace in the household, for Justine’s sake.

16

When the moping didn’t stop, Darryl finally decided to take matters into his own hands. He couldn’t have his father adding tension to an already tense household. Justine didn’t need that. If Dad put everyone in a worse mood, it was only going to make things that much worse when Justine decided it was time to announce the pregnancy. Or else, she might just keep putting it off indefinitely. Darryl wasn’t comfortable with either scenario, so he cornered his father during breakfast two days later.

Everyone was eating in relative silence. Indeed, things had gotten somber lately, and Darryl assumed it was his dad’s mood rubbing off on everyone. Even now, he was just sort of hunched over his plate of biscuits and beef, staring at the tabletop. Darryl was feeling bold. He’d proven his ability to take care of things, so now he was going to do it again.

“So…Dad,” he said, swirling the dregs of his herbal tea in his cup. “Are you planning on going hunting again today?”

His dad took a big bite of a biscuit—clearly trying to buy time. “I was thinking about it. Going to try a new area. Should have better luck.”

“Great,” Darryl replied. He glanced at his mother, and she gave him a little nod and smile. She saw what he was going for. “I’ll join you. If we hunt together, we have a much better chance of bringing down a nice, big deer. What do you say? You can bring Horace’s SIG, and I’ll bring the Remington.”

His dad chewed for a moment, still staring fixedly at the tabletop. Finally, he lifted his gaze, dared to look at Darryl for a second, and said, “No, that’s okay. Maybe next time. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stuff to do around the ranch.”

“No, not really,” Darryl said. “Since I finished the greenhouse, I’ve got a lot of free time.”

“You don’t want to hang out with Justine today?” he said.

“She just wants to take it easy and read this morning,” Darryl said. “I’ve got all kinds of free time.”

His father continued to eat for a bit, then took a long sip of tea. In the awkward silence, Marion added, “It sounds like a good idea to me. I’m looking forward to a nice, juicy venison steak.”

Finally, Greg harrumphed and set his cup down. “Well, let’s talk about it later, okay? I’ve got a few things to get done right after breakfast.”

“Okay, later it is.” Darryl glanced at his mom, and they traded another smile. Oh no, Dad wasn’t going to worm his way out of this. Darryl was in too good of a mood today, and he had every intention of going with it.

His father finished breakfast first, excused himself, gave his wife a kiss on the temple, then headed outside. Darryl still had a few bites of food left, but he pushed the plate back and finished his tea. Then he grabbed a couple of biscuits and wrapped them in a napkin.

“Well, I think I’m full,” he said, pushing his chair back. “Going to check on Justine.”

“Check on Justine?” Tabitha said. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, she’s fine,” he said, hastily. “She’s just the slowest to recover from the cold.”

He left the table then and headed upstairs. Justine was sitting in a chair beside her bed, flipping through a National Geographic. She’d opened the curtains to let the bright morning light stream into the room. When Darryl stepped through the door, she slowly closed the magazine and looked up.

“Are you hungry at all?” he asked, holding up the napkin-wrapped biscuits.

“Mostly sick to my stomach,” she replied, “and to be honest, I’m not the biggest fan of stuff made with acorn flour. For some reason, it really makes me nauseous now.”

He set the napkin on the bed and unfolded it. “Are you sure? Grandma says they’re healthy.”

“Those don’t look appetizing at all,” she said. “Like little circles of dirt. I’m sorry, that’s how I feel.”

“Well, I’ll leave them here for now,” he said. “You might get hungry later.”

She reached over and folded the napkin over again to hide the biscuits, then went back to flipping through her magazine.

“Okay…” He shuffled his feet. “Anyway, I’ll probably be doing a few tasks this morning, so I might be busy for a while. I’ll stop by later and check on you.”

And with that, he turned to leave. As he stepped through the door, she said, softly, “Thanks, Darryl. Maybe I’ll work up some appetite. Have fun.”

It was enough. He headed back downstairs, picking up the Remington rifle from a shelf near the front door. He checked to make sure it was loaded then headed outside.

Dad, we’re going hunting, he thought, whether you like it or not. I’ll drag you out there into the woods if I have to.

He expected to find his father roaming around the property somewhere, trying to pretend he was busy. Instead, he found him sitting with the SIG Sauer on the porch, a second magazine balanced on the handrail beside him. He didn’t seem to notice Darryl at first. When he did, he was startled, grabbed at the second magazine, and knocked it onto the porch. With a grunt, he stooped down to retrieve it.

“I’m ready to go out there and get our dinner,” Darryl said. “If we set out right now, we should be back in plenty of time. Come on.”

“I’d rather you stayed here at the ranch and kept an eye on things,” Greg replied. “Grandma might need your help.”

“Grandma’s fine,” Darryl replied. “The ranch is fine. Now that the greenhouse is done, I don’t have a lot to do. Emma and Mom milked the cows this morning and fed them. What else is there to do? I’d rather go with you and do some hunting. It’s still early. Let’s go.”

Greg shoved the extra magazine into his coat pocket just a little harder than was necessary. Then he snagged the strap of the rifle and slung it over his shoulder as he rose.

“All good?” Darryl said. He knew he was pushing, but he couldn’t help himself. “You’ve got enough ammo to take out an entire herd. We can’t possibly fail.”

“I said no, and I meant it,” Greg snapped. It was the sharpest he’d spoken to Darryl since before the EMP, and it caused him to take a step back. “I’m going hunting by myself today, just like I told you, and that’s it. It’s too…it’s too dangerous.”

And with that, he gestured for Darryl to get out of his way and stomped down the steps. Darryl moved to one side, stung by the sharpness. He knew he’d asked for it, but still, his father’s mood was getting ridiculous. Unsure of what to do next, Darryl stepped up to the handrail and watched as his father moved toward the gate.

He didn’t realize his mother and grandmother had come out onto the porch until Tabitha spoke.

“Hold up. Hold up,” she said. She was a small woman, shriveled and leathery as a sun-charred satchel, but she could speak with razor-sharpness when she wanted to. “Greg, get back here right now. What do you think you’re doing?” Not loud, but fierce enough that Darryl eased away from her, even though the words weren’t directed at him.

Like a possum caught in headlights, Greg froze. Slowly, as if trying to fight his own instinct, he turned to face the porch. Tabitha and Marion were standing at the top of the steps, glaring down at him.

“What’s going on?” he said. “Why are you yelling at me all of a sudden? I’m just heading out for a little while. Darryl’s going to stay here and do some tasks around the farm.”

“No, he’s not,” Tabitha replied. Her voice could have sliced a brick wall in two. “He’s going hunting with you. Spend time with your son. You’re more likely to come back with something other than a headless pheasant.”

Marion cut right to the chase. “Greg, you’ve been in a foul mood for days. I’m sure it has a lot to do with these wasted hunting trips. Take Darryl with you. There’s nothing else for him to work on today.”

When Greg hesitated still, Tabitha added, “I’m not discussing it with you. This is not a debate. Quit being a brat and do what you’re told. Darryl, get down there and go have some quality time with my ornery son.”

“Fine, fine,” Greg said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, yes, I’ve been in a bad mood. I admit it. I’m sorry. Things have been frustrating lately. Darryl, come on. Let’s go.” He beckoned Darryl and headed for the gate.

“Come back in a better mood,” Tabitha said, “because you’re getting on my last nerve. I don’t care if you’re forty years old, I’ll tan your hide like I did when you were ten.”

And with that, she harrumphed loudly and stormed back into the house.

“Have a good time,” Marion added. “Make it fun. Love you both.” And then she followed her mother-in-law.

Greg reached the gate, unlatched it, and flung it open. Darryl saw the sliding track on top wobble, and he was tempted to say something but decided it wasn’t worth it. He followed his father through the gate. As soon as he was on the other side, he grabbed the gate before his dad could do it. As gently as possible, he slid the gate back in place and latched it. His father didn’t wait for him but went right on, tromping through the snow as he headed for the trees. Darryl hurried after him.

I’m going to regret pushing this issue, he thought. Now I’m stuck out here in the wilderness with this grump.

His dad was following a path he’d already created on previous hunting trips, as if he were going somewhere specific. Darryl managed to keep pace with him, but walking in the strange, tense silence was singularly unpleasant. As they worked their way through the snowy woods, Darryl spotted numerous tracks looping about, as if people had been walking circles all over the place. Had his father done this? Had he just been circling and circling looking for some animal to shoot?

Is the old man losing his mind? This is weird, compulsive behavior.

They headed into the woods, weaving through the trees until they came upon the clearing where the dirt road was still covered in snow. Numerous tracks went back and forth, as if the road was being regularly used.

“Where are you thinking about heading, Dad? Should we find a place that hasn’t seen so much foot traffic?”

His father grunted, and Darryl thought for a second that he wasn’t going to answer. However, his dad finally replied, “Oh, I’m not too sure where we’ll go.” He stopped suddenly. Darryl could tell by the lighter tone in his voice that he was trying to sound casual, less irritated. “I’ll tell you what, Darryl, my aim isn’t what it used to be. I don’t know if I’ve just gotten rusty, if it’s this new gun, the ammo, or what. What if we did some target practice for a while? I need to get better at hitting a distant, moving target.”

It was more than his father had said all day, and it worked wonders at easing the tension. “Sounds good to me. What did you have in mind?”

Greg pointed south down the road. “See that big spruce tree down there, the one with the bit of nylon rope hanging from it? Let’s set up a crude target there and practice our aim. I brought plenty of ammo for just this reason.”

Well, that’s explains it, Darryl thought.

It took a moment to spot the tree he was referring to. The old road went straight for about a hundred meters before veering slightly to the west. Just beyond the bend, there was a big tree set back a bit from the road. Indeed, a length of bright yellow nylon rope hung from one of the bigger branches. The ground around the tree seemed to have been heavily disturbed, as if animals had been moving about in the area.

“We’re going to practice target shooting out here on the old road?” Darryl asked. “Is that safe?”

“There’s a bend in the road here and no houses behind that tree,” Greg said. “Just woods all the way to the stream. I think it’s fine.”

“If you say so…”

In the end, they constructed a crude target by weaving together some thin branches. They had to pluck them off the trees so they were fresh and springy. Darryl was a bit more dexterous than his father, so he did much of the work, weaving the branches in crude, concentric circles, with a large, flat piece of bark in the center as the bullseye.

It wasn’t pretty, but Darryl found the experience so much better than when he’d worked with his father on the greenhouse. Finally, Greg seemed invested and involved, not cranky or distracted. They worked together to find the best branches, discussed different ways to put the target together. When it was done, they hung it from the bit of nylon rope, adding a heavier stick at the bottom of the target as a counterweight to keep it from being blown around by the wind.

“What do you think, son?” Greg said, stepping back from the target.

“I think it’ll work,” Darryl said.

“You think we can hit the bullseye from a hundred meters down the road?”

“Horace once told me that when he was in the armed forces, he could hit a target at three hundred meters,” Darryl said, pulling the Remington off his shoulder.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Greg replied. “Forget the Remington. We’ll take turns with the SIG. It’s got the better scope. First to hit the bullseye wins.”

“You got it, Dad.”

They walked back from the target. Of course, they had no way to measure the distance precisely, but Greg counted off a hundred paces before coming to a stop. This put them far down the road and just off into the trees on the other side. When Darryl turned and looked at their target, it seemed so tiny. In reality, a hundred meters was a lot farther than he’d realized.

“This rifle has an impressive range,” Greg said, pulling the SIG Sauer CROSS off his shoulder. Once again, Darryl marveled at what a wicked-looking gun it was. The barrel was surrounded by rows of vent holes, and the stock was practically skeletal. It was all black, and it had been topped with an enormous scope. “It’s designed for long-range shooting, but we’ll have to practice to get used to it. Otherwise, we’re not going to be able to pick off the right targets from a safe distance.”

“What are we planning on shooting?” Darryl asked. “Bears? Bandits? Monsters?”

“All of the above,” Greg replied.

“Well, bear steaks might be interesting,” Darryl said. “I don’t think I’ve eaten bear before.” It was such a normal conversation, it almost seemed surreal.

They used the crook of a forked tree as a place to position the gun and shoot. Greg went first, taking his sweet time balancing the gun, adjusting the scope, and peering at the target. His first shot missed not just the target but the entire tree. His second shot also missed. His third hit the tip of a branch above the target and sent it spiraling off into the distance. He managed to clip the crude target on his fifth shot, which caused it to spin lazily.

“Okay, I’m getting better at it,” he said, rising. “It’s just a matter of concentration. I have to stay focused and not let emotion interfere. Let the rifle cool down, then you can try.”

“That wasn’t bad, considering how far away the target is,” Darryl said. “I’m not sure I can do better.”

Greg grunted, and when he spoke, Darryl sensed a bit of the surliness creeping back in, “Not close enough. I should be able to hit the bullseye. I need to.” He passed the rifle to Darryl. “There are a few bullets left in the magazine. They’re all yours. See if you can do better than your old man.”

Darryl traded places with him, leaning against the trunk of the tree and positioning his right arm in the crook of it. He set his eye to the scope and turned until the target was directly in the crosshairs. He wasn’t used to the feel of the gun, and even the slightest movement caused the image in the scope to wobble wildly. Finally, Darryl had to hold his breath to steady his hands. He took aim at the bullseye and gently squeezed the trigger.

He felt the jolt of the rifle and heard the satisfying crack. The small piece of wood they’d used for a bullseye shattered into a hundred little splinters, and the target bounced on the end of the nylon rope before coming apart and unraveling as it fell to the snow.

“How in the hell did you manage that?” his father grumbled. “First shot. Bullseye.”

“I don’t know,” Darryl said, rising. He felt heat radiating from the rifle. “I just took careful aim.”

His father was scowling off in the direction of the target with narrowed eyes. He turned and snatched the rifle out of Darryl’s hand. “Oh, for God’s sake. Let’s just go hunt a deer.”

And with that, he stormed off across the road.

17

They set off to the west, hopping over a narrow spot on the small stream near where the fish traps were set and aiming for the denser woods beyond the last of the houses in their rural community. There were a few other human tracks in the area, but not nearly as many. Still, Greg seemed to be following a specific path, moving for a while first one way, then turning for no discernible reason and heading another.

“What are you thinking?” Darryl said, after a while. “Are you looking for a specific place?”

“Just getting a lay of the land,” Greg replied. Indeed, he did seem to be scanning the ground as he walked. But they turned back and crossed the stream again, heading toward the road.

“Isn’t it better to keep heading the way we were going?” Darryl asked. “Beyond the stream? More likely to find animals farther from town, right?”

Greg shushed him. “Keep it down. Don’t want to scare them away.”

But as Darryl looked around, he didn’t see any evidence of animals in their vicinity. A few small tracks, maybe foxes, but that was it.

“Maybe we should’ve set up a deer stand,” Darryl noted. “All this walking around certainly won’t help.”

“We’ll try that next time,” his father said.

Greg paused for a moment, as if getting his bearings. Darryl took the opportunity to choose their course, heading back toward the deeper woods. However, his father didn’t follow him, and when Darryl turned back, he saw Greg gazing off to the south.

“Are we going, Dad?” Darryl said. “I thought if we went back this way…”

He trailed off as his father beckoned. “We’re going this way. Come on.” With that, Greg set off in his own direction. “Keep up, son.”

It was one confirmation after another, and Darryl wouldn’t ignore it any longer. His father had almost no interest in hunting, and it seemed clear now what that other purpose was. Still, Darryl wanted him to admit it, so he rushed to catch up with his dad.

“You realize this direction takes us closer to town…” he said. “We’re not going to find any animals in that direction, and it’s probably not safe. Mayor Filmore’s people might still be lurking around.”

“It’s fine,” Greg said. “Mayor Filmore is buried in the backyard.”

“It’s fine, because…why?” Darryl persisted. “You didn’t refute my points, so you must be okay with it. Why are we headed toward town? You know, it’s okay to level with me, Dad. It’s not like I can’t tell you’ve been acting weird for days. Are you going to say it, or do I have to put the words in your mouth?”

His father looked him in the eyes, and Darryl could tell by the pained expression that he felt chastened. Somehow, Darryl’s words had gotten to him. He sighed loudly and said, “Okay, here’s the deal, son. Remember those guys who knocked down our fence the other day?”

“You mean, when the cow went missing,” Darryl said. “When you told Mom and Grandma it was probably a mountain lion, but you know for sure it was actually a person, don’t you?”

“Correct,” Greg said, but averted his gaze again. “More than one person, actually. I said the mountain lion thing because…”

“I know why you said it, Dad. It’s fine.”

“Well, the thing is…when they ran off the other day, they headed into the deep woods beyond the stream, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen their tracks over there. I don’t want to run into them. That’s why I’m not going that way.”

The logic might have made sense if Greg hadn’t already aroused so much suspicion with his behavior. His father was not good at being sneaky, so his words rang untrue. Even the slight warble in his voice gave him away. If anything, it was just further confirmation of Darryl’s suspicion. They were headed now directly toward town, as if that had been his father’s real destination all along. Off to the right, Darryl caught sight of the snowy back road.

No wonder he hasn’t managed to bring anything home from his hunting trips, Darryl thought. He’s not even really hunting…not animals, anyway. Dad, you’ve gone off the deep end.

As he followed his father, he heard a soft crunching sound off to his left. Darryl stopped in his tracks, though his dad kept going. Bracing himself against the nearest tree, Darryl turned slowly in the direction of the sound, trying to make as little movement as possible. It didn’t take long to spot the small buck in a clearing about forty meters to the east. The animal was standing with its right flank to them, its head turned away as if looking back in the direction of the stream. A perfect target.

Darryl slowly, achingly pulled the Remington off his shoulder. His father continued to walk in the direction of town. Darryl didn’t dare say anything to him, lest he scare off the deer, and just hoped his father wouldn’t make any loud noises. Raising the rifle, he socketed the butt against his shoulder and took careful aim. He wished now he had the SIG with its amazing scope, but the Remington had a decent enough scope of its own. Darryl lined up his shot.

The buck turned its head in his direction, and for a second they seemed to lock eyes. Darryl sensed the sudden tension in the animal as it prepared to leap away. He pulled the trigger. The sudden crack of the rifle caused his father to cry out in alarm. The buck bolted, made it about five steps, then its front legs collapsed. With a final swing of its head, it rolled onto its side, exposing the perfect bloody bullet hole right behind its shoulder.

Darryl stood there marveling at his aim, feeling the curious trembling excitement of a successful hunt. He’d brought it down in a single shot, even with his father tromping around behind him! He was tempted to cheer, but suddenly he felt a firm hand clamp down on his shoulder. He turned, expecting to see his father glaring at him. Instead, he found Greg giving him a huge toothy grin, his eyes practically sparkling.

“My goodness, son, you did it,” he said. “You brought it down in one shot. I didn’t even notice the damn thing. It could have snuck up on me and given me a kick in the butt, and I still wouldn’t have known it was there. Great job!”

“Thanks, Dad,” Darryl said, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and heading toward his kill. “I can’t believe you didn’t hear it. It was so close.”

Greg’s smile faltered only for a fraction of a second. “I guess I’m getting old. Hearing’s not what it used to be. Do you know how relieved your mother and grandmother are going to be when we drag this thing back to the ranch? You have no idea how much weight you’ve just taken off my shoulders.” He gave Darryl another big, friendly clap on the shoulder. “I owe you big time for this one.”

“See, now, aren’t you glad you brought me with you?” Darryl said.

“Absolutely,” Greg replied. “You just saved my bacon.”

“I saved your venison, technically.”

Greg laughed far too hard at this. It wasn’t entirely forced. Clearly, his dad was relieved that they would have something to show for themselves.

Did I just help him cover his tracks? Darryl thought. Is he relieved because now they won’t get suspicious about his little hunting trips? I think it’s too late for that, Dad. Emma, at least, already knows something’s up, and so do I.

They field dressed the deer, which was—as always—a bloody business. Darryl didn’t particularly enjoy it, even though he’d shot, skinned, and butchered a variety of animals by now. He was fairly good at it now, at least. Tabitha and his mom had helped him improve his technique, so he did most of the work while his father grinned beside him.

“Ten points,” Greg noted. “Not bad. You want to mount the head in your room?”

“No, that’s fine,” Darryl replied. “It would give me nightmares having this dead-eyed thing staring down at me in the dark. Stuffing animals was Grandpa’s hobby. I’ll just eat the meat, if you don’t mind.”

Once it was all gutted and prepared, they trussed it up in a long length of nylon rope—yellow like the bit of rope they’d seen hanging from the tree. Darryl noted this fact, but again said nothing. He didn’t like finding out his father’s secrets. It was a singularly unpleasant feeling. For now, he rode the surface of his emotion and just enjoyed the successful hunt and his father’s happiness.

“Let’s get this thing back home,” his father said, picking up the ropes. “We’ll have venison steaks for dinner.”

* * *

The immediate reaction to them dragging the carcass through the gate was exactly as his father had anticipated. Tabitha, Marion, and Emma came down the porch steps clapping and cheering. Emma walked right up beside the carcass and bent down close, as if to examine it.

“Ten-point buck,” she noted. “What are you going to do with the rack?”

“Make you a nice hat with real antlers on top,” Darryl joked.

“Actually, there’s a lot you can do with antlers,” Emma said, following them toward the front of the barn. “The book had diagrams for making a coat rack, a lamp stand, a curtain holder, even table legs.”

“Well, the antlers are all yours,” Darryl said. “Experiment to your heart’s content. Make drinking straws out of them, if you want. It’s up to you.”

As soon as they’d butchered the deer and removed the antlers from the skull plate, Emma took them and went running off to the house. That night, they had plenty of fresh venison. The rest they salt-cured with the last bit of salt from the Carmichaels’ stash. Although it was still red meat, the taste was just different enough from beef that it seemed to reinvigorate everyone. Justine joined them, placing her seat so close to Darryl that their shoulders were touching, but she didn’t talk once the entire meal.

Horace even dared to leave the den and walk to the dining room, though he still seemed rather weak. Tabitha and Marion made sure to keep heaping praise on Darryl, to the point that he went from appreciating it to being embarrassed by it to being annoyed.

“It sure was a good idea to bring him along,” Marion noted, cutting into her medium-well venison steak. It was perfectly charred along the outer edges. Darryl had to respect his father’s grilling technique. “You two make a good hunting pair. Don’t you think, Greg?”

Greg hesitated a second, a chunk of meat stuck on the end of his fork and hovering just in front of his mouth. “Yeah, he’s a pretty good shot,” he said, finally, taking a bite. “He’s got better hearing than me too.”

“Well, there you go,” Tabitha said, jumping in. “You’ve found yourself a hunting buddy. You guys could bring us back a variety of meats. That’d be good for our diets.”

“I’m sure we’ll go hunting together again sometime,” Greg said, chewing as he spoke. He did not, however, glance at Darryl.

Darryl didn’t let it bother him, as he continued to enjoy the meal, but he was too wise now to his father’s ways. He knew what was up, and he made plans accordingly. After dinner, he helped clear the table as Greg washed the dishes. Justine had excused herself after dinner and gone outside, so Darryl went to check on her. He found her sitting in one of the rocking chairs, cast in the warm glow of an oil lamp.

“I’ll be setting out early tomorrow morning,” he said, “but I hope to be back before lunchtime. Are you okay with that?”

“Another hunting trip,” she said. “Is that going to be your daily ritual now?”

“No.” Darryl glanced over his shoulder to make sure the front door was shut. He heard the clink of dishes coming from the kitchen. “My dad doesn’t know we’re going hunting together tomorrow. I plan on surprising him.”

Justine brushed her hair back over her ears and gave him a confused look. She was slightly flushed. Maybe from the cold, maybe from the pregnancy—Darryl didn’t know, but he thought she looked quite lovely in the candlelight.

“What are you up to?” she asked. “You look like a kid planning to steal candy from the convenience store.”

“I think Dad is going to get up early and try to give me the slip,” Darryl said. “He’s up to something, and I intend to find out what it is.”

“He’s not really hunting?” she said.

“I don’t want to make any assumptions, but we’ll see,” he said.

She frowned and said, “Well, if he’s doing something stupid, please don’t go along with it.”

“I won’t.”

And with that, he excused himself and went to bed. Before he lay down, he opened the blinds of the window and parted the curtains. With no alarm to wake him, he wanted the first pink light of sunrise to rouse him. He stripped down to just a t-shirt and sweatpants and removed the top blanket on his bed, hoping that the cold would help him sleep lightly. Then he lay down, folding the blankets so they only came up to mid-chest.

It worked like a charm. He struggled to fall asleep, shivering. Finally, he had to pull the blanket up to his neck, if only to stop his teeth from chattering. It was enough, and he proceeded to skim the surface of sleep through the night. By the time the very first light of morning was shining through the window right onto his face, he was wide awake and ready to go.

He hopped out of bed, trembling violently, and put on his extra layers of clothing. Then he crept to the bedroom door and pressed his ear to the thin wood. It didn’t take long to hear someone moving around downstairs. They were trying to be quiet, he could tell, but the creaky old floors gave them away. Darryl cracked his bedroom door open and slipped through, tiptoeing down the dark, quiet hallway. Every bedroom door was shut.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard the distinctive soft clatter of Horace’s SIG Sauer CROSS being pulled from the mantel, then the softer sounds of his father muttering under his breath.

What are you really up to, Dad? Darryl wondered. Why don’t we find out?

He heard the front door whoosh open and then quietly shut. Once his dad was outside, Darryl felt a moment of intense debate. Was he really going to follow him? His father wouldn’t appreciate him butting into his business. Plus, Justine had asked him not to do anything crazy, and what if his father was indeed up to something crazy?

Just go. You can always turn back, he told himself.

He made his way downstairs, grabbed the Remington off its shelf, and checked the magazine. Loaded and ready to go. He slung it over his shoulder, counted to twenty, then headed outside. His father was already through the gate, but his fresh footprints were apparent. Light snow had fallen in the night, giving him away. Darryl pushed the front door shut and started down the porch steps, following his father’s trail toward the gate.

18

His father’s footprints cut a straight path from the gate to the trees and then directly to the back road. Greg was moving with purpose this morning. Darryl followed him, keeping far enough back to remain unheard and unseen. The fresh tracks made it easy. They led him straight down the back road, as if Dad had intended to go to town all along.

My suspicions were right, he thought. He wasn’t hunting. No wonder he was annoyed by my presence yesterday. I sidetracked him from his secret mission.

Any hesitation or regret he’d had about following his dad was gone now. Indeed, Darryl found himself fighting a growing bitterness toward the old man. Dad had become practically insufferable around the house. He was lousy at keeping secrets, and he’d soured the mood at home with his rotten attitude. Darryl fully intended to tell him so when he got the chance. As he followed the tracks down the road, he worked through the conversation in his mind. Dad could be grumpy and sullen when he didn’t want to talk about something, but Darryl was going to push through.

You’ve been lying to everyone, Dad. You can’t keep secrets like this. Whatever you’re up to, we all deserve to know, because we’re all in this together. You’re old enough that you should know this. Your seventeen-year-old son shouldn’t have to remind you.

At a bend in the road, he thought he caught a glimpse of his father, so he stopped in his tracks and used a nearby walnut tree for cover. They’d gone almost half a kilometer, and his father was leaving the road. Apparently, he didn’t intend to go through town. Darryl waited a few seconds, then resumed following him. Just where the heck was the old man going? Darryl might have thought he was headed for the town hall—Mayor Filmore’s old headquarters—but apparently not.

Dad appeared to be circling east around the town, going wide enough to avoid the houses. However, as Darryl followed his path, he realized there were older tracks moving in the area, many of them. They’d been partially filled in by the previous night’s snow, but they weren’t that old. Who the heck was moving around so much out here in the woods north of Glenvell? They couldn’t all belong to his father, could they?

Finally, on the far side of town, Dad’s tracks curved back to the south. The snow wasn’t quite as deep thanks to the dense tree canopy, but that made it a little harder to follow the tracks. Darryl passed within sight of a home with a small fenced backyard. There appeared to be older tracks that went right up to the middle of the fence, then came out from the gate. Strange.

Another twenty or thirty meters on, he heard sounds coming from straight ahead. He slowed down, taking careful steps and moving from cover to cover. Soon, he spotted his father in the distance. The old man was crouched behind a tree, the SIG rifle poised on a low branch. He was peering through the scope. Darryl had to shift position to get a clear view through a gap in the trees. When he did, he saw the corrugated outer shell of a large warehouse.

He knew the place. Justine’s mother had worked there. A grocery distribution business that had been abandoned after the EMP. The owners of the place lived a few towns over, and they’d never come back. There was a single small door in the side of the building, and it looked like Dad was pointing the rifle in that direction.

So this is it, Darryl thought, his bitterness building. This is what you’ve been lying about for days. You haven’t been hunting. You’ve been hiking out here to this old warehouse to spy on it.

But just what was he doing? Waiting to snipe someone when they came out of the building? Was Dad planning to assassinate a specific person? Darryl hunkered down as quietly as he could and waited. A few minutes passed, and suddenly the side door swung open. Darryl tensed, expecting his father to shoot, but he didn’t He just kept staring through the scope as two people bundled up in black coats and ski pants stepped outside. They spoke for a minute, one of them gesturing broadly, then went back inside.

Maybe those weren’t Dad’s targets, he thought.

His father didn’t move. He stayed right where he was, peering through the scope as the minutes passed. Darryl had had enough. All the anger and tension was making him restless. He rose and began creeping backward. Once he felt like he was a safe distance away, he turned and headed home. He’d seen enough.

Well, I hate to break it to you, Dad, but your secret’s out, he thought, seething. We’ll just get it all out into the open and have a nice chat about your second life as a spy.

It was a long, miserable hike. At one point, he heard an animal scampering about somewhere off to his right, but he didn’t even bother trying to hunt it.

After a good hour or more, he finally came in sight of the ranch and stormed his way to the gate, sliding it open and trudging back across the yard. When he stepped into the living room and set the Remington on its shelf, he found Tabitha, Marion, and Emma sitting at the table eating breakfast. Darryl moved to the couch and dropped down, sinking into the cushions.

“Any luck hunting this morning?” Marion asked.

“Kind of,” Darryl replied, trying his best to keep the seething resentment out of his voice. He wasn’t entirely successful. “I’ll let Dad tell you all about it.”

“Is everything okay?” Marion asked.

He lay down on the couch, leaning his head against the armrest so he wouldn’t see anyone in the dining room. “Everything’s just fine. Like I said, Dad can tell you all about it when he gets back. He’s got an interesting story to tell.”

“What does that mean?” Marion asked.

“Just wait,” he replied. “I’ll let him tell you. He can tell the story a whole lot better than I can.”

“Is there a problem?” Tabitha said.

“Not sure,” Darryl said. “It’s not for me to say.”

He heard Emma make a soft little grunt. Did she already know? Had she figured it out? Maybe. She suspected something was up, but soon she would know for sure. They would all know. Darryl realized it was somewhat hypocritical to force his father to reveal a secret when Darryl and Justine were keeping a secret of their own, but there was a distinct categorical difference. Anyway, Dad’s moping was affecting the whole house.

The others resumed eating. He heard the scrape of forks against plates, the clank of cups on the table, occasional hushed conversation. Maybe fifteen minutes passed before he heard his father tromping up the porch steps. Then the front door swung open, and the old man stood there, silhouetted in sunlight. He’d removed his toque, and his head was steaming, his sweaty blond hair sticking out in strange tangles. Now that he knew the truth, Darryl thought he could see the guilt in his father’s blue eyes. He stepped inside, carrying the SIG in his right hand, and the whole house went still. Tabitha, Marion, and Emma stopped eating.

As Greg was setting the SIG on the mantel above the fireplace, the orange glow of the remaining embers giving him a faint nimbus, Marion finally spoke.

“Any luck out there today?”

He ripped off his gloves and shoved them into his coat pockets. “Nope. Another fruitless day.”

Darryl knew that if he hesitated much longer, it would become increasingly difficult to speak his mind. He sat up, removed his toque, and just let it out.

“I have reason to believe Dad has been spying on the men who knocked down the fence and stole our cow.”

About three seconds of dead silence followed. Darryl glanced to his left and saw the wide eyes of Tabitha and Marion turned in his direction. Emma, on the other hand, was bent over her plate, frowning at the last bites of food.

“Wait, what? That’s not…don’t…” Dad’s attempt at an excuse just sort of crumbled on his tongue.

“I know, Dad, because I followed you this morning,” Darryl added. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the old man. “You were staring at that warehouse through the scope of the rifle for a long time, and you had old tracks from previous days leading to the same spot. You’ve been lying to us about hunting. And that’s why you almost never bring any animals home, because you’re not looking for them.”

“Greg, is this true? Why?” Marion said.

“I knew it,” Emma said, before Dad could answer. “I thought it was weird that he wasn’t checking the fish traps more often. He’s the one who told me when we first set them up that they had to be checked regularly so coyotes or bears didn’t steal what we captured, but then he almost never checked them, even when I asked. Even though he knew the netting was wearing out.”

Darryl sensed his father moving toward him and saw the shadow growing on the hardwood floor in front of his feet. Finally, he looked up into angry eyes, the old man looming over him, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t appreciate that you spied on me,” he said. “I also don’t appreciate that you left the ranch without telling me.”

It was clearly an attempt at intimidation, but Darryl, already stressed out by his own life circumstances, was too angry to be cowed. He rose from the couch and moved into the dining room, sitting down beside his sister.

“You put me in this position, Dad,” he said. “You’ve been moping around the house for days and acting rude to everyone. We all deserve to know the truth. Sorry.”

Greg’s posture changed. The folded arms came down, hands sliding into his coat pockets. His shoulder slumped, and his expression softened.

“I hope you have a good explanation for this,” Marion said. “You’ve been lying to us…to me…for days.”

Grandma hadn’t said a word yet, but Darryl thought her expressionless gaze was the most intimidating of all. She was boring holes right through Greg, as if she were actually staring at some awful thing a thousand meters behind him.

“Okay, fine,” Greg said. “It’s true, and I was going to tell everyone about it eventually. Yeah, I’m spying on people, but these people need to be watched. They pose a threat.”

“If someone poses a threat, then why all the sneaking around?” Darryl said. “Why act like you resent having me go hunting with you? You could have told us. Heck, you could have invited me or Grandma to come with you. What was the point of lying about it?”

“Hey, son, I think you’re forgetting your place here,” Greg said sharply. “I’m your father. I don’t answer to you. If I’m doing what I believe is in the best interests of the family, I don’t have to run it past you for your approval.”

Marion rose then, pushing her chair back and turning to face him, “If it involves some risk to you or any of us, I think it’s fair for me to expect you to discuss it with me. Wouldn’t you say?”

Greg held his hands up. “Everyone’s attacking me for doing what I thought was best for the family.”

“Everyone? Oh, I haven’t even begun to attack,” Tabitha said, in a low voice full of threat.

“Mom, please,” Greg said. In that moment, he sounded whiny and young. “You don’t need to pile on.”

“Please, nothing,” Tabitha said. “You know damn well we have to face any problems together. You know damn well the only reason we’ve survived this long is because we’ve looked out for each other, helped each other, worked together. I don’t respond well to lies, even when they’re well intended. Ask Darryl.”

The sudden turn of blame in his direction caught Darryl off guard. Yes, he had lied and schemed behind his grandmother’s back once, hadn’t he? He’d made a secret trade with the former mayor in the dark of night to obtain medication for Tabitha’s diabetes.

“To be fair to Darryl, this is worse,” Tabitha continued, “so I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes, son. You lied to your whole family, to your own wife, to your mother, for days. The only way to get out of this now is to tell us the truth—the full truth. Now, who the heck are you spying on exactly, and what are they planning? I can maybe accept that you were keeping us out of the loop so we wouldn’t worry, but that phase is over. Let’s hear it.”

At the end of her tirade, a tense silence filled the house. Greg just stood there in the middle of the living room, his hands still poised in the air, but Darryl could see his resistance crumbling. He was clearly intimidated by Tabitha, though she was almost half his size. The boldness that had moved Darryl to pick this fight was all but gone now, and he shrank back into his seat.

Distantly in the house, he heard a door shut, and he knew it was Justine. Perhaps she had started to come down to breakfast, heard the argument, and retreated back into her room. Darryl hoped so. She didn’t need to be in the middle of this.

“Dad, just tell us,” Emma added, practically whispering into the silence. “You know Grandma’s not going to let this go until you do.”

For some reason, her gentle voice was like a haymaker to the jaw after Grandma had lowered his defenses. Greg hung his head and groaned.

“Fine,” Greg said, lowering his hands to his sides. “You want the whole truth? I was trying to keep everyone safe, but I’ll put it all out on the table. Yes, I’ve been spying on someone. I didn’t want to say his name, because I was hoping I could take care of it on my own. I thought if I handled the situation privately, you would never have to know about it, and we could just get on with our happy lives. But what’s the point now? It’s Eustace Simpson, okay? There it is.”

Emma gasped, her eyes went wide, and she leaned back in her chair. Tabitha went the other direction, leaning forward and covering her mouth with her hands. Eustace Simpson. It was a name Darryl knew, but a man he’d never met. Grandpa’s killer.

“He’s alive,” Emma said, in a shocked little voice. “I thought maybe Grandpa…”

Greg shook his head. “I’m afraid he made it out of those woods alive, and he’s set up shop right here in town. Can you believe it?”

As the revelation sank in, Darryl felt a heaviness in the air. The Glenvell community had felt somewhat safer in the aftermath of Mayor Filmore’s death, but now a bigger threat had moved into the area. More than that, they’d all assumed Grandpa Tuck had shot and killed Eustace during his final standoff at the edge of the woods. Now, it was clear that Grandpa had lost the fight, and the enemy had escaped.

“I’ve been spying on Eustace because I intend to kill him,” Greg said, his voice shaking. “He’s got some merry little band of thieves working for him, so I’ve been waiting for the right moment. I don’t want to get in a shootout when I’m outnumbered.”

“This isn’t something you can handle by yourself, Greg,” Marion said. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about keeping my family safe,” he replied, “and I’m thinking about getting revenge. He needs to pay for what he did to my father.” And with that, he looked at each family member in turn. Any shock or shame from having his secret mission exposed was gone from his expression, replaced by a cold, tight-lipped intensity. He ended by fixing his gaze on Emma, who was still leaning back in her chair with a wide-eyed look of shock on her face. “I’m going to avenge your grandfather…and you, Emma. The man who shot you will die for it, I swear to God.”

His comment hung in the air. Darryl could see conflicting emotions on the faces of his mother and grandmother. Clearly, they wanted revenge too, even if they were still upset with all the secrets. As for Darryl, he didn’t know how he felt. Did Eustace deserve to be put down? Certainly, but his primary concern was Justine and the baby. He didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

“Well, what am I supposed to say to that?” Tabitha grumbled finally. “I don’t excuse the lies, Greg. You know better than to be running around in secret. Still, if there’s any man in the world that I’d love to bury out in the backyard, it’s Eustace Simpson.”

And then Darryl heard creaking on the stairs, and he turned to see Justine standing there. She was wearing her winter coat over a t-shirt and pajama pants, walking in her socks. She looked bleary-eyed and half-asleep.

“Why…?” Her voice cracked when she first tried to speak. She wrapped both arms around her belly and cleared her throat. “Why is everyone shouting down here? Don’t you realize how loud you’re being? It’s going on and on. Aren’t you ever going to be done fighting?”

Everyone turned slowly to look at her. Greg still had that cold scowl on his face.

I stirred up a fight, and look at what I’ve done, Darryl thought, feeling the sting of guilt.

“Sorry, dear,” Tabitha said. “We’re just exposing secrets down here, and things got heated, but the worst of it is over.”

Justine started to say something else, but then her face scrunched up, as if in pain, and she burst loudly into tears. Clutching her belly tightly with both hands, she turned and ran back up the stairs, disappearing around the corner. Darryl heard her footsteps moving down the upstairs hall, and he rose to go after her. Greg even stepped to one side to give him clear passage.

“Why don’t you sit down again for a second, Darryl?” Tabitha said, in that low, dangerous voice that only she possessed. It could have stopped a charging bull.

Darryl made it about three steps before he stopped. Justine’s bedroom door slammed shut again.

“Since we’re exposing secrets this morning, why don’t we talk about you and Justine?”

This caused his mother and sister to gasp, almost in unison.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Grandma,” he replied, but his own cracking voice betrayed him. “I need to go check on her. She’s clearly upset.”

“I don’t blame her,” Tabitha said sharply. “Keeping secrets is hard.”

“Darryl, what are you two hiding?” Marion asked.

Darryl was sorely tempted to walk away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Fighting every step of the way, he turned and went back to the dining room, his gaze fixed on the floor. He felt every eye on him, burrowing into him. He made it to the doorway and stopped, leaning his right shoulder against the doorframe. Still, he could see the whites of his grandmother’s eyes at the edge of his vision.

“Why don’t you go ahead and tell us?” Tabitha said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied. “I have to go check on Justine. She’ll be mad if I don’t.”

“She needs more sleep,” Tabitha replied, “but it’s hard to sleep in when you’re sick every morning. I heard her vomiting in the guest bathroom through my bedroom wall just before sunrise. It confirmed my suspicions. How long have you known she was pregnant?”

This went through the room almost as powerfully as the revelation of Eustace’s presence. Darryl saw his mother cover her mouth with her hands, his dad take a step toward him in the living room. On Darryl, this had the effect of making him suddenly angry. Yes, he also wanted to protect Justine from their shock and disappointment.

“We were going to tell you once Justine was ready,” he said. “I’ve known for a few days, that’s all.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Greg said. “Are you serious?”

And that pushed Darryl’s anger over the edge. For the first time in his life, he was sorely tempted to turn and punch his father in the face. He would have done it, if he hadn’t feared the consequences. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek and fought against the sudden surge of fury.

“Dad, I don’t think you of all people have any right to judge us for keeping a secret,” he said. “Well, fine, now everyone knows. Congratulations. Justine will be twice as scared and even more stressed out, and maybe that’ll hurt the baby. Are you happy, Grandma?” And with that, he dared to meet his grandmother’s gaze. He couldn’t manage it for long. Finally, unable to bear all the shocked expressions, he turned away. “I’m going to check on Justine. Just leave us alone, would you? You’ve already made it worse. Don’t even talk to us about it.”

And with that, he stormed off, giving his father a wide berth as he headed toward the stairs, his stomach all twisted up in knots. As he stomped up the steps, no one followed him.

19

Without question, it was the most uncomfortable breakfast of her entire life. Emma was sorely tempted to storm out of the room just like Darryl, but she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. Secrets upon secrets. She couldn’t believe what she’d learned that morning, and she felt a potent mix of incompatible emotions. That awful Eustace Simpson was alive, but they might be able to get revenge on him. Justine had been hiding her pregnancy, but that meant a new baby was on the way. It was all awful and wonderful in equal measure, and she just desperately wanted to get away from everyone to process her emotions.

As she sat there in her seat, forgetting all about the cold food on her plate, Greg stepped out onto the porch. Tabitha and Marion had a whispered conversation, and then they finally got up and went to the porch, as if to convene with Greg. That left Emma alone at the table, for which she was grateful. She moved her food around on the plate with her fork for a few minutes, until she couldn’t stand the smell any longer. Then she rose, pushed her chair back, and stepped out from behind the table.

At first, she wasn’t sure where to go. She might have gone outside to find some task around the ranch that would occupy her time, but she didn’t want to step onto the porch if her parents and grandmother were still arguing about stuff. She considered heading upstairs to her room, but Darryl and Justine were up there. The crying would bother her. Finally, she settled on the den. It had become something of a haven.

She approached the nearest bookshelf, intending to find some big picture book she could idly flip through, when she realized Horace Bouchard was in the room. He’d taken a small padded chair in the corner. His breakfast and morning tea were on the table beside him, and he had a hardcover novel open on his lap.

“Oh, sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” he replied, closing the novel and setting it on the table. He’d unfastened his prosthetic legs and set them on the floor in front of the chair. Emma wondered if they were uncomfortable—they certainly looked uncomfortable—but she wasn’t bold enough to ask.

“I was just going to get a book or something,” Emma said.

“People get pregnant. It’s not really a big deal,” Horace said with a chuckle. “There’s no reason to make them kids feel bad, even if the timing doesn’t seem right.”

“Yeah, I guess I agree with you.” Emma really didn’t want to talk to Horace, of all people, about it. She quickly grabbed a book off a shelf, intending to take it out of the room.

“It means you’re going to be an aunt,” Horace added. “This isn’t just happening to Darryl and Justine. As an aunt, you’ll be really important in the life of this new little baby. They’re really going to need your help, whether they realize it or not.”

His words hit deep. The impact of the revelation had been so shocking that she hadn’t really considered the long-term implications of the baby. Suddenly, she found herself on the verge of tears. Yes, they would need her help. Justine and Darryl were in no position to deal with this all by themselves. Indeed, this realization hit her so strongly, and moved her so profoundly, that she slid the book back onto the shelf and walked right out of the den without saying another word to Horace.

She needed her notebook and a pencil. It was time to begin making a list. Yes, she was going to be an aunt, and she was going to be the best and most supportive aunt ever.

* * *

It continued to be tense and awkward around the house, and Emma found herself walking on eggshells anytime Darryl was in the same room with his parents or grandmother. Justine had become even more reclusive, practically confining herself to her room. Many times as the days passed, Emma considered going up there and breaking the ice with her. After all, if she was going to be an aunt, then that made Justine pretty much her sister-in-law, even if there’d been no wedding. Surely, they should get to know each other. As it was, they’d barely spoken more than a handful of times.

Still, it was a lot more awkward than it should have been, and by the third morning, she had yet to work up the courage to say anything. Instead, she took her extensive list of tasks that she needed to accomplish to help the new mother, and she began picking through the library to find relevant books. The Back to Basics book had included information on pregnancy and natural childbirth, but she wanted more. She grabbed anything that seemed even tangentially related, creating a hefty stack that she kept on the nightstand beside her bed.

Her best find was a thick book called Encyclopedia of Medicinal Plants by someone named Andrew Chevallier. As she worked her way through this one, she took copious notes in her notebook. Anything that might contribute to either the baby’s or new mother’s health got jotted down. Emma had a small desk beside the window in her bedroom, and since it faced the west, she got plenty of sunlight in the afternoon.

Maybe this is why Darryl wanted to finish the greenhouse so badly, she realized. Plenty of fresh vegetables to help Justine keep the baby healthy.

As she worked that day, she could see the rest of her family moving back and forth across the yard. As Emma was preparing for the pregnancy, the others seemed mostly focused on bolstering the defenses against Eustace Simpson. Indeed, just after lunch, as she was flipping through the encyclopedia, she saw Darryl, Tabitha, and Greg building a second platform in another tree on the far side of the barn. As they worked, she could tell Greg and Darryl weren’t talking to each other. Even from this distance, she could feel the unpleasant vibe.

Horace and Marion were working on the fence, adding even more layers and supporting structure to it. Mostly, Emma tried not to think about the fact that Eustace was alive and well in Glenvell. It was a disturbing thought, and as she watched her family at work down below, her right hand went down to her leg, brushing the spot low on her right thigh where she’d been shot. The bullet had passed through, missing anything vital. She’d recovered quite well from being shot, though she still had a knot of scar tissue on both sides of her leg, and she felt little more than a twinge of discomfort when she walked on the leg now.

Don’t think about Eustace, she told herself, trying to drive that big, red face out of her thoughts. Concentrate on the baby.

By the time she was called down to lunch, she’d learned quite a bit and made a few pages of notes. She was so excited that she dared to approach Justine’s bedroom door and knock softly.

“Darryl?” came the muffled reply.

“No, it’s Emma.”

“Oh.” Justine was quiet for a couple of seconds, then said, “Well, you can come in, I guess.”

Emma opened the door and peeked inside. Justine’s room still looked rather empty, even with the growing pile of dirty clothes in the corner. Sprucing the place up might make for another good project. Emma made a mental note. As for Justine, she was sitting in a chair beside the bed, idly flipping through an old magazine. She was wearing her heavy coat and gloves, but the hood was down. Despite this, she was pink-cheeked and had a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She’d pulled her long black hair into a loose ponytail. As Emma stepped into the room, she didn’t look up from her magazine.

“I’ve heard everything,” Justine said. “You can hear people downstairs when they talk loudly, so I know what they’re all saying. Personally, I think I have the right to wait to announce the pregnancy until I feel ready, but whatever. They can all hate me if they want.”

“Nobody hates you,” Emma replied. “They’re just stressed out about the guy in town, you know.”

“Then someone should go and shoot him and get it over with,” Justine said, flipping a page in her magazine. “This isn’t a healthy atmosphere for a baby.”

“I agree.” As soon as she said it, Justine glanced up for the first time from her magazine. Emma pressed on. “Hey, I’ve been doing a bunch of research about pregnancy and stuff, and I learned that lean meat is good for pregnant women. Also, fish is really good for you and the baby, and this one book recommended red raspberry leaf tea. I know we get some wild raspberry bushes in the woods sometimes. Of course, it’s winter, so there won’t be any fresh leaves, but maybe that’s even better. They need to be dried out for tea anyway, right?” She realized she was talking in a blur, so she stopped and took a breath. It was so easy to get worked up when she felt like she was being productive.

At first, Justine just stared at her, knitting her eyebrows in confusion. Then, suddenly, she broke out in a big smile, and it was perhaps the most genuine smile Emma had ever seen the otherwise gloomy girl make.

“Hey, all of that sounds good,” Justine said. “Thanks for doing the research, Emma. I’ve been too nervous to really think about that kind of stuff.”

“Oh, no problem,” Emma said, beaming. “Just trying to do my part to help the baby and the new mom, you know? Heck, I may need to learn this stuff for myself one day.” Her last comment sounded so awkward after she said it that she uttered a strange little laugh and felt instantly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, no doubt,” Justine replied, and resumed flipping through her magazine. “Just maybe be a little more cautious than I was. No rush.”

“Right, right.” Emma had reached her limit. The fit of boldness was gone, so she shuffled her feet for a moment, then excused herself. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything else. Bye.”

“Thanks again,” Justine said, as Emma shut the door.

Though she now felt completely awkward, she’d had a little moment of heartwarming normalcy with Justine Carmichael. That felt like a monumental accomplishment, and Emma headed downstairs feeling quite proud of herself. It made her want to continue being productive, so she grabbed her coat off the coat rack by the front door, pulled on her boots, and headed outside. She decided to join the men in building the new lookout platform, and she didn’t even bother asking. Instead, she just walked right up to them and started rooting around in Grandpa’s old rusty toolbox.

Her father was currently laying boards on the platform, poised precariously on the high step of a ladder, while Darryl cut and smoothed boards on the ground below. Horace was seated on a chair, working with Marion on the fence.

“Emma, if you want to help, you can climb up on the low branch there and start working on the other end of the platform,” Greg said.

The old big-leaf maple tree had a couple of fat, low branches, and Emma pulled herself up onto them, one foot planted on either branch. The other side of the platform was just above her. They’d set it about three meters off the ground, just high enough that someone standing on it could see over the fence clearly. Emma had grabbed a hammer so old that the wood handle had gone soft and smooth. It had a comfortable grip, worn by decades of use. Darryl passed her a few nails, which she tucked into her coat pocket. Then he handed her a long, smooth board.

“Where did we get the wood?” she asked, as she set the board in the framework they’d built.

“Scavenged from the old Carmichael place,” her dad said.

“Justine said it was okay,” Darryl quickly added. “I asked first, of course.”

She was impressed that they were working together, even though they barely addressed each other directly. It was a minor improvement to their relationship, and Emma found that it was comfortable enough to fall into a working rhythm. They worked for a couple of hours, and by then, the platform was essentially complete. It was two meters by three meters, with a low wall on the side facing the fence.

Afterward, they retired back to the house for a late lunch. Marion and Horace had preceded them, having apparently taken a break from reinforcing the fence. When Emma stepped into the living room, she found her mother sitting on the couch, an enormous ball of yarn and knitting needles on the cushion beside her. She held a small magazine full of clothing patterns in her left hand, and when Emma walked around behind her, she realized it was a bunch of baby clothes.

“What are you going to make?” Emma asked.

“I’ll start with a cap,” Marion replied. “Then work on a baby outfit. Our family is about to grow by one. We’d better get ready. There are no clothing stores to go to, so we’ve got to create a whole wardrobe for the little one, including plenty of cloth diapers. I’ve always wanted an excuse to learn some of the more complicated patterns. This is more your grandmother’s area of expertise, but I guess it’s time to develop my skills.”

Darryl was standing in the doorway, knocking the snow off his boots, but Emma thought she saw a brief smile on his face.

“Can I join you?” Emma asked. “I’m not much good at knitting. I prefer crocheting, but I’m always willing to learn.”

“Of course,” she replied, gesturing with her head to the empty couch cushion beside her. “We’re all going to have to work together. We have a few balls of yarn left, but we can salvage more from the ratty old blankets up in the hobby room.”

Emma spent her time learning the basics of knitting from her mother. She wasn’t particularly good at it. She’d only ever been mediocre at crocheting, and knitting seemed more difficult. She just didn’t have a natural talent for it, but she gave it her undivided attention until lunch was ready.

After lunch, she decided to set out for the stream to check the fish nets. All the work that day had been invigorating, but more than that, her brief conversation with Justine boosted her confidence. There was nothing she loved more in all the world than being useful. She grabbed one of her grandmother’s small wicker baskets, just in case they’d caught anything, and added a small cloth bag.

Maybe I’ll gather some red raspberry leaves while I’m out there, she thought. Let’s make it the most productive day ever.

20

Horace knew himself well enough to know that if he allowed sickness to make him sedentary long enough, he’d find it a heck of a lot harder to get back up again. Even though he still felt sickly and weak, he was determined to get off his butt. Half a day of working on the fence had wiped him out, but he wouldn’t allow himself to rest too much. He sat at the dining table for lunch, no more cowering in the den, and that went just fine. Indeed, it went so well that he decided to keep up the momentum.

Of course, he’d heard the entire family argument two days earlier. Horace was no fool. He’d had plenty of his own family drama back in the day. In fact, he’d had a couple of kids who went bad. By the time the EMP hit, he’d already gone a few years without seeing or talking to them, only the occasional birthday card or Christmas card. Yes, he knew how families could fall apart, but at least the Healys had settled again into something resembling peaceful coexistence. How long would it last?

Families are volatile when situations are uncertain, he thought, as he shuffled back across the living room, especially when people’s roles begin to change.

He would have said this to them directly if he thought they’d listen, but maybe they just needed to work it out for themselves. At least he’d gotten through a tiny bit to Emma. Horace intended to keep working until he absolutely couldn’t stand it, but he’d done about as much free walking as he could manage for the day. He needed at least one crutch. His thighs were hurting—they often did when he spent too much time walking around on his prosthetic legs—and his back was sore. He retrieved a crutch from his bedroom, put on his coat, zipped it up, and headed outside.

He already had an idea for a project in mind, though he hadn’t run it past anyone else in the family. Marion had commented on the fact that they had no access to clothing stores or baby supplies, and while she was doing a good job knitting clothes for the little one, Horace knew the baby would also need some kind of cradle or bassinet. He had just the thing in mind. With enough long, thin branches, he could weave a cradle that would be both functional and interesting to look at.

He decided to start looking for supplies in the shed, so he hobbled down the porch steps and made his way around the house, leaning heavily on the crutch as he went. It was slow going, and he had to step carefully in the snow lest he stumble on some hidden object. He was afraid if he went down, he might not be able to get back up. As he approached the shed, he saw movement beyond the barn. Justine Carmichael had taken a turn on the new platform. She was leaning back against the trunk of the tree, her legs stretched out in front of her, and the Remington rifle resting beside her. As she sat there, she was idly moving her feet from side to side in what appeared to be an anxious gesture, and the bright pink boots had drawn Horace’s gaze.

Horace went into the shed and rooted around for a while, but he didn’t find anything that might contribute to making the cradle. All the scrap wood had been used up. He’d hoped to maybe find some old piece of wicker which he could dismantle for parts. No such luck. When he left the shed, he looked toward the new platform again. Justine was standing up now, hugging a branch and hanging her head. Horace headed in her direction, but his creaking crutch must have given him away. She turned and looked down at him.

“Hey, there,” he said, giving her a wave. “They gave you the afternoon shift, did they?”

“No,” she said, with a long, drawn-out sigh. As she often did, she’d pulled her hood all the way up and forward, practically hiding her face. “I volunteered. Darryl was helping his dad with something. I guess they’re pretending to get along. It’s so awkward how they won’t talk directly to each other. Anyway, I’m sick of just sitting up in my room all the time. I start to feel like a prisoner after a while, you know?”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” Horace said. “Believe me. Look at me stumping around on my aching legs.”

She didn’t seem to know how to respond to this, so she gave him an awkward nod and sat down on the platform.

“You want me to take over for you?” he asked. “I’ll cover the rest of your shift, and you can find something more interesting to do.”

She seemed to consider this, drumming her fingers against her chin. “Can you even get up here? Is it safe?”

He gestured at the ladder, which was still propped against the tree below the platform. “I believe so. I’ll take it real slow and careful.” Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he was willing to try. He’d once gotten stranded on the second floor of his own house when his stair lift had broken, but since the EMP, and especially since moving in with the Healys, he’d been pushing himself just a little more.

“Well…if you say so,” she said. “Yeah, I’m getting pretty bored up here, and there’s nothing to see. Just an empty field and trees on the other side of the fence. You can only stare at it for so long.”

She started to grab the rifle, then waved it off, and slowly descended from the platform. She stepped onto the ladder at an angle, and it wobbled. For one awful second, it looked like it might tip over. Horace braced himself, preparing to lunge forward and throw himself in the way. He could at least cushion her fall, even if it meant he took the brunt of the damage. But Justine managed to hook her foot around the step and pull the ladder back into the place.

“We need to install permanent steps or something,” she said, picking her way down the ladder. “I don’t know if you should go up there. You might never come down again.”

“If I get into trouble, I’ll start shouting,” he replied. “Darryl will come running.”

This produced something that was almost a smile from her. Instead of heading back to the house, she lingered beneath the platform. Horace approached the ladder, leaning his crutch against the tree trunk.

“If I fall, just let me fall,” he said, setting his right foot on the lowest step. “You don’t need to put yourself in danger on my account.”

“This might be a bad idea,” Justine grumbled. “I’m not going to stand here and watch you fall down.”

“I won’t fall,” he replied. As he began to climb, his legs and back cried out in protest. No, his body didn’t want to do this at all, but he defied it and kept going. He moved slowly, focusing on every movement. The ladder felt a little shaky, which was disconcerting. Justine finally came over and grabbed the side of the ladder to hold it in place.

“Thanks,” he replied. As he reached the top of the ladder, he thrust his arms out onto the platform and slowly wriggled his body onto it. His stomach lurched. This was a dumb idea, but I did it, by God. He could feel the straps of his legs coming loose as he dragged himself fully onto the platform, and he had to twist around and pull them up onto the edge of the wood.

“I should’ve just finished my shift,” Justine muttered. “I feel bad letting you go up there.”

“I’m good,” Horace replied, tightening the leg straps. “You go on inside and take it easy. I’ll handle things up here for a while.”

Justine groaned. “If Horace Bouchard breaks his back because of me, I’ll never live it down.” And with that, she started back toward the house, shaking her head.

Horace Bouchard’s not going to break his back, he thought. Mark my words. Horace Bouchard still has the fortitude of a CAF soldier.

He grabbed the Remington and pulled it toward him. In truth, he was now utterly exhausted, sweating inside his heavy coat, and out of breath. He pulled off his toque and shoved it in his pocket. It felt like his head was steaming in the frigid air, but he rather liked it. As he sat there, he glanced back at Justine just in time to see her round the corner of the house. He felt bad making her worry.

Maybe I got carried away today, he thought. That bad cold made me restless.

But at least it was done. He settled himself as comfortably as he could on the platform, drew the Remington across his lap, and fixed his gaze on the snowy trees beyond the overbuilt fence. From his place just east of the barn, he could see tracks that had been left on the other side of the fence from people moving back and forth between the gate and the greenhouse. They planned on extending the fence to encompass the greenhouse eventually, but that was going to be a big project. It would require a lot more scrap wood.

As he sat on the platform, looking to pass the time, Horace picked some of the long, thin branches around him, stripping them of needles. He began to weave the branches together in what he thought might become the framework of the cradle. He wasn’t sure if the end result would be something Justine and Darryl would want for their baby. Still, it passed the time, and he didn’t expect to come down from the platform for quite a while.

He’d passed a pleasant hour or so when he noticed something moving within the trees. Thinking at first that it might be some animal, he picked up the Remington and slowly, achingly rose on the platform, bracing himself against the trunk. It was a small black shape behind some bushes just beyond the tree line. Horace watched it shift back and forth. Then suddenly, it strode forward, pushing through the bushes and stepping out of the trees.

It was a man in a heavy, black coat with a fur-lined hood. He stepped out into the open, his head moving from left to right as if he were scanning the fence. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder. Most of his face was hidden behind the high collar of his coat, which had been zipped to the top and raised, and he wore mirrored ski goggles. A second man soon joined him, dressed in a heavy coat and a toque with ear flaps pulled low. He also had a rifle over his shoulder. Then a third man joined him, also dressed in black.

Horace lowered himself onto the platform, lying flat so he was mostly concealed by the low wall on the south side. He raised the Remington, bracing it against the top of the wall, and peered through the scope. Hoping to scare the men off, and also warn the family, he began to utter a high, hoarse cry, a sharp and wordless noise. The three men looked at one another and seemed to be discussing the matter, but otherwise Horace’s weird shrill sound didn’t scare them off.

“Hey! Heyo! Hey!” He continued to shout.

After a moment, he heard the front door slamming shut, followed by footsteps on the porch. He looked over his shoulder and saw most of the family coming around the corner. Greg came first, carrying the SIG Sauer. He’d taken a liking to Horace’s gun for some reason. Horace didn’t mind and hadn’t made an issue out of it. Tabitha came next, Tuck’s Walther PPK handgun in her right hand. Then Marion and Darryl. Horace leaned over the edge of the platform and used hand signals to try to indicate that there were three men beyond the fence. Greg nodded and gave him a thumbs-up.

“What are they doing?” Tabitha asked loudly.

Horace peered over the low wall again. Two of the men had stepped back into the trees. Horace could see them, but they were largely concealed now behind tree trunks. The third man, the one wearing the mirrored goggles, remained out in the open, his hands calmly at his sides, as if he were standing at attention.

An old military man of some kind, Horace realized. He has the posture.

Horace couldn’t tell if the man had spotted him or not. It was impossible to see what he was looking at. Finally, the lone figure strode forward. As he did, he pushed down the fur-lined hood and collar of his coat to expose a black beard and close-cropped hair. He cupped his hands to either side of his mouth, as if he intended to speak. Horace decided not to give him the first word.

“Halt. Don’t come any closer,” Horace shouted, giving his voice its deepest and most intimidating timbre. He could still bellow like a soldier when he needed to. “This is private property, and we are well armed! What do you want?”

The strange lowered his hands, as if surprised by the sound of Horace’s voice, but Horace saw a glint of teeth. The man was smiling.

This fellow looks like trouble, he thought.

21

Greg would have gone outside the fence to confront the men if he didn’t think his family would stop him. Still, he was livid. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had been bold enough to approach the fence, and he wanted to see them face to face. He signaled for Darryl to head to the other lookout platform on the southwest corner of the property. Darryl nodded and set off in the that direction.

“Greg, don’t do anything foolish,” Marion said, lingering beside the barn.

“I won’t,” he replied. “We just need to scare these guys off and make sure they don’t come back.”

He moved to the second platform, just as Horace began shouting at the men beyond the fence. Greg grabbed the ladder that was leaning against the tree, wrapped his right arm around the steps and hoisted it awkwardly off the ground. He lugged it over to the fence and set it down, the SIG in his left hand. Then he mounted the steps. They’d built the fence extra high, but there was a crossbeam halfway up that he could use for extra stability. He planted his left boot there, put his right boot near the top of the ladder, and rose above the tops of the fence posts.

“What do you want?” Horace shouted at the stranger from the platform.

Greg propped the SIG Sauer CROSS on top of the fence and put his eye to the scope, finding the lone figure standing in the snow. He was dressed in a familiar black coat and fur-lined hood, a pair of mirrored ski goggles hiding his eyes. As Horace shouted questions at him, the man appeared to be smiling. Finally, he reached up, grabbed the goggles, and slid them up to his forehead, revealing his face.

He had a broad face, bushy eyebrows, and a thick, black beard. His forehead was deeply lined, with a receding hairline, and a heavy brow. A scar bisected his mouth, cutting through the dark beard and mustache at an angle. The man cupped his hands on either side of his mouth. When he spoke, he had a sharp voice that carried well despite this distance.

“Healy family, I’ve come here to talk,” he said. “Let’s not start shooting at each other. That won’t accomplish anything. You’re easily outnumbered and outgunned, and what’s the use of everyone dying here today? Surely, we can discuss our problems like good neighbors?” As he spoke, he kept that mirthless, toothy grin on his face. Though the man had multiple guns trained on him, and he was standing out in the open fully exposed, he showed not a hint of fear. Greg wasn’t sure if he believed the man’s boast. Were they truly outnumbered and outgunned? Horace had indicated that there were three men, but maybe they’d brought others and hidden them out of sight.

Greg cleared his throat and responded to the man. “We’re not neighbors. You’re a stranger to us, so there’s nothing to discuss. Leave us in peace.”

This only made the man smile even bigger. “Strangers? My name is James Teagan. I am a former United States Marine. You are Greg Healy, patriarch of the Healy clan, and you own this nice, big ranch here. See how much we know each other? That means we’re not strangers.”

Greg had the man dead center in the crosshairs, and he was sorely tempted to pull the trigger. The urge went all the way down to the tip of his finger, and he finally had to move his finger off the trigger and set it against the side of the gun. He would not provoke a gunfight when his entire family was present, especially when he didn’t know the full size of the opposing force. This was something he would have to take care of on his own far away from the ranch.

“What do you want, James Teagan?” he called. He heard Horace shifting position on the platform behind him. As for the others, he wasn’t sure where they’d gone. He wanted to tell Marion to grab the kids and return to the house, just in case bullets started to fly.

“Well, Mr. Healy, I’m very glad you asked,” the man replied. He dared to take a few steps closer to the fence. Greg struggled to track him through the scope. As he did, he briefly caught sight of people moving deep in the woods, but he couldn’t tell how many. “I was brought to town recently in order to help local authorities keep the peace after a rash of violence. I just want to make Glenvell and the surrounding community a safer place for everyone. Now, isn’t that a goal we can all agree on?”

“The former violence was caused by local authorities, James,” Greg replied.

“Now, see, I’ve been told that the violence went both ways,” James replied with a shrug. “In fact, there’s a wild story going around about the former mayor getting ambushed and murdered by a local family, but who am I to spread gossip? I’m just here to help.”

“You work for Eustace Simpson?” Greg asked.

For some reason, this caused James to laugh. “He’s paying me, but I wouldn’t say I work for him. The way I see it, I work for the community. Let’s be honest with each other, Greg. Eustace Simpson is a buffoon. We both know that, and I don’t let him push me around.”

“Good for you,” Greg replied. He had the crosshairs right between the man’s eyes, and he was steady now, and calm enough to keep it there. “I’m sure you have no problem taking his money—or whatever the hell he’s paying you with.”

“We all have to get by somehow,” James said.

Would it really be the worst thing in the world to take this guy out right now? he thought. We have the fence. We’re all armed. We can defend ourselves.

But he also wanted to hear what the man had to say. Maybe he could learn a bit about what Eustace was up to. Still, he struggled.

“What do you want from us, James?” he shouted.

“I’ll level with you, Greg Healy,” James replied, “because I’m an honest man, and you deserve to know the truth. Eustace told us all about your ranch here, your cattle, all of your hoarded supplies. You’ve got a small family living there, and far more supplies than you could ever want or need. Hell, the cattle alone could provide meat and milk for three times as many people. And we’re struggling out here, Greg. This whole community is struggling. It’s tough for people on the other side of the fence. People are working hard, but they need help.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Greg replied. “And why is Eustace Simpson, of all people, pretending to give a crap about this community?”

“Those are very good questions, Greg,” James said. He reached up and grabbed the edges of his goggles, pulling them back down over his eyes. “Let’s just say he’s taken a shine to the place, and he wants to help out. Look, I’m not going to waste your time by trying to sway your opinion. I know how you feel, and I can respect that. So, instead, I’ll get to the point. You’re hoarding supplies, you’re hoarding a nice, big piece of property, and we can’t go along with that.” He pulled the collar of his coat up and adjusted his hood.

“It seems you already stole one of our cows,” Greg replied. “That’s all you’re getting. We’re willing to help a neighbor in need, but our stuff belongs to us. You have no right to it. Take another step toward the fence, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

“Oh, I know, I know,” James said, with another infuriating laugh. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You’ve got me in your sights. I can see that. Hell, you could shoot me right now, if you wanted to. But, look, I’m doing you a favor. Eustace didn’t want me to come here. He just wanted to attack in the middle of the night. I resisted that, Greg. I insisted that we talk to you face to face like men. It’s the decent thing to do, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Sure,” Greg replied. “Say whatever else you came here to say and go away, James.”

“Fair enough.” Greg could tell, even with the goggles on, that the man was now scanning the fence, his head shifting from left to right. Perhaps he’d put the goggles back on to try to hide this, but it was clear he was studying the property, maybe looking for a weakness in the fence. “We want your ranch, Greg. There it is. No more dancing around the issue. We want your ranch and at least some of your supplies. Now, if you want to play it the smart way, you can hand it all over and join forces with us. Become part of the broader community. Let’s pool all our resources and make sure every family is provided for equally. That’s what Eustace is working toward. Doesn’t that sound like the fair and decent thing to do? The neighborly thing to do? We’ll all be safe, happy, and well-fed...one big, happy Glenvell family.”

Greg spotted more movement in the tree, and he shifted the scope, tracking to the right. There were people moving in the shadows. At first, he saw two, then he saw two others, then a big cluster of people even farther back. Just how many people had Eustace sent? How many were lurking out there with guns, ready to back up James Teagan the second he encountered resistance?

He hadn’t responded, and a few seconds had passed. When he moved the scope back to James, he saw the man holding his rifle, not aiming it yet, tapping out a little rhythm on the stock with the gloved fingers of his right hand.

“What if we don’t agree to your terms?” Greg asked. Outnumbered or not, they had to protect what belonged to them. He glanced to his left and saw Marion standing nearby, her eye pressed to a narrow gap between fence boards. “What if we don’t agree to your terms, James? What are you going to do about it?”

“Well, in that case, I’d first have to inform you that most of the community is on our side,” James said. “I’m fairly certain we can take your ranch. Hell, the only reason we’re talking to you is because I insisted on treating you like a respectable human being, but if you’re going to be a problem, we’ll just take it all. Are you willing to pay the price for holding on to it?”

Greg felt an equal measure of seething hatred and cold fear. This was the worst-case scenario, the thing they had tried to prepare for, but really, how could they have prepared? A large group of armed maniacs wouldn’t be held off for long.

Horace spoke up then, his crusty old voice crackling in the winter air. “No, Mr. James Teagan, the real question is, are you willing to pay the price for trying to take it? You’ve got all manner of guns trained on you right now, and we’ve taken care of worse people than you.”

At this, James just shook his head and smiled that damned toothy smile again. “Shooting me won’t solve your problem, because I’m the most reasonable man in the group. You’re a lot better off dealing with me than with any of the others, but if you don’t believe that, go ahead and take a shot. We can set this off right now. Your choice, old man.” He paused a second, as if waiting to see what they’d do, then he said, “Tell you what, I’ll give you a day to think it over. We could burn this whole ranch to the ground right now. I’m sure Eustace would love that, but decent people don’t behave that way. You think about it, Greg Healy. Talk it over with your people, and we’ll see if we can’t come to an agreement tomorrow.”

“Our decision won’t change,” Greg shouted. He said it so loudly it hurt his throat. “We’re staying on our ranch. Go and tell that bloated loser I said so!”

“I’ll pass along the message,” James said, with a big comical shrug. “Talk it over with your people. We’ll meet again and confirm your decision tomorrow. I just hope you make the right choice, for the sake of your children. Don’t let your anger cloud your judgment. We can all benefit from this deal.”

With a final salute, he turned and started back toward the trees. As he did, Greg felt his finger sliding down to the trigger again, as if it had a will of its own. His heart was hammering against his chest, his breath loud in his ears.

This is not the man you need to kill, he reminded himself. James Teagan is just a mouthpiece. If you shoot him, you’ll start a war, and you might never get a chance at Eustace.

That thought alone was the single thin barrier that stayed his hand. As James approached the trees, Greg saw others moving in the shadows again. At least a dozen, he estimated, probably more, they began to converge as they headed off in the direction of town. And then they were gone, and his moment to shoot had passed. He lifted the rifle and turned. When he did, he saw Horace Bouchard looking down at him with a steely gaze.

“If you’d shot him, I’d have backed you up,” Horace said, “but it’s probably good you didn’t. They had the tactical advantage.”

“I’m afraid I’ll regret not pulling the trigger,” Greg said, slinging the rifle over his shoulder, “but it’s done now. We’d better get ready. Looks like we’ll have to kill them all.”

22

Marion had tried her best to keep things positive on the ranch. She never lost her tempter. She was patient with people and tried to mediate tense situations. When Greg and Darryl had revealed their big secrets, she’d tried to respond calmly, withholding judgment until she could speak rationally. She’d fielded numerous complaints from Tabitha, Greg, and Emma, and took it all in stride. But she couldn’t paint over this situation with a veneer of quiet hopefulness. Indeed, she was done trying.

It was a tense and somber group that gathered on the porch after the encounter with James Teagan. Justine had come outside and sat on a corner of the porch with her back to the handrail, Darryl beside her. The first hint of purplish evening light had begun to fill the yard with long shadows, and it seemed ominous somehow.

“He’s got the whole town working for him,” she said. “Either that, or he’s already killed everyone who opposed him.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Greg said. “Eustace can come across as a big gregarious buffoon when he wants to, but he’s a coldhearted piece of garbage all the way to the core. This is why I’ve been spying on him. I was looking for an opportunity to take him out before he provoked a confrontation. I knew he wouldn’t leave us alone.”

“So, his little sidekick gave us a day to think it over,” Tabitha said.

“Well, he said he’d give us a day to think it over,” Greg replied. “I don’t trust him.”

“The offer is bogus,” Marion said. “He wants us to let our guard down. If we’re planning on having another meeting tomorrow, we won’t be ready when they show up early.”

Horace was sitting in one of the rocking chairs, his crutch placed across his lap. The poor old guy was absolutely exhausted, his face twisted up in pain. It had taken a while to get him down off the platform, and by the time he’d hobbled back to the porch, he’d completely run out of energy. He’d leaned the Remington against a corner of the house beside the front door.

“It’s a smart move on their part,” Horace said, then coughed. “Make us think we have until tomorrow, then attack in the middle of the night. That seems likely. They’ll surround the property, come at us from multiple angles. In the dark, it will be hard to see where they’re coming from. Even with our fence, they’ll have an advantage.”

“This makes me wish I’d build a damned stone wall like I wanted to,” Greg mumbled. “It seems like you need an impregnable fortress to survive in this cutthroat world.”

At this, Justine collapsed forward, burying her face in the crook of her arms, which were resting on her knees. Darryl leaned over her protectively and embraced her. “We have to keep Justine and the baby safe,” he said, “at any cost. No matter what that means, or what it takes. We can’t let a single one of those people get over the fence. They could start a fire, take a shot at the house, or…who knows what?”

“Even if this James Teagan guy is a man of his word, Eustace is not,” Greg said, “so we can assume the worst. I don’t know why he chose to come here and try have a dialogue with us instead of launching an attack, but I do not believe for one second that it was for our benefit. They’re scared enough of what we might do to them, so it’s a last-ditch attempt to avoid a fight. That’s what I think.”

Everyone went quiet after that. A stiff, cold wind was blowing, kicking up snow. It bit any exposed skin, so Marion pulled the flaps of her cap down and tied the threads under her chin. Everyone seemed to agree that the offer from James was a fake, but what were they supposed to do about it? Marion didn’t like to consider the alternative, but she knew they had limited time. They couldn’t wait for Eustace and his people to make the next move. Marion expected Tabitha to say something, but she seemed lost in thought.

“Well, it’s not the first time we’ve dealt with someone who wanted what we have,” Marion said finally, “and with the world the way it is now, it probably won’t be the last. We defended ourselves last time, didn’t we? So why can’t we do it again?”

“It’s a little more dangerous this time,” Tabitha said. “For one thing, it seems like we’re dealing with quite a few more people. For another, that Mr. Teagan claims to be a United States Marine, which means he has military training.”

“I have military training as well,” Horace reminded her. “Yeah, those American Marines like to boast and brag, but I’m not afraid of them. I fought in Afghanistan against tougher and more dangerous enemies than him. I could’ve plinked that guy between the eyes while he was blabbing, if I’d wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?” Tabitha said, giving him a sour expression.

“Because a gunfight right then might’ve got us all killed,” Horace replied.

“He’s right,” Greg said. He’d begun to pace, weaving around people as he walked from one end of the porch to the other. Marion could see the fire in his eyes. He was keeping his voice level, but he was all twitchy and anxious, ready for action. Ready to kill. “No, we have to confront Eustace in a manner and at a time that gives us the advantage. It’s my fault for not finding that moment sooner.”

Marion could see nightmare images in her head of what an all-out gun battle at the house would be like. Ambushing the mayor and a few of his cronies had been dangerous enough. “Can’t we somehow provoke a fight far away from the house?” she asked. “That way, it won’t get burned down or shot up in the process?”

Greg stopped and turned to her, smiling. It was a villainous grin, and she shuddered. She’d never seen her husband so hungry for revenge. “You’re absolutely right, Marion. We have to make this happen away from the house, and it just so happens I know where they’re hiding out. The old grocery warehouse on the other side of Glenvell.”

“Where my mom used to work?” Justine said, her voice muffled inside the crook of her arm.

“That’s right,” Greg said.

“You’ll never get in there if they don’t want you to,” Justine said. “Most of it was cold storage. The walls are super thick, and the doors have big bolt latches on them. The whole place is insulated like crazy, and it’s designed to keep people from breaking in.”

“We can pick them off as they try to step outside,” Greg suggested.

“As soon as you get one guy, the rest of them will just go inside and lock the doors,” Justine said. “Plus, they have rooftop access. You’ll never get them all.”

This seemed to diminish Greg’s enthusiasm, and he resumed pacing. Marion found it distracting, and she was tempted to grab him when he passed by for the tenth or eleventh time. A few quiet seconds passed, and then Tabitha suddenly cleared her throat and perked up. She was seated in the other rocking chair, and it creaked as she leaned forward.

“If we need to get some of our people away from the house, there’s a place we can go,” she said. “Tuck and I have an old hunting cabin out in the woods. I don’t know if you remember the place, Greg. We didn’t go there often. Last time I checked on it was maybe a year and a half ago. Did some basic maintenance. As far as I know, it’s still standing.”

“I vaguely remember the place,” Greg said, but he stopped pacing. “I trust you could get us there?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s not livable though. To be honest, it’s a dump, and it’s in poor condition. Still, it’s within a day’s hike from here, in a valley northeast of the stream. There used to be an old hiking trail that led into the valley, but I’m sure it’s snowed under by now. However, we can get there by an access road a couple of kilometers down the main road. The cabin is private and definitely a safer location than the house.”

“What if we stashed some of our people at the cabin, as sort of a safe haven?” Greg asked, making eye contact with Marion. “Then a few others could set up some sort of ambush here at the ranch. That way, when the gunfight ensues, the whole family won’t be in danger?”

“Well, it’s certainly better than leaving everyone here,” Marion said. “Eustace won’t know about the cabin, so anyone that needs to be completely out of harm’s way can hide out there. That means Justine for sure. Darryl can watch over her. I think that would be best.” At this, Darryl hugged Justine even tighter. “I think Emma should be there as well. Emma?”

She turned to look for her daughter. It was only in that moment that she realized she hadn’t seen her daughter for a while. Everything had been so hectic since the confrontation that Marion’s mind had been reeling. She’d just assumed that Emma was in the corner somewhere, as usual, listening to the conversation while working on something or making notes in her notebook. However, as she looked around the porch, Marion realized her daughter wasn’t there.

“Wait,” she said, feeling a sudden surge of dread. “Where is Emma? Has anyone seen her?”

23

The raspberry bushes were more plentiful than Emma had realized. Once she’d started looking for them specifically, she found them growing between the trees in abundance close to the small stream. There were far more than she could ever need, enough to keep Justine in red raspberry tea for the rest of the year. Before gathering them, however, she headed down to the stream to check the fish traps.

The small stream ran down a rocky gully about two hundred meters beyond the back fence of the ranch. Ice had formed around the rocks along the edges, but the middle of the stream was still liquid and running swiftly. The fish traps were hung from a couple of nylon ropes that had been strung from tree to tree over the stream. Formed of wooden baskets covered in netting, they had small openings on the upstream side. Greg and Darryl had come up with the design, but Emma had recently repaired some of the netting, making it stronger.

A pulley system on the trees allowed them to reel in the nets toward the water’s edge, where they could be accessed from relative safety. It was a simple but smart design, and Emma only wished that she had thought of it first. She approached the sturdy pine tree on the west bank and began pulling at the bottom rope. The little pulley wheels had a bit of ice on them, and they cracked and squealed as she pulled in the traps.

As the first trap reached the shallow, rocky water, she saw a silvery shape flopping about within. She moved closer to the water, sliding her hand along the bottom rope. When she got to the icy rocks, she knelt down, grabbed the handle of the fish trap in her gloved hands, and lifted it out of the water. It was a good-sized fish, some kind of trout, she thought. She set the trap on the rock, tipped it, and opened the side hatch. Then she reached in and grabbed the trout, fighting with it for a few seconds as she attempted to get it out of the trap.

“Filleted and sautéed in a pan with some butter,” she said, placing the trout into her basket and shutting the lid. “That’s how you’ll taste best. Yum!”

She found a smaller trout in the second trap, and she put it in the basket with the larger one. They flailed and flopped against each other as she closed the lid. The third trap was empty, but two fish was better than usual. She set the traps back in the water, rose, and pulled the top rope to move them back out into the middle of the stream. As she started away from the water’s edge, the wriggling fish made it hard to hold on to the basket, so she finally had to move it in front of herself and grab the handle with both hands.

Still, she was so proud she could scarcely think straight. She’d found an abundance of raspberry leaves, enough fish to make almost an entire meal, and she’d done it all by herself. Justine would feel better knowing that the baby’s future aunt was looking out for her, and perhaps her family would finally take note of her contributions.

She checked the latch on the lid to make sure it was secure and started back toward the house, following the path she’d already made with her boots through the snow. As she worked her way back through the woods, she came across another large raspberry bush she hadn’t noticed on her to way to the stream. It was half-buried in the snow beside a lumpy little tree.

Emma had to kick her way through a knee-deep snowdrift to get to it, but she didn’t want to pass it by. This single bush would provide enough leaves to fill the bag she’d attached to the side of her handbasket. A brisk wind had begun to blow, kicking up snow and filling her ears within her hood with a high howling sound that drowned out everything else. In her heavy coat, ski pants, deep hood, and toque, she scarcely felt the cold. Indeed, she’d worked up enough of a sweat to feel rather comfortable. She wasn’t in a hurry to go back home, where things continued to be tense, if cordial.

She set the basket down in the snow and cleared some of the ground around the big raspberry bush. Then she began plucking the best of the leaves, carefully placing them in the bag. They were perfectly dried out by the winter weather. Of course, she’d never actually tasted red raspberry tea. She’d only read about it, and they were all out of sugar. Hopefully, it wasn’t too bitter. Justine could be a bit picky, and Emma didn’t know her taste preferences.

The bag was almost full when she heard a strange noise just beneath the whistling wind. It was like a low wheezing sound, and her first thought was that an animal had snuck up behind her. Maybe a bear or coyote. Both were rare in this area, but it wasn’t unheard of for the big creatures to wander down into Glenvell from the deeper woods and mountains. Emma dropped the leaves that were in her hand and whipped around, her left hand going instinctively to the ground around her, feeling for some kind of makeshift weapon.

Instead of a snorting grizzly bear, she found a man standing behind her. He was as broad as a barn, a girthy giant in a green coat. While a toque covered the top of his head, his massive red beard protruded like a mane, dusted with snow, his breath steaming in its depths. Emma went instantly cold, and she began to shake uncontrollably. Yes, she knew him. The memory of his face, his unhealthy breathing, the shifty eyes, had come to seem unreal in the weeks since she’d been carried out of the wilderness. Seeing him now in the flesh, the man who had tried to kill her, was such a shock that for a few seconds, she couldn’t move.

Another man was standing directly behind his left shoulder. He was dressed all in black and had mirrored goggles over his eyes. He also had a rifle slung over his shoulder, and he was smiling. At first, Emma thought it was just the two of them, but then she saw other people moving through the trees circling around to her left and right, as if to cut off escape. One of these people she recognized, a stern-faced woman with hateful brown eyes: Officer Pam Grasier.

“Now, what in the world are you doing out here all by yourself?” Eustace Simpson said, pressing his hands to his prodigious belly, as if to contain his amusement.

“Nothing,” she replied. “None of your business. Leave me alone.”

She looked left and right. Two on either side, two directly in front of her. The only escape path was behind her, through the raspberry bush. She was frozen in fear. Where had these people come from? What had made them follow her tracks to the stream? Emma glanced at her basket, which was sitting in the snow nearby. How fast could she grab it and run?

“I can’t believe your father would let you come out here alone,” Eustace said. “That doesn’t seem very smart, especially after picking a fight with half of Glenvell.”

As the initial shock released its hold on her, Emma felt a frantic urge to get away. She gauged her exit again. Pam Grasier was blocking her clearest path back to the house.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emma said to Eustace. “I was just gathering food. You should leave people alone when they’re minding their own business. Haven’t you got someone else to harass?”

She lunged then, grabbed her basket, and took off running. Stepping high in the snow, she flung her body through the bushes, feeling them rip and tear at her clothes. It was too slow. It was like trying to run away in a dream. The terrain was against her.

“Grab her,” Eustace said.

Pam Grasier moved in from the right. Emma saw her shadow cutting off her escape route. A second person closed in from behind, crashing through the bushes just as Emma pushed past them. Running with the basket was a problem. It was heavy, and it kept slamming against her hip, but she wouldn’t let it go. Indeed, as Pam Grasier rushed at her, Emma swung the basket, using it as a makeshift weapon. Pam slowed and lunged to one side, batting at it.

Just then, arms wrapped around Emma from behind, and she was driven to the ground. The weight of her attacker pushed her under the snow, and she felt a moment of full-blown panic. This, in turn, caused her to thrash, and she began kicking behind herself wildly. There was a crust of ice on top of the snow in some places. When she broke through it, she felt a sharp edge of ice jab her on the leg, but the pain only made her fight harder. She felt some of her blows connecting, and she heard a man’s voice cussing.

“Stop fighting. Just stop it.” She didn’t recognize him. This wasn’t the unhealthy moistness of Eustace Simpson. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Strong hands hoisted her off the ground and flung her onto her back. In the process, she lost the basket and caught a glimpse of it landing on its side, the lid latch breaking as it opened. The trout spilled out onto the snow. This turned panic into fury. A man was looming over Emma, the guy in the mirrored goggles. She could tell he was strong, well-built, and his teeth were clenched as he reached for her.

“No, I’m not going with you,” she shrieked, her voice carrying far and wide in the woods. “Get away from me!”

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 can 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.

As they stepped through the door, the girl began to struggle with renewed vigor. She managed to turn her head and get her mouth out from under Benny’s gloved hand.

“My dad is going to kill you,” she shrieked. “He’s going to kill all of you!”

This only made Eustace laugh harder. Benny clamped both of his hands over the girl’s mouth, but this also put him right up against James. The guy had a serious case of halitosis. James gagged and pressed his nose against his own sleeve. Beyond the back door, a short hallway led to the office, which was little more than a closet with a desk and chair.

“We’ll put her in here,” Eustace said, waving them toward the office door. “It’s fairly secure. We can lock the inner and outer door.”

They hauled the girl into the office. A narrow window on the door allowed a bit of light to filter in from the warehouse floor, but otherwise, it was dim and cold. They set the girl on the chair. As soon as James let go of her, she began fighting them again.

“You’re only hurting yourself,” he said, grabbing her arms and pulling them behind the chair. Indeed, she’d developed a rather ugly bruise beneath her right eye at some point. “Calm down. You don’t have the strength to break free, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, I hurt you,” she replied. “I hurt you, and I’m glad.”

It took four people to hold her in the chair as Eustace produced zip ties. Using the zip ties, he fastened her hands to the support posts of the chair and fastened the chair to the legs of the desk. Only then, out of breath and crying, did the girl finally seem to give up. She slumped back in the chair and shut her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Just stay here and be good,” James said. “Don’t make things worse for yourself or your family.”

And with that, he retreated from the office, beckoning the other goons to follow him. Eustace came last, pausing a few seconds to gloat over his captive. Finally, he left the office, pulling the door shut behind him and locking it. James could see the girl through the narrow window, a gray shape in the darkness seated behind the desk like an office drone who had fallen asleep at work.

As soon as Eustace turned back around and pocketed the key, James stepped in front of him.

“Hey, boss, can I talk to you privately?” he asked. He was impressed with his own ability to moderate the tone of voice. Despite the fact that he was a seething cauldron of contempt, he managed to sound calm and collected. “Not in front of these other guys.” He gestured at the other guards who were lingering outside the office.

“What about?” Eustace said, his eyes narrowing.

“For your ears only,” James replied, and he even managed something that was almost a smile.

Eustace nodded, though his lips were pursed. “Okay,” he said, making a small signal to Pam Grasier. “Go keep an eye on the front of the building. Donald, Benny, the rest of you, do whatever she says. Go on.”

“Fine with me,” Pam replied, in a voice that suggested otherwise.

She turned, beckoned the other guards, and walked deeper into the warehouse. A wall with a heavy fire door cut down the middle of the warehouse. James waited until they passed through the door before he turned back to Eustace.

“Let’s talk over here, boss,” James said, moving toward the back door of the warehouse. “Don’t want the kid to overhear what I have to say.”

Eustace followed him, a weird little look on his face—half curious and half annoyed. One red eyebrow was climbing his mottled forehead, and James was sorely tempted to smack it back down into place.

“Are you going to scold me now?” Eustace said.

“Let’s call it constructive criticism,” James replied, still maintaining his even tone and restrained demeanor. “You can handle that, can’t you? You’re not just paying me to be muscle. You’re also paying for my expertise. At least, I hope so.”

Eustace glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one was within hearing, but his other little cronies had already disappeared into the front half of the warehouse.

“I didn’t want to share this in front of the others,” James said. “I’m trying to protect your authority. Keep that in mind. The others don’t need to know how frustrated I am with you.”

“Oh, so it is a scolding,” Eustace replied, with a sour expression.

“I’ve done a lot of work for you over the years,” James said. To ensure he had the man’s undivided attention, he stood directly facing him, staring into his eyes, his back straight and shoulders squared off. “All of the past jobs were pretty straightforward. Bribing officials, threatening environmental activists, a bit of property damage here and there, even some wet work. You’ve always paid well, half upfront, made your intentions clear, provided whatever tools I needed, and you never got in my way. That’s the only reason I was willing to work for you again. I didn’t come to Glenvell to babysit Eustace Simpson. Remember, I first came here looking for my sister. When you offered me a job, I agreed based on my past experience with you.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Eustace said. He wouldn’t maintain eye contact with James, and he kept idly scratching his beard, as if it were infested with lice. But he was mostly just infested with stupidity, and that could never be scratched out. “You’re here to do a job, and you’re still doing it. Don’t get impatient, James. It’s all going to be worth your time. I’ve never let you down.”

“It would have been better if you’d left town and come back when I was done,” James said. “All you’ve done is complicate everything. You wanted control of the whole community, and I’ve given you that. We’ve bribed some, bartered with some, threatened the rest. I even made one or two disappear. All that remains is the Healy ranch out there on the other side of town, and I would have them under my thumb by now if you hadn’t been so stupid.”

“What did I do?” Eustace said.

“Picked a fight,” James said. “Stealing a cow was a dumb idea, and I should’ve stopped you. It was stupid chest-thumping macho nonsense. And now you’ve kidnapped a kid. What the hell were you thinking? She’s thirteen, fourteen, and you’ve got her tied up in the office. What’s wrong with you? I could have swayed the Healys, just like I did all the other families in town, but you had to go blundering about like the big half-wit you are!” He finally allowed a little heat to enter his voice, and it had the desired effect. Eustace took an anxious step backward holding up his hands as if he thought he were about to be punched.

“You need to calm down, James,” he said. “You’re overreacting. Kidnapping the kid will force Greg’s hand. There’s no way he’s going to choose his ranch over Emma, and when he comes to get her…” He mimed a gun with his thumb and forefinger, like a kid pretending to be a cowboy, and fired at the invisible Greg.

“Forcing his hand isn’t to our benefit,” James said, and again he allowed some heat to enter his voice. “I gave him a choice. If we’d left it at that, the family might have made a more rational decision. They might have packed up and left the ranch in the middle of the night, and then the problem would be solved. Now, Greg Healy is going to be a man on edge. We’ve taken his daughter, and he’s liable to do crazy things to get her back. Before, we could have cut a deal with him. Now, that option is off the table.”

“He was already a man on edge long before you showed up.” Eustace said. “You had no chance to reason with him, okay?”

“And why is that, Eustace? Why is that? Did you do something to him before I took this job?”

A slow smile crept over Eustace’s face. “Let’s just say, I got in a little showdown with his papa once upon a time, and I won.”

For a moment, James felt his control on his emotions slipping, and he had to turn away to ensure he maintained his composure. “That’s a detail you might have shared with me before. So he’s been out for blood from the beginning.”

“Yes,” Eustace said, “And that’s exactly what I want. If he’s irrational, he’ll be reckless. Don’t forget who’s paying you, James. I’ll take a little constructive criticism, but I expect you to do a good job. Let Greg Healy come. Let him be half out of his mind. We’ll be ready for him. We’ll be ready for his whole family. You can handle it, eh?”

James groaned and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d said his piece. What was done was done. Now, he just had to deal with the cards that had been dealt. “Of course, I can handle it. You know what I’m capable of.”

25

Darryl hated the thought of turning back, but once it was clear that Emma had been taken all the way to the warehouse, they knew they had no choice. They would never get inside the building if they just tried to storm in blindly. It was a big, sturdy structure, filled with Eustace’s armed guards, and they had no idea where Emma was being held. Still, they spent a few excruciating minutes trying to accept that they would have to go back home and formulate a better plan to rescue her. Darryl felt about as low as he’d ever felt. He stood there listening to both of his parents cry and argue, and all he could do was stuff his hands in his pockets and stare at the ground.

“We’ll get her,” Greg said. “We’ll do it the right way. If we rush in, one of us is liable to get hurt. Emma is liable to get hurt. We can’t let that happen.” It was a remarkably rational decision from a guy who’d been acting quite irrationally and emotionally in recent days. Darryl could see the terror on his face. Perhaps it wasn’t a rational decision after all, but a decision made out of fear.

“James gave us until tomorrow,” Marion replied, furiously swiping the tears from her eyes, as if they angered her. “We have to make our move before then. Otherwise, they’ll show up with Emma, a gun pressed to her head, and we’ll be forced to surrender.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Greg said. “We’ll make our move, but we’ll do it the right way—planning and working together.”

“I should be glad to hear you say that now,” Marion said. “If only you’d been thinking that way before.”

The three had trudged back to the ranch in misery and silence. Rarely had Darryl felt so scared or so defeated. When they passed through the gate, Tabitha rose to greet them on the porch, but she must have read their expressions. She slumped back down onto her rocking chair, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

“They got her,” she said. Not a question. “Those awful men captured our baby girl.”

But Greg and Marion marched back into the house without a word. Darryl lingered a moment at the steps, waiting until Tabitha followed them. He wanted to collect himself before he went to see Justine. He could feel something awful welling up inside him, a potent mix of terrible feelings that threatened to spill over. And what would happen then? He didn’t know, but he didn’t want to dump all of this on poor Justine.

Standing there on the porch steps didn’t help, however. If anything, he felt himself spiraling downward fast, so finally he grabbed the snowy railing and dragged himself up to the porch and through the front door. As he stepped into the living room, moving in a dark fog, he sensed people at the dining room table. Father, mother, grandmother, Horace, all bent over and speaking in hushed tones. Darryl pulled his boots off and set them beside the coatrack.

As the others continued to talk, he turned the other way and went up the stairs, setting the Remington rifle on its shelf in passing. He found Justine in her room. She was sitting in her chair beside the bed, staring out the bedroom window. It looked like she’d wiped the frost off the glass. Darryl shut the bedroom door behind him, crossed the room, shedding his coat in passing. Then he turned and collapsed onto her bed.

“What happened to her?” Justine asked.

“Captured,” he replied, and that single word almost made him burst into tears. He fought it mightily, rolling away from Justine just in case he failed. “Eustace and his men ran into her when she was coming back from the stream, and they dragged her away. Mom and Dad think they’re holding her hostage so they can use her against us, force us to give up the ranch.”

He felt Justine’s hand on his side, patting him gently. That small gesture of tenderness brought out the first tears, but he quickly blinked and let them fall onto the quilt.

“That means they won’t hurt her,” Justine said. “Probably. They can’t use her as a bargaining chip if they’ve already hurt her, right?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The only thing I know for sure is that it’s my fault.”

“Don’t say that,” Justine replied. “It’s nobody’s fault except the people who did it. If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at Eustace and his gang. They’re the ones who caused all of this trouble in the first place. Eustace is the one who started it up there in the mountains, and he’s the one who brought it down into Glenvell.”

He wanted her words to take root, but they just wouldn’t. “You know, I always saw my dad as a heroic person. I aspired to be liked him. He was someone who always did the right thing, never made mistakes—or, if he did, he apologized right away and tried to fix it—but it turns out, he’s not like that at all.”

“What do you mean?” Justine asked. She had shifted to the edge of her chair so she could lean against him. Despite his frustration, Darryl felt comforted by her presence.

“He always complained about Grandpa being aloof and distant,” Darryl said, “but here he is running around in secret, spying on people and planning assassinations without telling anyone, stirring up big trouble. By the time I forced him to admit it to everyone, he’d made things so much worse, and now look what’s happened? He screwed up.”

“So you think it’s your father’s fault, then?” Emma asked.

Darryl wanted to say yes, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He shifted slightly so he could see the bedroom window. Justine’s clear spot was slowly frosting over again.

“No, like I said, I blame myself,” he said. “I should have seen what was going on with Dad a lot sooner. I knew he was acting weird, but I was too caught up in my own little world to do anything about it. I just assumed the best for a while because he’s Dad, you know? That’s on me. If I’d confronted him right away, as soon as I realized he was in a strange mood, we could have avoided all of this. We would have known about Eustace, and we could have all made a plan together. Maybe some of us could have relocated to Grandma’s hunting cabin a lot sooner, and Emma would be okay.”

He felt tears burning in his eyes again. He turned his face so Justine wouldn’t see. She finally got out of her chair and lay down on the bed beside him. It was a twin bed, so it was tight fit. Darryl shuffled closer to the wall to make room for her as she put her arm around him. For a while, they just lay there together. He reached up and grabbed her hand, holding it tightly, though the angle was awkward.

“In a way, I guess it’s just part of growing up,” she said, after a few minutes had passed. “Somewhere along the way, you realize your parents are just people, mostly doing the best they can but sometimes making big mistakes. At least your dad still has the opportunity to make it right. Look at what happened to my parents. Their mistake cost me my whole family. So it could be a lot worse.”

“I know. I know,” he said, softly. Yes, of course, she’d been through much worse, and it made him feel guilty for complaining. Justine had lost her parents and her little sister. What if the same thing happens to me? He didn’t want to say it out loud. “I just don’t know what to do. If anything happens to Emma, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Your grandma is a tough lady,” Justine said. “She’ll think of a way to rescue Emma. I just know she will.”

Darryl heard the jostling of the doorknob then. Startled, he sat up, and in the process, Justine was almost pushed off the bed. He reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her up with him. It took a few seconds of fumbling around before they both managed to position themselves on the edge of the bed. By the time they got there and Darryl looked up, he saw his father standing in the open doorway.

He’d taken off his coat, and the long-sleeved t-shirt underneath was soaked with sweat. He’d also removed his toque, and his hair was all in wild disarray. Darryl almost apologized, giving him the usual excuse: Justine and I weren’t doing anything, just sitting here. But he was irritated enough with his father that he decided not to. Let him think what he wanted.

“Darryl, can I talk to you privately?” Greg said, leaning against the doorframe. “Sorry, Justine, it won’t take more than a few minutes.”

“That’s fine with me,” Justine said, shifting back over to the chair. “You guys need to talk anyway. Don’t rush it.” She grabbed a book off the small table beside her chair and set it in her lap.

With a sigh, Darryl rose from the bed. Was this a conversation he wanted to have? Maybe not. He didn’t think he could say to his father everything he’d just said to Justine. It was too cruel. Still, how was anything ever going to get resolved if they didn’t start being more open with each other?

Maybe he just wants to plan the rescue mission, Darryl thought, as he headed for the door. That’s more important than resolving our differences.

His father backed up and led him down the hall. They went into the hobby room, which was otherwise unoccupied at the moment. A large blue couch sat beneath the window against the far wall, a recliner in one corner, and a bean bag in the other. A massive dresser with a bunch of shelves on top dominated the room. It was positively overflowing with sewing and knitting supplies, pattern books, knickknacks, little kitsch objects, and small boxes.

Greg shut the door as soon as Darryl entered. Then he headed to the couch. It seemed like he was going to sit down, but he remained standing. The room was dimly lit. None of the many candles on the dresser were lit, and a thin curtain covered the window. After a moment, Greg turned to face Darryl, who had lingered by the door.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

That these were the first words out of his mouth surprised Darryl. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected. Excuses, maybe, explanations, but not this.

“Okay,” Darryl replied. “For what?”

“For everything,” Greg replied. And now he did sit down, dropping onto the couch with a huff. He patted the cushion beside him, but Darryl ignored it. He much preferred to stand. “I couldn’t seem to focus on anything but killing Eustace. I wanted revenge so badly after what he did to my dad that it took over my mind. I tried to let it go. Some of his people actually chased me through the woods at one point. I came very close to being killed that day, but I couldn’t let go of my need for revenge. I kept thinking about the day we went to retrieve Tuck’s body from beside the old rusted-out car. It was all so cruel and unnecessary. It just filled me with rage, and I lost sight of everything else.” He held up his hands and gave Darryl a sad look. “There’s no excuse for it. I take full responsibility, and I’m sorry.”

An apology is the least you can do, Darryl thought, and he wanted so badly to yell just then. Checking the fish traps was your job. You set those traps out there in the first place. Emma wouldn’t have gone out there if you’d focused on taking care of your family instead of running stealth missions against Eustace.

He wanted to say it so badly, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew damn well it had taken monumental effort for his father to humble himself and apologize like that. Nothing would be solved now if Darryl kept the fight going. And anyway, he shared plenty of the blame with his father. He could have checked the fish traps himself.

Darryl took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It seemed to take much of the anger with it.

“I know you were trying to do the right thing,” he finally managed to say. “It must have been hard dealing with this all by yourself. I forgive you, Dad.”

That seemed to release some darkness in his father. He bent forward, putting his face in his hands, and the tightness in his shoulders seemed to melt. Darryl thought he might cry, but instead, he just sat there quietly for a minute. Finally, he lifted his head, the sadness replaced by a tight-lipped look of determination.

“Son, I need your help,” he said quietly. “We have to get Emma back.”

“Let’s do it,” Darryl replied. “Whatever it takes. I’m ready.”

26

Marion was conflicted. Yes, on a deep level, she wanted to kill them all. How dare they threaten her family? How dare they take her daughter? On a higher and more rational level, she was tempted to give Eustace the ranch. Was it really worth putting her family at risk to hold on to a piece of property? They could always relocate somewhere safer, somewhere farther away. Heck, maybe the hunting lodge could be converted into a small family farm. It seemed like the reasonable thing to do, even if it failed to satisfy the primal desire for revenge.

They’d talked it over endlessly, looking at the issue from all angles. Indeed, Marion was practically talked out. Now, she sat at the dining room table, fiddling idly with a folded napkin as Greg went upstairs to talk to Darryl. That was a rift she had insisted he mend. She would not put up with any more unresolved conflict between those two, and it fell on Greg to make it better. Fortunately, he hadn’t fought her over the issue. When she’d told him to go upstairs and apologize, he’d swallowed his pride for once and left the dining room.

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 replied. “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.

“Why don’t they take the diesel inside?” Darryl wondered aloud. “Seems like it would be safer that way.”

“Not sure,” Greg replied, “but they might be afraid to stockpile it inside the building because of the fumes. If I had to guess, I’d say the generator isn’t producing enough power to run the ventilation system inside the warehouse. I mean, they’ve got a heck of a lot of it sitting there. Each of those drums is probably two hundred liters, and I count eight barrels.”

As Greg was talking, Darryl watched the first guard step outside again. He caught a hint of the man’s face. He had big round cheeks and large eyes, bad skin, and curly black hair. He also had an AR-15 rifle in his arms, and once he was outside, he proceeded to walk the perimeter of the parking lot. Darryl watched him as he circled the entire warehouse property.

“Well, they’ve got a guard strolling the parking lot now,” he noted. “This is getting more complicated. We have to make a move soon, Dad. The longer we sit here, the more time they have to prepare for us.”

He heard a soft sound and looked over to see his father removing his backpack and setting it on the ground. Unzipping the big pocket, Greg rooted around inside.

“Keep an eye on the warehouse,” he said to Darryl. “Make sure the guard is following a consistent pattern.”

Darryl looked back through the scope and soon spotted the big-cheeked guard. Indeed, he seemed to be walking a regular circle around the entire property, making the circuit approximately every twelve minutes. When he reached the side door, he would pause in front of the barrels, turn in the direction of town, and aim the rifle for a few seconds, before resuming.

As Darryl watched, he heard the soft sound of towel-wrapped tools. After a minute, he heard the backpack being zipped up again.

“Okay, look, son,” Greg said, “there’s no way to do this without taking a big risk.”

“I realize that,” Darryl said. “The bigger risk is letting them continue to hold Emma hostage, so I’m ready to do whatever it takes to get her out of there.”

“Good. Take this.”

Darryl turned to his father. He was holding a small tool out to him. Darryl recognized it as an awl, with a bulb-shaped wooden handle that seemed about fifty years old, a long shank of dark metal, and a tip that seemed like it had been routinely sharpened over the years. When Darryl took it, his father then offered him a small mallet. He tucked both tools in his coat pockets.

“Puncture a hole in the side of one of those metal drums,” Greg said. “Let the diesel flow out onto the ground, then light it.” He next handed his son a plastic cigarette lighter. “It’ll take a while to get it burning, so hang in there. Diesel doesn’t combust like gasoline. But once it’s burning really good, get away from the flames.”

Darryl tucked the lighter in beside the awl. “Got it.”

“Don’t be afraid to make a big scene,” Greg added. “In fact, that’s what we want. We want them to rush to the fire. In the immediate confusion, I’ll break in and snatch Emma, and then we’ll run like hell. The timing is going to be important, and we’ll have to act fast.”

Darryl’s heart was pounding. He could feel it in his throat, in his temples, in the tips of his fingers. This was about to happen. Somehow, it hadn’t seemed entirely real until this moment. He retrieved the Remington, checking it again to make sure it was loaded, that the safety was off. It had become somehow familiar and reassuring. He also reached into his coat pocket, pushing past the awl to find the extra magazine.

Not handy enough, he thought. He moved the awl to the other pocket and readjusted the magazine so he could grab it quickly.

“You don’t want the SIG?” his father asked.

“I’m more comfortable with the Remington,” he replied, “especially if the people are close.”

Greg had taken the SIG, but he reached out and grabbed Darryl’s arm. “Remember: Don’t be afraid to make a big scene. I need you to draw them all to the north side of the warehouse. A big fire will do it. Maybe some noise and chaos, as well. Try to avoid a firefight, if you can, but if someone finds you before you start the fire…” He cocked his head to one side. “You know what you have to do.”

Darryl nodded. It wasn’t the first time, of course. Indeed, this all felt rather familiar, though the last time he’d been caught in the middle of an actual gun battle, he’d been crawling along the ground trying to avoid the bullets.

“Do you think you’re going to be able to handle this?” his father asked.

He wants to know if I can kill a person, Darryl realized. It was a fair question. Greg had been close but not actually present during the fight with Mayor Filmore and his guards. Then again, Darryl hadn’t actually shot anyone then. He considered his father’s question.

“Yes, I think I can,” he replied, after a moment. “If it comes down to it and I have to shoot some of these people, I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

At least, I hope it won’t, he thought.

His father nodded and clapped him on the back. “Okay, let me take a look and see where the perimeter guard is located.” He raised the SIG and peered through the scope. “As soon as he heads around the corner, I’ll give you the signal. Move fast. Don’t let them know you’re coming, but move fast.”

“Got it.”

Darryl stepped around the trunk of the tree, crouching slightly so he could take off at a sprint. He saw the corner of the warehouse between the trees in the distance. With the naked eye, it seemed so far away. He tightened his grip on the rifle and took deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

“Now,” his dad said. A single word, soft as a whisper, and filled with so much dread.

Darryl let the breath out in a rush and took off at a sprint, trying to step as lightly as possible as he weaved his way toward the distant gap. From behind him, he heard his dad moving in a different direction, but he couldn’t look back now. They were each on their own.

As he drew near the parking lot, he slowed down and diverted his course, aiming for the well-worn path that Eustace and his guards used to travel to town. He turned in the direction of the side door, realizing now just how visible he would be to anyone who opened the door at that moment. Not much he could do about it. He raised the gun and aimed it at the door, his finger sliding down to the trigger.

It seemed strange that his father had simply trusted him with this dangerous task and sent him on his way. The risk was extreme, but it was perhaps the first time in Darryl’s life that his father had treated him as an equal, like a competent man who could handle a dangerous task all by himself. More than that, his father trusted him enough that the whole rescue of Emma hinged on this task. If Darryl failed to draw the guards to the side door, Greg might not be able to get inside.

I won’t let him down, Darryl thought. No matter what.

29

Being tied to the chair in such an awkward position, with her hands behind her back, induced full-body panic. Emma’s whole body was shaking violently. Finally, she was able to calm herself enough to begin tugging at the restraints, twisting them back and forth. She was afraid to scream, afraid to draw the guards into the room. If they realized she was trying to escape, they might add additional restraints and make it even worse. Still, she pulled and twisted her arms as much as she could, trying to break out of the zip ties. It proved futile. How could little plastic straps be so damned sturdy?

She kept it up until her wrists hurt so much that she cried out in pain. Only then did she slump in her seat and let her shoulders sag so the zip ties were no longer pulling against her wrists. That helped, but only a little bit. It felt like she’d cut herself. She blinked back tears. Breaking free was clearly not going to be an option, but she wouldn’t resign herself to her fate. These creeps wanted to use her somehow against her family, and Emma refused to be a pawn in their game. Somehow, she had to find a way to get out of here. She racked her brain trying to think of something, anything.

Some time had passed, maybe an hour or two, when she saw shadows moving in the flickering light beyond the narrow window. She heard a voice and knew it was that damned Eustace Simpson. The sound of him was like dragging fingernails across rusty aluminum. What a despicable creature.

Suddenly, the door to the little office flew open. Surprisingly, it was Pam Grasier standing there, the female police officer. Her broad-brimmed hat was pushed up to reveal her face. She had the unfriendliest features Emma had ever seen, like a face chipped out of coarse concrete. Always scowling, her dark eyes practically smothered by her lowered eyebrows. Still, as she stepped into the room, Emma noticed she was carrying a paper plate with a sandwich and potato chips on it.

She crossed the small space and set the plate on the desk in front of Emma.

“If I untie your hands so you can eat, do you promise you’ll behave,” Pam said. A flat voice, emotionless as a robot. “I’d hate to have to break both arms, but I’ll do it.”

“I’m not hungry,” Emma replied. She was terrified, but somehow, this only made her more willful. “You can eat the sandwich yourself. Someone probably spit in it anyway.”

Pam stood in front of the desk, gazing down at Emma with what seemed like absolute clinical detachment.

“Fine with me,” she said, after a moment. She picked up the sandwich and took a big bite, tossing the rest of it back onto the plate. Then she spoke through a mouthful of food. “Don’t complain later about being hungry. I did you a small act of kindness, and you refused it. Point taken.”

“If you want to do an act of kindness, let me go home,” Emma replied, fighting tears. “I’m just a kid. I shouldn’t be here.”

“No, you’re not going anywhere. Accept it. Don’t bother trying to play on my sympathies, kid. I don’t care about anyone. Never did. There’s a word for it. Misanthrope. That’s what I am. That’s what I’ve always been. Got it?”

“I know what misanthrope means,” Emma said.

“Good.”

And with that, Pam picked up the plate of food, ate a potato chip, and walked out of the office. She started to kick the door shut behind her, but a fat arm reached around the corner and caught it. Eustace stepped into the doorway then. He looked redder and sweatier than ever, and with his toque removed, his hair was tangled and damp as rain-soaked grass. As he shuffled into the room, she realized he was holding a rectangular bottle in his right hand. Booze of some kind, though she couldn’t read the label.

He took a few unsteady steps toward the desk and came to a stop, glaring down at her. Red cheeks, red eyes, red hair, the man looked like an ember plucked from a campfire. His sidekick followed almost immediately. Unlike Eustace, who was mostly disgusting and strange, James was clearly a real tough guy. He had a severe face, narrow eyes, a nose that had probably been broken a few times over the years, a black beard, and a prominent scar cutting across his lips.

“So you’re going to refuse food, is that it?” Eustace said. His regular speaking voice was far louder than was necessary. Emma made sure to play up her annoyance, twisting her facial features for maximum effect. They could hold her hostage, but they couldn’t stop her from expressing her contempt and disgust.

“Yes, sir, I’m refusing food,” Emma replied. “I can’t trust that lady cop not to spit in my food. She’s a misanthrope. Haven’t you heard?”

“The kid’s got a point,” James said, with a small smile.

“Oh, shut up, James,” Eustace replied. He spun the cap off the bottle and took a swig. Then he set the bottle on a corner of the desk. Now, she could see the label: Canadian Club 100% Rye. About half the bottle was gone, though he didn’t seem drunk. “Now look, Emma, I would love to reunite you with your family when this is all over, assuming they decide to work with me here, so let’s play nice. Eat your food and behave, and things will go better for you, okay?”

Emma averted her gaze. She couldn’t look at him. He was hideous in every way. “And what if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll do what your daddy should have done and smack you around a little bit,” Eustace said, his eyes going wide. He raised one of his meaty paws.

“Oh, stop it,” James said to him. “What does it matter? Come on. Leave the kid here and let’s go.” He reached out and grabbed a fold of Eustace’s coat, tugging at it. “What does it matter if she doesn’t want to eat?”

Eustace angrily shook off the man’s hand. “Stay out of this, James. I’ve had enough of this kid. I’ve had enough of this whole family!” He picked up the bottle, seemed to debate with himself for a moment, then screwed the cap back on. “I don’t know why I’m putting up with any of this, quite frankly. This kid should already be buried out in the woods somewhere.”

His words went through her like ice, but for some reason it only made her even more defiant. Clearly, these two men didn’t like each other.

What happens if I keep pushing? she wondered.

“Did he just threaten to kill me?” she said. “Do you kill actually kill children? Is that the kind of people you are?”

At this, James sniffed loudly and said to Eustace, “You need get ahold of yourself.” He grabbed Eustace’s coat again, and this time, he managed to pull him back a step. “Come on. Leave the kid here, and let’s go.”

“You’re a hired man,” Eustace replied, angrily, shaking off his hand once again. “Don’t forget that, James. I’ve had enough of your feedback. Your damned constructive criticism. Quite frankly, if we just killed the girl, it would force Greg to do what we want. Why are we treating this family with kid gloves? What’s it getting us?” His voice was getting louder, deeper, becoming a bellow that stabbed into Emma’s ears.

“I’m not going to participate in killing a kid,” James said. “Can we talk about this outside somewhere?”

“No, damn you,” Eustace shouted. He slammed the bottle onto the table and rounded on James. “Stop telling me what to do. I’m sick of dealing with this family. Why are we prolonging this situation? Let’s be done with it.”

“We will be done with it, soon enough.” James sounded remarkably calm, despite Eustace’s outburst. “And we’ll do it the right way, the smart way. There’s no point in resorting to barbarism if it doesn’t get us closer to the goal. Come on. Let’s go. Leave the kid alone.”

He beckoned Eustace and took a step toward the door, but Eustace held his ground. When he reached for the bottle again, his sleeve pulled back, and Emma noticed the edge of a bandage wrapped around his forearm.

“A little barbarism goes a long way,” Eustace said, picking up the bottle. His sleeve fell back down to his wrist, hiding the bandage.

“You want the ranch,” James said. “You’re going to get it. Just stick with the plan.”

“Oh, shut up.” Eustace spun the cap off the bottle and took a swig. “Yeah, I want the ranch, but I also want Greg Healy to suffer. That’s just as important to me as that ranch, and having his kid here is the best way to get it done. If we kill her, we’ll wound Greg for the rest of his life.”

Though she was terrified, Emma decided to stir the pot a little more. It seemed like the best way to keep these two guys at each other’s throats, and maybe, just maybe, if they were fighting with each other, they’d be too preoccupied to carry out Eustace’s threat.

James started to say something, but Emma quickly blurted, “Why do you have a bandage on your arm, Mr. Simpson? Who did that to you? Did you and James have a fight?”

Eustace slowly, deliberately, put the cap back on the bottle, glaring down at her with a withering look of contempt. “Oh, you noticed that, did you? Well, for the record it hurts like hell. My whole arm is in constant agony.”

He unzipped his coat all the way and shrugged it off. It fell to the ground, revealing the sweat-soaked flannel shirt underneath. The left sleeve was already unbuttoned. As he rolled it back, he uncovered a massive bandage that went all the way from his wrist to his elbow. A huge bloody stain had soaked through most of it. Eustace leaned forward, holding the arm up in front of her face.

“You see that?” he said. “It’s getting worse, but that’s just fine by me, eh? It keeps me nice and angry. Now, what sort of wound do you think that is?”

She shuddered at his closeness. He reeked of booze and sweat. Still, she couldn’t resist provoking him. “I assume you bit yourself,” she said. “Or maybe that guy over there bit you.”

Eustace gave her a hateful look. She could see the deadness in his eyes in that moment. Yes, this was a man capable of just about anything, and her skin crawled at the realization. Beside him, the one named James smiled, clearly amused by her willful sarcasm, but he, too, had the eyes of a dangerous man.

“No, your grandpa did this to me,” Eustace said, in a soft voice, so low she felt it in the air. He leaned in closer, mere inches from her face, baring yellow teeth. “Good old Tuck Healy. He was a piss-poor shot, but he got lucky with the last bullet.”

Good. I’m glad, Emma thought, but she thought maybe it was pushing things just a bit too far to say it. Eustace was already far too close. His beard reeked like a dying animal.

“Bullet went right through,” Eustace continued, still speaking in that low, rumbling voice. “I thought I was okay until the infection set in. I’ve taken the last of the antibiotics that the dead and rotting Mayor Filmore had stashed in his office, but it doesn’t seem to have worked. I’m afraid the arm is becoming useless. I’d unwrap it and show you, but I think you can probably already smell it.”

So that’s where the foul odor is coming from, Emma thought. Not his grungy beard. She turned her face away from him to keep from gagging. Good job, Grandpa. I just wish you’d hit him in a more vital spot.

“Grandpa wouldn’t have shot you if you hadn’t shot me first,” Emma said. “Unlike you, we kept my wound clean, and it’s all healed up now.”

Emma realized James was glaring darkly at the back of Eustace’s head. “Wait,” he said. “You shot this kid?”

“Yeah, so what?” Eustace said. “It happened when we were lost in the wilderness.”

“You didn’t tell me about that,” James said. “I didn’t realize you were out there in the woods shooting at kids. That’s beneath me, man. It should be beneath you.”

Eustace snatched the bottle off the desk again. It looked like he was going to unscrew the cap again, but he seemed to change his mind. Instead, he rounded on James. “Yeah, I shot a kid, and guess what? She deserved it. That whole family was scheming against me. They dragged me into the wilderness just to bring me down. Her dad was building a legal case against my company. Exactly the kind of people I’ve hired you to deal with in the past. You know the type. They’re trash. I’ll shoot every single one of those damned Healys if I get the chance, and I expect you to help me.”

He was so red in the face now he looked like he’d been turned inside out. As he tugged the sleeve back down, covering the bandage, he winced. If anything, this seemed to make him angrier. He turned and swiped a hand at James, motioning him out of the way. When James held his ground, giving him a cool look, Eustace grunted and stepped around him, storming out of the office.

“Go cool off,” James said over his shoulder. “You’re acting foolish.”

The only response was heavy footfalls in the warehouse beyond the office door.

This guy, Emma thought. He doesn’t want Eustace to kill me. Maybe he’s my way out of here.

James turned back around and looked down at her, his face unreadable. He was like a blank mask. For some reason, Emma found him much more intimidating, but she gathered up her courage and forced herself to speak. Still, it took a monumental act of will to get the words out when she was caught in that lightless gaze.

“Why are you working for him?” she managed to say. “You don’t even like him.”

“You got that right,” James replied. For a second, it seemed like he might leave it at that. He started to turn, as if to leave, then he caught himself. “I’ve worked for Eustace in the past, but I wasn’t all that excited about it. To be honest, I came to Glenvell for another reason.” He hesitated, and she saw the first glimmer of emotion. He seemed to be debating with himself about how much to say. “My sister. I came here looking for my sister. She used to live in Glenvell, and I haven’t heard from her in a long time.”

“Did you find her?” Emma asked. Now that smelly Eustace was gone, she was becoming all too aware of her aching wrists again.

“No, I did not,” James said, answering her question. “A neighbor said she left town with her boyfriend, headed for a warmer climate.”

“Oh,” Emma said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

James shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I gotta say, you remind me of her a little bit.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, she was a little hellcat, too.” He smiled briefly, all too briefly, and took a step back. “Well, anyway, I probably won’t ever see her again. It’s practically impossible to track people down these days. Sorry you got into this mess, kid, but it’ll all be over soon enough.”

Finally, he did turn away and started to move toward the door.

“I just want to go home,” Emma said, desperate. The thought that he might walk out of the room, that her one little glimmer of hope had failed, brought on a fresh wave of tears. She had no way to wipe them away so they ran down her cheeks.

James paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “If your parents make the right decision, you will,” he said.

He started to say more, but someone shouted from elsewhere in the warehouse. At first, Emma couldn’t tell what he was saying. It was just a strange noise in the high ceiling, but then it grew louder, more frantic.

“Fire! There’s a fire! A fire!”

James rushed through the office door and turned to his right, looking at someone. Just then, a loud boom shook the entire building. James stumbled, went down on one knee, and reached out to a nearby wall to steady himself. As he rose, he pulled the rifle off his back. Then he ran to one side and disappeared.

Emma heard many voices now. Men shouting angrily. Boots on a hard floor.

He left the office door open, she realized, staring through the opening down the short walkway to the back door of the office. What the heck is going on out there? Did my dad do something?

Suddenly, she heard one set of footsteps getting louder, as if someone were running toward the back office. James or Eustace? Maybe someone else? She didn’t know, but she braced herself.

30

Greg angled deeper into the woods before cutting back to the east entrance, but he was careful to keep his distance. He didn’t want to risk being spotted before Darryl made his move. The woods were wild and tangled here, and he found it difficult to move without dragging his legs through the thick bushes. That, in turn, made far too much noise. To avoid this, he wove a wild path, picking each step carefully.

What we’re doing here is insane, he thought. Did I really just send my son in there all alone? Marion will never forgive me if something happens to him.

It couldn’t be helped. This was the best plan he’d been able to come up with. He would just have to trust that his son was competent and careful enough to pull it off. He headed back toward the warehouse until the back wall and the loading bays were visible through gaps in the heavy underbrush. Then he raised the SIG, braced the barrel against an available branch, and peered through the scope.

From here, he could see the back door clearly. It was firmly shut, but he could see the uneaten crust of a sandwich and a few chips scattered in the snow near the front of the door. Pam had apparently just discarded the leftovers. More indication that the food had been intended for Emma, perhaps? Greg wanted to believe so.

From this angle, he could no longer see Darryl or the side door, but he wanted to be able to come at the back door in a direction that wouldn’t make him visible to guards around the corner. He waited, scarcely able to breathe. It was such a still, windless day, so quiet, he could hear every small movement he made, the soft clanking of the rifle every time he shifted the scope.

Come on, Darryl. You can do this. I trust you, son.

And then it happened, as if in response to this thought. He heard a whoosh followed by a boom, and a great orange light painted the snow along the corner of the warehouse. This was followed almost immediately by shouting from a cracking, desperate voice. The first voice was soon joined by a second, then a third. All shouting, cursing. Greg couldn’t see them, but the back door remained closed.

Time to go, he told himself.

He pushed off the tree and cut through the woods toward the back parking lot. As he ran, his breath rattling in his ears, he felt the tools shifting around in the backpack. He would have to break the door down. No doubt they would have it locked, so he could only hope the crowbar was enough.

By the time he reached the edge of the parking lot, the orange glow at the corner of the building had intensified. Now, he could see a trail of dark smoke rising above the building, and the voices had only gotten more frantic. He was pretty sure he heard Eustace’s coarse voice among the others, shouting orders, cursing at people.

“The snow! The snow, you morons! Shovel it onto the flames!”

“The fire’s coming through the door,” shouted one of his lackeys.

“It’s melting the snow,” cried a second. “What do you expect us to do?”

At the edge of the parking lot, Greg hesitated a second, the SIG aimed squarely at the back door. He was ready for Pam Grasier or any of the others to burst through the door. Indeed, he was hoping for it. That would make it a whole lot easier than trying to crowbar the thing open.

With a start, he lunged forward, racing across the parking lot, digging new tracks as he approached the back door. When he got there, he dropped to his knee and reached back behind him. He’d placed the tools in a smaller pocket so they were easy to grab. He felt the cold metal of the crowbar and pulled it out. To do this, he had to set the rifle aside, propping it against the wall, but he unzipped his coat so the Walther PPK was in easy reach.

The shouting and activity of the men seemed to get louder and more chaotic, and the glow of the flames brighter. Whatever they were doing to try to put out the fire clearly wasn’t working. He heard banging and clanging.

Darryl, I hope you got far, far away from here, Greg thought. Just keep running. You did your part perfectly. Leave the rest to me.

The door looked quite sturdy up close, all metal with a thick bolt visible in the crack of the doorframe. Forcing it open was going to require bending the frame or the door out of shape. Greg took the crowbar in both hands and jammed the sharp end into the crack.

I’m coming, Emma, he thought. Just hang in there.

He pushed at the crowbar, leveraging it against the door, leaning forward and using his full weight. The edge of the door gave a little groan and started to bend ever so slightly. Then the tip of the crowbar slid out of the crack, and Greg was thrown forward. He smashed his hands against the doorframe, and his body slammed into the door, making a tremendous thud.

It was loud. Too loud. Even though the men continued to shout and curse around the corner, they must have heard it. Nothing to be done about it now. He just had to pick himself up and keep going.

Clumsy idiot, he told himself.

He grabbed the large door handle as he struggled to get his feet under him again. In the process, he inadvertently pulled down on the handle, and he saw the bolt between the door and doorframe move. He let go of the handle and took a step back, staring at the door.

Wait a second, he thought. Don’t tell me…

He reached out and grabbed the door handle again. Could it be? He turned the handle, watching the bolt slide in the gap. And then the door gave a loud click and popped open.

Unlocked, he thought. Someone unlocked this door.

It couldn’t be accidental. Eustace wasn’t that incompetent. Was he? Slowly, Greg eased the door open, drawing the pistol as he did so. He aimed the gun through the crack. On the other side, he saw a short hallway leading to a second door. The back half of the warehouse was open on his left, and orange light flickered against the far wall. The flames had made their way inside the building.

Bracing the door with his shoulder, Greg reached for the rifle and slung it over his shoulder. Then he crept into the building, drawing the pistol and thrusting it out in front of him. The small door just ahead of him seemed the most likely place for Emma. A small window revealed the dim interior of an office. Greg let the door behind him ease shut, then he raced across the gap.

He reached the inner door and peered through the narrow window. On the other side, he saw a cramped office space with a desk and chair set against the far wall. Greg turned the doorknob and found the office unlocked as well. He pushed the door open and stuck his head inside. The room had a lingering unpleasant smell, but it was empty. No one in the room. No closet, no cabinet, nowhere they could have stashed a person. Emma wasn’t in here. Greg’s heart sank.

What have they done with you?

He stepped back and pulled the office door shut. If she wasn’t here, then where was she? He turned and looked at the vast open space around the loading bays. There were a few boxes and crates scattered here and there, but no obvious place to hide a hostage. Greg stood there, staring dumbly, feeling all of his hope fading.

And then he heard the voice. It came from deeper in the warehouse, a booming voice that seemed to fill the vastness above and around him.

“Hey there, Greg Healy!” It was Eustace, of course. His voice was unmistakable. “I know you’re back there. Heck, I left the door unlocked for you. By the way, I have your daughter with me. Why don’t you meet us outside? I’d hate for something bad to happen to her, especially with all this fire around us!”

31

For a few seconds, he just stood there, listening to the fading echo of Eustace’s deep voice. He could still see orange light against the far wall, but the men were no longer shouting and screaming. Greg was frozen, unsure of what to do next. Of course, Eustace wasn’t a complete idiot. He must have figured out the purpose of the fire.

I didn’t move fast enough, Greg thought. Eustace had time to counterattack.

But, no, he’d made it to the door within seconds of the fire. Eustace had just moved faster. Either that, or he’d expected Greg to show up all along. At least Eustace hadn’t said anything about Darryl. He’d only mentioned Emma.

Greg eased away from the office door. He couldn’t decide if it was better to use the handgun or the rifle. Clearly, the handgun would be better in a tight space, but the warehouse was fairly open. More than that, he’d grown comfortable with the SIG. Finally, his mind made up, he holstered the pistol and slid the rifle off his shoulder.

“We’ll be waiting for you out here!” Eustace again. This time Greg was certain the man was outside. “Don’t take too long. I don’t know how long I can stop these guys, Greg!”

Greg was staring across the open warehouse floor, but he glanced toward the back door. Which way would Eustace expect him to come? He couldn’t be sure, but the back door seemed more likely, especially if flames were blocking the side door. Greg eased to the corner of the little office, aiming the rifle ahead of him. Slowly, achingly, he leaned around the corner, leading with the SIG.

The small office was little more than a drywall box built against the outer wall of the warehouse. On the other side, he saw a heavy-duty wall cutting across the open warehouse floor, a sturdy fire door half-open in the center. Beyond the open door, orange light flickered brightly against stacks and stacks of bags, boxes, crates, and more. No, Eustace probably wouldn’t expect him to go that way.

That decided the matter. Greg hopped down from the low ramp that connected the back door to the office and headed across the open warehouse floor, trying to step as lightly as possible. Shadows danced on the walls, which made him jumpy. They looked like bodies out of the corner of his eye. He rushed to the wall beside the fire door and pressed his back against it.

He had a moment of doubt then. Maybe he was giving Eustace too much credit. Maybe the back door was the best approach. He could cross the back parking lot and hide in the trees, slowly making his way around to the side door.

No, too late for that. He’d made his decision.

Greg slowly turned into the open fire door, thrusting the rifle out in front of him. From here, he could feel the heat of the fire. He lunged through the door, aiming wildly back and forth, only to find himself at the end of a broad aisle between two tall shelves. Bags and boxes had been stacked on the low shelves, but there were plenty of gaps in between. Greg aimed through one of these gaps, looking toward the north side of the building.

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 his 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.

“You have three days to get out of town,” James said. “I think that’s reasonable. I won’t take everything from you. Leave half the herd behind. Keep the rest. Take your personal property with you, but don’t damage any of the buildings. Do that and no harm will come to any of your people. Heck, we’ll even help you with the move. As a gesture of goodwill, I’ll have some local deliver horses and a wagon to the ranch in a couple of days. Use them to load up and head out. Now, I think that’s about as generous an offer as you could expect.”

He slung the rifle over his shoulder and motioned his men toward the warehouse. Then he beckoned for Greg to leave.

“Your son ran back that way,” he added. “You’ll find him about three hundred meters due north, thinking no one can see him in the trees there. Three days, Healy. Get going.”

Greg put an arm around Emma’s shoulder and guided her away from the warehouse. As they moved toward the well-worn path that led into town, he heard the men resume their fight against the flames. Snow shovels scraped against pavement as James barked orders. Greg didn’t bother to look back. His daughter was safe. His son was safe. The battle was over. He would accept the offer and move on with his life.

“Are we really going to leave the ranch?” Emma asked, in a breathless little voice.

“We’re going to do whatever we have to do to keep our family safe,” Greg replied. “If that means we have to leave the ranch behind, then so be it. Just remember how badly things could have gone today. I don’t know what turned James against his boss. You must’ve said something to play on his sympathy.”

Though her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes rimmed in red, she gave her father a mischievous smile. “I might have said a few things to pit them against each other.”

“Good job, kiddo,” he replied, patting her on the back. “Now, let’s go find Darryl and get back to our family.”

33

As soon as they were in sight of the fence, Greg spotted someone crouched on the platform at the southwest corner of the property. Despite the fact that he’d made it away from the warehouse with both of his children uninjured save for scratches and bruises, it had still been a long, nerve-wracking walk. Even now, as Greg stepped out of the trees and saw the familiar fence, his skin crawled, expecting to get shot in the back.

How do I know James will keep his word? He’s a criminal.

Darryl walked on his right, head down, clearly disturbed by the day’s events. Emma was on his left, and he kept reaching out to touch them, to lay a hand on their shoulders, pat their backs, needing to remind himself that they were okay. The plan had utterly failed, but somehow, they’d still made it out of that place alive.

“What did you say to James?” Greg asked, as they stepped out of the woods. “How did you turn him against Eustace?”

“He was already against Eustace,” Emma replied. She spoke softly. The poor girl was traumatized all over again. “I don’t think anyone really ever liked Eustace, but he was used to getting his way. All I did was provoke him a little bit, so he got mad.”

“Dad, do we really have to leave our home?” Darryl said, as they crossed the open ground toward the gate. “This isn’t a good time to be relocating, especially with Justine.”

“We’ll see if James keeps his word,” Greg replied. “A horse-drawn wagon will make it a whole lot easier. Let’s just wait and see. Not much more we can do.”

The person on the platform rose now, and he saw it was Marion. She leaned against the handrail, raising a hand to them. Greg returned the greeting. He could tell she was crying, and she wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve as she lowered herself onto the ladder. She reached the gate before them, unlatching it and sliding it open. Tabitha and Horace were both on the porch, and they made their way down the steps to join them.

A tearful reunion occurred just beyond the gate. Emma and Marion wept, hugging each other. Then Tabitha joined them, pulling Darryl into the circle. Greg stood off to one side. Beneath his coat, he was soaked with sweat, and he reeked of smoke. More than that, he dreaded having to break the news to the others about his deal with James. Victory had come at a heavy cost.

“Tell me they’re dead,” Tabitha said. “Tell me you got rid of those awful men.”

“Eustace is dead…” Greg said. And then he added “…and that former cop. Pam Grasier.” No, he didn’t like thinking about her. The last image of her, gurgling on the carpet with a hole beneath her eye, would haunt his dreams.

“And the others?” Tabitha asked.

“We’ll talk about it in a minute,” he said.

Marion noticed that he’d avoided the group hug then, and she reached out, snagging his sleeve and dragging him toward the circle. He gave in, but he noticed that Horace stopped well clear of them. He, at least, was not going to be dragged into the embrace.

Justine must have heard the commotion, as she appeared at the front door then. Seeing the group beside the gate, she rushed forward, leapt down the porch steps, and hurried to join them. However, when she reached the group, she worked her way through the net of arms and bodies until she got to Darryl. Then she folded herself against his chest and buried her face against his neck.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” Marion said.

“The worst is behind us,” Greg said, “but it’s not quite over.”

“What does that mean?”

Greg sighed. “Maybe we’d better stop the hugging and reconvene in the dining room. There’s something we have to discuss.”

He managed to pull free, though both Marion and Tabitha gave him questioning looks. Yes, they could tell it was bad news. As Greg headed for the porch, Horace Bouchard reached out and briefly clutched his arm.

“Not too bad, I hope,” he said.

Greg didn’t know how to respond to this, so he kept going, trudging up the steps. As he stepped inside, he realized just how exhausted he was. His whole body ached with fatigue. He pulled Pam Grasier’s pistol out of the coat pocket and slid it onto the mantel above the fireplace. Even that small action made his arms and shoulders cry out.

Worse than the physical exhaustion was the mental and emotional exhaustion. All the weeks of secrets, of sneaking around, of thinking and planning assassinations constantly, had finally caught up to him. He could scarcely think straight, yet the hard work wasn’t done yet. He unzipped his coat and just managed to snag it on the coat rack in passing as he headed for the dining room. Boots came off halfway across the living room, gloves wound up on the couch, and his toque landed in a corner on the floor. He sat down at the head of the table, dragging his hands through his sweat-clumped hair, and waited for the others.

They trickled in slowly, each looking at him warily as they approached the dining room. Emma and Darryl dumped coats, boots, gloves, and hats as they came, and Tabitha said nothing about most of these things winding up on her floor. Darryl put the Remington in a corner beside the couch, though Horace came along behind him and picked it up, taking it to its shelf—not an easy feat, since he was using his crutch.

“Horace, I owe you a big apology,” Greg said. “I had to leave the SIG behind. It’s sitting on the floor in the front office of the warehouse, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to retrieve it. Somehow, I’ll make it up to you.”

Horace didn’t visibly react as he shuffled across the living room. Marion took the seat directly across from Greg, Tabitha beside her. Darryl, Justine, and Emma sat together on one side of the table, and Horace joined them last, sitting near Greg.

“Okay, Greg, tell us what’s going on?” Horace said. “Seems like things turned out good. Everyone came back alive and well. What’s the catch? I’m guessing it’s the reason my SIG is lost.”

Every eye was on him now. Emma and Darryl knew what was coming, of course, and he could see the anxiety in their eyes. After all they’d done to protect the ranch, to build it up, to guard it, how could he tell them now that they had to let it all go. Greg really wanted a hot cup of tea, but he didn’t want to kill any more time.

“I didn’t kill Eustace Simpson,” he said, anxiously drumming his fingers on the tabletop. He couldn’t meet the eyes of his wife or mother, so he stared at a little plastic flower arrangement that sat in the center of the table. “His own right-hand man, James Teagan, did it. Eustace had the upper hand. He could have…he could have killed me and Emma, but James turned on him. Shot him right out of the blue, right in front of us, and talked all of the other men into switching leaders. Eustace lived long enough to realize the betrayal and died a bitter death.”

He could tell by the way Marion, Tabitha, and Horace all suddenly leaned back in their chairs that this news shocked them. Justine leaned into Darryl, and he put his arms around her.

“But James refused to harm Emma,” Greg continued. “Furthermore, he promised that we would be left in peace…on one condition.”

“Don’t say it,” Tabitha muttered. Yes, she must have sensed what was coming.

“He’s going to send a horse-drawn wagon to the ranch in a couple of days,” Greg said. “We’re to pack up and leave the Glenvell area, abandon the ranch. We can take all of our personal possessions, but the buildings have to remain intact, and…” He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “We’re to leave half the herd. In exchange, we’ll have no more problems from his gang. That’s his promise.”

He held his hands up and left it at that, letting the words sink in. He could see each person struggling with it, their faces shifting as they ran through various emotions.

“That’s his promise, is it?” Tabitha echoed softly, a bitter half-smile on her face.

Horace suddenly made a fist and pounded it on the table. “He thinks he can just get away with taking our home? No, no, that’s unacceptable. It’s the same offer he made outside the fence. I told you people I should have shot him then.”

“No, if you’d killed James, we would still be dealing with Eustace,” Greg said, “and our situation would be a lot worse. Eustace wanted revenge. He never would’ve left us in peace, even if we’d given him the ranch.”

“Revenge for that?” Tabitha said with a derisive laugh. “He’s the one that killed Tuck. We never did anything to him.”

“Well, it turns out, Tuck shot him in the left arm,” Greg said, “and the wound had begun to rot. I guess, in his book, that was unfair and demanded justice. Also…you know, there was the whole lawyer business. Technically, I was planning to sue his company for violating environmental regulations.”

“I’m glad Tuck shot him,” Tabitha said. “I wish he’d died from the infection.”

Marion raised both of her hands then, waving at them to draw attention to the other end of the table. Horace seemed on the verge of saying something else, but he grunted and turned toward her. Only when she had everyone’s undivided attention did she lower her hands, folding them on the tabletop. Greg could tell by the look in her eye, the tightness around her lips, that she was about to share something she felt very deeply. He wouldn’t dare interrupt.

“I keep thinking about what James said to us,” she said. “What price are we willing to pay to hold on to the ranch?”

Horace shook his head. “This is our home. We have to protect it.”

“No,” Marion added. “The ranch is not our home. This is our home.” She made a circle with her hand, taking in the people sitting around the table. “Will we sacrifice anyone sitting here to hold on to the property?”

To this, Horace bowed his head, gnarled hands pressed against the edge of the table. “I wouldn’t sacrifice any of you,” he said, softly. “You’re all closer to me than my own kin ever were.”

“What’s a home without family?” Greg added. “I suppose you’re right, Marion. Home is wherever we are together.”

After this, everyone fell silent. The weight of the decision lay heavy in the room. All the work they’d done to the ranch, all the sweat and tears they’d poured into making it a safe place to live—could they really just walk away? Greg felt an obligation to break the silence. He had to suggest a destination. He owed his family that, at least, but he couldn’t think of what to say.

Surprisingly, it was Darryl who spoke next. He was still holding Justine, gently stroking her hair, when he said, “How far away is the old hunting cabin, Grandma? Could the cattle make it there?”

She seemed sad, her old leathery skin hanging down, as if she’d been partially deflated. “It’s not close,” she said, then quickly added, “but I think it’s worth trying for. What other choice do we have? I have more stake in this place than any of you. Tuck and I built it together. Hell, he’s buried here. But if I have to choose between my loved ones and this old place, there’s no debate. I choose all of you. If Eustace was behind the offer, I wouldn’t trust it. I’d say we stay and fight. But James killing Eustace is kind of like a down payment on his promise. I say we pack up and go to the cabin, try to make a new home there.” She looked first at Marion then at Greg.

“The matriarch has spoken,” Greg said. “I think that settles it. We pack up and head out in three days. And anytime we’re tempted to regret what we’re leaving behind, we’ll remind ourselves how fortunate we are that Emma came back to us alive and well.”

He could feel the fog in his mind. The decision was made, and he had nothing left to say. Pushing back his chair, he rose, wincing at the soreness and fatigue that moved through every limb. Without another word, he left the dining room and headed across the living room, intending to march upstairs and go to bed for a very long time.

* * *

Morning seemed brighter than usual, even with a mountain of tightly-packed crates lined up along the fence beside the open gate. As Greg lugged a big box of clothes down the porch stairs, he saw Darryl and Justine pushing the old handcart, lugging a crate full of the last good tools from Tuck’s shed. They’d left some rusty junk as a bonus prize for James and his men.

Tabitha and Marion were leading the cows across the yard. They were all tied together with a series of lead lines, eighteen cows, half the herd. They’d selected the healthiest among the herd, those who were most likely to endure the long trip. Still, Tabitha had been in a dark mood all morning, speaking little. Despite her decision, she was clearly feeling the loss now.

Fortunately, true to his word, James had instructed some locals to deliver a large covered wagon drawn by a couple of draft horses. It wouldn’t be enough for all of their stuff. The wagon was big, but it had to fit the people, food, and clean water above all. That meant a lot of things were being abandoned: almost the entirely library in the den, furniture, much of the cured meat, the large equipment in the barn—too much to think about.

Greg set the box of clothes on the stack. Through the open gate, he saw Darryl, Horace, and Justine loading up the wagon. Greg went to help them. When he drew near, he heard Darryl lamenting the loss to Justine.

“It’s just that I worked so hard on that greenhouse,” he was saying, “and now those losers get to use it. All the vegetables were going to be for the baby.”

“Just stop thinking about it,” Justine replied, pushing a plastic tub full of cured meat into a far corner of the wagon. “We’ll build another greenhouse. We’ll build another everything at the new place. It’ll give everyone plenty to do. This situation is safer for the baby, and you said yourself that’s what matters.”

It took a couple of hours to get the wagon loaded up. In the end, they had to leave about half the boxes they’d lined up beside the fence. There just wasn’t room. The wagon had a single bench down the middle for riders, which left space along the sideboards for their personal items. Clothes, food, barrels of fresh water, essential tools and equipment took up most of the room. Each person was allowed to bring one bag or box of their most cherished possessions. Greg had his backpack filled with ammunition, knives, small tools, and a couple of family photo albums. As he climbed onto the driver’s seat, he set the backpack beside him.

Tabitha and Marion sat with him on the driver’s seat. The others found spots on the bench in back. The wagon looked quite old, and it had clearly been repaired many times over the years. When Greg flicked the reins and the draft horses began to move, he felt it creaking and groaning beneath him. The deep snow did little to cushion the wheels as he set out toward the driveway.

As they pulled away, Greg glanced over his shoulder into the back of the wagon. He saw Emma sitting at the front of the bench, her backpack in her lap. She’d made sure to bring her favorite books, and the corner of one of them poked out of the big pocket. Behind her, Darryl and Justine sat close together, holding each other. Horace was in the very back, holding the Remington and staring out behind them, as if guarding their rear flank.

In that moment, seeing all these people that he cared about so much, Greg felt the heaviness drop away. His gaze shifted from the people to the line of cattle strung along behind the wagon. Then he saw the fence, the open gate, a corner of the porch, the big tree in the southwest corner with the lookout platform.

“It’s weird,” he said to Marion. “This place has been home for so long and yet…I don’t know. All of a sudden, I’m not all that sad to be leaving it behind. In a weird way, I’m relieved.”

“It’s just a place,” Marion replied. “Home is family. As long as we’re all together, then we’re home.”

Greg tugged on the reins, moving the horses toward the gap in the trees that would eventually bring them out onto the open road. There was a safe path to the hunting cabin a couple of miles north of Glenvell. Marion was right, of course, but he finally felt it. He turned back around, determined not to look at the ranch again. He didn’t need to. He could let it all go.

“We’ve done this before,” Tabitha said. Of all people, she had not looked back once, and she pointedly did not do so now. “We can do it again, as long as we’re together.”

And with that, the trees at the end of the driveway seemed to close in behind them, like curtains shutting out their old life.

Epilogue

James let Eustace’s body lay in the snow all day and night. He had no intention of burying the man. Let fresh snowfall do that the next time it decided to fall. None of the other men bothered with it either. If anything, they seemed relieved that the old blowhard was gone. Pam Grasier, on the other hand, had been professional enough that James figured she deserved a modicum of respect.

He had the men dig a grave for her the following morning, selecting a spot in the woods east of the back parking lot. They only managed to get about three feet into the frozen soil before the shovels cracked.

As for Pam’s body, they wrapped it in a filthy tarp, laid it in the shallow grave, dumped some lime and gravel in with her, then covered it with dirt as best they could.

“What about a grave marker?” Benny asked.

“That’s up to you guys,” James said, standing at the foot of the grave. “Pam won’t know the difference, and her family wasn’t local, as far as I know. Do what you want, just hurry up. We’ve got work to do this afternoon. Leave here in an hour and head for the new property. I’ll meet you there.”

And with that, he turned and left his guys standing around the grave, glancing at each other uncertainly. Eustace hadn’t been one to let his men make decisions on their own. They hardly seemed to know what to do. James, on the other hand, knew the illusion of autonomy made men more obedient. As he crossed the parking lot, he glanced back and saw a couple of the guys hoisting a large rock to the head of the grave.

He’d really had to throw his weight around to get the locals to give up the wagon and draft horses, but it was done. He figured it was worth any problems it might create as long as it got the Healys out of town. The money would be repaid to the wagon’s owners—or not. Whatever. James walked along the north side of the warehouse. They’d lost almost half the building, and most of their accumulated supplies, but it would all be replaced and repaired. With Eustace out of the way, James could really turn this whole community into a well-oiled machine, as he had now removed every threat.

Now, I can really create something stable and secure, he thought, as he moved toward the front of the building. And lucrative.

It was time to see if his plan had worked. The ranch was prime real estate, wide open grassland close to fresh water. At the thought of having free access to all those buildings, the fence and barn, the shed, the cattle, the greenhouse, he was almost giddy—if he’d had the capacity for such emotion. As he rounded the front of the building, he saw one of the locals waiting for him there. The man’s name was Albert, and he’d formerly run the little gas station in town. At the moment, he was sitting astride a small bay mare, stroking the animal’s neck and looking quite bored.

“And?” James said, approaching him. “How did it go?”

“What?” Albert replied. “The grandmother met me at the gate, and we left the wagon there. Looked like they’d already been packing up.”

“Good,” James said. He motioned for the man to get down out of the saddle. “Wait here. My men will compensate you. I need to head out there and check on the place.”

“Are you serious?” Albert replied. The poor man had lost quite a bit of weight since the EMP. All of the stock from his store had initially been forcibly taken by the former mayor of Glenvell, and what was left of it was now in the warehouse, mostly ruined by smoke. Albert’s clothes were all too big, ill-fitting. “I have to wait here?”

“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, tough 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.”

“Are you sure the animals will survive the journey?” Marion asked. “It’s still really cold out there.”

“We lost three head of cattle over the winter,” Greg noted. “That’s not as bad as I’d feared. They’re more resilient than I anticipated. Anyway, we can’t go on living here like primitives. I say we load up and get ready to head out.”

“Bear in mind, we still don’t know the condition of the hunting cabin,” Tabitha said. “I’d hate to get everyone’s hopes up. It could end up being even worse than this.”

“Grandma, a cabin—any cabin—can’t be worse than living in a cave,” Emma said. “We get cave spiders and mud everywhere, and the ground is always freezing cold, even when we’ve got a fire going, and the air is always damp. Nobody is supposed to live like this. At least at the cabin we’ll have a real floor and a real roof over our heads.”

“I certainly hope so,” Tabitha said. “It was a really lovely cabin when we first built it. Plenty of room, nice furniture, a big fireplace, a wood-burning stove, a barn out back, a split-rail fence around the yard. Oh, you should’ve seen it when it was new.”

“This is what we’ve waited all winter for,” Greg said. “No reason to mope about it, as if something bad were happening. We’ll be glad we made the trip once we arrive. Don’t you agree, hon? Let’s start gathering our things.”

And with that, he crossed the room, slipping past his wife—he gave her a brief hug in passing—and went into his chamber. “Hon” neither agreed nor disagreed but simply continued to stare at nothing in particular. Emma decided to help get the ball rolling.

“I’ll start packing my stuff,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “It won’t take as long as you think, guys.”

This got a groan from Darryl. “Can’t we wait a few hours? Justine just settled down for a little more rest. She had a rough night.”

“Let her rest while you do the hard work, Papa,” Tabitha said, giving her grandson a wink. “Yeah, we’re all tired and cranky, but Greg is right, and we’ll be glad to get the next leg of the trip over with. Emma, you’re a good little cheerleader.” And with that, she turned and stepped back into her chamber, flinging the curtain out of her way with a sweep of her hand.

Emma’s room was another small alcove in the rock wall of the main chamber, separated by burlap curtains that had been hung from hooks her father had driven into the ceiling. Her sleeping bag was wedged into a narrow space against the wall. For furniture, she’d balanced a plank on two small boxes, and here she’d stacked some of her books, toiletries, and other personal items. Her clothes were mostly stuffed into a crate, but some of them had found their way into a messy pile on a blanket in the corner.

She started going through the room, picking up the loose articles of clothing and shoving them back into the crate. After a moment, she heard someone clearing her throat, and she looked over her shoulder to see her mother standing in a gap in the curtain.

“Sorry if I seemed disappointed in the news,” Marion said. “I’m just nervous about making the trip. The last few months have been rough.”

“But that’s why it’s good news, Mom,” Emma said, picking up a crumpled t-shirt and stuffing it into the crate. “We’ll be safer in the cabin. Like Grandma said, we’ll have a stove, real furniture, beds, all sorts of stuff.”

“I know,” Marion said softly. “It’ll be hard road, but it’s worth it. Just ignore my grumpy attitude. I’ll be fine.”

Emma nodded and continued picking up. Many times, she had daydreamed about riding back to Glenvell to retake their old family ranch, but she knew that was a foolish thought. Glenvell would never be home again. Even if they could take the ranch back, they would never feel safe living there, not with all of the new threats in the world. No, the hunting cabin was home now, and the sooner they got there the better, even if the road was hard.

Don’t be such a pessimist, Mom, Emma thought. It’s not like we’re headed for the North Pole.

By the time she’d rolled up her sleeping bag, folded the blankets, put away all of her books and knick-knacks, and deconstructed her crude table, the rest of her family was already in high gear. She heard the squeaking wheels of the furniture dolly, as her father pushed a big stack of crates out of the living room area. Emma met him just outside of her room, lugging her backpack and carrying the smallest box from her room.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he said, headed for the front chamber. “Let’s use the dolly for heavy stuff.”

“I know,” she replied, following him through the front curtains toward the wagon. “I’m fine. I’m just glad we’re finally leaving. I can’t believe how much snow we had this winter.”

“It was pretty typical for the area,” he replied. “We’ve just never had to trek over a mountain in it before, and that mountain pass isn’t easy even in the best of times. On top of that, we’re trying to drive a herd of cattle.”

“It’s going to be okay, isn’t it, Dad?”

She followed him to the back of the wagon. Once he’d lowered the tailboard, she set her crate on it.

“As long as the wagon holds up and doesn’t get stuck, we’ll be fine,” he replied. “We rode heavy on the way here, but the wheels are still in decent shape. I’m a little worried about the axles, but I made a few repairs to the frame. We should be fine.” He reached out and laid a hand on Emma’s back, giving her a reassuring smile. She wasn’t sure it was entirely genuine.

As her father began unloading the boxes from the dolly, Emma headed back to her room. Along the way, she saw Darryl frantically rooting through some boxes, muttering under his breath. On the ground nearby, Tuck’s old toolbox sat open, tools scattered on the ground.

“Hey, has anyone seen the old compass that was in here?” he asked. As Emma approached, he looked up at her. “Have you seen it?”

“No, I haven’t been in the toolbox lately,” she replied.

Darryl resumed rooting around in boxes, until Tabitha appeared and made an exasperated sound. “I thought we were supposed to be packing up and loading the wagon, not dumping everything on the ground.”

“Grandma, have you seen the compass that used to be in here?” he asked. “It belonged to Grandpa. It was in a leather carrying case. I’m pretty sure the brand name was Selsi or something like that. We used it when we lost the trail on the way to the winter camp, but I’m sure I put it back in the toolbox. At least, I think I did. I hope it didn’t get dropped somewhere along the way.”

“I’ll help you look,” Emma said, kneeling beside him.

“Thanks,” he replied, as he continued digging through boxes.

Emma picked her way through the toolbox, making sure it wasn’t tucked underneath something. Darryl might have overlooked it, after all. He wasn’t the best at finding lost things.

“Don’t worry about that old compass,” Grandma said. “We probably won’t need it. From here to the cabin the way is clearly marked.”

Emma didn’t find the compass anywhere in the toolbox, though she rooted in every corner. Finally, she began putting the tools back in place.

“I hate to lose it,” Darryl said with a sigh. “He used to take it with him when he went hunting. It’s a shame to lose something that reminds me of him.”

“Well, I can certainly relate to that feeling,” Tabitha said, “but we might just have to accept that it bounced off the wagon somewhere along the way. Let it go. Let’s load up and get out of here. We have a long way to go.”

Darryl shook his head, grabbed up a bunch of towels and blankets and shoved them back into a crate. “Let’s just hope we don’t end up needing it.”

“As long as we stick to the trail, we’ll be fine,” Tabitha said. “I remember the way. Heck, I even know a shortcut that will shave off a few kilometers.”

2

The baby clothes were all folded up at the bottom of the box, waiting to be used. Darryl pressed them down firmly to make room for Justine’s clothes. She had a fairly limited wardrobe, comprised almost entirely of t-shirts, hoodies, and sweatpants, all in dark colors. The girl definitely had a distinct look.

“Maybe we should give it a few more days,” Justine said. She was rolling up her sleeping bag in the corner. “Not that I want to stay here, by any means, but if the pass just opened up today, a few more days of warm weather will only help, don’t you think?”

“Maybe so,” Darryl replied, putting the lid onto the crate of clothing, “but I also think people want to get the heck out of this cave, you know?”

“Add me to that list,” Justine said, “but going over the mountain is going to be a big pain in the butt. We’ve got a bunch of cattle and supplies. What if we get all the way up there and find that some of the trail is gone, washed away, or snowed in, or we get lost?”

Indeed, he’d had this very thought. It was the reason he’d gone looking for Tuck’s old compass. On a cloudy day, with no obvious trail, it was far easier to get lost in the wilderness than he’d expected. They’d had a hard enough time trying to find the winter camp after the pass had proved impassible.

“We’ll just have to hope for the best,” he said, “but the fact is, most of those things will still be possible in a week, or a month. Waiting longer won’t make a washed-away trail come back.”

She gave him a look that suggested she didn’t find his words comforting. He went to her side and put his arms around her. Initially, she just tolerated the embrace. But finally, she warmed up and returned it.

“I just want civilization again,” she said. “I’m tired of living like pioneers in the seventeenth century.”

“It’ll be a lot better at the cabin,” Darryl said. “We can fix it up and make it nice.”

“First we have to get there.”

“We will,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it. Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” she said. “But you don’t control nature.”

Once all of Justine’s things were packed up, Darryl went looking for the furniture dolly. He found his father at the back of the wagon, stacks of boxes and barrels around him. He was slowly loading them one by one, but he had a scowl on his face. The furniture dolly was on the ground beside the back wheel.

“Is there a problem, Dad?” Darryl said, as he picked up the dolly. He’d quickly learned, in their current living situation, not to let things fester. It was better to make sure his Dad put everything out into the open. The man tended to brood privately, and that only led to trouble.

“I’m just trying to figure out how to get everything into the wagon,” Greg said, hoisting a small barrel into the back. “We’ve acquired a bit of stuff here at the camp.” He gestured toward an open box. It contained a bunch of rusted old tools and scrap metal that they’d found in a back room of the cave. “Hopefully, there will still be room for all of our people, but it might be a tight fit.”

“Why do we need to bring all this junk?” Darryl asked. “We can leave half our stuff here and be just fine, Dad.”

Darryl was looking into the back of the wagon and trying to imagine poor Justine being all scrunched up between the boxes and crates. As his father continued to slide more and more boxes into the back, it only got worse. She would have more room if she rode up front on the driver’s seat, but Darryl didn’t think she would do that.

“I don’t want to leave anything behind,” Greg said, hoisting the big box of junk tools and scrap metal into the back of the wagon. “You never know what we might need once we get to the hunting cabin.”

Shaking his head, Darryl took the furniture dolly back to Justine. All of her things had now been packed away, and whatever illusion of a bedroom the cave chamber had held was gone. It was, after all, just an irregular space at the back of a cave.

“We’re going to be in the wagon all day, aren’t we?” Justine said. “I’d better sit in the very back so I can barf my brains out when the fancy takes me. Hopefully, Horace will trade places with me. I know he likes being the lookout.” She rose, pulling her hood up.

Pregnant, still suffering from morning sickness, and crammed into the back of an overfull wagon. Darryl didn’t like it, and as he pushed the boxes back through the cave, he again thought of all the unnecessary stuff they were lugging along. The journey from the ranch to the camp had been bad enough, with everyone crammed onto the back bench, but Justine was very pregnant now. When he returned to the wagon, he found his father tucking smaller boxes under the bench.

“Dad, I really think we need to leave some of this stuff behind,” Darryl said. “Why are we taking all of the old junk we found here at the camp?”

“If something breaks, we may need the scraps to make repairs,” his father replied, climbing out of the wagon. “I don’t want to leave anything behind and then realize I need it somewhere down the road.”

“Yeah, but we have to fit actual people in this wagon,” Darryl replied, unloading Justine’s stuff beside the other stacks. “You know how tough this ride is going to be for Justine? She’s still sick almost every morning, and she’s always uncomfortable. We need to get to the cabin as fast as we can, because the longer it takes, the harder it’s going to be on her and the baby.”

Greg just stood there for a moment, chewing on his lip.

“We don’t need to become hoarders just to survive,” Darryl added. He knew he was pushing things, but he felt strongly about this. More than that, he knew his dad could be stubborn. “We have to prioritize people.”

He’d gone too far, and he knew it. A look flashed briefly across his father’s face: eyebrows down, lips pressed tightly together, nose scrunched up. Darryl anticipated the anger and braced himself to stand his ground for Justine’s sake. But then the look passed, and his father resumed loading the wagon.

“I understand how you feel,” Greg said. “I really do. You’re worried about the mother of your child, and you’re right to make that your first concern.” It was a remarkably civil, even compassionate response, that reminded Darryl just how much things had changed between them. Could they actually have a decent conversation about something when they were of contrary opinions? “Here’s the thing, son. We can’t anticipate any and every problem, so we have to be ready for things we haven’t even thought of. That’s how we’ll keep everyone safe.”

Darryl knelt beside the big open crate full of junk. He picked up a leather boot with a huge hole in the sole. “Really? Is there a problem that would require an old boot?” He tossed the boot back into the crate and picked up a small hatchet with a broken handle. “Or tools we can’t even use? Dad, you’ve got a pair of jeans in here with a hole in the crotch, a couple of chipped glass jars wrapped in filthy rags. This stuff is never going to be useful, is it? It’s basically someone’s garbage.”

“It might be,” he replied, maintaining a remarkably even tone. “Broken tool handles can be repaired. The leather from that boot could prove useful. The cloth from the jeans, the glass from those jars—you never know. Look, it’s not just for the journey today. The hunting cabin is isolated and private. No one’s going to bother us up there. We’ll have all the time in the world to build and repair and make things, but only if we bring plenty of materials with us. You’re looking into that crate and seeing junk instead of thinking about the possibilities.”

“Oh, I’m thinking about possibilities all right,” Darryl replied. He was tempted to raise his voice, but his father had stayed so calm. If Greg could manage a civil discussion, so could he. “The possibilities of what might happen if we overload the wagon, if we get bogged down on the mountain pass, or if the travel is too rough for the people—yes, Justine, in particular. I see where you’re coming from, Dad, but I’m prioritizing people over junk.”

“Me too,” Greg said. “I always prioritize the people. That’s my whole point.”

Darryl heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Tabitha and Marion approaching. By the looks on their faces, it was clear they had overheard at least some of the debate. Between them, they were lugging a big sack of folded linens.

“Well, it sounds like the two of you are least being civil,” Marion said. “Is this really the best time to have an impassioned debate about what to bring and what to leave behind? We’ve had the whole winter to figure it out.”

“I think we’re at an impasse,” Greg said. He started to reach for the crate full of junk, but he paused and grabbed another box instead, hoisting it up into the wagon. “Darryl wants to travel light; I want to bring everything. What do you two think?”

Tabitha and Marion traded a look, as if waiting to see which of them would go first.

“Well, I’m with Greg,” Tabitha said, setting the sack of linens down. “I think we should bring absolutely everything we can. I haven’t been to the cabin in years, so I’m not sure what we’ll find there. The roof might have collapsed. It might be infested with vermin. Who knows? The more resources we have, the better our chances of being able to address any problems.”

“I think you’re jumping the gun,” Marion said. “Before we can worry about what we find at the cabin, we have to worry about getting there. The journey ahead is the most important thing right now. If we’re overloaded, we’re going to travel a lot slower, and we might struggle to even get over the mountain.”

“So it’s a tie,” Greg said, shaking his head. “We’re still at an impasse.”

Now, Darryl was struggling not to get really annoyed. At this point, he was ready to suggest that they build a second wagon. Maybe they could somehow get the cows to pull the damn thing? Whatever it took to make Justine more comfortable. He was still kneeling beside the crate of junk, but he was at a loss for words.

“Should be play a round of rock-paper-scissors to settle the debate?” Marion asked. She didn’t sound like she was completely joking.

“I’ll settle it.” Justine’s voice. Darryl turned to see his girlfriend stepping through the curtains, her hands on her belly.

“We were just debating—” Greg started to say.

“I know. I heard it all,” Justine replied. “Sorry, Darryl, but your dad and grandma are right. Take everything. I can handle being crunched up in the back. You never know what we might need. Okay?” She gave each person a lingering look, one by one. “There. No need for rock-paper-scissors. Bring it all, and I’ll be just fine. I’m not so delicate, you know. Thanks.”

And with that, she turned, sighed, and walked back through the curtains. Darryl felt chastened. He’d been trying to advocate for her comfort, but in the process, he’d made her feel awkward about being in the center of an argument.

“Are you okay with that, son?” Greg asked.

Darryl appreciated the question. It was clearly an attempt to prevent hurt feelings. “Yeah, if she’s fine with it, I’m fine with it. Let’s load up.” To prove he meant it, he wrapped his arms around the crate of junk and struggled to hoist it up. Greg had to bend down and help him, and they managed to get it onto the lowered tailboard of the wagon.

“Look, I’ll make sure the trip goes as smoothly as possible,” Greg said. “That’s my promise to you and Justine.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Darryl replied.

But as he said it, he heard the back axle let out a loud groan. The sideboards were already lined with boxes and barrels from front to back, and they had a lot more to go. Greg didn’t seem bothered by the noise from the wagon’s underbelly, as he proceeded to shove the big crate of junk beside the back bench.

“It’ll ride heavy, but I did some work on the wagon over the winter,” Greg said. “It’ll hold up.”

And then, even as the words were still leaving his lips, the axle gave another loud groan. Then it snapped with sudden violence. The back right wheel broke free of its hub and fell over, and the whole back corner of the wagon crashed down. Greg fell off the tailboard, landing among their supplies, and the crate of junk slid backward. It hit the back leg of the bench, spun, and tipped over, gushing broken tools, scrap metal, and tattered clothes all over the cave floor, as Darryl danced backward out of the way. Other bags and barrels soon followed, sliding down the slope, many of them tipping over, tumbling, scattering their contents all over the ground.

3

For long minutes, nobody said anything as the echo of tumbling junk slowly faded in the cave. Darryl stared in slack-jawed amazement at the back of the wagon. The corner had fallen to the ground, and in the process, the back legs of the bench had snapped loose. The back right wheel with about a third of the axle was sitting on its side right in front of Tabitha and Marion, who gazed down at it like it was a fallen comrade in battle. A loose bolt continued to roll, making its soft sound all the way out of the cave.

Finally, Greg unleashed a deep groan and squatted behind the wagon, putting his face in his hands. Darryl saw Emma, Justine, and Horace peeking through the curtains that led into the living quarters. Still, no one spoke. Darryl was afraid to say anything, in case it might be interpreted as an “I told you so,” but he was also struggling against a sudden rush of anger.

It was Tabitha who spoke first, reaching out to rest her gloved right hand on the broken axle of the wheel. “I did not see that coming, I must admit.”

“I barely held this piece of garbage together on the journey here,” Greg said, kicking a rusty wrench out of his way, “but we worked on this damned thing all winter, and it doesn’t even make it out of the cave. I’d like to take it back to James Teagan and demand a refund.”

In an effort to avoid getting worked up over it, Darryl knelt and righted the crate, then began picking up the spilled supplies and dumping them back inside. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe this meant they would forgo the hunting cabin a few more days, giving the snow and ice more time to melt. Then again, the longer they waited, the harder the journey was going to get on Justine.

“Let’s hope this isn’t a bad omen,” he said aloud.

“Don’t talk that way,” his mother said, kneeling beside him to help pick up the supplies. “We’re lucky it broke here in the cave instead of up on the pass somewhere.”

“We can’t travel without the wagon,” Greg said. He rose and began removing the rest of the supplies from the back of the wagon, shoving them rather roughly onto the cave floor. “The damage will have to be repaired. Come on. Darryl, Emma, help me tip it on its side, so we can see the extent of the damage.” He made a little wave at them as he moved around to the side of the wagon.

Darryl left his mother to continue picking up their things, as he went to help his father. Emma pushed past Horace and Justine, scowling darkly.

“You should’ve been more careful loading it up, Dad,” she said. “You put too much weight toward the back.”

“I did not,” he replied. “The weight was evenly distributed. The problem was the wagon itself. Now come on. Help me.”

He grabbed the frame of the wagon just beneath the sideboard. Darryl and Emma did the same. Together, they lifted it and tipped it onto its side. It wasn’t easy. Indeed, Darryl strained until he thought he was on the verge of pulling a back muscle, but gradually the heavy wooden frame rose, tipped over, and then crashed down on its side, revealing the underbelly.

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to break the whole thing,” Tabitha said.

“We have to survey the damage,” Greg said.

Darryl stepped back. Not only had the axle broken but the axle clip had pulled loose, and the brake seemed to be damaged as well. Greg reached out and touched the brake beam, muttering something under his breath that Darryl couldn’t quite make out—but that he thought might have been a string of profanities.

“We should have moved it deeper into the cave,” Tabitha said. “It was exposed to the freezing cold and ice all winter, and it must have weakened the wood.”

“Mom, we were using it to pen in the animals at night,” Marion said.

“Well, we should’ve thought of something else,” she said.

Darryl felt Justine move up beside him. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. It was amazing how much their future depended on one beat-up old wagon. Darryl didn’t like it. Their survival was still too precarious if a single broken axle could mean so much.

“Under different circumstances, I would say let’s just hike to the lodge,” Justine said, quietly, one hand still pressed to her belly. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can make it, not like this.”

“You’re definitely not hiking all the way over the mountain pass,” Darryl replied. “No one expects that. I’ll carry you on my back, if I have to.”

“Is that all I am to you? A backpack to be lugged around?” Justine said, elbowing him gently in the side.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

His father was examining the front axle, and he finally made a disgusted sound and held up both hands. “Front axle’s in bad shape, too. This whole thing is shot. We might as well scrap it all and build a whole new wagon from scratch.” He kicked the underside of the wagon, and when that didn’t seem to satisfy him, he kicked it three more times, until Marion walked up and put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t beat it into submission,” she said, “and you might injure yourself.”

“What does it matter now?” he said, dragging his hands through his sweat-soaked hair. “The wagon is completely useless. I made all of those repairs for nothing. I should have examined the axles closer. They didn’t seem to be on the verge of snapping. How are we going to get over the mountains now?”

No one had an immediate answer to this, but as Darryl looked around the room, he could tell each person was handling the situation differently. Greg and Tabitha were both angry. Emma’s lips were pursed, as if she were deep in thought, no doubt trying to come up with a smart way to fix the wagon. Horace looked weary, leaning heavily on his crutch, like a man who just wanted to go back to bed. Marion and Justine both just seemed worried.

As for Darryl, his own comment made him think. No, he couldn’t carry Justine on his back all the way over the mountain pass, even if she would have allowed it. Still, the idea of lugging her around made him think of another option, and he was surprised that no one else had thought of it first.

“I don’t know how we’re going to replace the axles,” Greg said. “We don’t have the wood for it, and this clip here ripped out of the frame. I don’t know.” He pressed his hands against the underside of the wagon, as if he intended to push it all the way over. Instead, he just leaned there, shaking his head.

“We have another option,” Darryl said, “besides going on foot, I mean. The answer is right outside of the cave and down in the meadow.”

“The horses,” Emma said, finishing his thought. “They came saddled. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Darryl said. “We have two big horses, and each of them can handle two riders. Justine, do you think you could sit in the saddle for an extended period of time?”

“I can handle it,” Justine said.

“I’m concerned it might be bad for you and the baby,” Darryl said, “but I don’t know what else we can do.”

“Afraid it’ll shake the baby loose?” she said. “We’re tougher than that. It can’t be much worse than being crammed on that bench in the back of the wagon,” Justine said.

Greg and Marion traded a look, clearly concerned about the suggestion.

“What about the supplies?” Greg said. “We can’t ride to the hunting lodge with just our backpacks. We’ll need more than that.”

Horace cleared his throat then. “Those big draft horses can handle a lot of weight. It wouldn’t take long to build a couple of travois, like the First Nations people used to do, to haul some of our gear. Two long sticks, crossbeams, some sturdy blankets or tarps, and a bit of rope—that’s really all we need. It looks like we’ve got it all right here.”

“How much weight can a travois carry?” Greg asked.

“More than nothing,” Horace said, “and more than the packs on our shoulders. We’ll have to be selective, but we can cobble together some saddlebags as well. It won’t be so bad. The kids came up with a great idea. We can make it work.”

Greg nodded, but he seemed to be deep in thought. After a moment, he walked to the cave entrance, stepping over their supplies. Tabitha and Marion went with him, and the three of them stood there together staring down into the meadow.

“I think it’s our best option,” Marion said, after a moment. “We can make it work if we double up on the horses. Even if we have to leave a bunch of stuff behind, it’s better than staying here. This winter camp is not a long-term solution, and it’s no place to deliver a baby.”

Darryl overheard Justine mutter something about Denisovans, but he didn’t quite catch it. He still had his arm around her. It made him proud to hear his mother prioritizing the baby’s well-being. At least he wasn’t carrying the burden alone.

“Okay, then,” Greg said finally. He turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I guess we’re all on the same page. The draft horses are strong enough. They should be able to carry two riders and also pull the travois, but we’ll have to go easy on them. Justine and Marion, you two can ride together. Tabitha and Horace, how cozy are you willing to get with each other? Will you share a saddle?”

Tabitha and Horace traded a brief, embarrassed look. “I think we can handle it like adults,” Tabitha said.

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” Horace replied, but as he said it, he reached up and swept his hair back, trying to put it into some semblance of order. “We’re all friends here.”

“Fine,” Greg said. “So Darryl, Emma, and I will be on foot, keeping an eye on the supplies and cattle. Is everyone okay with that?”

“Let Emma ride the horse,” Marion said. “I can walk.”

“No, Mom,” Emma said, with swift intensity. “If Dad and Darryl are going to walk, so am I. I don’t need to ride a horse.” She had that sharp, almost whiny quality to her voice that suggested she had chosen this hill to die upon, if need be.

Marion stared at her for a moment, frowning, then finally shrugged and said, “Okay, whatever. No sense arguing about it.”

“Good,” Greg said. “We know what we’re doing then. Let’s get to work.”

4

Determining which of the supplies were absolutely essential turned out to be very difficult. Greg and Tabitha were still pushing to pack up as much as possible. Darryl was sure his father would see reason about the junk now, but then he caught Greg adding some of the scrap metal and junk tools into Grandpa’s old toolbox.

“Come on, Dad,” he said. “Get that hatchet with the broken handle out of there. Essential tools, clothes, food, water, and medicine. Isn’t that what we decided?”

His dad seemed like he was going to say something, maybe to argue the point, but instead he grabbed the broken hatchet and tossed it aside. “Fair enough. But we might need some junk to repair the travois, if they get broken.”

“Extra rope, tarps, and wood,” Darryl said. “That’s all we need for repairs. What’s a broken hatchet going to do?”

“Maybe it reminds me of the old hatchet Tuck used to chop firewood,” Greg muttered. “Call me sentimental. Or maybe I just like the damn thing. Anyway, it’s gone. Get off my back, kid.”

Tabitha, Marion, and Emma began to disassemble the wagon board by board, as Greg repacked their supplies. Horace was the lead engineer for the travois, since he had the clearest idea of how to build them. He sifted through the pile of scrap from the wagon and set aside useful pieces, though Darryl did most of the work putting them together under his guidance. Justine had offered to help, but Darryl convinced her to rest easy. He’d even prepared a pallet of blankets for her in a corner near the back of the main chamber. Emma had given her a book to read, but she was mostly staring off into space. She looked worried, and Darryl didn’t blame her. They had avoided the worst-case scenario, but he still wasn’t looking forward to the upcoming trip. Indeed, everyone seemed a bit downcast at their prospects.

“It’s a shame that we have to take this thing apart,” Emma said at one point. “This wagon is kind of like an old friend, you know? It brought us all the way here, it carried our stuff, and it’s just been sitting here inside the cave with us this whole time.”

“Well, it’ll still be with us,” Darryl replied, “just in a different form.”

“In a whole bunch of pieces, you mean,” Emma said. “It’ll be sad not to look outside and see it sitting there. I don’t know. I’m just being sentimental, I guess, and maybe that’s weird. It wasn’t even our wagon to begin with. Those weirdos in town gave it to us so we would leave.”

“When you don’t own much, it’s easy to get attached to what little you do have,” Horace Bouchard noted.

To construct the travois, they used the longest, sturdiest pieces of wood they could find. They took the thick boards from the bottom of the wagon’s frame for one of them. For the other, they used the front axle, reinforced with extra wood, and a couple of boards from the underside of the wagon that they lashed together with plenty of rope. These were placed into V shapes, bound together at the narrow end. Then they fastened crossbeams from smaller pieces of wood and stretched layers of tarps across them. A simple design, it nevertheless took a good couple of hours to get it done. Horace helped as much as he could, though he was forced to sit on a stool.

“The tricky part will be creating harnesses to attach the travois to the horses,” Horace said. “To be honest, that’s the part of the design I’m less certain about.”

Emma was in the process of removing nails from the underside of the wagon to free up more scrap wood. “It’s too bad we don’t have access to the bookshelves in the den,” she said. “I brought a few books, but there were so many more. I bet one of them had directions for building a travois and harness.”

“Well, I hope James Teagan and his cretins get a lot of use out of those books,” Tabitha said, bitterly, as she pried a board off the wagon’s frame with a crowbar. “Most of them belonged to Tuck, and some of them belonged to his mom and dad.”

“Something tells me those guys aren’t exactly well-read,” Marion said.

As Darryl finished lashing a final tarp to one of the travois, he noticed that Horace had bent over and was drawing something in the mud of the cave floor with his finger. His lips were moving, as if he were talking to himself. When he realized Darryl was looking at him, he said, “I might have an idea for how to harness the travois to the horses. Give me a couple of minutes. I’m just sketching it out here as best I can.”

Darryl nodded and rose. As Horace continued to draw in the mud, Darryl stepped back and examined his handiwork. The two travois looked pretty sturdy. Multiple layers of tarps spread across the flat wooden crossbeams provided a lot more room for supplies than he’d anticipated, and the support poles on either side looked sturdy enough to survive the few kilometers of bumpy trail.

“Darryl, since you’re taking a break,” his father said, “would you go to the bathroom on the other side of the cave and get the box of medicine? We forgot it.”

The box of medicine! Darryl couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it. He would have assumed someone else would grab it, but apparently it had been overlooked. If the wagon hadn’t broken, would they have left it behind? That was an alarming thought, especially since Tabitha’s diabetes medication was in there. Darryl rose, dug a flashlight out of their supplies, and stepped past the travois, headed into the living chambers.

It was strange to see the empty rooms now. This weird, unpleasant place had been home for so long, he’d almost gotten used to it. Now that their personal possessions were removed, it just looked like a dim, dirty cave again.

A narrow passageway across from the living room led toward the back of the cave, where a second, smaller exit was hidden behind a crude wooden door. A small curtained-off corner served as a bathroom. It had a small mirror mounted on the wall above a shelf and ceramic basin. The toilet was essentially a large plastic bucket with a hinged toilet seat on top. The faint smell of flowery scented candles lingered in the air. Darryl made his way toward the corner beside the sink, where he found the small wooden box that served as a medicine cabinet on the floor. When he picked it up, the pill bottles rattled around inside. He opened the lid and felt inside until he found the smaller box that held Grandma’s diabetes medicine.

You should have remembered to bring these, Grandma, he thought. Why don’t you prioritize your own health care?

The small box felt much lighter than when he’d first packed it. She never took her medication in front of other people, and any time he dared to ask her about it, she always grumbled. Still, it seemed she’d been taking it, but there was so little left.

And when it runs out, then what? He didn’t have an answer to that question. Once it was gone, there would be no replacing it. Still, it couldn’t be helped. They would have to made do and hope for the best. He placed the diabetic meds back into the medicine box, shut the lid, and picked it up. Tucking it under his arm, he moved back through the cave to join his family.

Marion, Tabitha, and Emma had done a thorough job of tearing apart the wagon. Other than the wheels, the whole thing was mostly in pieces now, which they’d separated into distinct piles. Everyone looked melancholy, as if they’d just put down a family pet. Near the mouth of the cave, bathed in bright late-morning sun, his father had reduced their supply load to nine or ten large boxes and a couple of barrels. Darryl could only hope that the travois would hold the weight. He brought the wooden medicine box to his father, and Greg added it to the stacks.

“Okay, Darryl, I think I’ve got it figured out,” Horace said, bent over the rather elaborate diagram he’d drawn in the mud. “Come and look at the design here and tell me what you think. Do we have the materials to build these harnesses?”

Darryl went and stood behind Horace, gazing down at a confusing mess of lines and grooves carved in the ground. He couldn’t make sense of it, even after a few seconds of studying it. “Truthfully, I’m not sure what I’m looking at, sir,” he said.

Horace began point at parts of his diagram. “I’m not much of an artist, and I was never a draftsman, but my thought is we use the old lead lines, driving reins, ropes, and some blankets for padding to create the harnesses for the travois. Here’s roughly what they would look it. The ropes will bear the weight, but the blankets will help prevent chafing. What do you think? Can we create something like this?”

“You’ll have to guide me through it,” Darryl replied. I couldn’t follow your drawing if my life depended on it.

“Got it,” Horace said. “We’ll go step by step. Gather the materials.”

As Darryl worked to create harnesses for the travois, Tabitha, Marion, and Emma loaded up the supplies Greg had prepared, trying to distribute the weight evenly. Emma had strong opinions about where everything should go, and her mother and grandmother patiently tolerated it. Greg pushed all of the remaining supplies to one side of the cave, giving them a rather sad, regretful look.

Let’s hope he was wrong and we won’t end up needing the stuff we leave behind, Darryl thought. Then again, I suppose we can always make a trip back here someday and retrieve it all.

Maybe the journey to the lodge would end up being a few short hours along an open path with no real problems. In the end, they would feel silly about all of their worry, but at least they would be safe.

“I’ll go and get the horses,” Greg said. “I left them grazing in the meadow. Once the animals are all rounded up, it seems to me we’ll be ready to go.”

Darryl gestured at the harnesses that he and Horace had created. “Looks like it.”

“Okay, until I get back, rack your brains to make sure we’re not leaving behind anything that is absolutely essential.” He looked at each person in turn, as if personally assigning them the task, then headed out of the cave, walking down the slope that led to the meadow.

Of course, there was one thing that Darryl hadn’t been able to find. The old compass from Tuck’s toolbox. They’d wound up needing it on their journey to the winter camp. After finding the trail to the cabin snowed in, they’d gotten turned around in a snowstorm, and the compass had helped them find their way. Darryl couldn’t imagine what had happened to it, but he feared they might need it, especially once they got into the deep woods. For some reason, he couldn’t let it go. Its disappearance was bugging him.

“Horace, I think the harnesses are good here,” he said. “I’m going to take one more pass through the old rooms and make sure we didn’t leave anything we need.”

Horace tipped him a salute. As Darryl headed deeper into the caves again, he heard Tabitha and Emma bickering about the placement of the water barrels.

“Toward the front, Grandma,” Emma was saying. “Toward the front.”

“They’re more likely to tip over up there,” Tabitha replied.

“Nothing’s going to tip over,” Emma said. “The angle won’t be that steep. Look how long the poles are.”

“The horses are taller than you realize! Now, stop mouthing off at your granny. It’s starting to irk me.”

“But Grandma, I’m just trying to help.”

Let’s hope this doesn’t set the general mood of the trip, Darryl thought.

Justine was still sitting on her pallet, leaning back against the cave wall, with her hands resting on top of her big belly. Though she seemed half asleep, he paused and gently patted her on top of the head.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“I’m thinking about whether or not I have enough energy to get up, walk out of the cave, and barf in the grass,” she said. “Maybe not. I might just sit here and swallow it.”

“Yuck,” Darryl replied. “I’ll carry you out of the cave, if you want.”

She looked up with an ornery glint in her eye. “You sure are determined to carry me around. It keeps coming up. I’m not an invalid, you know.” Even as she said it, she reached up and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. He knew her well enough now to tell when the sarcasm was coming from a gentle place. “Just tell me when it’s time to go. I’m sick of sitting here not helping anyone.”

“It’ll be soon,” he said. “And you are helping someone. You’re helping the little one.”

“Well, tell the little one to quit kicking my ribs,” she said with a smile. “He can kick my spleen for a while and give the ribs a rest.”

Darryl headed back into the living chambers and spent a few more minutes rooting around in the dark, searching the likely places where the compass might have fallen. It was no use. The compass had vanished into thin air. It was a shame. Not just because they might need it, but because it had belonged to his grandfather. That made it irreplaceable. But that wasn’t really the problem, and he knew it. He’d become obsessed with maintaining anything that he thought might be helpful for Justine and the baby. Indeed, the reason why he’d been able to find the medicine box in the dark was because he checked the damn thing almost every day, making sure all of their essential medicine and first aid supplies were readily available, for Justine’s sake.

He felt along the floor, in the corners, along the walls. It was a futile effort, and he finally returned to join the others, resigned to accept its loss but irritated. Just then, Marion and Tabitha were placing the medicine box onto one of the travois. He hadn’t noticed just how bad Tabitha looked. His grandmother was sweating profusely, and she seemed flushed. After setting the box down, she collapsed on her rump, struggling to catch her breath.

“Grandma, don’t push yourself too hard,” Darryl said.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied. She pulled off her gloves, dabbed her forehead with one of them, and unzipped her coat. “Just need a little break. I haven’t worked this hard since we first got to the camp.”

Darryl glanced at the medicine box. It was a touchy subject. She hated it when he brought up her medication, but it needed to be addressed, especially with the hard journey ahead of them. Darryl gathered his courage before plunging ahead.

“Grandma, when I looked inside that box, I noticed that the container with your medicine is feeling really light,” he said. “I guess that’s a good thing, since it’s means you’ve been taking your meds, but are you close to running out?”

She wouldn’t look at him, but he could tell by the sudden tightness in her face that he’d made her mad. Tabitha looked down at the ground, her lips working back and forth.

“If you’re running out of meds, you should tell us,” Marion said. “It’s something that will have to be addressed. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m fine,” Tabitha snapped. “I have it all under control, okay? Darryl, you can be so nosy sometimes.” She laughed, but he could tell there was embarrassment behind it. Why did she hate this so much? Diabetes wasn’t something to be ashamed of. “As I’ve told you all many times, I mostly control my symptoms through diet, and that’s still the case. I’m not some old biddy that needs help changing her diaper. I am still fully capable of looking after myself.”

Darryl had always found his grandmother intimidating, but he wasn’t the same person anymore. His sense of responsibility had made him bold, even in the face of Grandma’s tirade. He waited patiently for her to finish and then, speaking as calmly as he could, he replied, “Grandma, it’s our responsibility to worry about you. Heck, it’s our responsibility to worry about everyone. We take care of each other, right? So we have to stay on top of any possible problem, especially when the well-being of a family member is concerned.”

This response seemed to soften her. Tabitha dabbed her face again, then pulled on her gloves. “Of course. I just don’t like everyone needling me about my health. I’m on top of it. I’ve been looking after my own health for a long time, and I’ve done a pretty good job of it, I’d say. If it’s any consolation, I’ve got more medications stocked at the hunting cabin, so if we can just get there, everything will be fine.”

“Mom, is that true?” Marion asked.

“Yes, of course,” Tabitha replied. “Now, can we stop worrying about how much medicine is in this little box here?” She patted the wooden lid. “Let’s just get to our destination as fast as we can, and I’ll be fine.”

Darryl didn’t believe her. By her own admission, she hadn’t visited the cabin in a few years. He decided not to press the point.

“Okay, fair enough,” he said, after a moment. “Then we’ll try to make good time and get there as soon as possible.”

“Just tell us if you have any major symptoms, Mom,” Marion added. “Don’t keep it a secret.”

“A little hot flash is not a major symptom,” Tabitha said. “I’ll let you know if I’m in real trouble. Just don’t pester me. That’s all I ask. Okay?”

Darryl and Marion glanced at each other. It would have to do.

5

Greg had a bad feeling about the whole journey from the moment they set out. He could see that the lower part of the mountain was dense with trees that crowded in along the edges of the pass, eating away at the road. In some places, it was going to be a tight squeeze. Keeping the fifteen head of cattle all moving in the same direction would be a pain, especially when three of the cowherds were on foot. As they crossed the meadow outside the cave, he realized their pace was going to be excruciatingly slow. At this rate, it seemed like it would take days to get to the hunting cabin. The draft horses, at least, seemed to handle the weight of two riders plus the travois with little trouble.

Greg lingered near the back of the group so he could keep an eye on everything, carrying the crude hiking staff he’d made out of a dry sapling during their time in the cave. Darryl fell back to walk beside him, the Remington rifle stuck beneath a strap of his backpack. Greg had the Walther PPK pistol in a holster under his coat. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need either.

“I don’t know if it’s because we’ve been stuck in a cave all winter,” Darryl said, “but I feel out of shape. We haven’t gone two kilometers, and I’m already sore.”

“Yeah, it’s rough,” Greg replied. “Everyone’s lethargic. Even the cattle. Let’s hope we start to warm up. Otherwise, we’re in for a hell of a trip.”

Darryl looked around, as if making sure no one was in hearing range, then said, “Maybe this was a mistake, Dad. Maybe we should have stayed in the cave a couple more weeks.”

“The trip to the cabin was always going to be a pain,” Greg replied, “and we would only have gotten more out of shape. I think the timing of our journey is right, even if it’s not easy.”

The horses were leading the way, Tabitha and Horace’s mount slightly ahead of the other. Emma had been trying to keep pace with the horses, trotting along at times. She was always the chipper one. The difficulty of the road ahead did little to discourage her. However, she noticed that Greg and Darryl were behind her, and she fell back to join them.

“What are we talking about?” she asked.

The leader of the herd was a particularly large, but relatively calm cow. They kept her on a lead line attached to the harness of one of the horses. As long as she kept moving, the others were likely to follow. However, Greg tried to keep his eyes on the fringes to make sure none of them wandered off. And what would he do if one of them did? A determined cow would have no trouble getting away from them.

How many of these head of cattle can we afford to lose? he asked himself. Let’s hope they keep following the leader.

He realized he hadn’t responded to Emma, so he finally said, “We’re talking about the hard life of being cowboys with no horses to drive the cattle.”

“Maybe we should have slaughtered them all first and cured the meat,” Emma said.

“We wouldn’t have been able to lug all of the meat,” Greg said. “It’s a bad situation all around, but we’re making the best of it. If we get to the cabin with a few cows left, I’ll consider it a success. We can’t do much more than that.”

“I guess it’ll be worth it to get settled into the cabin well before the baby is born,” Darryl said. “There might be a lot of work to do to fix the place up.”

“Let’s just hope the structure is still intact,” Greg said.

Approaching the mountains was a trick itself. Tabitha claimed there had been a dirt road here at some point in the past, but it had long since disappeared. They were kilometers from the nearest major road, so they were forced to cross the meadow outside the cave and find the easiest path through the woods. From the meadow, it was a slow curve to the southeast, circling around to approach the mountain trail from the east. Finally, they found the residue of an old gravel road that was still mostly hidden under the snow.

Greg didn’t care for the way the travois dragged over the rocky ground, bumping and thumping all the way, which caused their supplies to jostle together. They had lashed everything down with ropes and straps, but he wasn’t sure how long it would all hold up. With so many different things to worry about, he felt himself sinking into a fouler and fouler mood. He made a valiant effort not to let it show, but they were only two or three hours into the journey, and the whole thing already felt like a huge mistake.

We should have stayed in the cave. We had enough food, milk from the cows, access to clean water from nearby streams. We could have made it work. What was I thinking? Why did I agree to this?

But it was too late now, and he knew it. After all the work they’d done to get ready, nobody would agree to turn back. They had just come in sight of the lower switchbacks of the mountain pass when he saw one of the calves wandering off into the trees. He made his way toward it, working his way through the rest of the herd, but he didn’t want to startle any of the other animals. This slowed his pace, and by the time he got into the trees, the calf was long gone. He didn’t see it anywhere, and he couldn’t hear it over the constant dragging sound of the travois.

As he made his way back to the company, however, he was able to divert another cow that had started to wander off. He tapped it on the flank with his staff, and it turned back, trotting after the lead cow. Darryl and Emma met him as he rejoined the caravan.

“Did we lose one?” Darryl asked.

He nodded. “Don’t say anything about it to Tabitha. It’ll be easier up on the mountain. They’ll have a more restricted path.”

“Dad, I’ll go after it,” Emma said. “I bet I could circle around and shoo it back this way.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I don’t want anyone going off alone. Maybe it’ll come back of its own volition. We knew this would happen.”

He waved them on.

Another half hour brought them to a rather steep slope, the narrow mountain path cutting a zigzagging pattern through dense evergreen trees. Here, at least, the path was lined with dense brush that would keep the cows from wandering off. Greg eased back behind the herd again and did his best to make sure they were properly funneled onto the trail. This put the horses far ahead of him. Marion and Tabitha glanced back occasionally, and each time, he raised a hand to reassure them.

As they ascended the path, he sent Darryl and Emma to the front of the group. The horses had slowed down and seemed nervous to continue, so he had them lead the horses on foot. The weather, at least, was nice. By mid-afternoon, the sun was fully out, and he could feel the warmth on his face. Snow had continued to melt, making the ground damp and slippery, and occasionally one of the cattle took a bad step. However, the mountain trail turned out to be much easier than riding through the woods.

With little risk of the cattle wandering off, Greg worked his way back through the herd to rejoin the others at the front of the caravan. As he approached, he heard Marion, Tabitha, and Justine having a lively debate. They all looked quite cozy on their saddles, though Horace seemed half asleep, slumped forward with his arms crossed.

“Well, don’t take this as egotistical or anything,” Tabitha was saying, as Greg moved up alongside the horses, “but if it’s a girl, I think you should seriously consider naming it Tabitha. And if it’s a boy, you won’t go wrong naming it Tuck.” She had a smile on her face as she said, it, but Greg couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Marion and Justine stared at her in obvious confusion for a second, then Justine shook her head and make a soft little sound that might have been a laugh.

“I’ll add that to the list,” she said.

“It’s up to you, of course,” Tabitha replied, shrugging one shoulder. “Just throwing out ideas.”

“It’s so hard to pick a name,” Justine said with a sigh. “I mean, the kid is going to be stuck with it for the rest of their life. I want something interesting, something unique, but not too weird or anything. I wish I had a book of baby names. It’s hard to think of them.”

“Something unique?” Marion replied, a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, how about Rocky…or Gem…or Hamline. Yes, that’s it, I think. Hamline Healy.”

Unlike Tabitha, it was clear that Marion was joking, and Justine laughed loudly. Emma laughed too and joined in the fun.

“How about Tiger,” she said. “Or…or Pinecone…or Spider!”

Now, they were all laughing, even Tabitha. Horace snorted and looked up from his semi-sleep, and that only made people laugh harder.

“No one is naming our kid Spider,” Darryl said.

“I don’t know,” Justine replied, tapping her chin with one finger. “I kind of like Spider.” She had stopped laughing, narrowing her eyes as if she were seriously considering it. “It sounds kind of tough, you know? Like a biker’s name. Nobody’s going to mess with someone named Spider.”

Darryl had been leading their horse, but he dropped back and grabbed Justine’s leg. “Please, tell me you’re not serious. Spider Healy? That poor kid’s life would be ruined.”

She smacked him playfully on the back of the head. “Of course, I’m joking. I would never name a kid Spider. I much prefer Pinecone.”

“Little Piney,” Marion said, joining the fun. “Yeah, I can see it.”

Greg couldn’t join them. He just didn’t have it in him to joke and laugh. There was too much weighing on him, and too much to worry about, but he was glad to hear his family laughing and having fun. The months in the cave had been dour and unhappy. All of this smiling and joking around was like a glimpse of normal life. Maybe once they settled in at the cabin they could find something approaching normalcy again. That would be worth the loss of so many of their possessions, even the loss of some of the cattle along the way.

Sadly, the joking around didn’t last long. After an hour of slowly winding up the switchbacks, walled in on either side by tall trees, the terrain started to get rougher and more difficult to navigate. The trail was rocky, eaten away in places, and uneven. Finally, the big draft horses began to really struggle. The one carrying Marion and Justine had the heavier travois, and the poor mare began to fall behind, despite Darryl’s best effort to keep her moving forward.

With the trees on either side, it was impossible to tell how much farther they had to go to reach the valley on the other side of the mountain, but Greg could feel a difference in the air. At one point, they turned a corner and got a glimpse of the land behind them through a break in the trees. He saw the great forest stretching out a couple hundred meters below.

“We’ll have to give the horses a break,” he said, coming up alongside Tabitha and Horace. “We don’t want to push them much harder than we already have. We are entirely dependent on them.”

“Do you hear that?” Marion said, cupping a hand to her right ear.

Greg tilted his head to one side and thought he heard a faint roar of water muffled down among the trees. He couldn’t tell how far away it was. “A stream,” he said. “That would be perfect. Can’t tell which direction it’s coming from.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s straight ahead,” Marion said, pointing up the trail.

The trail ahead curved up the side of the rocky slope, crested a rise, then disappeared around a bend. It was maybe another twenty or thirty meters to the top, but Marion and Justine’s horse was struggling to keep going.

“Let me run on ahead and see what’s up there,” Greg said.

“I’ll go with you, Dad,” Emma said.

“No, stay with the horses,” he replied. “Keep them moving.”

Though he was already sweating and out of breath, he ran past the horses and hurried up the slope, pulling his toque off as he went. His hair was plastered against his skull with sweat. Next, the gloves came off. He shoved them in his pocket and jogged up the path to the top of the rise. The sound of rushing water got louder, and when he reached the top, he saw it: sunlight gleaming like silver on rough water.

Beyond the top of the rise, the land actually dropped back down to a low, rocky ravine between mountains. A stream poured out of the dense trees to his right and rushed down the rocks to meet a mountain river, flowing in the ravine. At its widest point, the water was perhaps five meters across, churning with quite a bit of strength.

The trail forked here, following the river in either direction, the right trail disappearing into the trees, the left trail heading down into the ravine. Greg knelt at the water’s edge to catch his breath. The view into the ravine was beautiful, full of boulders and green trees, beautiful fresh water, and then the peaks on the other side rising up like points on a crown. He had an old plastic water bottle in a side pocket of his backpack, and he pulled it out now. He took a few deep swigs, then refilled it in the stream. The water was starkly cold—clearly, it was mostly melted snow from the peaks. Then he twisted the cap back on and shoved it back in its pocket.

Afterward, he found a large rock and sat down to wait for the others. A few minutes later, he heard the clop of hooves, and soon the horses appeared at the top of the rise, led by Darryl and Emma.

“Let’s give the animals a break,” Greg said. “We can afford a few minutes here.”

He helped Tabitha and Horace dismount. Darryl helped Marion, but Justine opted to remain in the saddle. Then they unharnessed the travois and walked the horses to the river’s edge. They bent down to drink, gulping water thirstily. Greg took the line of the lead cow and brought her to the river as well, and soon the rest of the herd joined her, fanning out along the river, drinking and nibbling at the plants. Looking at all the people and animals gathered by the river, Greg was impressed that they made it this far. A couple of cows appeared late, strolling over the rise a few minutes after all the others.

“What do you think, Dad?” Emma said, moving up beside him. “We’re not half bad as cowboys, after all. We only lost one. Maybe they’ll invite us to the Calgary Stampede next year.”

“Don’t count on it,” he replied, patting her on the back. “But, yeah, we did okay.”

He saw Tabitha sitting on a rock, leaning her shoulder against a tree and gazing intently at the water below. He moved up beside her.

“Anything look familiar here?” he asked.

“Yeah, this river is a sight for sore eyes,” she said. “I know this place. The left trail is the shorter route by far. It leads right to the cabin. It’s pretty much a straight shot from here.”

He looked down the slope. Actually, the left trail seemed somewhat treacherous. In places, it followed so closely to the river’s edge, that the water had eroded it. The ground was even rockier, and the steep downhill slope seemed dangerous. He didn’t like the look of it.

“Is the left trail our only option?” he asked.

“No,” Tabitha replied. “The right trail leads there as well, but it takes a very long, roundabout way. It may be safer, but it’s definitely the scenic route, meandering through the mountains to find the most beautiful views. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Greg looked in both directions. The shortest way wouldn’t be the safest way if one of the horses got injured. Still, the thought of taking a roundabout way to the cabin was exhausting. Tabitha was giving him a questioning look, clearly waiting for him to make the choice. Normally, he would have simply made a decision, but he caught himself. Turning, he watched the rest of his family. They were standing together with the horses. Justine was still sitting in the saddle, sipping from a water bottle, and for once, she had pushed her hood back, revealing her entire face and her long black hair.

Greg caught Marion’s eye and beckoned her.

“Marion, Darryl, come here,” he said. “I want your opinion. Let’s make this decision together.”

6

From his place atop a large boulder beside the river, Greg thought the two trails couldn’t have been more different. On the right, the trail looked smooth and sturdy, cutting a relatively straight course into the trees. On the left, it was steep and crumbling, eaten away by the water, as it sank down into the ravine.

“How much farther is the right fork?” he asked. “You called it the scenic route, but what does that mean in terms of actual distance?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Tabitha said. “Based on experience, at the speed we’re traveling, it would take us at least another day or two to reach the cabin. At least. It follows a meandering ridgeline for a while, heads upstream, then cuts across at a place where the river flows underground. The views are lovely along the way, I will say.”

Darryl and Marion were standing beside him, surveying the visible sections of both trails.

“I mean, the left fork doesn’t look that bad,” Darryl said, after a moment, pointing down into the ravine. “It follows right alongside the river. Personally, I’d rather take the faster road. This journey isn’t easy on Justine. The sooner we can get to the cabin, the better.”

“It’s not that bad,” Tabitha agreed. “After another kilometer or two, the land opens up, and it becomes a lot easier. We can handle it.”

Greg turned and looked at the horses. Currently, Emma was trying to wrangle another calf that had tried to wander off. She managed to circle around it and encourage it back toward the water’s edge. Horace was seated on a rock beside the river, his prosthetic legs removed and standing nearby. The old guy looked thoroughly uncomfortable, hunched over and frowning at the churning water. However, it was Justine that drew his attention. She was holding her belly in both hands and looked like she was on the verge of puking.

“I prefer a safe road,” Marion said. “Even if it takes longer. What we’re attempting to do here, driving cattle and dragging our personal possessions, is already a huge risk. Why add to the danger?”

“Time itself is a risk,” Darryl said. As he said it, he looked back toward Justine. She noticed and waved him over. “I say we take the faster road. It’ll be easier on Justine. She’s due soon, you know. Hang on. I’ll be right back.” And with that, he approached Justine.

“Mom, what do you remember about the leftward path?” Marion asked.

Tabitha had taken a seat, and she was fanning her face with her hands. She was drenched with sweat, and her complexion didn’t look great.

“Like I’ve said, it’s been years since we went to the cabin,” she replied, “but I remember that the left path follows the river for a while, then cuts through the trees and passes by the cabin near the bottom of a rocky ravine. It’s steep in places, but passable, even with the travois.”

Greg was torn. His personality made him want to take the leftward path. A faster, straighter course to the objective was always more attractive to him. But they had struggled to make it up the switchback trail to the river. Indeed, as he was contemplating their options, Darryl summoned them.

“Mom, Dad, would you help?” he asked.

Greg realized he was trying to help Justine down from the saddle and having trouble. He’d reached up to help her, but when she tipped to one side, she gasped and grabbed at her back. Marion dashed on ahead to help, arriving before Greg got there.

“My back hurts really bad,” Justine said.

Marion and Darryl grabbed her leg. Greg wasn’t sure what they intended to do, but as soon as they lifted her leg, Justine gasped and leaned forward, grabbing her knee.

“No, no, don’t do that,” she said. “My feet are so swollen. They hurt. Oh, God, this is the worst.” She brushed tears off her face and pulled her hood back up, tugging it forward to hide her face.

“Hang on, guys,” Greg said. “We’ll get her down from there.”

He walked back to the travois, which had been unhooked from the horses. He picked through the lashed supplies until he found a small step ladder, which he’d tucked in between two large crates. It took a moment to work it free without untying the ropes. He brought it back, unfolded it, and set it on the ground beside the horse. He started step up on the ladder, but Darryl brushed him back.

“Let me, Dad,” he said. “Please.”

Greg stepped back and motioned him ahead. It was his place, after all. He was quite proud of his son for always taking initiative to help Justine. He made a great partner for the girl, and he was going to be a great dad.

Better than I was, Greg thought. Better than Tuck. Maybe he’ll break the family curse.

Yet Greg had to remind himself that his time wasn’t over. He was still a husband and father, and he still bore tremendous responsibility. There was plenty of time to do right by them. Darryl climbed the foot ladder and slid his arms under Justine, lifting her from the saddle delicately. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his shoulder.

“Just lay me down somewhere soft,” she said. “I have to take these damned boots off.”

Darryl carried her over to a soft patch of grass to one side of the road, kicking a large fallen branch into place to act as a makeshift pillow. Then he gently laid her down, positioned her as comfortably as possible, and helped her rest her head on the branch.

“Thanks,” she said, in a breathless voice. “I guess I’m not cut out to be a cowgirl.”

“It was a long road,” Darryl replied, as he tugged off her boots one after the other.

Greg looked from Justine to Horace to Tabitha. His mother was huddled on a rock beside the river, dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief. He couldn’t decide which of the three looked more miserable.

“I think we’re going to be here for a little while,” he said to Marion, as she folded the foot ladder and returned it to the travois. “Our people need to rest as much as the animals.”

“That’s fine,” Marion replied. “Even if we have to camp here for the night, it’s fine. It’s better than pushing everyone to the breaking point.”

“Let’s give it an hour or so and see how they’re feeling then,” he said.

His daughter strolled up then. She had that look on her face—eyes narrowed, eyebrows knitted, lips pressed tightly together—that she got when she was deep in thought, dreaming up solutions.

“Dad, the rightward path leads into the woods,” she said. “I was thinking that maybe I could find some nettles or dandelions along the path. It might be too early in the season for them, but you never know. Nettle or dandelion tea would help bring down the swelling in Justine’s feet.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Marion said, giving her daughter a hug.

“That’s fine, but don’t go far,” Greg said. “If you don’t find anything within a couple hundred meters, turn around. Don’t keep going.”

She gave him a little salute and headed up the path, passing through the milling herd of cattle, which were furiously munching any plant in sight.

“I mean it,” Greg called after her. “No more than a hundred meters or so.”

She gave him a thumbs-up without looking back and continued up the rightward path. At least she wore a bright pink coat. That made her highly visible from a distance. Still, Greg did have a moment of doubt. Was it wise to let anyone go off alone, and, furthermore, could he trust Emma to not keep going? The last time she’d gone off alone, she’d been kidnapped by Eustace Simpson and his goons. Still, that was in their past, and they had no enemies here in the mountains.

“She’ll be okay,” Marion said, patting him on the chest. “She needs something useful to do right now. Let her go.”

He wasn’t going to fight the point. After all, maybe the tea would help. They could use any advantage right now. When he turned to check on his mother, he found Tabitha bent almost all the way forward, her face practically resting on her knees. She alternated between sipping water and dabbing her face. Her gray hair was soaking wet, as if she’d jumped in the river. He’d expected the trip to be hard on her, but she seemed a lot more drained than he’d expected, especially for someone who’d been sitting in a saddle all day.

“I think we should take the fastest route,” he said, turning to Marion. “This trip is a lot harder on some of our people than I anticipated.” He turned to check on Justine. Darryl was massaging her feet. Though she was wearing thick, wool socks, Greg thought that her feet did, indeed, look noticeably swollen. Justine was quietly crying.

“Maybe you’re right,” Marion replied. “I’m worried about the river. With the melting snow, it’s going to be unpredictable, and the water looks like it runs really close to the trail in some places. Then again, maybe I’m worried about nothing. What we can see of the leftward trail doesn’t look that bad.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I trust your judgment.”

“No, no, don’t do that,” he said, pulling her hand away and holding it between both of his. “I want us to make this decision together.”

“Then go ask Tabitha,” Marion said. “If she agrees with you, then that’s what we’ll do.”

He nodded and went to his mother’s side. She screwed the cap onto her water bottle and tossed it onto the ground beside her. At that moment, she looked about a hundred years old, all shriveled up and melting. Feeling uneasy, Greg knelt beside her, but she only noticed him after a moment.

“I’m fine,” she said, clearly reading the look on his face. “Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll be ready to go. Don’t count me out.”

“I would never count you out, Mom,” he replied. “Level with me. Which way do you think we should go?” He pointed down the right path, then the left.”

“I’m fine with whatever you decide,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“So you don’t lean in either direction?” he asked. “Not even a little bit?”

She dabbed her forehead and cheeks again with the handkerchief. “Well, I suppose I’d prefer to get to the cabin sooner rather than later. There are plenty of rooms and plenty of beds there. The mattresses might be filthy, but after a little cleaning, I would love to just lie down for a while on a real bed.”

“I think our young mother might agree with you,” he said, gesturing at Justine. “It’s decided then. We take the quicker route and hope for the best.”

“If it all goes to hell, don’t blame me,” Tabitha said.

“Nope, we made the decision together,” he replied, “and we’ll accept responsibility for the outcome together.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Well, look at you. Mr. Team Player. That doesn’t run in our family, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know.”

7

Nettle tea didn’t smell all that appetizing, and Darryl was worried that Justine would refuse it. She had become very sensitive to strong smells and strange flavors, and it didn’t take much to get her puking like a fountain these days. He watched his sister brewing the tea on the little camp stove with a fair amount of trepidation, but when she finally poured the steaming, brown liquid into an enamelware cup and presented it, Justine received it with both hands.

“Smells better than that raspberry leaf tea,” she noted.

This comment caused Emma to wince. She’d served Justine plenty of red raspberry leaf tea over the winter. Justine held the cup in her hands for a moment, appearing to enjoy the warmth.

“Thanks, Emma,” she said, after a moment. “The red raspberry leaf tea wasn’t bad. Don’t get me wrong. It just smelled like dirt.”

“Oh, I know, it’s not the best aroma,” Emma replied. “I guess it’s more like medicine than a recreational beverage.”

“A recreational beverage,” Justine echoed, with a shake of her head. “Now you’re talking about something else altogether.” She raised the cup to her lips and sipped it.

“Well?” Emma asked. “You can be honest.”

“It’s decent,” Justine said. “I can drink this. Thanks.”

Beaming, Emma rose and went back to the camp stove to kill the flame. Darryl had helped Justine sit up, but she was leaning against him heavily. She’d cried from the pain in her back and feet, so her eyes were red and puffy.

“Pregnancy is a heck of a lot more uncomfortable than I expected,” she said, then took another sip of tea. “I want it to be over, but at the same time, I’m terrified of the birth. Next time, you carry the baby, okay?”

“I would if I could,” he said.

She gave him a dubious look. “That’s a bold claim.”

“One you have no way of refuting,” he joked. “But, on a serious note, it’s clearly not a good time to be dragging you over a mountain,” he said. “We should have waited a few more weeks.”

“A few more weeks? Then I’d likely be giving birth in that damp cave with all the spiders. No thanks. We made the right choice, and, hey, sometimes the right choice sucks. That’s all there is to it.” She took another sip, but he could tell she wasn’t enjoying the tea. She discreetly set the cup down, spilling a bit of it in the process.

“Well, you heard my dad,” Darryl said. “We’re taking the faster route, so we’ll get to the cabin soon.”

“Good,” she said. “Just roll me down the mountain, and I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

They rested for an hour, perhaps a little longer, then Greg finally called everyone to start packing up and getting ready to move out. It was early afternoon, and Tabitha seemed to think they might reach the cabin by nightfall if they didn’t encounter any problems. Darryl certainly hoped she was right.

Getting Justine back into the saddle was no easy effort. By the time they decided to set off again, the swelling in her feet had gone down considerably—though whether this was from the tea or the simple passage of time, Darryl didn’t know. However, she still couldn’t comfortably walk, so Darryl hoisted her off the ground. In truth, he kind of liked it. There was something protective about holding her in his arms this way that appealed to him. It wasn’t worth her suffering, of course.

“I hope you’re getting used to this,” Justine said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I see a lot of swollen feet in the near future.”

“Hey, whatever you need,” he replied. “I’ll carry you anytime.”

“Wow, lucky me,” she said. “I’ve got my very own porter to lug me around like the dead weight I am.”

Without having to be asked, Emma ran and got the foot ladder, setting it up beside Justine’s horse. The animal seemed well-rested. It had had plenty to drink, cropped some grass, and now had the twitchy energy of a horse that was prepared to hit the road. Darryl climbed the ladder one careful step at a time and delicately placed Justine in the saddle. She only grunted in pain once.

“How do you feel up there?” he asked her.

She reached back and pressed a gloved hand against the small of her back. “A little stiff and sore, but not too bad otherwise. My stomach is settled. I thought that tea would come right back up, but it didn’t.” At this, she turned and found Emma and gave her another thumbs-up.

Marion joined her in the saddle, settling herself carefully behind Justine to avoid jostling the baby. Then the others loaded up and prepared to leave. The lead cow was attached to its line, the travois were harnessed to the horses. Horace and Tabitha had gotten a bit of their strength back, but they both struggled to get in the saddle. Greg and Darryl had to help them. When they finally set off, there was some question if the herd would actually follow. Darryl looked back and saw some of the cows still wandering about. However, as they turned left and moved beyond the fork in the road, the herd began to slowly gather and move in their direction.

Darryl held the reins for Justine’s horse, guiding it down the path, but it didn’t need much coaxing. Ahead, the trail followed the river, cutting at an angle down the slope along rocky ground until it reached a bend far below and turned farther to the east into the trees. In the places where the river had eaten away at the edges they were forced to ride single file. Loose rocks littered the trail.

They’ve gone maybe two or three hundred meters down the trail when Greg, who was walking beside Tabitha and Marion, headed back to the herd.

“Where are you going?” Marion asked.

“We’re losing some of the cows,” he replied. “The slippery ground is unnerving them. I’ll try to coax them back. Keep going. Darryl and Emma have the lead.”

He was gone maybe half an hour when he returned, scowling darkly and knocking dirt and rocks off his sleeves.

“Have any luck?” Marion asked from the saddle.

“It’s too much for one person,” he said. He thrust his staff at Darryl. “You and Emma take over. Give me the reins. You guys go back and try to keep the cows in line, or we’re going to lose half the herd. They hate this trail. Two might be able to handle it.”

Darryl didn’t relish the idea of chasing down cows. Then again, he didn’t want to lose more of the herd. Justine would need the meat and milk. He handed his reins to his father, beckoned Emma, and headed back to the herd. It didn’t take long to see the problem. The herd was stretched out in a long line on the narrow trail, and some were getting distracted. He could see a few that had stopped in their tracks, as if confused or nervous. He began calling to them as he headed back up the trail. Emma moved around to the other side, sneaking around behind the ones that had stopped and coaxing them to move forward. It took a while, but eventually they got every cow moving again.

“These cows are smart when they want to be,” Emma noted, “and other times, they’re dumber than fence posts.”

“The only dumb animals around here are the people trying to herd cattle on foot,” Darryl replied. “If we make it to the cabin with three cows left, I’ll consider it a victory.”

“It didn’t seem so hard when we had the wagon,” Emma said.

“When we had the wagon, we weren’t trying to go over a mountain,” Darryl said. “There’s a reason why cowboys rode on horses.”

“Ancient humans herded cattle on foot for thousands of years,” Emma noted. “If they can do it, we can do it.”

“Is this about Denisovans again?” he said. “I don’t know why you and Justine find that so funny.”

“It’s our inside joke. You wouldn’t understand.”

They herded the cattle along until Darryl realized that the horses had come to a stop. As he worked his way back to the front of the caravan, he noted that a large barrel had come loose on the travois. He pushed it back into position and tightened its strap. As he did, Emma called his name. When he turned around, he saw that she was still way at the back of the herd, and she seemed to be staring into the trees on the side of the road across from the river. He started back to join her.

“Don’t tell me one of the cows managed to squeeze herself past the trees,” he said.

“No, look at this,” she called, pointing at something.

When he got close to her, he realized what she was pointing at. A swath of trees just beyond the road had toppled over. It looked like something had pushed them, lining them up neatly so they all fell in the same direction, tops pointed away from the road.

“That’s weird,” he said. They had been pushed in a wedge shape, almost like a bulldozer had driven into them.

“It looks deliberate,” she said. “Should we investigate?”

“What do you mean by investigate?” he asked.

“Go in closer and see if we can figure out what pushed them over.”

The caravan was still stopped. Up near the horses, Greg, Marion, and Tabitha were in deep discussion. Darryl felt torn between seeing what that was about and helping Emma.

“Okay, fine, let’s take a quick look,” Darryl said, heading to the edge of the trail.

“If the pass was snowed in all winter, no one could have reached this part of the trail to knock the trees over, could they?” Emma asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it was a lurking Denisovan.”

“Hey, that’s not your in-joke. No stealing.” His sister gave him a playful smack on the arm.

As soon as Darryl stepped off the road, his boot squished in thick mud. He dared a few steps before the mud became treacherous, and then he stopped. He thrust the hiking stick into the ground, and it became clear that the ground here was absolutely saturated with water. As for the trees, there was no sign of damage to the trunks, and the roots were mostly intact. Emma stepped up beside him, struggling to move through the mud. She squatted down beside the nearest roots. Reaching down, she pressed her gloved hand to the muddy ground beside the roots and water pooled up around her fingers.

“People didn’t do this,” she said.

“Maybe a storm?” he suggested. “A strong wind?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “With the ground this wet, I think the river flooded recently. The roots just lost their grip on the soil. That’s also why some of the trail is eaten away. I bet the river has been flooding periodically because of all the snow melt up on the peaks.”

Darryl felt a flutter of fear. He met his sister’s anxious gaze.

“Flash floods can hit really quick,” she said. “I’ve read about them. We’re practically trapped on this trail. If a surge comes down the mountain, we wouldn’t have anywhere to go. We could all be swept away in seconds.”

Suddenly a vivid image of precisely this filled Darryl’s mind. A great wall of water rushing down from the heights, sweeping over the trail, dragging away cows and horses, people and possessions, churning them violently against the rocks.

“We’d better warn the others,” he said. “Come on.”

He backed out of the soupy mud, returned to the trail, and headed to the front of the caravan, trying to drive the nightmare image out of his mind.

8

When Darryl reached the horses, he saw the reason for the holdup. Large rocks were piled up in the middle of the road. Though the whole trail had been rocky, these were practically boulders, and there was quite a bit of debris caught between them. More evidence of flooding. Greg was currently trying to move the rocks out of the way all by himself, but Darryl rushed to join him.

“Let me come down and help you,” Marion said. “Those are too big. You’re going to throw your back out.”

“I’m fine, I told you,” Greg said. “My big, strapping son is here to help.”

Working together, they hoisted a large rock that felt like it was at least fifty kilos. The underside was still wet, as if it had been tossed onto the road only recently, and there were bits of wood, sticks, and blobs of drying mud all over it. They had to coordinate their steps in order to move it off the trail without dropping it. Finally, they barely managed to heave it into the underbrush, where it crashed loudly.

“Did you tell him?” Emma said, running up behind them then. “Dad, we saw evidence of recent flooding back there.”

Greg rose and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his coat. “You mean, like this?” He gestured at the edge of the trail, which was jagged and uneven. “It looks like the river occasionally rises and washes away the edge of the trail. We’ll have to be real careful not to step too close.”

He stooped down to pick up another rock. This one didn’t require Darryl’s help, so Darryl grabbed a large broken branch instead, tossing it aside.

“No, there’s some indication that the water has risen high enough to cover the entire trail,” Darryl said. “The ground is so saturated in some places, that the river current just pushed over the trees. At least, that’s what we think happened.”

Greg tossed the rock into the trees and turned to face his children. Darryl could tell he was troubled by this news. Indeed, it seemed as if their discovery had confirmed something he was already worried about. He chewed anxiously at his lower lip, then dragged his fingers through his blondish hair—classic signs that Greg Healy was afraid.

“Tabitha, do you know anything about the river flooding?” he asked.

Darryl was surprised to see Tabitha resting her face against Horace’s back. Their long ride together had certainly made them more comfortable with one another. Grandma still looked completely exhausted.

“I’ve never seen this river flood,” she said. “Of course, Tuck and I never came here at this time of year. I suppose if an ice dam broke somewhere upstream, it might cause a problem.”

Greg sighed deeply and glanced at his wife, shaking his head. “Should have gone with your first choice,” he said. “Safety over speed. Maybe I just shouldn’t have a vote from now on.”

“Oh, stop it,” Marion replied. “We made the decision together, and we all agreed to it. We can’t turn back now, so let’s just clear the road and keep going.”

Justine was grimacing and taking deep breaths, as she did when she was trying to settle her stomach. The awful image of raging floodwaters still lingered in Darryl’s mind. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. The mere possibility made him sick. He helped his father clear the trail with renewed vigor, and now Emma joined them. Moving fast, they dragged and tossed and pulled the debris off the trail. The largest of the rocks couldn’t be picked up, not even by the three of them working together. Finally, they decided to roll it into the river. It dropped over the jagged edge, taking a bit more of the trail with it, and hit the murky waters with a violent splash.

“That’s it,” Greg said. “We’re clear. Let’s pick up the pace. We’re not going to stop for every cow that wanders off. Too much is at stake.”

And with that, he picked up one set of reins and handed it to Darryl, trading him for the hiking stick. Emma grabbed the other reins before Greg could get them. Ahead, the trail hit a bend and the slope evened out, curving back to the right before heading into deep woods. After that, it disappeared behind a large outcropping of rock.

Horace spoke then. “Maybe we should leave the trail altogether.” The old guy hadn’t said much for the last few hours. Indeed, about an hour into the trip, he’d become listless and miserable, but he spoke forcefully now, as if screwing up his courage.

“How would we do that?” Greg asked. “We are essentially boxed in. Trees on the left, water on the right.”

“We could cut our way into the forest on the left,” Horace said, pointing at the dense line of trees and underbrush that grew up to the edge of the trail. “The land slopes upward in there. I know it’ll take time to carve a new trail, but it’ll put us higher above the water.”

“I doubt we have the tools to do that,” Greg said. “These big evergreens aren’t coming down without an axe, which we don’t have.”

Darryl was staring at the jagged edge where the big rock had rolled off into the water. He didn’t like how rough the water looked. It wasn’t a particularly broad river, but he could tell the current was strong. Indeed, he thought it had actually gotten a bit stronger over the last hour or so.

“Surely, we could find a way to get in there,” Horace said. “We’re a resourceful bunch. I just think it would be wise to reach higher ground.”

“Let’s just get moving,” Tabitha said. “We chose this trail because it’s faster, so let’s take advantage of that.”

“I think you’re right, Mom,” Greg said.

Darryl tugged on the reins, and Justine’s big draft horse began to move. However, he was still staring at the water. Yes, it had changed, and more than he’d first realized. The color of the water was darker, full of debris, even small bits of ice.

If not for their discovery earlier, he would have dismissed this out of hand. Now, however, it caused a surge of fear. No, it wasn’t just muddier. It was actually higher. He was sure of it. The water had crept up closer to the road. Darryl dropped the reins and stepped past Emma toward the edge of the road. He looked upstream and saw the churning water running down the slope. If it had risen, it wasn’t much. Looking back the way they’d come, he didn’t see anything particularly alarming.

Maybe I just imagined it, he thought. The river is fine.

“Darryl, we’re okay,” Greg said. “Take the reins. I’ll keep an eye on the water.”

Darryl walked back to his horse, trading a brief, troubled glance with Emma. Then he picked up the reins and tugged on them, getting the horse moving. His father took his place on the edge of trail, walking with the stick.

“Be careful the ground doesn’t collapse under your feet,” Marion said.

“I’ll be careful,” Greg said, glancing over his shoulder at the river.

Darryl felt a little better once they were moving again. They reached the place where the slope evened out, which made the trail a little easier to navigate. However, he noted that the spaces in between the trees here were absolutely choked with debris—another sign of flooding, perhaps? He traded another anxious look with Emma.

“I never thought I would miss that cave,” she said, quietly enough that only Darryl heard.

“You and me both,” he replied. “At least the cave never flooded.”

Emma started to say something else, but he didn’t hear the words. At first, he thought she’d just spoken too quietly. Then he realized the background noise had gotten louder. With this realization came an awareness of some faint tingling in the soles of his feet. The ground was shaking ever so slightly. Darryl tossed the reins down again and moved to join his father, ducking under Emma’s reins. His father had turned to look upstream.

“What is it?” Darryl asked.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” Greg said.

Looking upstream, Darryl saw a surge of water rushing down the slope, lapping at the edge of the road. They could see about fifty meters up the trail until it curved out of sight. Though it was definitely a surge, his dad was right. It didn’t seem bad—almost as if the river were mocking them for their fears.

“We’ll never get anywhere if we keep staring at the water,” Greg said, clapping Darryl on the shoulder. “Pick up the reins and keep moving. Let me worry about it.”

But something about this bothered him. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first. The rumble beneath his feet and the rising sound of rushing water didn’t match the minor surge that was flowing toward them.

“Dad…”

It was all he managed to get out before a great wall of water crashed around the bend above them. Foaming and fierce, it rolled over the landscape, splashing up onto the trail all the way to the trees on the far side. Darryl couldn’t believe how fast it was moving. Dark water pushing broken tree branches, chunks of ice, and rocks. He gasped and ran back to the horses, stooping down to grab the reins. As he did, he heard chaos all around him. Everyone began shouting, but the words were lost beneath the roar of water. Emma was holding the reins of Tabitha’s horse tightly and looking wildly back and forth, as if trying to spot an escape route.

The cows were lowing, the horses stamping anxiously. Darryl looked for Justine and saw that his mother had wrapped both arms around her. Tabitha was motioning wildly and saying something to Greg, but Darryl couldn’t make it out.

And then the water reached them. Cold and muddy, it swept over the trail. At first, it was only an inch high, then two, then three, but Darryl felt the ground beneath his feet sliding. He lost his footing and went down on his knees. As he did, he took the reins and wrapped them tightly around his left wrist.

His father appeared then, taking careful steps as he moved in front of the horses. Emma was bent over, struggling to remain standing, and he grabbed her and pulled her upright.

“I don’t think it’s going to get any deeper than this,” he said. “Let get around the bend and past the outcropping there. Come on. Go, go, go!”

He pointed into the distance, where the bent trail moved into the trees. The water now stretched from the trees all the way across the stream to the steep rocks on the other side. Darryl started moving forward, tugging on the reins, but he felt the horse slipping behind him. He heard a series of thuds. In his struggle to stay upright, he couldn’t look to see what was causing them, but he was fairly certain it was the sound of cows falling over.

Darryl managed to keep the horse moving, though it was very slow going as the animal had to fight for every step. The ground was almost like a treadmill moving sideways under his feet. Emma kept falling to her knees, but she finally copied Darryl’s trick of wrapping the reins around her wrist. They didn’t get far before Justine’s horse came to a dead stop. Darryl looked back and saw that the animal was still struggling, trying to move, but something seemed to be tugging at her.

“Dad, we’re stuck,” he shouted.

His father was standing between them now, jabbing the hiking stick into the ground to keep his balance.

“I think it’s the travois,” he called. “I’m guessing the current pushed it into the mud. I’ll try to free it.”

He started working his way past the horses. Marion reached down briefly and snagged the collar of his coat.

“You three need to get up out of the water,” she shouted. “Wait for the current to pass. It’s not safe.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “It’s not too deep. We have to keep the horses moving.”

Emma lost her footing again and went down on her knees, dangling by the reins around her left wrist. Darryl reached out to help her, but that only made him lose his own footing. The ground seemed slide right out from under him, and suddenly he was hanging by his right arm, tugging on the poor horse’s harness. He struggled to get back up, but the ground was becoming mushy and soft. He couldn’t seem to get any purchase on it. When his horse tried to lift her front hooves, he saw that she struggled to get them out of the mud.

Greg had reached the travois, and he braced himself against one of the barrels, reaching down into the water. As Darryl watched him, he realized the river had gotten even higher. Not much, maybe another inch, but it was enough to make the ground that much worse.

“Just cut the travois loose,” Marion shouted.

“We can’t afford to lose that much,” Greg replied. “With no cows, no supplies, and no tools, we won’t survive!”

Darryl was still dangling from the reins, and the horse finally had enough. She swung her head to one side, which cause him to flop on his side in the water. That, in turn, startled her, and she took a step back.

“Greg, please,” Marion screamed. “Cut the ropes! Just let the travois go!”

And then the horse beneath her slipped and went down. Darryl saw it as if it were in slow motion. First, it crashed down on its knees, then the water pushed it onto its side. Marion still had her arms around Justine, and she managed to heave her off the saddle before her legs got crushed. Then the current swept both of them toward the trees. Darryl tried to intercept them, but it was hopeless. He couldn’t fight the current, and he couldn’t get any purchase on the wet ground. Fortunately, Marion managed to drive them into a dense tangle of underbrush, and then she pushed them into the woods.

Greg was still on the travois, but it had been pulled off kilter when the horse went over. Pressed against a barrel, he finally reached inside his coat and produced a knife. With it, he began sawing at one of the ropes. However, Darryl saw two great shapes being swept toward him. Two full-grown heifers had fallen into the current.

“Dad, look out,” he cried.

At the sound of his voice, Greg turned and saw the cows bearing down on him. He pushed off the barrel, lunging for the other travois behind Tabitha’s horse in an effort to evade them. Just then, as Darryl watched with numb horror, a huge section of the river around Greg suddenly dropped down as the water washed away the trail. The travois dropped, tugging at the horse. The two cows, diverted by the current, sank into the new gap and quickly disappeared beneath the water.

For a couple of seconds, Greg remained. Tabitha was screaming his name. Darryl made a futile effort to move toward him, but he couldn’t get his feet under him. His father was holding the top end of one of the travois’s support posts, but then the water swept over his head. His hand held fast another second, and then he lost his grip. Darryl caught one last glimpse of his father, a mere shape, as he fell into the gap and disappeared beneath the water.

And then he was gone.

9

The next few minutes were mind-numbing chaos. Darryl could scarcely think. Somewhere, he heard his mother and grandmother screaming, but the roar of water dampened the sound of their voices. Greg and two cows had disappeared beneath the surface of the churning river. Darryl kept expecting them to pop back up again, but they didn’t

“Someone get him,” Emma cried. Like Darryl, she was hanging from the reins of her horse, helpless against the current. And now, the weight of the travois was pulling her horse slowly backward, as her two riders—Horace and Tabitha—stared helplessly down into the muddy water. “Someone throw a rope into the water. Get Dad! Hurry! He’s down there somewhere.”

Oh, God. Oh, God. It just kept repeating in Darryl’s head like a horrific mantra. His father wasn’t going to resurface. Long minutes were passing, and there was still no sign of him. It was as if the river had swallowed even the memory of his existence. Oh, God!

He turned his head to try to see where everyone was. Marion and Justine were in the trees. They managed to wriggle themselves high enough that they were out of the stream. The horse they’d been riding was on its side, struggling to get up, but held fast by the travois, which was driven deep into the mud.

“Darryl, can you see your father?” his mom called out. She had her arms around Justine, holding her tightly. “Do you see him anywhere? Did he come back up?”

Darryl twisted around and finally managed to get one foot beneath him. This, in turn, gave him leverage to push himself up, if only for a few seconds, so he could get a clear view of the flooded stream. He saw water choked with chunks of ice, broken tree branches and leaves, rocks, and mud. There was no sign of his father or the two cows.

Before he could say anything, the current pulled his foot out from under him again, and he went down face-firston his belly, freezing cold water filling his mouth and nostrils. Even beneath the water, he heard his mother and grandmother shouting, but Tabitha had no words—just gut-wrenching cries. When he finally managed to push himself above the water again, he realized that Horace and Tabitha were in trouble. Their horse was being slowly pulled backward by the weight of the travois.

Emma was still shouting at him. “Darryl! Do you see Dad? Did you see where he went?”

“He’s…gone,” Darryl replied, then coughed up a bunch of muddy water. “The river took him.”

His own words intensified the horror, but he forced himself to act. Crawling, clawing at the soft ground beneath him, he worked his way toward Tabitha and Horace. They were astride their horse, Tabitha tugging at the reins, as if it might help. Inch by inch, Darryl managed to approach their horse, and he reached up with his free hand, fumbling at the strap which held the travois harness against the big horse’s breast. However, working at the knot was futile with one hand, so he pulled his other hand out of the reins. This put him in a precarious position as the ground constantly shifted beneath him.

“He never came back up!” Tabitha had practically screamed herself horse. “Did anyone see him? Did anyone see him?”

He’s not coming back up, Darryl thought. Don’t you get it, Grandma? He’s gone! He didn’t want to say it out loud again. It was too horrible.

He tugged the knots apart, and suddenly the harness fell away, dragged by the weight of the travois down into the same whirlpool that had taken his father. As soon as it was gone, Darryl’s feet were swept out from under him, and he went down on his knees.

“Darryl, what are you doing?” That was his mother, shouting from the trees. “Grab onto something!”

He tried to grab the taut reins above him, but he fumbled and missed. As he slid past Emma, she grabbed at him. He felt her fingers clawing his shoulder, his arm, but then he was moving past her. Still, he managed to stay on his knees, well above the water, and as the current pulled him toward the bend in the trail, he reached out and snagged a low branch from a nearby tree. His momentum caused the branch to bend, but somehow it didn’t break. This swung him into the trees, where he wrapped his arm around a trunk. Then, with all his effort, he was able to pull himself away from the road, dragging his body up the slope.

As he ripped through the underbrush, he heard something huge thud against the trees behind him. Glancing back, he saw Marion’s horse. Somehow, the travois had pulled free of the mud, and the current had pushed both horse and travois into the trees. The desperate horse managed to work its way between two trunks, where it was held fast against the current, pinned by their gear.

If I’d thought to release the travois sooner, Dad wouldn’t have tried to save it, Darryl thought. Why did I just flop around in the current while he put his life at risk?

His guilty realization was like a knife in the guts, and tears blurred his vision as he pulled himself above the level of the flooded stream. He started making his way toward Marion and Justine. As he did, he looked down through the trees for Emma and the other horse. Freed from the travois, the big animal was picking its way carefully across the flooded trail toward the trees, as Emma clung desperately to the reins, barely managing to keep her head above water. Many of the cows had also managed to hold their ground against the water. Darryl saw them standing there, clearly confused.

“Hang on, Emma,” he shouted. His voice cracked. “You’re almost there.”

Once the horse reached the trees, Horace and Tabitha both grabbed sturdy branches. Emma was then able to climb the reins, get her feet under her, and pull herself into the woods. Using branches like rungs on a ladder, she dragged herself up the slope, ripping through underbrush with her head and shoulders, until she was above the water. Nearby, Marion frantically beckoned her.

Nobody was shouting for Greg now. The debris-choked river had taken him. That was clear. As Darryl picked his way through the dense woods toward his family, he felt guilt curdling into bitter sadness.

I should have warned him about the flooding sooner, he thought. I should have done something. Anything!

Marion still had her arms around Justine, holding her protectively, and Justine, in turn, had her arms wrapped around her own belly. By the time Darryl finally reached them, Emma was almost there, picking her way branch by branch. When Darryl turned to check on Tabitha, however, he saw something even more amazing. Somehow, Tabitha and Horace had pulled themselves out of the saddle and settled themselves in the crook of some big branches. Horace seemed to have lost one of his prosthetic legs, but the horse and travois were both beneath them, pressed against the tree and safe for the moment.

“Darryl, did you see what happened to him?” his mom asked. “Did you see where he went?” She was sobbing, and her eyes were red.

“The trail just collapsed beneath him, and the current pulled him into the river,” Darryl replied. “It all happened so fast. I should have stopped him from going back there. I should have done something.” And now his tears turned to weeping, and he buried his face in his hands.

“No, don’t start talking like that,” his mom said. “Don’t start blaming yourself.”

“Maybe was able to grab something downstream,” Emma suggested, then began coughing. “Maybe…” Her coughing turned into retching, and then she vomited up a large amount of muddy water.

Darryl felt someone grabbing at his arm, and he looked up into the face of Justine. She had an agonized expression on her face, teeth bared and forehead furrowed. Reaching for him, she managed to grab the sleeve of his coat, and she held fast. For some reason, this made him weep more bitterly, and now Emma wept as well, loudly, unleashing great heaving sobs.

“Oh, God…he’s dead, isn’t he? He’s dead,” Emma wailed. “We never should have taken this stupid trail! What are we going to do now?”

Marion drew her in close, and she collapsed against her mother’s side.

This is on me, Darryl thought, whether Mom wants me to admit it or not. I should have made him turn back right away. The trail had flood damage. I saw it with my own eyes, but I just wasn’t thinking clearly.

It was unbearable. He’d never felt such raw, uncontainable pain in his entire life, and he shut his eyes, covered his face, and just ached with it. Emma and Marion were both crying. He thought he heard Tabitha crying as well. But above it all, like an endless mockery of their pain, was the roar of the river. On and on it went, as if to prove its dominance, churning and splashing, debris cracking against tree trunks like drumbeats.

Darryl cried until his face hurt, and then he scrubbed furiously at his face and dared to open his eyes. In their grief, Marion and Emma had finally fallen into a kind of stupor, holding each other. Justine had moved closer to Darryl, and he embraced her now, pulling her close enough that he could lay his hands on her belly.

I can’t just sit here and grieve, he realized. They need me more than ever.

He turned to the river again and realized that much time had passed. It had felt like a few minutes, but considering all that had happened, he thought it was closer to an hour or more. The stream had begun to abate, leaving forest debris piled up where it receded into itself. The horses had held their ground against the trees, as had many of the cows. Only one travois remained, however. Of Greg, there was no sign, and as he watched the flooding subside, he saw the massive gap in the trail behind them, where the current had eaten away a section about ten meters long.

“We never should have left the cave,” Emma said, her voice hoarse from crying.

Darryl wanted to agree with her. There was something in him now that really wanted to plunge into despair, but he fought it, he fought it with everything in him. If he gave into the darkness, his family would never recover from this.

“We made a decision based on what we knew,” he told Emma, saying it loudly enough that the whole family would hear. Fortunately, the roar of the stream had also largely subsided. “Every decision is a gamble, but we did what seemed best.”

“But now Dad is gone, and we hardly have anything left,” Emma replied.

“I know,” Darryl said, picking himself up, “but he would want us to keep moving, so that’s what we’re going to do. We still have to reach the cabin, if we want to be safe, so let’s get away from this stream and off this mountain.”

Giving his face another good scrubbing, he picked himself up. He was still soaking wet. The river water had gotten into his boots, his backpack, his underwear. It had filled his pockets. He felt thoroughly saturated and uncomfortable, but he steeled himself for what he had to do.

“Mom.”

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, her damp hair stuck to her cheeks like a fright mask. Darryl beckoned her.

“We have to keep moving,” he said. “We’ll have plenty of time to grieve, but in the meantime, we still have people to protect.” He gestured down at Justine.

Marion lifted her face, and though she looked completely miserable and broken, she slowly extricated herself from Emma and rose on shaky legs.

“You’re right,” she said. She started to say something else, but her lower lip quivered. Finally, she forced it out, “I think I’d like to take a look along the riverbank first. I won’t get too close. I just have to see.” Tears sprang to her eyes again, as she added, “I know he’s gone. I feel it, but…” She shrugged. “Maybe he clung to something. Maybe. I just have to know for sure.”

“I know, Mom,” he replied. “Of course.”

10

In the end, they had little choice but to turn back. The flooding had eaten away at the trail, but more than that, it had dumped big pile broken branches, brush, leaves, rocks, and ice all over the place. Darryl would have gone back immediately. There was no guarantee that another flood wouldn’t hit soon, and if the next one was any bigger, they might find that they had to way to escape it.

Still, his family was too distraught to leave, so he felt compelled to make some concession to hope. Therefore, they spent the better part of the next hour looking and calling for Greg. They didn’t dare step onto the trail below the break, so Darryl and Emma climbed trees that overlooked the stream. Darryl found himself perched high in the swaying branches of a towering spruce, gazing down at the filthy water. Though the flood had receded, the water was still lapping at the jagged edge of the trail.

He was high enough now that he could see beyond the next bend, where the river and trail curved back to the south and passed through rocky ground. Debris from the flooding was pushed up against the banks on either side all along the way, filling in gaps between rocks, which slowed the current somewhat. The water was dark with mud, making it impossible to see beneath the surface. There was no sign of his father, the cows, or the other travois. It was as if the river had wholly devoured them.

It seemed unlikely that his father would have been able to pull himself out. Still, for his mother’s sake, he stood there and scanned for him, periodically calling his name, long after his heart had given up. Finally, it was more than he could bear, and he climbed down the tree. Tabitha and Horace had been patiently sitting astride their horse, gazing forlornly at the water. As he climbed down, Darryl met his grandmother’s gaze, and she gave him a sad nod.

Yes, it’s time to go, that look said.

Darryl went to his mother’s side and embraced her. She clung tightly, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her body shuddering as she fought another wave of sobbing.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “We have to think about the others now. It’s what Dad would have wanted. Let’s get back up the slope and take the other trail.”

She didn’t argue with him, and when he pulled away, she went to Emma’s side. Darryl helped Justine to her feet, but she struggled to rise. Once she was standing, she wobbled and fell against him, her hands pressed protectively to her belly.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Let’s just get out of here before another flood comes. That was awful.”

It was a prospect that was much easier said than done. Indeed, the next couple of hours were a miserable slog. First, they had to get the horses into the woods, which required ripping and tearing at the underbrush to create a path. Then they had to squeeze the horses between the trees, leading them in a broad arc back the way they’d come. Once they’d passed the gap in the trail, they moved back out of the trees, but dragging the travois made it all much slower.

When they reached the intact section of the trail above the gap, they found most the cows patiently waiting here. Darryl counted twelve. They’d lost three of them in the flood. The herd was dwindling. Still, since the alternative could have been losing everything, he didn’t lament the lost cows. How they would survive without his father, however, was another matter, and he couldn’t think too deeply on it. That sent him spiraling into misery. For now, he just had to keep his family moving in the right direction.

Darryl led Marion and Justine’s horse, trying to pick the easiest route. Emma followed with the other horse, but the travois kept cutting corners and digging into the underbrush. More than once, they had to stop, go back, and rip brush out of the ground by hand to free it. By the time they’d circled back around to the trail and left the woods, Darryl’s gloves were tattered from pulling at coarse branches. He still felt soaked, but now he was sweating and tired as well. None of this compared to the awful heaviness inside of him, however.

Unfortunately, there was a little more bad news. Once they’d circled around the collapsed part of the trail and started to gather the cows, he realized that they’d lost the lead cow. She’d gone down with Greg. The lead line had been attached to the same rope as the travois, so it was gone too. This forced them to put one horse in the lead, and the other at the back of the herd. It was the only way to keep the cattle together. Darryl took the lead, leading Justine and Marion’s horse.

Hardly a word was exchanged between anyone, except when absolutely necessary. Darryl could see gloomy looks on every face. Tabitha was leaning against Horace’s back, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades. She’d now lost both her husband and her son. Somehow, that made Darryl feel even worse about the whole situation—not just the loss of his father, but what the loss meant to the rest of his family.

He managed to do the work, to keep everyone moving, to put one foot in front of the other, but he moved in a fog. As he trudged back up the trail, the swollen river still lapping at the edges just to his left, he became aware of a single voice constantly breaking through the fog. She wasn’t saying anything, just making occasional sounds of discomfort. Finally, he realized it was Justine, and he looked back over his shoulder. She was leaning back in the saddle, holding her belly and being cradled by Marion.

“Are you okay back there?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her face was all scrunched up. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

She opened one eye and looked down at him. “Yes, I just feel like crap, and I’m so uncomfortable I want to discard my whole body, but that goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”

“Do you need to come down from the saddle for a while?” he asked.

“And do what? Walking wouldn’t be any better,” she said.

Darryl racked his brain, trying to think of an alternative. “Maybe you could ride on the travois. I could reposition the boxes into a little seat, maybe a bed, whichever you prefer.”

“That sounds worse than riding on a saddle,” she said, shutting her eyes and pulling her hood forward to hide her face. “That thing is being dragged on the ground. No, I’m fine. Thank you, but don’t worry about me right now.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

He turned back around. Indeed, he could see the ruts they had carved into the trail on the way down, the travois leaving four distinct grooves in the path all along the way. He thought of those tracks leading all the way back to the cave, and he felt an ache. The winter camp hadn’t been so bad. Yes, everyone had been uncomfortable, but they’d all been together.

I should have argued against leaving, he thought. I didn’t want the baby to be born in a cave. And now look what’s happened. The whole family has been torn apart.

Gradually, the fork in the trail came into view, the flat open space where they’d taken a break earlier in the day. It was edging toward late afternoon now, and he didn’t like the way the light was changing. Where would they spend the night? Another thing to worry about. It was all too much.

Keep it together, he scolded himself. Quit moping. Your family needs you.

He managed to find a reserve of steely determination, and he used it to push down the grief and despair. It wasn’t hopeless, and the family wasn’t torn apart. He still had people depending on him, now more than ever.

“We’ve made it back to the fork,” he called over his shoulder, pointing ahead. “We’ll take the safer path from here.”

He looked back to make sure everyone was still together. Twelve cows moving listlessly. They all needed to take a break, and they probably needed to eat, but Darryl didn’t want to stop yet. He saw Emma way in the back, holding the reins of Tabitha and Horace’s mount. She had her head down as she walked, her wet tangles of blondish hair hanging in her face.

The safer road went up a slight slope and bent to the right. Unlike the faster trail, it didn’t follow right along the bank but weaved through the woods a few meters from the water. It was evident that the flooding had hit this area as well, but because of its relative distance from the river, the upper trail remained fully intact. Trees grew close on either side, however, casting the trail into shadow. However, as Darryl led Justine’s horse into the woods, the shadows made him feel safer somehow—a reminder that the water was not yawning below, mere centimeters from his left foot. He couldn’t stand the thought of looking at that damned stream for the rest of the trip.

They’d gone maybe a hundred meters along the upper trail, and he was already enjoying the broader, firmer ground. Yes, even if it took much longer, it was far better. But suddenly, he heard a rustle and thump, as of someone thrashing around behind him. Then the reins in his hand pulled taut, as the horse moved its head to one side.

“Oh, no. Oh, God, no, no. Is this…? Is it…? Not now. It can’t be.”

Justine’s voice. Darryl stopped in his tracks, heart racing, and turned around. Justine was rocking from side to side in the saddle, wide-eyed and gasping for breath. She might had fallen right out of the saddle if not for Marion’s firm grip on her shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Darryl asked.

“No, no, something’s wrong,” Justine said. “It can’t be! No, no!”

Marion leaned to one side to catch Darryl’s eyes. “Son, get over here. I was afraid this might be happening. She’s been experiencing waves of pain for the last hour or so.”

Still holding the reins, Darryl rushed toward them. “Did something happen?” he asked.

“She’s having contractions,” Marion replied. “I think she’s going into labor!”

“No, not out here,” he said. He came up beside the saddle and handed the reins to his mother. “This isn’t the right time or place. What do we do? Can we delay them somehow? We have to get to the cabin.”

“You don’t get to choose,” Marion replied. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“That stupid flood scared…the baby,” Justine said through clenched teeth. “Oh, God, this hurts. This is worse than I thought it would be. Someone put me out of my misery.” And then she groaned, her face twisted in pain.

“Get her down from here,” Marion said. “We have to find a soft place to lay her down.”

Getting her down proved a challenge, since he no longer had the ladder he’d used before—it had gone down with the other travois. Reaching up, he managed to slide an arm behind her, but he wasn’t sure what to do next. Finally, Marion had to carefully lean her to one side in the saddle, so Darryl could get both arms around her. The horse had turned back to watch all of this, clearly troubled by the strange grunts and groans coming from Justine.

“This sucks,” Justine cried, leaning precariously to one side in the saddle, as Darryl tried to think of the best way to pull her off. The flooding had already left him sore, so he didn’t entirely trust his strength. “Darryl, I’m about to fall off. You’d better be ready to catch me.”

“Go for it,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

He tried to sound like he meant it. Justine leaned farther to one side and finally slid off the saddle and out of Marion’s grasp. Darryl was positioned beneath her and caught her against his shoulder, wrapping his arms just under her armpits. She screamed in pain, but he managed to move one of his arms and position it under her legs. Then he lifted her in his arms and stepped back from the horse.

It was the worst possible timing. He could scarcely believe it was happening now! Back at the cave would have been so much better than this. Fighting panic, he carried Justine across the trail. The only comfortable spot he saw was a small patch of grass between two pine trees. It would have to do.

“I’m not ready for this,” Justine said. “Can we reschedule?”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. And why was he apologizing? He wasn’t sure. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“That’s what you always say, and it’s…it’s…” Her words trailed off into a long, agonized moan.

He laid her down gently on the ground, swiping away some lingering mounds of snow and a few desiccated pinecones. Then he pushed together a bunch of pine needles to create a crude pillow and laid her head on it. She took a deep, shuddering breathing and reached up, grabbing the collar of his coat with both hands.

“I’m not ready,” she said. “Do you hear me, Darryl Healy! I’m not ready.”

Darryl heard footsteps, and he looked up to see Emma running toward him full out, dodging cows as she came. She had her backpack on her shoulders, a book in one hand, a big canvas bag in the other. Marion moved to join her, and Tabitha seemed to be making her way toward them as well, leaving poor Horace all the way at the back of the group.

When Darryl pushed Justine’s hood back, he saw that she was sweating and flushed, grinding her teeth from the pain. The temperature was above freezing, still cold, but she seemed like she was burning up. Suddenly, Darryl felt hands grabbing at him, pulling him to his feet. He glanced up and saw his mother and Emma. They had each taken hold of him and were frantically trying to drag him away.

“Let us handle it,” Emma said. “We know what to do.” As if to prove her point, his sister held up the book in her hand. He only saw part of the title—Guide to Pregnancy and Natural Childbirth—before he was pulled back. “You just stay out of the way for a while, okay? We’ve got this.”

Darryl wasn’t about to fight them, so he moved back a few feet. “You’re going to be okay, Justine,” he said, wanting somehow to comfort.

“There…you go…again,” she snarled.

Marion unfolded a blanket, and Emma began pulling things out of the canvas bag. Just then, Justine screamed loud enough to pierce the sky. Darryl winced and backed farther away. As he did, he felt his grandmother brush past him. She seemed unsteady on her feet, but she was carrying the wooden box of medicine.

“I’ll get that for you,” he offered.

“No, you keep an eye on our things,” she replied. “Give us space here. We’ve been preparing for this.”

Despite everything, he was relieved to see the medicine box. It had survived the flood. That, at least, was some comfort on what was otherwise turning out to be a nightmare day. Without the medicine, they might lose Tabitha as well. He walked back to the horse, picked up the reins, and stood there beside the towering animal. As he stood there, feeling useless and utterly conflicted, he listened to Justine’s cries.

“Justine, listen to me, you have to squat,” Emma said. “That’s the best way to deliver a baby naturally. The only reason they make women lie down in the hospital is because of the medication. And also, it’s easier for the doctor.”

“Squat?” Justine replied. “Are you serious? I’m giving birth, not taking a dump.”

“Well, it’s going to feel very similar,” Emma said. “In fact, you might do both at the same time, so just push. I’ve been preparing for the birth of your child since I first learned you were pregnant, and we’ve talked about this. You’re in good hands.”

“God, I hope so. I can’t…I can’t believe I’m giving birth in the woods like a wild animal.”

Emma, Marion, and Tabitha were like a wall of strong backs. Darryl saw them moving around, but he couldn’t tell exactly what was happening. They had Justine up on her feet now, moving her into position. It just didn’t look right to Darryl. Squatting to give birth? Still, he didn’t dare intrude.

“Darryl,” Tabitha said suddenly. “I need you to set up camp. We won’t be moving on from here any time soon. Set up windscreens, start a nice fire in a safe location. Heat some water and prepare some warm compresses. Hurry up!”

He rushed back toward the travois, navigating the rather confused cows. Some of the animals were busily feeding on plants. At some point, he needed to make sure they weren’t injured from the flooding, but he just couldn’t think about that now. When he reached the end of the caravan, he saw Horace sitting sidewise on his saddle, gazing down at the ground as if trying to think of some way to get down on his own.

“Are we having a baby?” he asked, as Darryl approached.

“Yes, sir,” Darryl replied. “We have to set up camp and get ready. We’re not going any farther tonight. Come on.”

He approached the horse and reached up. Helping the old man get down from the saddle was going to be awkward, but it couldn’t be helped. Horace gave him an embarrassed smile and leaned forward. He slid out of the saddle and dropped right into Darryl’s arms. Darryl had braced himself for the weight, but the old man weighed a lot less than he’d expected. He felt like skin and bones.

Darryl set him down on the ground then retrieved his crutch from the travois.

“At least I only lost one of my prosthetics,” Horace said, using the crutch to leverage himself up off the ground. “I can still get around like this.”

Darryl just didn’t feel like chatting with him, so he didn’t bother to reply. Rooting through their remaining supplies, he located a couple of folded tarps, some nylon rope, a stack of blankets, and a small box with some tools—including fire-starting sticks and matches. He bundled this all up in a heap in his arms and carried them back to the others, as Horace came hobbling along behind him.

“Hey, kid.”

Horace’s voice choked with emotion. Darryl at him over his shoulder. He was tempted to say, “Can you save it until later? I’m barely keeping it together right now.” But it was just too rude.

“You’ve been through so much,” Horace said, “but you’ve really shown your mettle. I’m proud of you, kid.”

It touched him, though the feeling was muted by all of the anxiety and grief. Nevertheless, Darryl nodded and said, “Thanks, sir.”

Justine began making some truly unpleasant noises—yelling, snarling, cursing—as Tabitha, Marion, and Emma spoke to her in soothing tones.

“Hang in there, Justine,” Darryl said lamely. He felt compelled to offer some kind of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say. Shouldn’t he be at her side, holding her hand? What was he supposed to do in this situation?

“Hang in there, he says,” Justine replied, in a deep, growling voice that decimated his resolve. “Like I have a choice!”

Emma glanced at Darryl over her shoulder and gave him a disappointed shake of the head. He shuffled his feet awkwardly then decided to stay busy. First, he began setting up a small campfire, digging a groove in the middle of the road and filling it with kindling and small pieces of wood—though finding dry wood was tricky. Once the fire was going, he set a small pot beside it and filled it with water from one of their surviving water barrels. Then he used nylon ropes to drape tarps from tree to tree, creating a barrier across the road that blocked the cold wind.

As he was doing that, he noticed Horace tending to the small fire. It was evening now, and darkness was settling in, but the small fire produced a good amount of light inside the tarped area. Through it all, Justine’s grunting and groaning just went on and on. Tabitha, Marion, and Emma’s voices were like a constant chorus in the background, and Darryl felt his anxiety building. Just how long was this going to take? Was the baby ever going to come out?

Finally, with little else to do, he began pacing from tarp to tarp. Horace prepared the warm compresses, soaking rags in hot water and passing them to Tabitha.

“What’s wrong with this baby?” Justine cried, at one point. “Doesn’t he ever want to come out?”

Darryl turned away, arms crossed, feeling suddenly so overwhelmed that he could scarcely think.

“The baby is crowning right now,” Tabitha said. “One more big push, Justine. Come one, honey. You can do it!”

“You’re amazing,” Emma said. “You’re doing so great!”

Justine gave a throat-scratching cry, and then the women began to cheer. He heard Emma burst into tears, and he dared to turn around just in time to hear a little whimpering cry.

“Dear Lord,” Marion said, choked with emotion. “It’s a boy. Justine, Darryl, you have a baby boy!”

11

The emotion started somewhere deep in his chest and slowly welled up until it came out of his mouth in a kind of shuddering moan. He would have wiped away the endless tears, but he didn’t have any free hands. They’d swaddled the baby in one of the blankets and placed the little bundle in his arms. He was so small, Darryl scarcely felt the weight of him, but he saw that tiny face, scrunched up and whimpering, and he could scarcely believe it.

The baby had a little poof of black hair on top of his head and big cheeks—both reminded him of Justine. Darryl finally dabbed his tears on his sleeve so he could see his son clearly. It didn’t seem real. Behind him, he heard Justine breathing heavily, as Emma tended to her. They’d unrolled some blankets and made a pallet for her, and Emma was holding a warm compress to her forehead.

“You’re amazing, Sis,” Emma said. “You’re a beast. I’m so impressed right now.”

“Thanks,” Justine replied softly. “I feel like I was turned inside out. That was hell. Darryl, don’t break him, okay? I didn’t go through all of that pain for nothing.”

“I’ll never let anything bad happen to him,” Darryl replied, his voice choked with emotion.

“How does he look? My vision was a little blurry when I held him.”

Darryl was staring at that little scrunched-up face. “Perfect,” he said. “He’s perfect.”

It was full-on dark now. The only light came from the glowing embers of the fire and a couple of small oil lamps that they’d set on a box. It was strangely cozy inside the tarped area. In the background, he heard cows lowing in the night. Horace was out there, taking care of the animals, doing what he could to give Darryl time with his son.

At some point, I need to tell him how grateful I am, he thought. I was abrupt with him earlier.

Emma and Marion finally left Justine to rest and went to work preparing a meal. As for Darryl, he just stood there in the warm glow of the fire, holding his son and staring down at that incredible little face.

On the day I lost my father, I became a father. That thought made him start crying again, but he managed to do it silently this time. Finally, the baby began to whimper.

“Okay, you’d better give him back to me,” Justine said. “Dad’s not as cool as Mom, I guess.” She laughed at her own sarcasm, then grunted in discomfort.

The baby felt so fragile in his arms that Darryl was afraid to even bend down with him, so he slowly, carefully, lowered himself to his knees beside Justine’s pallet. In the warm light, it was easy to forget that she was basically just lying on the ground between trees. They’d propped her up a bit on a stack of folded blankets, but she adjusted herself a bit as he lowered the baby onto her chest.

“We need to give him a name,” she said, holding the crying newborn. “You have any ideas? Despite our earlier conversation, I don’t actually want to go with Pinecone or Spider.”

“Ooh, I want to help with names,” Emma said. She left the campfire, where she’d been helping boil something over the coals. She shuffled over and squatted down beside Darryl.

How can she be so chipper after everything that happened today? Darryl wondered. Maybe it was her way of coping with loss.

As for Darryl, he couldn’t even begin to think about a name. It was too much. He was just barely holding it together as it was. How could he be a father? How could he protect and care for this tiny, fragile life when they were surrounded by such hostile conditions? He felt woefully ill-prepared. Somehow, despite all of his efforts, his son had been born in the worst possible situation. With so much to worry about, he didn’t have any room in his brain for thinking about names.

“What do you think about John?” Justine said. “John Healy?”

“Too plain,” Emma replied.

“You think so?” Justine said. “Hey, Dad, what do you say? We need your input. John Healy?”

“I don’t…I’m not…” Darryl stood up, gripping his forehead in his hand. “Let’s me think about it for a little bit.”

“Okay, but don’t think about it too long,” Justine said. “We can’t just keep calling him baby. That’s kind of weird.”

Darryl stepped back and turned, staring at nothing in particular. He saw one of the tarps rippling slightly in the breeze, heard the crackle of the material, and the distant sounds of the animals. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his back, and then his mother was there, pulling him into an embrace. She held him a moment, as he fought a furious battle with tears. He was exhausted from crying.

“Don’t worry,” she said, speaking softly into his ear, as Emma and Justine continued to talk about baby names. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see. That baby has a great father, a loving family, and he’s going to have a good life.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he replied. He received her words. She’d raised two kids of her own, after all. This was old hat to her. Still, his family had a somewhat tricky history with fathers. Would he be able to overcome some of the worst tendencies of Tuck and Greg?

I don’t even have my father here to give me advice, he thought. Somehow, I have to figure it out all by myself.

Suddenly, he just wanted to be alone for a while, to struggle with his own thoughts and feelings without family members feeling sorry for him. He gently extracted himself from his mother’s embrace, as he tried to find some excuse to get away. His gaze happened to fall on Emma’s backpack, which was propped against a tree. He saw the corners of some of her books poking out of the big pocket.

“Hey, Emma, isn’t there some kind of root that helps prevent infections after childbirth?” he asked. “You said something about it when we were back in the cave. Remind me.”

“Maybe you’re thinking of black cohosh root,” she said, a glint in her eye. She seemed especially pleased that he’d brought up something she’d talked about. “First Nations people sometimes brew a tea out of it. Actually, it would be good to gather some, since we don’t have antibiotics.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Darryl said. He went to the toolbox and bent down, opening the lid. He dug out a small flashlight and tested to make sure the battery was still good. “I think I’ll go look for some. You said it grows in the woods around these parts. I was going to hunt for it when we got to the cabin, but things didn’t work out that way.” He rose and headed for the tarp, catching his mother’s eye along the way. She gave him an encouraging nod. Yes, she could see his real purpose.

“You don’t even know what it looks like,” Emma said. “I’d better come with you.”

“No, you don’t need to do that,” he said, grabbing the edge of the tarp and pulling it aside. And then, even though he knew it was a ridiculous lie that no one would believe, he added, “I remember what black cohosh looks like from a picture in the book.”

Emma gave him a sad, sympathetic frown and came toward him. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “Hey, that’s not the way things work in this family, remember?”

“I seem to recall you going off by yourself to gather herbs earlier today,” he replied.

“That was different,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to emotionally isolate myself from my loved ones. We dropped that bad habit back in Glenvell, if you’ll recall.”

Darryl met his sister’s gaze, felt another twinge of grief, and looked away. Hadn’t Greg taught them anything? Yet here he was falling into the same old bad habits that had caused his family so much trouble. He sighed.

“You’re right, of course,” he said. “Why don’t you grab the book that has pictures of all of those plants.”

“Nope, it’s right here,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “I know you, Darryl Healy. You’ll just run off while I’m getting the book. Black cohosh has repeating sets of three leaflets and a sweet smell. My mind is an encyclopedia now. Let’s go.”

She swept her hands at him, motioning him out of the camp. Darryl was almost touched by her insistence in sticking with him. He turned and stepped past the tarp into the dark, moonlit night.

12

Darryl clicked on the flashlight and shone it down the path. He saw the cows spread out along the trail, most of them sleeping. The horses had been tied at the back of the caravan, their long lines wrapped around sturdy tree branches. As he swept the flashlight beam across the path, he spotted Horace sitting on a fallen log on one side of the trail, the crutch laid across his knees. He had the Remington rifle propped on the log within easy reach.

“Horace, they’re making dinner,” Darryl said. “Some kind of soup, I think. I didn’t look.”

Horace scratched at his scraggly beard and lifted his weary gaze. “I’ll head that way in a little bit,” he said. “I’m just sort of clearing my head out here beneath the stars. How’s the little one?”

“The baby is just fine,” Darryl said. “No complications or anything, as far as we can tell.”

“Well, congratulation, Dad,” Horace said. “When this kid grows up, you’ll have quite a story to tell him about the night he was born. Are you headed somewhere?”

Darryl gestured to the woods west of the trail. “We’re going to hunt for some herbs. We won’t be gone long.”

Horace nodded and picked up the Remington. “Take this with you. I doubt you’ll run into any trouble, but we do get the occasional bear, mountain lion, or coyote out here.”

Darryl approached and took the rifle from him. It had been his father’s rifle, and this fact didn’t escape him. He held it for a moment. He could feel Greg Healy in it, somehow, in the weight and shape of it. It almost felt like a holy relic. Nodding gravely, Darryl slung the strap over his shoulder.

“Thanks.”

“And this too,” Horace added, reaching down behind the log. He grabbed something and lifted it. “Found this in a box in the travois. It’s a good thing we didn’t lose it.”

Only when Darryl reached for it did he realize it was a pair of binoculars.

“You think this will be any use at night?” he said.

“It’s almost a full moon,” Horace noted, pointing at the cloudless sky overhead, where the sharp whiteness of a nearly full moon was resting just above the trees. “Anyway, you never know. You might want to get a lay of the land.”

Darryl put the strap of the binoculars around his neck. “Maybe you’re right. Thanks.”

Horace tipped him a little salute. “Don’t stay gone too long.”

As Darryl stepped off the trail into the woods, Emma moved up alongside him. He heard a click, and a second flashlight beam joined his, lighting up the woods before them brightly.

“I always carry a pocket knife and a flashlight,” his sister noted. “Always! Essential tools for almost any situation, right?” She held up her other hand and revealed a small plastic bag. “We can put the herbs in here. See, you didn’t even think about that. Were you just going to stuff them in your pockets?”

“I guess so. Honestly, I hadn’t gotten that far in my planning.”

“Well, this is another reason why you don’t go off alone. We have to cover the gaps in each other’s planning.”

He looked at his sister in the backwash of the light, and suddenly the features she shared with her father were more apparent than ever. Same jawline, same straight nose, similar small mouth. She seemed to be coping better with the day’s event than just about anyone else. Indeed, he was impressed with how focused she was on the task at hand.

I guess I could learn a thing or two from her, he thought.

Still, he mostly regretted that she’d come. He desperately wanted to be alone, to chew on his own thoughts without any threat of conversation. It was almost a primal need in him at the moment, and he had to fight not to express his discontent.

“We’ll probably need to get a little farther from the road,” Emma said. “Did you know some native peoples call black cohosh rattleweed?”

“Do they?” he said, struggling to feign interest.

“Oh, yeah, they used it for all kinds of things, like fevers and colds and pneumonia. It’s really versatile. I’m glad you made me think of it. We definitely need to keep a stash of it on hand.”

“That’s good, then,” he replied. It was about the most he could bring himself to say, but he wasn’t going to give her the silent treatment.

They picked their way along the clearest path, avoiding the dense underbrush and the tangles of desiccated vines that were still strewn between tree trunks in places. Patches of snow and ice remained here and there, and he slipped a few times, catching himself against trees. This was still a hostile landscape, and it took pains to remind him of that.

“We’ll make a tea out of it, I think,” Emma continued, her footsteps crunching along beside him. “I think they used to dry it first and use the powder, but we probably don’t have time for that. We can just steep the roots in hot water or something. I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will,” he replied.

He kept his flashlight beam aimed directly in front of him, but she was sweeping hers from side to side, pausing now and again when she spotted an interesting plant.

“There are just so many useful plants around us all the time,” Emma said. “People have no idea when they walk through nature that they are walking through a veritable apothecary.”

“Apothecary, eh?” he replied. Did she really expect to have a fun, friendly conversation after everything that had happened that day? Even the few words that he did manage to get out made him feel worse. “Isn’t that like a pharmacy?”

“Technically, an apothecary is a person who prepares medicine,” she explained. “I was sort of making a pun, because of how nature creates all of this natural medicine for us. Get it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“There are plants to treat just about any malady,” Emma continued. “All you have to do is look around. Of course, some are poison, so if you don’t know what you’re looking for, it probably isn’t safe.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

He glanced at her and saw that she was staring fixedly at him. He watched her visage collapse as she read the emotion on his face. The eager little half-grin evaporated, and her eyebrows dropped. She finally got the point and fell into a sullen silence. Darryl felt bad, but he was also grateful for it. They continued to hike through the woods, moving in a widening arc, back and forth, as Emma fixed her gaze on the ground before her.

Darryl had never felt so conflicted or so thoroughly miserable in his life. Though he tried mightily not to resent Emma for her presence, he found himself entertaining thoughts of somehow slipping away. He spent not a single second looking for black cohosh or anything else. His gaze just roamed the shifting shadows before him, seeing nothing, focusing on nothing.

Suddenly, Emma gasped and came to a stop. When Darryl continued another couple of steps, she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Right there,” she said, pointing off to the left. “I’m pretty sure that’s black cohosh right there. A bunch of it.”

In the big tangle of plants, nothing stood out to him, so he had no idea what she was pointing at. However, she walked over and squatted down and grabbed a leaf between her thumb and forefinger.

“This right here,” she said. “Isn’t this what you were looking for?”

Darryl shrugged. It was just one of many leafy green plants, flecks of frost still stuck to the leaves. There was some kind of long twisted stems poking out of the top, withered by the cold. They looked like they might flower once warmer weather arrived. However, Darryl had no idea what this plant was.

“Let’s get as much as we can,” Emma said. She shook the plastic bag open and slid the handle around her wrist. When Darryl didn’t immediately join her, she snapped her fingers at him and pointed at a spot beside her. “Come on. This was your idea, remember?”

He nodded and approached, kneeling down just a little farther from her than she’d indicated. He started to pick the leaves, but then he noticed that Emma was digging up entire plants, carefully preserving the roots. He put his flashlight between his teeth and began copying her, but his vision clouded suddenly. Before he could stop himself, he was crying again, turned slightly so his sister wouldn’t see.

I just miss my dad, he realized. There’s so much he could tell me right now about being a new father. He could at least tell me if what I’m feeling is normal. Is it okay to want so desperately to be alone? Now, he will never meet his grandson. How could I lose my father and gain my son on the same day?

It was a cruel twist of fate. He let the tears fall, trying to focus on the task at hand. Emma was humming under her breath, which he found remarkable. How was she capable of so much joy? Had she forgotten the flood? He wanted to scold her, or at least tell her to stop it, but he bit his tongue and continued to work. Slowly, meticulously, he dug up the roots of a large black cohosh plant, shook off some of the excess dirt, and carefully folded the whole thing. Then he reached back and placed it in Emma’s plastic bag.

He was grateful, at least, for the quiet. He managed to dab away the tears as he reached for a second plant and began to dig up the roots. His crying finally subsided.

“You know what?” Emma said suddenly. “I’m going to be a great aunt. And you’re going to be a great dad. That kid doesn’t know how good he’s gonna have it.”

No, Darryl wasn’t feeling that sentiment at all. How good he’s going to have it? The poor kid couldn’t possibly have it worse. He’d been born in the middle of the wilderness by the side of the road, just hours after losing his grandfather and half of the family’s possessions. He might have thought Emma was being sarcastic if he didn’t know her better. Fortunately, having a flashlight stuck between his teeth prevented him from speaking, so he just ignored the comment and kept digging. When he finally got the roots of another plant free, he shoved the whole bunch into the bag, which was quickly getting too full.

He plucked the flashlight out of his mouth and said, “Should we gather more, or do you think that’s enough? We’re running out of room.”

“Let’s each get one more,” she replied. “I’ll make more room in the bag.”

Darryl ducked deeper into the bushes, stepping over the rough ground where he’d dug up the other plants. He saw one more small cohosh bush growing between the roots of a large evergreen tree, and he reached for it. Just beyond the plant, there was a small open space between trees, where no plants were growing. His flashlight beam happened to pass over this spot, and he realized that there was some kind of strange depression in the soft ground there. He shuffled forward a bit more and aimed the flashlight at it.

Some kind of large animal track. That was his first thought. Then he leaned closer and realized he could see a strange pattern pressed into the mud, like the sole of a boot. There was a second identical impression behind it. As he moved the flashlight, he saw a third and a fourth. Someone had been walking here, and the tracks were very fresh.

13

He stared at the tracks for a while, studying them to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. However, he only became more certain that he was seeing fresh boot prints moving through the woods. Had one of the family members come out here when he wasn’t paying attention? He entertained the notion that Horace had been out here while the baby was being born. Maybe he’d wanted to patrol the area for dangerous animals.

But that possibility didn’t hold up to scrutiny. This person was clearly walking on two feet, and anyway, the shoes on Horace’s prosthetic feet had flat soles. These had a pronounced heel and a deep pattern, like hiking boots made for walking on slippery ground. Emma continued to dig at the black cohosh plant for a while, but eventually she noticed that Darryl had stopped. He felt her tap his shoulder.

“Hey, bro, what are you doing over there?” she asked. “The plant’s not going to uproot itself. Are you trying to stare it to death?”

“Someone’s been here,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Someone walked through this area recently,” he said. “Look for yourself.”

She shuffled forward, sweeping plants aside, and he pointed out the first boot print. Emma gasped.

“Hiking boots,” she noted. “That’s what it looks like. But, of course, other people would have been in this area before, right? It’s a public trail. It’s not our private property.”

“Of course,” he said, “but these tracks can’t be more than a day old. Maybe they’ve camped near here. We should make sure.”

“Should we?” she asked. “They have as much right to the mountain as we do.”

“If someone is camped near us, I want to know who it is,” she said, rising. “Let’s not forget the kind of world we live in.”

He rose, pulled the Remington off his shoulder, and held it in the crook of his right arm.

“Well, you’re not just going to burst into their camp and point a gun at them,” Emma said. “That’s a hostile act. For all we know, they’re trying to survive the same as us.”

“I’m not planning on pointing a gun at anyone,” he said. “I just want to keep it handy. You never know what could happen.”

Whoever had left the prints had also cut and slashed their way through the woods. He could see places where a blade had slashed through the underbrush, chopping branches out of the way. This made it easier to follow the path.

“Let me tell you something, Emma,” he said. “Signs of a person are never a good thing. Even if they’re not overtly hostile, other people in the area become competition for resources, okay? You should know that. Surely, they mentioned it in one of your books. Heck, our whole reason for going to the cabin is to get away from people so we can stabilize. Got it?”

“I just don’t understand why we have to provoke a conflict,” she said. She was following him, but he could tell she was reluctant, dragging her feet. “Nobody’s bothering us, and we have a job to do right now.”

“A more pressing job has presented itself,” he said. “I’m going to make sure we’re safe before we go back to our camp. It’s what Dad would have done.”

Emma sighed. “Well, yeah, I’m sure you’re right about that.”

The prints seemed to follow the natural folds of the terrain, opting for the flattest ground as they worked their way roughly west from the trail. However, the farther they went, the more they began to fade into heavier brush and firmer ground. Eventually, they topped a small rise dominated by massive spruce trees, and here the boot prints disappeared completely on rocky ground.

“See? They didn’t lead anywhere,” Emma said. “Whoever it was, they were hiking out of the area, so it doesn’t matter. Can we go back now?”

But Darryl knew he couldn’t let it go. If there was a chance that someone else was in the area, he had to know who they were and what they were up to. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he did. Any possible threat, no matter how small, to Justine or the baby was too much. He glanced around, trying to figure out what to do next. He was tempted to keep walking west, even if he could no longer see the prints, but he knew that was risky, and probably a waste of time.

“Darryl, what are you doing?” Emma said, sounding exasperated. “Can we go back now and finish gathering the herbs?” As if to remind him, she shook the plastic bag full of black cohosh plants.

“Not quite yet,” he said. “Remind me to thank Horace later.”

“What does that mean?”

He approached the nearest spruce tree, slinging the rifle back over his shoulder. It was a towering tree, at least fifty meters tall, with a huge trunk, but it had numerous low branches. He figured it would be fairly easy to climb, as long as he didn’t snap a branch and fall.

“I’m going to climb up and take a look around,” he said. “If there’s another camp in our area, I should be able to see it, especially if they’ve got a fire going. Want to join me?” He gestured at the tree.

Emma stared at him flatly for a second, but apparently climbing a towering tree was just too exciting to turn down, even if she didn’t support his current mission. She tied the handles of the plastic bag and set it down on the ground at the base of the tree.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “This won’t be the first time I’ve climbed a huge tree to survey the land. Heck, I climbed a tree bigger than this one when I was lost in the wilderness with Dad.”

“Good,” he said. “Then this should be a piece of cake for you. Come on.”

He turned off the flashlight, tucked it between his teeth again and reached up, grabbing a low branch and pulling himself up. It didn’t take long to realize that climbing the big spruce looked a lot easier than it was. As it turned out, the branches were very close together, and needles were everywhere. It wasn’t like mounting a ladder. Rather, it was more like dragging himself through dense, unyielding bushes, the needles and branches dragging at him all the way.

He was so deep in the tree that he had little idea how fast he was climbing or how high. Emma was making all kinds of noise on the other side of the tree, grunting and cursing and tearing through the branches.

He paused and plucked the flashlight out of his mouth. “Are you okay over there? This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”

“I’m an old pro at this sort of thing,” she said. “Just be careful which branches you step on. Some of them are brittle.”

“I can barely see where I’m going,” he whispered, looking around at the big bundles of spruce needles all around him. A big cone, still mostly green, hung inches from his right eye. He felt around with his right foot, setting the heel on what seemed like a thick branch. As soon as he started to put his weight on it, the branch cracked and broke. Fortunately, he was still holding tightly to other branches, so he didn’t fall.

“I just told you to be careful where you step,” Emma said quietly.

“I prefer to figure things out the hard way,” he replied.

Emma sighed. “You think you’re joking, but that’s just about the truest thing you’ve ever said.”

He continued to climb, feeling his way from branch to branch more carefully now. Eventually, it was as if the branches fell away from him. The trunk of the tree had gotten considerably smaller, and he felt the whole thing swaying slightly. When he looked around, he saw Emma’s face pop out into the open on the other side of the trunk.

“We’re really high,” she noted, the wind blowing her hair in her face.

Darryl tightened his grip on the trunk and looked around. Immediately, he felt like his stomach dropped right out of his body. Indeed, they were at least forty meters off the forest floor, higher than most of the trees. Though it was evening, and the light was almost entirely gone, he could see the forest and mountains stretching away on all sides. The river cut a meandering silver line through the trees. It looked so innocuous and peaceful from up here, not the place of sudden death than it had proved to be. With his free hand, Darryl pulled the flashlight out of his mouth and shone it around, but, of course, it was largely useless from this height. The light barely reached the ground beneath him.

“Use the binoculars,” Emma said.

“Yeah, that was the idea,” he replied. He slid the flashlight into his coat pocket. Then he grabbed the binoculars and lifted them to his eyes. However, in that moment, a gust of wind caused the tree to sway to one side, and he felt a shiver of paralyzing fear. But Emma gave an excited cry, as if she were on a carnival ride. “Don’t cheer. This isn’t fun, you know,” he said.

“It just surprised me,” she said. “That’s all.”

Looking through the binoculars while the tree swayed beneath him created a strong sense of vertigo. Darryl pressed himself firmly against the trunk of the tree and steadied his hand as best he could, as he scanned their surroundings. First, he saw light coming from their camp, the flicker of the fire dancing through gaps between the tarps. Distantly, he heard the baby give a loud whimper, though he couldn’t see him. Horace was still seated on a log near the horses, the crutch across his knees.

Darryl moved the binoculars beyond the camp, past the huddled shapes of horses and cattle, across the dark trees, to curve of the river. Finally, he saw another light in the distance, an amorphous glow far away. It took a moment to make sense of what it was. Some kind of lamp or lantern moving down the trail back the way they’d come, not far from where the flood had damaged some of the trail. The small figure of a woman moved in the lamplight. She seemed to be pacing back and forth, as if looking for something or someone.

“What do you see?” Emma asked. “Anything out there? Did you find out mysterious hiker?”

“Yeah, hang on,” Darryl replied. “There’s someone on the other trail. I don’t know what she’s up to.”

The woman finally stopped at the river’s edge, shining her light out over the water. After a moment, another figure stepped out of the woods onto the trail and moved up beside her, someone much larger, probably a man. They stood together there for a bit, heads close as if they were speaking.

“Darryl, tell me what’s happening,” Emma said. “I can’t see anything. Either describe it or give me the binoculars so I can look.”

“Wait, Emma. Just wait.”

Two people at the river’s edge. What were they doing? What could they be discussing? The distance was too great to make out any details. Still, what danger could two hikers pose? Darryl’s family had them outnumbered.

“There’s two of them,” he noted. “Maybe looking for a way to pass the old trail. Not sure.”

But then others came out of the forest, shapes emerging into the circle of orange lamplight. Two, then three, then four, then six. They huddled together at the river’s edge. Darryl felt a mounting dread as the number of them grew. He realized now that most of them were armed. He saw what appeared to be the barrels of long rifles rising above many shoulders.

One of the men strode to the middle of the trail and began gesturing at the ground, drawing what seemed to be a long line in the air. The others gathered around him. Then others began pointing, some farther down the old trail, others back toward the fork in the road. Suddenly, he realized what they were doing, and in that moment, the group seemed to reach a decision. The woman who had first appeared on the trail, strode ahead of the group, pointing back toward the fork, and the others fell in behind her as they started to move in that direction.

“Oh, no,” Darryl whispered numbly. He lowered the binoculars. “We have to get back to camp.”

“What?” Emma said in a little squeak. “What is it?”

“I think they spotted our tracks,” he said, as he started back down the tree. “Probably the grooves dug by the travois. If I had to guess, they were trying to figure out which way we went.”

He moved fast, sliding from branch to branch, the needles dragging and scratching at him. His grip felt precarious, as if he were doing little more than a controlled fall, but the dread had turned to white-hot panic now. Emma was above him, making her way down more carefully, but he heard her little anxious noises.

“Are they bad? How do we know they mean us harm?” she said.

“Armed strangers following our tracks?” Darryl said. “I’m going to assume they’re hostile until they prove otherwise. And even then, I won’t be sure.” A branch snapped under his foot, and he dropped. Thrusting both arms out to either side, he managed to arrest his fall, but in the process, branches snapped hard on the undersides of both arms. He cried out in pain, but he dared not stop.

“But they could be friendly people trying to help us,” Emma said. “Maybe they saw the flood. Maybe they found some of our stuff that got washed down the river, and they’re returning it to us.”

“These people are moving around the mountains with rifles at night,” Darryl said, resuming his wild descent. “Following the tracks of other travelers. That doesn’t sound friendly to me. Do you remember what kind of a world we live in, Emma?”

“Yes, of course,” she said softly.

Another branch broke beneath him, and this time Darryl didn’t react quickly enough. He fell, broke through some more branches and tumbled out into the open. Fortunately, he was only about two meters above the ground by that point. He landed in a large bush, which softened his fall, then gently rolled onto the ground.

“Wait for me,” Emma said. She was still ten meters up the tree, picking her way down branch by branch.

“Hurry up,” Darryl said. “They’re headed this way right now. We have to pack up and go.”

He rose, swiping branches and clusters of spruce needles off his shoulders. As Emma continued making her way down, he pulled the flashlight out of his pocket and turned it on, aiming it back toward camp. He couldn’t wait for his sister. The fear had turned to a trembling desperation.

“You’re taking too long,” he said. “I’m going on ahead. Just hurry and catch up to me.”

“Give me a few seconds, please,” she replied.

But Darryl started back toward camp, pulling the rifle off his shoulder as he went. He followed his own clumsy footprints back through the forest, stepping over the spot where they’d dug up the cohosh bushes. Far in the distance, as if to punctuate this sudden turn of events, he heard a deep rumbling sound that went on and on.

Thunder, he realized.

14

The sensation was similar to being blindfolded and beaten by baseball bats from every direction. He flailed wildly with arms and legs, but every solid object he grabbed hold of slipped out of his grasp. Meanwhile, he kept getting slammed hard in the back, the sides, on the arms and legs, the face and head. Something slammed into his face and busted his lips, but when he opened his mouth, muddy water flooded in. At the same time, he was spinning wildly, so he couldn’t tell which direction he was facing at any particular moment.

This is how it ends, he thought. Tossed about as if I were in a washing machine full of crowbars.

He managed to hold his breath, even when he got a mouthful of water, but after interminable tossing and tumbling, he felt the burning need for air. It was growing, his mind filling with a kind of buzzing desperation. On top of it all, the water was brutally cold, just above freezing, so it felt like he’d been plunged into ice.

At one point, some enormous shape brushed past him. He managed to grab at it with his right hand, and he felt a soft, yielding body, like the underside of a cow. He kicked out with both legs, and his feet hit a solid surface, possibly rocks. Then he was thrust upward, and he slammed into another hard surface. This time, however, the current kept pushing him upward. He fumbled along the hard surface and realized it was a crude wall comprised of branches. Using them as a ladder, he kept climbing up, strengthened by the current.

Suddenly, he broke the surface of the river and felt a cold blast of air against his face. Greg Healy took a great heaving gasp of fresh air, but that drew water into his lungs. He began coughing violently, uncontrollably, until he vomited. He was pressed against a makeshift wall of debris that had formed in a narrow gap between large rocks. His entire body was wracked with pain, but he managed to get both of his arms on top of the makeshift wall. Then he leveraged himself farther out of the water.

Just beyond the gap, he saw that the stream widened, sheer sides rising up on either side. One of the cows was floating there on its side, lifeless eyes staring at the darkening sky. Greg kept pulling himself up, but then the makeshift wall collapsed. Suddenly, he was back in the river, being pushed through the gap. On the other side, however, the current slowed, and he was able to paddle toward the nearest bank.

A narrow lip of rock ran along the river’s edge at the base of a sheer cliff. Greg finally got close enough to grab the rock, and he dragged himself into shallow water. Rising, his body cried out from a dozen different places.

I’m going to be covered in bruises, he realized.

He heaved again, bent double, and vomited a large amount of river water onto the rocks at his feet. Then he took another couple of steps away from the river, leaned his shoulder against the sheer rock wall, and slid down onto the ground. He was shivering violently now from the cold, his arms as sore as if he’d been lifting weights for hours. More than that, his mind was still fuzzy, struggling to regain clarity after nearly drowning.

He looked around, but he was in alien territory. There was no sign of the trail, no sign of his family. He saw the river meandering back up the slope and disappearing into the trees. He cleared his throat and tried to call to his loved ones, but he only managed a weird, wordless squawk. Even that effort made him swoon, as a blackness entered his vision. Coughing, he rubbed his eyes, and tried to stand up. When he did, the blackness become absolute, and his last sensation was slamming into his chest on the ground as he collapsed.

It wasn’t sleep. No, that would have been comforting. This was mere animal unconsciousness, and when he finally started to claw his way out of it, it had brought no rest whatsoever. He was all pain and discomfort, his skull pounding with the worst headache of his life. When he opened his eyes, he realized he was lying flat on his stomach, his arms caught beneath him. He tried to push himself to his hands and knees, but he didn’t have the strength.

“Marion…” He just managed to croak her name, but it made him start coughing again.

He’d never felt such bone-aching cold before. The shivering was violent, rattling him all the way to the core of his being. Greg looked around and saw a stand of trees a few meters ahead of him on a grassy slope where the high cliff curved away from the water. He began crawling toward it. Fortunately, he still had his heavy winter coat, and he knew there were some small supplies in the many pockets. Enough to survive? That he did not know, but if he stayed out here in the bitter cold, it wouldn’t matter because he was going to freeze solid in no time.

As he crawled, he noted a large rip in the back of his left glove, another on his right sleeve. By the time he reached the trees, his extremities had started to go numb, but he finally managed to get to his hands and knees. He crawled into the trees, where at least the wind was diminished. He rose on shaky legs, using a tree trunk for leverage. Then he began to root through the coat’s many pockets. His clothes were sodden, but he found a couple of lighters in one pocket and a bundle of fire starter sticks, still in their waterproof wrapper, in another. The Walther PPK was gone from the inner pocket. That was a regrettable loss, but he decided to lament it later.

Dropping to his knees, he tried to dig a firepit, but his numb fingers were clumsy. He just managed to clear a space about half a meter across, and he surrounded it with a crude ring of stones. Then he began creating a small pile of pine boughs, a simple act that took absolute concentration and sheer willpower. His aching arms and numb hands could barely move. Still, he finally created a small, crude pile, and he used his teeth to remove one of the fire starters, which he slid into the base of the pile.

If this doesn’t work, I will die out here, he realized, as he thrust the lighter at the fire starter. How pathetic to survive the drowning and then freeze to death in the woods.

He struggled to flick the lighter. His damned thumb didn’t want to work right. Finally, he took the lighter in both hands and used both of his thumbs. He managed to flick the lighter this time, and the tiny flame that burst to life was like a spark of hope. He felt a burst of elation cutting through the pain, exhaustion, and despair. The fire starter caught then and quickly began to burn with a brilliant red flame. Greg felt the heat against his face, and he uttered a hoarse cry of relief.

He began rooting around for more dry sticks to add to the fire, but the dampness was everywhere. The moist wood made the fire especially smokey, and soon the smoke was gathering beneath the boughs. Still, the fire seemed relatively stable, so Greg unzipped his coat and pulled it off. It was clear now that he’d wrenched both shoulders somewhere along the way, and he didn’t have full motion of either arm as a result. This made the simple act of removing his coat grueling, but he fought through the pain and finally peeled it off. It was absolutely saturated with cold, muddy water.

Still, the fire provided enough warmth now that when he removed the coat, he actually felt less cold. He hung the coat on a nearby tree branch, hoping it would dry. Then he went to work fumbling at the buttons on his shirt. Finally, he stripped down to his underwear and stood as close to the fire as he dared, still shivering but feeling the warmth now gradually working its way into his flesh. It was getting dark out now.

How long was I out? he wondered. All afternoon? All day and night and into the next evening? He couldn’t tell. Indeed, he’d lost all sense of time. He worried about his family. They hadn’t come for him, so either they couldn’t get this far down the river or, more likely, they assumed he was dead. Or perhaps they’d all been washed away by the flood. No, that was a scenario he didn’t want to consider. Surely, if the entire caravan had been swept away, he would have seen the river choked with cattle and horses.

No. I am going to assume they’re fine, unless I’m presented with evidence otherwise, he told himself.

As he stood there in nothing but his boxer shorts and a pair of damp socks, he examined his wounds. The fire was roaring now, producing more than enough heat to drive out the cold, and it was also bright. Greg delicately probed the areas of sharpest pain. He had ugly bruises forming all over. The biggest of them was a long purple welt on the left side of his chest. When he pressed it with his fingers, he felt a deep, grinding pain that instantly made him sick to his stomach.

Broken rib, perhaps, he thought. At least he could breathe normally, which meant he didn’t have a punctured lung.

His hands were sore, and he scarcely had any grip left. The back of his right hand had a long, ugly scratch, and most of his left forearm was bruised from wrist to elbow. He had another large bruise across his stomach, and he felt a welt on the side of his head. His upper lip was busted open, as well.

It could’ve been worse, he reminded himself. You can stand. You can walk. You can breathe. Count your blessings.

However, just as he thought it, he heard a deep rumble off in the distance. It went on for five or six seconds and ended with a final ominous crash. Greg dared to step toward the edge of the small stand of pine trees, feeling the bitterness of the wind beyond. He saw the broad, brown expanse of the river, a single dead cow still floating lazily downstream. However, his gaze was drawn upward, to the darkening evening sky. Clouds had gathered to the west, rising up above the jagged peak there. As he stared at them, he saw a brief flash of lightning from deep inside.

Storm coming, he thought, and his heart sank. That’s not what I need right now.

He moved back under the trees, leaning against a branch and letting the heat of the fire sweep over him. The smoke made him cough, but it was the least of his concerns. Greg considered his predicament. The stream would lead him down into the valley, and he was fairly confident he could find his way to his father’s old hunting cabin from there. However, he had no idea where the rest of his family had gone. Would they continue trying to make their way down the treacherous path, or would they turn back for the safer road? Maybe they wouldn’t do anything. Maybe they would park themselves right there beside the flooded stream and wait for Greg to return.

No, Darryl would insist that they press on, he thought, for Justine’s sake and for the baby.

Assuming they survived, his best bet was to make for the cabin and meet them there. Maybe they would catch up to him along the way, unless they’d turned back for the other road. Either way, he knew what he had to do, no matter how bruised and broken he felt. To test himself, he began walking circles around the fire. His legs were stiff, and he had bruises all up and down both legs. Walking would be an ordeal, but he could bear his weight just fine.

If only that damned storm would pass me by, he thought, as he heard another rumble in the distance.

15

Sasha Burke narrowed the aperture on the battery-powered lamp and aimed the light at the trail directly in front of her. The ground was still absolutely soaked with water from the flooding, and she could feel icy cold pouring off the river. She liked it. The bitter chill was advantage in this situation. Indeed, as she noted clouds along the western horizon, she realized that a possible storm was to her advantage as well. Let it come. Let an ice-cold, relentless rain crash down and slow every other traveler.

Even with the damage caused by the flooding, she could see the deep ruts carved in the trail, two grooves running parallel. She reached out with her free hand, gloves fingers probing the edge of one of the grooves. She had no fear of the damp and cold because her coat, pants, and boots had been Gore-Texed like mad. Though her money was no good now, it had served her well before the end of civilization. Splurging on an expensive Canada Goose Langford Parka, some nice Rossignol Tommy Hilfiger ski pants, and—the coup de grace—Fendi FF Shearling snow boots had paid off. She couldn’t have been warmer or drier, despite the dampness.

Still, all of that corporate money had ceased to mean much when the economy had collapsed like a stomped eggshell. All that mattered now were territory and resources. She had plenty of the former, never enough of the latter, and it looked like a few intruders were horning in on her land.

“Do you think they lost anything in the flood?” The voice came from over her shoulder. Daniel, her former assistant, now her lover, stepped out of the woods and joined her on the trail. The wild, mountain man lifestyle suited him, she thought, at least in appearance. He had a rugged beard that complemented his jawline, and his hair had grown out in a nice way. She’d never liked the short, gelled corporate hairdo anyway.

“Yeah, seems like they might have lost a bit,” Sasha replied.

“How can you tell?” Daniel asked, stepping up to river’s edge, as if he might peer down into the water and see what had been lost.

Sasha grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “Look at the ruts in the trail here,” she said. “We’ve got two sets of parallel lines cut into the trail. Drag marks. I think they were pulling supplies on sledges or travois, and from the depth of the grooves, they were heavy as hell. That means they had a lot of supplies.”

“I see three sets of parallel lines,” Daniel replied, pointing at the third set, which ran closer to the trees than the others.

“Yeah, but the third set comes out of the woods down there,” she noted, pointing to a spot where it seemed the other group had cut and slashed their way out of the woods. “Here’s what I think happened. I think they were pulling two sledges full of supplies down the trail, then the flood hit. One of their sledges got swept into the river, but somehow the other survived. After the flooding subsided, they headed back the way they came, dragging their one remaining sledge.”

Daniel nodded, stroking his beard with his gloved hand. “I think you’re right, Sasha. You figured all of that out just by looking at tracks on the ground. You’re brilliant.”

The compliment annoyed her, and she smacked him hard on the chest with the back of her hand. Unfortunately, his padded coat and her nice Moncler Tech ski gloves softened the blow. “I didn’t say it to impress you. I couldn’t care less about that.”

“I didn’t mean to patronize you,” Daniel said, in a wounded voice.

“We have to figure out who these people are,” she said. “Are they armed? I assume so, but how dangerous are they? This is what I want to know.”

Others came out of the trees then. She’d left them at the camp to gather supplies. Harry and Jen appeared first, a rough pair of former hippies wearing handmade leather coats and pants, fur-lined moccasins, and strange tribal hats. Harry’s long, gray beard was separated into three beaded braids. It looked ridiculous. Sasha couldn’t have hated it more if she’d tried, but the old man was useful. He’d lived off the land for years. Plus, he could be brutal when he had to be, and she appreciated that about him. An enormous leather backpack on a wooden frame hung from his shoulders, the handle of an enormous machete rising from the top.

“Did we find them?” he said.

“I think we’re pointed in the right direction,” Sasha replied, gesturing at the drag marks on the trail. “The flood came on fast and hard, but most of them seem to have survived. I think they lost some stuff in the river. We might be able to find it washed up on the riverbank downstream.”

The others came now. The people in her crew were mostly pairs—couples of one kind or another. That had been intentional on Sasha’s part. She figured they would fight harder if they had some personal stake in the group’s survival, something other than mere animal existence. So far, it had worked. But she’d known it would. Sasha had spent years reading employees, moving them around, manipulating them as needed. The corporate world had been her kingdom, employees the chess pieces of her board.

“Which way do we go, then?” Jen asked. She was clutching a fold of Harry’s sleeve. Jen was permanently sunburned, and she always sounded hoarse. Her fair skin had never fully adjusted to the relentless sun, and she was neglectful about using sunscreen. Indeed, she was neglectful about many things, but she kept Harry’s wilder tendencies in check. “Do we track down the group, or do we head downstream and see if anything washed up?”

“Best stuff will still be with the group,” Harry said. “We should focus on them.”

Sasha had to restrain a sudden surge of anger. She turned to Harry and met his gaze with full, fiery intensity. Though she was smaller than him, she knew the power of her gaze. Fixing her jaw and lowering her eyebrows, she gave him her meanest look, and he visibly wilted before her. Shuffling his feet, he finally ducked his head.

“It’s up to you, of course,” he added.

“There’s a reason why I make the decisions here and not you,” she said, letting the threat sharpen the edges of every word. “One-dimensional thinking isn’t helpful, not now, not ever.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Harry mumbled. Most of the crew was glaring at him now, and even Daniel had taken a step toward him.

Sasha let the discomfort linger in the air for a few seconds, then she turned to look at the rest of her people. “We don’t have to choose. It’s not either-or. We’ll send one group downstream to recover anything that washed up on the riverbank. Judging by the tracks here, whatever they were pulling was big and heavy. It shouldn’t be hard to spot, even if it broke apart.” Harry was still moping, so she decided to throw him a bone. A bit of mercy after a scolding was always effective. “Harry and Jen, I’m putting you in charge of that task. I don’t expect you to be able to carry any heavy boxes or barrels, so whatever you find, just pull it away from the river and set it on the trail. We’ll come along later and collect it all. Got it?”

Harry raised his head then, looked at Jen, and smiled enthusiastically. “You can count on us.”

“We’ll make sure to collect it all and mark it for retrieval,” Jen added.

“Good,” Sasha said. “I know you’ll be thorough. Go on ahead. Get started. Watch out for any washed-out portions of the trail.”

Harry and Jen bowed their heads, then turned and headed off down the dark trail. Despite their personal quirks, they were well-acclimated to the wilderness, so they could move lightly and fast, even in the dark. Sasha watched as they faded into the gloom, bent low like dogs sniffing animal tracks.

“Okay, as for the rest of you,” Sasha said, once they were out of sight. She signaled for the group to bunch up. They packed in together before her, seven people representing a variety of skills, experience, and personality types. She’d refined the group, trimmed off the fat and the useless elements. Every person that remained had something unique to contribute. “We’ve scored big this time, team, real big. I feel it in my gut, and you know my gut is never wrong.”

This caused the group to burst into giggles, like happy little schoolkids during recess. Sasha tolerated it for a few seconds because it was good for them. Then she held up both hands and motioned them to silence. The giggles ended suddenly, unnaturally, like someone had unplugged the speakers on a stereo.

“We can’t rush in there laughing,” she said. “This is a stealth mission. First, we have to deal with the people. Then, we can round up the cattle and supplies. Follow my lead and do exactly what you’re told at all times. Is that clear?”

She got a chorus of affirmations, but they were extra quiet this time. Sasha turned and scanned the sky around them. The storm clouds gathering in the west were impressive, but she was unconcerned. They were more suited to fighting in a storm than these outsiders.

Something drew her attention away from the dark clouds. Off to her left, far downstream, a thin trail of smoke rose into the sky, lit from the bottom by distant firelight. She studied it for a second. Daniel turned to see what she was looking at, pushing his hood back, as if that somehow gave him a better view.

“Well, now, that’s interesting,” she said.

“A campfire, perhaps,” Daniel suggested meekly.

“Of course, it’s a campfire. What else would it be? If I had to guess, I’d say at least one person from their party got swept downstream, and they are stuck way down there now, settling in for the night. The hapless loser must be drenched and freezing after that harrowing ride in the river.” She grabbed Daniel by the shoulder. “I want you to head down there and check it out. If you pass Harry and Jen, tell them to focus on the supplies. You find out who started that campfire. If you can, bring him to us alive, so we can question him. Break him first, so he’s not a threat. And if you can’t bring him back alive, so be it. Meet me back on the trail once you’re done.”

“You’ve got it,” he replied.

He started to leave, but she clamped his arm down tight, pulling him back. He glanced back at her. Didn’t he know better by now? She hated when she had to remind him to show affection in front of the others. It was important for the lead couple to set the example.

“Be safe,” she said, “but deal with it swiftly. We’re not hiring this guy. We have no job openings. I’d like to know where he’s headed, but it’s not that important. Don’t risk your life over it. Is that clear?”

“Of course,” he replied, and then he kissed her.

She let the kiss linger for roughly two seconds, and then she pushed him away. Just enough PDA to set the example, but not so much that it made the others squirm. Daniel stepped back, gave her a little bow of the head, then set off downstream. As he went, she saw him unzip his coat and reach inside. A moment later, he produced the antique single-action revolver that had become his own personal treasure. It gleamed darkly in the lamplight. They’d lifted it from some wannabe outdoorsman they’d found hiking in the mountains weeks earlier.

“The rest of you, fall in behind me,” she said, gesturing with her hands. “We’ll follow them until the moment’s right. Then we’ll strike fast and hard, so they hardly know what hit them. I don’t intend to lose any of you on this raid, got it?”

They seemed to like this, judging by the murmurs that went through the group. Yes, Sasha could be hard on them, but she was also aggressive about keeping them alive. She didn’t cut them much slack, bossed them around constantly, but they were all well cared for and in relatively good health. Some of them were former coworkers from her big-time, multi-level-marketing company, so they’d already learned to trust her long before the world changed. Others were useful people she’d found along the way and recruited. But all of them were a united team now, always at the beck and call of their fearless leader.

“Let’s get this done,” Sasha said. “We hit the jackpot tonight. I see a royal feast in your future, friends. Come on.”

And with that, she turned and started back up the trail, reaching back to grab her beloved X-Bolt Hell’s Canyon rifle out of a loop on the side of her backpack. As if to announce the coming violence, the storm gave another low rumble, and lights flashed deep in the clouds.

16

Greg had managed to create a nice little sweatbox there inside the small stand of trees, with his crackling fire feeding hungrily on the endless pine boughs. The world beyond his camp was dark and still; this part of the river was slow and quiet. Though he had no way to know the time, he felt like morning was drawing near. He felt his clothes, which were hanging in the trees near the heat, to test their dryness. His shirt, pants, and socks were mostly dry. The coat still had a bit of squishiness to it, but it would have to do.

He didn’t want to linger much longer. His family was out there somewhere. Hopefully, they’d reached the cabin by now. Either way, they were probably grieving his death.

Time to go, Greg told himself.

He pulled on his shirt. A difficult prospect, under the circumstances. His sore shoulders were stiffening up, but he persisted. Getting the buttons done took a long time, and when he was mostly done, he realized they were misaligned. Somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He pulled on his sturdy winter pants, which was a bit easier to do, and clipped the latch that served as a belt. Then he spent several agonizing minutes pulling on his socks and boots. To do this, he finally had to sit down—a thing he’d avoided thus far for fear he might never get up again. Once the boots were on, tying the laces became another ordeal, and he just couldn’t pull the knots tight.

Finally, he dragged his coat off its branch and pulled it on. The poor thing was ripped in a number of places, but there was nothing he could do about that. He zipped it up and pulled up his hood. Despite his many injuries, he intended to get to the cabin as soon as possible. He kicked dirt and rocks onto the fire until the flames went out, then he stomped on the embers until there was no more glow.

Only then did he finally turn and step out of the stand of trees. The languid river spread out before him, taunting him with its lazy water. Greg reached into an inner pocket of his coat and found the small pocket flashlight he kept there.

Please work, he thought. I’d rather not hike in the darkness.

He clicked on the flashlight, and a small beam of bright white light shone on the rocks at his feet. Using the light to guide him, he followed the riverbank, heading downstream across rocky ground. It was slow going. Every step required caution because of the growing stiffness in his body. Still, with the water to guide him, at least he didn’t have to worry about getting lost.

And what if you don’t find them at the cabin? he wondered. What if there is no sign of them anywhere? What if the river took them as well?

A horrible thought. Fortunately, he was so sore and stiff that his emotions seemed diminished. His mind was foggy as well. Periodically, his vision seemed to go blank, his mind half-conscious, while still walking. He looked up at one point while trudging up a rocky slope, and the river was far to his left. It took a moment to clear his head, and then he headed back toward the water’s edge.

Eventually, the river, which was more of a shallow stream here, bent into the deep woods again, and he found himself pushing through heavy underbrush. Branches kept dragging at his coat, like grasping hands trying to stop him. He pressed on, and time seemed to blur again. The great trunks of pine, aspen, and spruce passed through the flashlight beam like a thousand mighty sentinels.

He’d lost sight the river, and he felt a moment of panic. It wouldn’t take much to get completely turned around in the wilderness without something to guide him. Then he realized he could still hear its roar to his left, so he headed in that direction until he caught sight of the churning water. He also spotted something else, something even better—the trail. There it was, a flat, gray path winding down the slope on the far side of the river. He was definitely headed in the right direction.

As he stared across the water at the trail, he thought he saw the broken remnants of a crude bridge. Perhaps it had been pulled down by the flood. And then his stomach lurched as he realized what he was actually looking at: broken pieces of the travois. The tarps had gotten stuck on large rocks, and the support poles were now bobbing in the water. A broken end of a barrel and other pieces were scattered nearby. A few boxes, however, were still intact, and the current had pushed them up onto the bank. Greg made his way toward them.

When he squatted down beside the river’s edge, the pain in every limb and joint made him cry out. The echo of that cry took a long time to die as it bounced out over the river. Greg began working the lids off the boxes. Inside the first one, he found blankets, towels, and toiletries. Inside the second, he found some of Justine’s clothes—all wadded up and smashed down into a disorganized pile. Finally, in the third box, he peeled back a plastic sheet to find his and Marion’s clothes, neatly folded and set side-by-side. He dug through the box, pulling out a clean pair of pants, a shirt, some clean socks. He found an old pair of winter boots at the bottom. They weren’t in great shape, but they hadn’t been battered to hell by flood debris like the ones he was currently wearing. Greg didn’t bother looking around to make sure he was alone, but immediately went to work changing clothes.

He then returned to the damaged travois and unfolded it, revealing more items trapped inside. Among them was an MRE that had been torn open, but some of the pouches were intact, and he shoved those in his pocket. However, the real jackpot was caught between the tarp and the crossbeam: the Winchester rifle! He carefully picked it up. The stock was dinged up pretty badly, so he gave it a quick inspection. It seemed to be in good shape. Still, he took aim at a distant tree, undid the safety, and pulled the trigger.

It was a mistake. When it fired, the butt of the rifle slammed against his shoulder, causing a sharp burst of pain. At least the gun worked. He slipped the strap over his shoulder, zipped up his coat, and resumed his hike downstream.

At least I can hunt for game, if I have to, he thought. Or protect myself from predator animals.

He went through every square inch of their scattered supplies. In the process, he found more toiletries, clothes, enamelware cups and bowls, even a few books. Most of this was dead weight to him now, but then he happened upon a few boxes of ammunition. He took one box of .270 bullets for the Winchester, sliding it into his jacket pocket. By then, he was carrying about as much as he could stand, so he left the rest of their stuff sitting there on the damp rocks.

I’ll come back for it someday, he thought.

Now that he was walking alone in the wilderness, he knew he would be more of a target for bears and mountain lions. And his uneven gait probably made him look like wounded prey.

The stream took Greg back into the woods and down an endless slope. At some point, it began to rain. He scarcely noticed the first drops, but it soon became a nagging drizzle, reaching him through the evergreen branches. By the time the first light of morning was winking through the trees, the rain had become insistent. The clouds were now a full curtain overhead, turning whole sky an ominous dark gray.

After another hour or so, he reached a large bend in the stream. Here it took a sweeping turn to the left, following the steepest part of the slope. As Greg approached the bend, he saw blood on the rocks. As he drew closer, he realized he was looking at bloody bones—the great curve of bovine ribs.

One of the cows had washed ashore here, but there wasn’t much left of it. From a distance, it looked like a pack of wolves had stripped it clean. However, as he drew closer, he realized it probably wasn’t the work of animals. The bones remained intact, along with the cow’s head and legs. A big pile of offal was piled to one side, already swarming with flies. The skin and meat, on the other hand, were completely gone.

Predator animals would have gone for the guts, he realized. And they definitely wouldn’t have dragged away the entire skin. This was the work of a person—or people.

He pulled the Winchester off his shoulder as he approached the carcass. The ground here was rocky, but in many places, large patches of mud revealed footprints all over the place. The soles of hiking boots, mostly. Yes, multiple people had been here, and the activity centered around the carcass. More than that, the tracks were relatively fresh, as the mud was still wet. And when he bent down closer to the carcass, he saw clear evidence of blade marks on the bones.

My family would not have been so thorough, he realized. This was the work of determined people. They took every bit of meat they could get.

He looked around, but he was clearly alone at the moment. Greg continued around the bend in the river, still clutching the Winchester. However, as he descended a steeper slope, he spotted a crude rope bridge stretched over the river. Here, the trail crossed over to the near bank and met up with another trail, before continuing into the woods.

The combination of human scavengers and the merging trails gave him a renewed burst of energy, the product of both fear and elation, and he managed a kind of stumbling jog down the trail. The rocky ground gave way to mud and patches of mountain grass, and he began to see boot prints again. The scavengers had headed down the trail after cleaning the carcass. Indeed, he saw drying splatters of blood along the way, even a few scraps of meat, as if they’d barely been able to carry it all.

Who the hell are these people? he wondered. In his mind, he envisioned wild mountain men, cut off from society for years, perhaps no longer recognizable as fully human, but of course, that was silly. They had the soles of modern hiking boots. Indeed, once they were headed down the trail, they seemed to move in a regular formation. Clearly, this was a well-ordered group.

Greg realized he would have preferred a group of wild mountain men. Gripping the Winchester tightly, he made his way to the point where the trails merged. As he drew near, he saw something that made his heart leap—grooves in the trail, parallel lines dug into the mud. A travois!

His family had come this way. Greg felt the first sting of tears, and he quickly brushed them away. Now, he could see the tracks of cows and horses as well. The herd was intact! Thank God. But his family wasn’t alone on the merged trail. The orderly boot prints of the strangers turned onto the trail as well, right over the travois lines. The boot prints seemed newer to him—they ran over the tracks left by his family. And this brought him to a sickening realization.

My family is being stalked.

17

Greg wanted to believe he’d misread the tracks. Maybe his family had split into two groups, one staying with the herd, the other taking the shorter trail to look for him. Maybe they were the ones who had come across the dead cow and carved away the meat to make some use of it. But his gut told him these were not his family’s boot prints.

If the strangers were so desperate for meat that they would carve a flood-bloated carcass down to the bones, then a whole herd of cattle would be an irresistible prize. Unfortunately, the merged trail was clearly designed to be safe, as it followed the course of least resistance, taking numerous twists and turns. That meant he couldn’t see far ahead, and he wasn’t good enough at reading the tracks to tell how old they were. For all he knew the strangers had already overtaken his family. Maybe it was too late for them.

You can’t assume that, he told himself. Your family isn’t helpless. They know how to defend themselves. You have to catch up to them as quickly as possible.

His family would still be going fairly slow, especially with all of the cows, their remaining supplies, and at least two of them on foot. The persistent drizzle would only add to the misery. Plus, Justine was very pregnant. She might need to stop from time to time. Greg knew he could catch them if he ran, but the prospect alone made him groan. He stopped and massaged his thighs and calves, hoping to work some of the stiffness out of them. However, he had so many bruises that the massage just caused more pain.

Finally, taking a deep breath, he attempted to run. He managed three long strides before his right leg buckled, and he fell. Slamming into the trail, he did an awkward somersault and wound up on his back, the Winchester clattering off toward the trees.

Idiot, you’re going to break a leg, and maybe break the rifle, he chided himself. Then what are you going to do? You know what happens to wild animals that break their legs. They hobble around until they either die of infection or become food.

Drowning in the flooded river seemed a better fate than being eaten alive. Greg thought of Horace’s crutch and wished desperately that he had something like it. Even a crude hiking stick might help—he’d lost his own in the flood—but he hadn’t seen any sturdy enough branches to make one with.

The worst pain was a sharp agony in his side from the broken rib that produced waves of nausea. He lay on the ground for a few minutes, waiting for it to pass. It never did. The pain was constant now. On top of this, now his lower back hurt, and he had a splitting headache.

Well, are you going to just lie here and feel sorry for yourself? You can’t make the pain go away by crying, so you might as well accept it and press on.

Finally, wiping away the tears, he managed to roll onto his stomach and push himself to his hands and knees. He crawled toward the trees and retrieved the Winchester, dusting it off and checking to make sure he hadn’t broken it. He would have taken another test shot, but he didn’t want to give away his position now. He reached out and grabbed a low tree branch with his free hand, using it as leverage to pull himself up. Once he was on his feet, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then he resumed walking down the trail, though he was limping badly now.

The rain finally let up for a while, but he heard thunder in the distance and knew the storm had much more to offer. Though the pain of his broken rib continued to stab all the way through his body like a blade, Greg forced himself to keep moving. He was never going to catch up to any of them at this pace, and he knew it. The laziest cow moved faster than this. For a few minutes, as he limped along, he felt a desperate powerlessness. It seemed to tingle in his limbs. He couldn’t continue like this, knowing that his family was being stalked.

The trail took another lazy curve, following the landscape, and came in sight of the river again. Greg stepped off the trail onto the riverbank and came to a stop. He could see a long way down the river. The banks on either side were rough and rocky, but relatively clear. Periodically, the trail curved up next to the river before swooping back into the woods to follow some easier course.

There’s your answer right there, he thought. Make your own shortcut, and you’re more likely to catch up to them.

Indeed, if he followed the river, he would avoid all of the twists and turns of the trail. He was bound to catch up them that way. The steep banks looked treacherous, and the uneven ground was covered in loose rocks and big muddy patches. It wouldn’t take much to stumble and fall, and he didn’t think he could handle another violent spill. Also, if he took the river, he might bypass his family without realizing it, especially if the trail veered far from the banks. But even then, he could simply arrive at the cabin first and get ready for their arrival, maybe set up some defenses in case the scavengers showed up. It seemed like the wisest course of action, but still he was wracked with indecision. The sharp pain in his side made it hard to think clearly.

You’re in real trouble here, he told himself. You’re all busted up. Even if you catch up to the scavengers, who’s to say they won’t overpower you? Who’s to say they don’t already know you’re behind them? Maybe they passed you while you were unconscious on the ground and decided you weren’t worth their time.

At the moment, these all seemed likely, yet he had no choice. For his family’s sake, he knew what he had to do, no matter how difficult. He began picking his way along the riverbank, trying to avoid loose rocks. In his current condition, it was like trying to navigate the world’s cruelest obstacle course, and he had to carefully consider every step. Still, even like this, it seemed like it would save time.

He’d gone maybe a hundred meters without incident before he slipped on mud and dropped to his knees. Though he landed hard, he managed to maintain his grip on the rifle, drawing it close against his chest. However, the fall caused another sharp burst of pain in his side, and the world began to swim around him, as if everything had become liquid, and he fought to stay conscious. The sound of the river receded.

Don’t pass out, you weakling. Fight it. Get up! Force yourself to rise no matter how much it hurts. You can take the pain. Do it for your family!

Gritting his teeth, he dragged his right foot forward and set the sole of his boot against the ground. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision, so he reached over and pulled back his sleeve. Then he gave the skin on the back of his wrist a savage pinch. For some reason, this helped, so he did it again. This time, he pinched and twisted the flesh, and finally the darkness drew back. The world seemed to snap back into focus around him, the roar of the river suddenly loud in his ear.

Greg pushed with his right foot and slowly rose, wincing at the pain in his side. Once he was standing, he took a deep breath and held it moment. The fresh air in his lungs cleared his mind a bit, and he let it out in a rush. Then he resumed walking, wiping away more tears of pain.

Just ahead, he saw safer ground a few meters from the water’s edge, and he made his way toward it. Here, patches of snow lingered, grass poking through in many places, but there didn’t seem to be any rocks to stumble on. He stepped carefully but tried to pick up the pace.

I’d kill for an ibuprofen right now, he thought. Heck, he’d kill for a shot of morphine, a puff on an opium pipe, or just about anything that dulled the sharpest edge of this pain.

Had the medicine survived? He wasn’t sure. God, he hoped so. If they’d lost all of their medicine, they were in real trouble.

No, Emma will know of some plant she can crush up or brew into a tea to dull the pain, he thought. But first, you have to get to her and make sure she’s okay.

He’d just taken another look at the dark clouds overhead when he heard a distinctive snap somewhere in front of him. Greg stopped in his tracks, raising the Winchester and holding his breath. His finger slowly crept down to the trigger, lightly touching the edge. Except for the dull roar of water on his left, the world had gone quiet again. Nevertheless, he aimed into the trees in the general direction of the sound.

Come on, whoever you are, he thought. Make another sound. Give away your position.

After a few seconds, he heard it again. This time he could tell it was someone in a heavy boot stepping on a dry twig. Then he heard it a third time. Yes, someone was moving through the forest somewhere just ahead of him. He scanned the shadowy spaces between the trees, looking for any hint of movement, but he didn’t see anything. He briefly considered shouting at them, trying to startle them into giving away their position, but he was alert enough to realize this was a dumb idea. They might be armed, after all.

Suddenly, there was a burst of shuffling footsteps and branches breaking, as if the stranger had taken off running. Greg listened to the footsteps fading deeper in the woods. He was pretty sure it was just one person. Had they split off from the other scavengers? Was it perhaps one of his family members? Greg didn’t know, but he was determined to find out.

Daring a bit more speed, he hurried off down the riverbank, moving in the direction of the sound, every step painful and uncertain.

18

Someone was definitely sneaking around, and they weren’t doing a very good job of it. Greg was almost offended that they weren’t trying harder to go unnoticed. Although he never spotted the person, he kept hearing noises: the crunch of ice or sticks, an errant cough, the crackle of loose rocks. Anytime he came to a stop, the other person went silent, but once he resumed, he would inevitably hear them again.

Greg was cutting a path across the meandering trail, which forced him from time to time to clamber over rough terrain or push through dense bushes. In doing so, he’d hoped to save time, so he could catch up to his family. Now, he wasn’t so sure that he’d saved any time at all. He’d tried to stick closer to the river, but the ground there was slick. The few times he slipped and went sliding toward the water was enough to dissuade him.

Though the terrain had leveled out and become less treacherous, there were still plenty of trees and places for a person to hide. When Greg stopped to rest for a while, as he often had to do, he stayed alert, clutching the gun just out of sight, in case his follower decided to make a move. However, the person seemed patient. They never showed themselves.

Compounding the problem, Greg was so tired that he wasn’t making good time. The stiffness in his limbs just wouldn’t go away, and the sharp pain in his ribs was constant. Finally, as afternoon approached, he found himself sitting on a fallen log in a small clearing within sight of the river. A section of the trail was just visible off to his right, but it seemed to be curving away from the river again and headed up a slight rise.

Greg kept the densest part of the forest directly in front of him, the gun held just out of sight behind his left thigh. As he sat there, trying to catch his breath, with lingering soreness in his shoulders, back, and legs, and the sharp pain in his side, he stared into the shifting shadows deep beneath the boughs.

Show yourself, you coward, he thought. Just give me one glimpse, so I know what kind of person I’m dealing with.

As if his follower had somehow sensed the thought, there came a distinct snap of a twig from the woods straight ahead. Instinctively, Greg raised the rifle and pointed it toward the trees, shutting one eye and looking for any unusual movement. He waited there, holding his breath, for almost a full minute. However, the woods were almost peacefully still, frost-flecked branches and needles unmoving in the windless afternoon air. Finally, he let his breath out in a long, frustrated sigh and lowered the gun.

Branches break all the time, he reminded himself. And the woods are full of animals. It’s entirely possible that you’re just imagining your pursuer.

But he didn’t buy it. The crawling unease that had settled in the base of his spine seemed like a prey response. No, something was watching him. He’d considered the possibility that it was an animal, maybe a mountain lion or a bear, but surely either of those would have pounced on him by now. What sort of wild animal would track a prey all day long without ever getting closer or showing itself? And anyway, bears would probably still be sleeping away the last of the winter weather.

It seemed clear that this was a person. Maybe they’d started off stalking the family, but they were now following Greg. In his mind, Greg imagined some desperate man half-starved from the bitter winter, draped in animal pelts, lice-ridden and wild-eyed.

Is it possible they don’t have evil intent? he wondered. Maybe they’re hoping I will lead them to some vestige of civilization.

This would certainly explain why they hadn’t attacked or gotten closer. Greg finally rose and resumed his hike. He’d only walked for another minute or two before he heard a branch snap somewhere behind him. It was really beginning to infuriate him, and he was sorely tempted to turn and just start firing wildly into the forest. He restrained himself.

Instead, as the afternoon edged toward evening, he began to formulate a different plan. The rain had stopped for the time being, which he considered a small mercy. He was so exhausted that he would have gladly set up camp right then and there and gone to sleep. Instead, he pressed on until it was fully dark, and he had only moonlight to guide him. He saw flecks of light dancing on the river to his left. He’d heard nothing from his family. If anything, they’d widened the gap. Maybe they’d reached the cabin by now. Greg could only hope so.

Finally, when his steps became plodding and his thoughts began to mist over like cold glass on a chilly morning, he decided to stop for the night. He stumbled to a stop in another small clearing within sight of the river. Slinging his pack on the ground, he began gathering dry sticks for a fire. He wanted a large fire with plenty of light, so he looked for branches in a variety of sizes. It was a struggle. His fumbling fingers had trouble grasping anything, especially the larger sticks. Rooting through all of the rain-damp wood to find a few sticks that were relatively dry made it all the harder, but he eventually managed to gather a nice pile of wood. Then he laid a circle of stones for the firepit and stacked the smaller of the sticks into a rough pyramid shape.

Before lighting the fire, however, he began to enact his plan. Using a flat stone with a sharp edge, he dug into the frost-hard ground, chipping away at the icy crust to reach softer soil beneath. The ache in his shoulders made this excruciating, but Greg pushed through the pain, digging and digging, carefully piling up dirt beside the hole. The work was brutal, the ground unyielding, but he made himself keep at it. If the post-EMP world had taught him anything, it had taught him how to keep going well past his breaking point.

Once he was satisfied with the hole, he went back to the stack of wood and set about starting a fire. Fortunately, he still had a lighter, but it took time to get the flame to catch. He babied it for a few frustrating minutes until it was strong enough that it wouldn’t go out. At some point, he heard another footstep somewhere in the woods, but he could see even less of the woods now in the gloom. There were plenty of places for even the most incompetent tracker to hide.

We’ll just see if we can’t tease you out into the open, you creep, he thought. We’re going to have a nice face-to-face encounter before the night is over, mark my words.

Once the smaller sticks were burning brightly, he began adding the bigger ones, until he had a large, crackling campfire that flooded the clearing with warm, orange light. The heat was comforting and soothed his aching joints. For a few minutes, he just sat before the fire and soaked in it, but that made him sleepy. When he felt his thoughts turning fuzzy, he knew he had to rouse himself. He reached under his left sleeve, pinched a big meaty part of his arm just above his wrist, and gave it an almighty twist. The sharp pain was like a splash of cold water in the face. Suddenly, he was alert again.

Greg looked back toward the river. He could see orange firelight dancing on the water and casting a broad arc on the far riverbank, revealing a rocky slope and more dense trees. In that moment, for reasons he could not have fully articulated, he felt a sharp pang of loneliness. It seemed, though he knew it wasn’t true, that he and his mysterious follower were the only humans left in the world.

I’m going to have to pick up my pace tomorrow, he thought. I have to catch my family, no matter what. I have to make sure they’re okay.

But right now, he had a trap to set. He crawled over to the hole he’d dug, sitting beside it with the fire at his back. He kept his gaze fixed on the dark trees. In his right hand, he held the rifle. His left hand reached over and touched the large pile of dirt beside the hole. Beyond the reach of his campfire, the world was getting darker and darker as clouds filled the sky and blocked the moon.

Come on, buddy, he thought. He strained to hear anything unusual, but the world was quiet now, sleeping. Some lone insect chirped away, as if to defy the silence. Let’s get this over with.

19

Staying awake was his biggest struggle. The crackling fire and the dancing lights on the trees were hypnotic, and a few times, he found himself swooning, on the verge of drifting off. Each time, he gave himself a vicious pinch, and it helped rouse him yet again. Soon enough, his whole left forearm hurt.

The fire sounded inordinately loud, the crackling of wood carrying out into the quiet night. Greg’s vision was fixed on the shadows beyond the fire, scanning between the trees for any strange movement at all. He was careful not to make any sound of his own, careful to keep his gaze fixed on the dark places.

The long quiet stretched out, the minutes feeling interminable, and gradually his sleepiness was replaced with a mounting unease. The stalker was out there somewhere. He knew that. He’d heard another footstep while making the fire. Where was he now? How close had he come? Greg had the gun hidden behind his right leg and the fingers of his left hand sunk into the pile of dirt.

Come on, you skulking coward, he thought. Show yourself. Do something.

But the silence persisted. Another tense minute stretched by, and another. Greg tried to breathe as quietly as he could, waiting for some sound, any sound.

And then it came. A single, loud click, which he recognized as the cocking of a hammer. From the sound of it, he thought it was a single-action revolver, some old gun, maybe an antique. So that was it, then? He’d just wanted to get close enough to take a clear shot? The stranger hadn’t said anything, hadn’t made any demands, hadn’t shown his face. He didn’t want anything but to kill and loot. Now, it was clear, and Greg didn’t have to wonder any longer. He knew what needed to be done.

His left hand was still sunk deep into the dirt pile, but he swung it back, flinging the dirt onto the fire. The flames were immediately dampened, if not entirely put out, and the clearing plunged into darkness. Immediately, Greg fell to one side, throwing himself into the shallow hole he’d dug. The guttering fire cast up a great cloud of smoke, further hiding him.

Somewhere to his left, in the direction of the trail, Greg heard a muffled voice cursing. Since he’d been sitting with his back to the fire, his gaze on the shadows, he wasn’t fire-blinded. He could only hope the same was not true of his pursuer. Greg dared to raise his head, thrusting the rifle out in front of him as he looked in the direction of the voice. He soon spotted a shape there, moving behind the veil of smoke. It looked like the man was stepping to one side, as if trying to find a better approach to the camp. He seemed short and stocky, but otherwise Greg couldn’t make out anything about him.

I’ve got you now, Greg thought.

He rolled out of the pit toward the trees, as smoke continued to fill the clearing. Just this simple act caused a fresh burst of pain from his ribs. He groaned as he rose to his feet. Fighting through the discomfort, defying it by sheer willpower, he ran into the trees, circling to the left then coming at the shadow from the left. As he closed the gap, he saw a bearded face, a padded jacket, messy tangles of graying hair. The stranger was still staring toward the camp, holding an old revolver out in front of him but shifting it back and forth, as if trying to track an invisible target.

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.

Daniel shrugged. “We saw the smoke from your fire. You burned wet wood, man. Don’t you realize how much smoke that puts out?”

“I didn’t know I needed to worry about it,” Greg replied. “So, if you’re with a group of people, why were you the only one sneaking up on me?”

“When we saw the smoke, I volunteered to check it out,” he said. He was quick to answer, and he didn’t seem particularly concerned about giving information. Greg found that strange.

“And the others?” Greg asked.

“Most of them went the other way,” Daniel replied. “We’ll meet up down in the valley, once we’ve gotten everything we want.”

“So the rest of your group is following my family?”

Daniel smiled briefly, and Greg realized in that moment that the man wasn’t nearly as anxious as he’d seemed. “Now you’re getting the idea.”

“So you’re…what? A group of bandits or something?”

“Something like that,” Daniel said. “We’re just working together to survive, and that means taking what we need. You’d do the same, I’m sure. Heck, you probably got all of your stuff from some other poor group of travelers.”

“Actually, no,” Greg said. “We’re not thieves. Who is the leader of your group? It’s safe to say it’s not you.”

“Her name is Sasha Burke,” he said. “What do you want to know? Her life story? Fine. She’d love me to tell it. Sasha was a corporate go-getter in her former life, president and founder of a multinational organization based out of Vancouver, and in her free time, one of those extreme outdoors types. Now, she’s our fearless captain, and she’s kept us going for quite a while now.”

“By stealing from innocent people,” Greg said.

“Only when it’s necessary,” Daniel replied. “We barter, we build, and sometimes we steal. Whatever it takes. That’s the law of the jungle now, man. You must have realized that by now if you’ve come this far.”

“We’ve met people like you before, if that’s what you mean,” Greg said. “You should know my family is armed, and they will defend themselves without hesitation.”

“I’m sure they will,” Daniel replied, leaning his head back to stare upward. “Sasha knows what she’s doing. She’s dealt with all kinds of people, dangerous people.”

Greg used a long stick to stoke the fire. “Well, you’re certainly free with information. I’ll give you that. I expected it to be a bit harder to interrogate you.”

“Eh, what does it matter,” Daniel said. He seemed to have an itch on his chin and used his shoulder to scratch it, but this just mussed up his beard all the more, making him look even wilder and more unkempt. “My people outnumber yours. It doesn’t matter if you know my name is Daniel, if you know our leader is named Sasha. We’re still going to take all of your cattle, supplies, and anything else we want.”

It was a ridiculous boast for a man who was unarmed and tied to a tree. Greg couldn’t help but smile at him, but it was a smile hiding a growing rage. “You wouldn’t be the first people to try taking our stuff. All of the others who have tried have wound up dead. We buried them with our own hands.” It was a lie, of course. James and his gang were still presumably alive and living it up at the Healy ranch, but Daniel didn’t know this.

“You don’t look like a man who’s killed anyone,” Daniel said. “You look like a man out of his element.”

“Good. That means you’ve underestimated me, which gives me the advantage.”

Greg grabbed the Winchester and bounced it in his hands a few times. The anger had become white hot within. The thought that some large group of bandits led by a former corporate shark was out there hunting his family made him shake with rage. He rose, staring into the fire for a few seconds before slowly turning to Daniel.

“Well, Daniel, I’m a decent chap. I’m going to give you a moment to say a prayer, if that’s something that’s important to you,” he said. “Pray for the state of your soul. Do penance. Whatever you need to do to meet your maker.”

“You’re going to kill me, then?” Daniel replied, in a soft voice, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, that’s right. You’ve threatened my family, so I’m going to do to you what I’ve done to all the others who’ve threatened my family.”

Daniel pressed his lips together tightly for a moment, giving Greg a sharp look, eyes narrowed to slits. “If you kill me,” he said, “Sasha will never stop hunting you.”

“And why is that?” Greg said. “Is there some special connection between the two of you?”

Daniel averted his gaze, and it was all the answer Greg needed.

“Ah, I see,” he said. “You two are an item. I’m glad to hear that. So, then, if I kill you, she’s be hell-bent on revenge, is that it?”

“Something like that,” Daniel replied. “Any chance of negotiation will be out the window, I guarantee it.”

Greg struggled against the anger, trying to think rationally. Was killing this man the best course of action? It would certainly remove an immediate threat. But perhaps Daniel had another use, a better use.

“You make a good point, Daniel,” he said. “I’ll tell you what. I won’t kill you, not right away. Instead, I’ll take you with me, and we’ll go meet your boss lady. I’ll ask her if she thinks your life is worth anything. Maybe we can make a trade.”

“Yeah, I dare you,” Daniel said, still not looking at him. “Sasha doesn’t have to bargain for me. She’ll just kill you and set me free. Your best bet is to untie me and let me go. I’m the only one who can change her mind. If you let me go, I’ll head back to my group, convince her to change course, and that’ll be the last time you see us.”

“That’s a tempting offer,” Greg said, with a contemptuous laugh, “but I like my plan better. I don’t know what you want from my family anyway. I suspect that none of you have any cattle ranching experience. You know, it’s not easy keeping a herd of cattle alive and healthy. You’d be better off doing your banditry somewhere else to some other group. I’m going to suggest it to Sasha personally.”

Of course, what Greg didn’t tell him was that he had no expectation that Sasha would accept his offer. However, if Daniel was her lover, he thought he could at least use him to delay Sasha and her group long enough for his family to get farther ahead. If they could reach the cabin first, they would be in a better position to defend themselves from these people.

“What do you think, Daniel?” Greg said, squatting in front of the man and pointing the rifle at him. “You think Sasha will be willing to bargain for your life? Do you mean anything to her at all? Or does she put more value on a few cows?”

Daniel swallowed then, clearly a nervous gesture, but said nothing. Greg locked the rifle against his shoulder and took aim, closing one eye. Daniel looked at the gun, looked at Greg, and quickly looked away again.

“She’s not going to let her boyfriend die just to get her hands on a bunch of cattle that she doesn’t even know how to care for, is she?” Greg said. “Surely not.”

But Daniel seemed to have run out of words. Greg kept the gun trained on him for a minute, fighting an urge to pull the trigger.

He fully intended to kill you, he reminded himself. If he gets another chance to do so, he will. Shouldn’t you go ahead and put him down, the way you would a rabid dog?

But, no, for his family’s sake, he would keep Daniel alive for now. Greg slowly lowered the rifle, rose, and backed away from the prisoner.

“Well, we’ll just see what she has to say, then.” Greg went back to the fire and sat down. “Sasha can decide if you live or die. Why don’t we hit the road, so we can go and see her?”

22

They were still creeping along the trail, now heading back up a steep slope toward the ridgeline, though the animals were moving slower than ever. The rain had finally relented, but the sky was still blanketed in dark clouds. Darryl felt the weight of the decision on him. Marion and Tabitha had made their preference clear. They wanted to take the shortcut. Emma was undecided, as was Darryl. But he knew a decision had to be made one way or the other. He couldn’t keep putting it off. At the moment, he was walking beside Emma, trudging up the slope at a pace that was so slow it put his teeth on edge. He really needed to be at the back of the caravan, keeping an eye on the cows.

“If we’re going to take the shortcut, this would be the place to do it,” Tabitha said, gesturing off to the left. “If we keep going this way, we’ll get to a place where the river becomes unpassable again. Are we all on the same page now, or what? The day is slipping away from us.”

“I think I’m with you,” Marion said. “Whatever the risks of heading down the slope, if we can save time, it will be worth it.”

The more he thought about it, the more Darryl realized he wasn’t really undecided. He knew what he wanted to do. He was just putting it off because of the potential consequences. Indeed, while he was walking along, he heard the gentle cooing of his newborn son, and he looked back to see Justine approaching. She’d made a simple papoose using the wooden lid of one of their boxes and some strips of cloth from a blanket. The little one was safely strapped inside, swaddled up tight and making soft little sounds.

“Justine, are you okay to walk?” he asked.

“It’s not exactly comfortable,” she replied. Indeed, she was stepping awkwardly. He could tell she was still in pain. When she moved up beside him, he put his arm around her, and she leaned against him. It was a bit awkward because of the papoose. “I’ve had enough of being dragged with the laundry, though, I’ll tell you that. What’s going on up here?”

“We’re trying to decide whether to stick to the trail or take a shortcut down the slope,” he said, pointing into the trees.

“Another shortcut?” she said. “Didn’t we try that already? And wasn’t it a hellish nightmare that we never want to repeat?”

“This is different,” Tabitha said. She was fanning herself with one of her hands now, as if she’d become overheated. “We’d be cutting through the woods, yes, but there’s no risk of flooding. The river passes underground for a few kilometers, and we can cross over with no trouble.”

But Justine’s comment stuck with Darryl. Indeed, he could tell just by the tone of her voice that she felt much the same as he did. That finally made up his mind, and he came to a stop. Tabitha and Marion reined in their horses on either side of him.

“Okay, I’ve thought about it,” he said. “Here’s my opinion.” He braced himself for Tabitha’s irritation, then plunged ahead. “I think faster isn’t always safer. Justine’s right. The last time we took a shortcut, it was a disaster. It’s how we lost Dad, not to mention half our stuff. We took the faster, more dangerous river path and paid a terrible price for it. I don’t want to do that again.” He looked down the slope to the left of the trail and saw a descending slope, bare rocks, gnarled roots, and patches of lingering snow.

“As I said, this is different,” Tabitha said. “We’re not talking about a river path.”

“Not different enough,” Darryl replied. “If we head down the slope, someone might get hurt, an animal might get hurt. The travois will have trouble on the terrain. No, there are too many dangers that way. Shaving off some time isn’t worth the risk. I don’t think we should do it.”

He nodded, satisfied with his decision, though he saw the sharp looks of Tabitha and Marion on either side of him. Clearly, they didn’t agree. Tabitha seemed to gather herself for a few seconds, shifting in her seat, before finally responding.

“We have to take the shortcut,” she said. “We’re being followed. You saw our pursuers with your own eyes. And even if we weren’t being followed, we need to get to the cabin as fast as we can. At this pace, we’ll be creeping along the scenic route for days, and that’s not good for anyone.”

“No, we shouldn’t take the shortcut,” Darryl replied, as he resumed moving. “The shortcut is the bigger risk. That’s what I think. Emma, would you head back and make sure none of the cattle are lagging behind? Just focus on the ones that are young and healthy enough to keep up.” He knew his sleep-deprived brain wasn’t working quite right. His judgment was impaired, but the terror of the flooded river path was too fresh. He never wanted to experience anything like that again.

Emma bit her lip, glanced at Tabitha, and finally nodded. “Yeah, sure, I guess so.” Darryl handed her the Remington as she stepped past him and headed to the back of the caravan. She seemed reluctant to take it.

As soon as she was gone, Tabitha’s face twisted up in what was either pain or fury. She pressed stray locks of gray hair out of her face, then flung her hands to the side. When she spoke, she had a fire in her voice that Darryl had never heard before.

“With all due respect, you are making a big mistake,” she said, so sharply that he came to an immediate stop. “Do you hear me? Do you ever hear me? You’re making a big mistake. I know you don’t like to listen to me, Tuck, but I’m telling you this is wrong. If we keep going…if we…” She trailed off then, made a loud harrumph, and bowed her head.

Does she realize she just called me Tuck? He couldn’t tell, but everyone got tense and quiet. Darryl gave his grandmother a moment, and finally she raised her head again and took a deep breath. She looked so tired, so out of it, so cold and wet and miserable. Maybe she was delirious.

“I didn’t mean to step into the middle of a family dispute,” Justine said, reaching back behind her to stroke the baby’s fat cheek. “I shared my opinion, but honestly, I don’t care one way or the other where we go. If you people want to slide down the mountain there, so be it. I’ll get by. I’m not going to be the cause of a fight. That’s just silly.”

Darryl turned to his mother, but she seemed disturbed by Tabitha’s outburst.

If it’s what Grandma really wants, maybe it’s what we should do, Darryl thought. There’s bound to be risk either way, so why not give her what she wants just to keep the peace.

He looked around, seeking some kind of confirmation. Justine reached out and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He knew what she was trying to communicate: It’s fine. Just give your Grandma what she wants.

“Okay, then, so be it. Grandma, if you think…” He had just started to speak when he felt and heard a sudden loud boom. It startled both horses. Marion’s horse, tied to the travois, was somewhat restrained and only high-stepped with her front legs. Tabitha’s horse, on the other hand, unfettered, danced to one side, coming dangerously close to the edge of the trail and the slope beyond.

“What was that?” Darryl asked. He turned back toward the cattle and saw smoke rising from the trail behind them. “Was that an explosion?”

“Emma,” Marion said with a gasp. “She’s back there! You sent her to check on the cattle.”

23

Darryl ran back toward the cattle. He reached for the Remington, then remembered he’d given it to Emma. The cows had been startled, and they were moving about, restless. If they hadn’t been so exhausted, Darryl thought they might have just taken off running. As he ran toward the back of the caravan, one of the old heifers got spooked by his approach and lunged at him. He just barely managed to sidestep out of the way, but this time his left foot slid on mud.

Darryl went down on his knee, catching himself against a nearby tree. A long trail of smoke was rising up from somewhere behind their caravan, and he thought he heard the crackle and pop of a fire. Had their pursers somehow set a trap for them? Did they have explosives? It was an alarming thought, but he couldn’t rule it out. Picking himself up, he brushed off his knee and resumed moving.

The cows had been spread out pretty far, but he finally spotted Emma another ten meters back. She was gazing down the trail at the smoke, aiming the Remington.

“Emma, what is it? Are you okay?” he asked, running toward her.

He soon got his answer. As he drew near, he saw a large pine tree on fire, massive flames licking up the trunk and quickly catching in the branches. Red-hot needles rained down onto the trail behind them. Darryl stumbled to a stop beside his sister.

“What did they do?” Darryl asked. “Who did it?”

She lowered the rifle and gave him a funny look. “Nobody did anything. It was a lightning strike. Didn’t you see it? I was looking back that way, and it practically blinded me.”

“Lightning,” he said. At that moment, the rain started to fall again, harder than before. “Why were you pointing the gun?”

“It startled me, I guess,” she said, shrugging. “Just an instinct. My reptile brain wanted to fight.”

“You didn’t see any people back there?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, but after that lightning flash, I didn’t see anything but a big purple blob burned into my vision for a few seconds.”

The tree was burning like crazy now. Indeed, he could tell that the force of the lightning had gutted the trunk, and it was filled with flames and glowing embers. The branches above were blazing like an enormous torch.

“That tree is right beside the trail,” Emma noted. “If we’d been just a little further back, it might have…” She left the possibilities hanging in the air between them.

As they watched, the big pine gave a loud crack and a shower of sparks gushed out of a spot about halfway up the trunk. The bark snapped open, and the tree tipped over. With another gush of sparks and burning wood, it fell onto the trail behind them. It slammed onto the ground, burning branches and needles cast in all directions.

This was the last straw for the poor cattle. The thud of the tree sent many of them scurrying. Darryl saw a big heifer racing into the woods, running down the slope. He started to go after her, but then one of the horses gave a terrified whinny. Darryl turned just in time to see Tabitha’s horse rear up on its back legs, flinging its head from side to side. Marion reached out, but she was having trouble controlling her own horse. Tabitha leaned forward and grabbed the reins, but Horace was roused from his persistent sleep. As he fumbled about, trying to make sense of the situation, he fell from the saddle and landed hard on the road.

“I’ve got to help them,” Darryl said.

“No, you stay here with the rifle,” Emma said. “Those people might use this as a chance sneak up on us. I’ll help the others.”

She shoved the rifle into his hands and took off running, cutting a zigzagging path through the line of startled cows. Along the way, she managed to nudge one of the older cows on the flank and keep it from heading into the woods.

Darryl heard another crack and pop behind him. He turned to see the pine tree still burning across the trail. However, in its fall, it had actually shoved the tree beside it out of position. That tree now gave a loud groan and fell. However, it went the other way, tipping in the direction of the downward slope. It snapped just above the roots, and he noticed that it was also burning a little from the lightning strike. It toppled, ripping through branches, and hit the ground. Then it bounced and tumbled down the slope, smashing into bushes and other trees along the way.

When Darryl turned back around, he realized they’d lost another cow. She was bounding into the woods now herself, heading down and out of sight. Within seconds, they’d gone from twelve cows to ten.

Just let them all go, he thought. It’ll be one less thing to worry about.

He looked for Justine and found her standing off to one side, taking shelter from the anxious horses behind a small tree. She’d pulled the papoose off her back and was attempting to comfort the baby, who had begun crying. Emma reached Horace and bent down to help him sit up, but Tabitha’s horse was still flinging her head from side to side, tromping anxiously as Tabitha struggled with the reins.

Emma’s right. Now would be the perfect time for our pursuers to sneak up on us, Darryl realized.

He turned to look for them. The trail, at least, was now blocked by flames, but he scanned the distance beyond, seeking any hint of people in that direction. The binoculars were on the travois, but he saw nothing in that direction with the naked eye. Maybe the lightning had scared them off. The big pine tree had burned so fiercely that it was already crumbling into big embers, but the burning branches had reached to the other side of the trail. Darryl decided it was time to go.

He turned back around, but a faint movement caught his eye. At first, since it came from down the slope, he assumed it was the fallen tree. But then he realized that the tree had finally come to a stop by slamming sideways against a couple of large pine trees. A few loose branches and needles continued to rain down, but that wasn’t what he’d noticed. Instead, his gaze was drawn farther down the slope to shadowy places deeper in the woods.

At first, he thought he was just seeing shadows of moving branches, but then he realized he was seeing people. A group of people far down the slope. He could just barely make them out, but they were moving perpendicular to the trail, slipping from tree to tree. Darryl couldn’t tell how many of them there were. It seemed like a large group, but they were far enough away that it might have been an optical illusion.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Persistent scumbags. What do you want from us?”

He aimed the rifle in their direction, but the odds of hitting any of them from this distance were close to nil. Would it scare them off? Somehow he doubted it. If anything, it might encourage them to return fire. No, better to get moving, pick up the pace, and lose them. He turned back around and smacked the nearest cow gently on the flank to get it moving again. Most of the other cows followed her lead and resumed walking up the trail.

Tabitha had finally gotten her horse under control, and Emma had managed to get Horace upright. He was grimacing and clutching his side, but he wasn’t too injured to bear his weight, even with just one leg to stand on. With Tabitha and Emma helping, he managed to climb back into the saddle, though it took a while to get him settled. Darryl caught snatches of Tabitha’s strained voice, and it sounded like she was shouting angrily. Grandma’s mood clearly hadn’t softened.

Darryl just happened to be looking in that direction when the hard rain hit. He watched it coming down the slope like a great gray curtain. It swept over them, cold and fierce, and suddenly, they were all being drenched. The rain brought with it a dull roar that seemed to fill the whole world.

Down the slope, Darryl thought. It’s the only way we might lose our pursuers. They’re too close, and they can move faster than us on the trail.

He ran ahead, passing the cows, to catch up to the horses. It was clear now what they had to do. And maybe the trees would keep out the worst of the rain. Cold raindrops stung his face and ran into his eyes, as he picked up his pace.

24

A fierce, stinging rain had begun to fall, coming on them suddenly. Greg pulled up the hood of his coat, but somehow the water still got through to his face. Daniel was walking ahead of him, his hands still tied behind his back. He’d begged to be untied, but Greg didn’t trust him. The last thing he wanted to do was give him a chance to fight back.

They had cut through the trees to the trail and were following the path along a ridgeline that seemed to be leading away from the river. Indeed, as they went along, the slope began to angle upward.

“This weather is getting bad,” Daniel said over his shoulder. “The ground is turning swampy. I need my hands, man. How am I supposed to keep my balance?”

“By not falling down,” Greg replied.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Daniel said. “If I fall, I won’t be able to catch myself. I’ll land right on my face—break my nose, bust my jaw.”

“Believe in yourself,” Greg said. “Will yourself not to fall. You can do it.”

“See, you’re just mocking me. It’s not right, man.”

Daniel was right; the ground was getting muddy and slippery. Greg could see small rivulets of water pouring down the slope from the heavy rain. Still, when his captive slowed down, he prodded the man in the back.

“We can’t do this,” Daniel shouted. The rain had drenched his long hair and beard, making him look thoroughly pathetic, like a small, drowned dog. “We’re going to get washed away! Didn’t you learn anything from the flooding?”

“I learned that a situation can go south at any time,” Greg replied. “I learned to expect the worst and to act preemptively, whether I’m dealing with rain, a river, or a captured bandit.” He had the Winchester firmly in hand, and he kept it pointed at his hostage. “At least if we get washed away, we’ll get washed away together. We’re flood buddies now.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Daniel said. “You might actually be a crazy person.”

“Probably so. Drowning will do that to a man.”

They continued up the slope, but Daniel was dragging his feet, as if he thought pouting might finally win Greg over. Every time he stopped, Greg drove the barrel of the rifle between his shoulder blades and shoved him forward. Daniel didn’t realize how close to the truth he’d come. Greg felt pain in every part of his body, and it had pushed him to the edge. He was indeed as close to losing his mind as he’d ever been.

Daniel doesn’t realize how tempted I am to get rid of him, he thought. He doesn’t realize that I’m fighting at every moment to save him from myself.

They’d gone a few hundred meters, following a sharp rise, rainwater running beneath their feet, when Daniel slipped suddenly and went down on his knees. Greg grabbed him under the arm and dragged him to his feet. Now, however, the cold wind was blasting right in their faces, and Daniel had to walk hunched over. Greg almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“It’s no good,” Daniel cried. “We’ll never make it like this. We’re practically at a standstill.”

“Well, quit dragging your feet then,” Greg replied, giving him another poke between the shoulder blades. “Buck up, pal. You’re tougher than you think. Soon enough, we’ll catch up to your lover, and we’ll make our friendly trade and go our separate ways in peace. Everyone will walk away from this alive, and you can go find somewhere else to practice your banditry. How does that sound?”

“Unlikely, is how it sounds” Daniel replied. “We’ll be washed away long before that happens.”

As if to punctuate his words, there came a loud crack of thunder, and Greg saw a flash of light far ahead of them. Daniel came to a stop, bent over, as if afraid to go on. Greg tried prodding him again, but this time, he didn’t react. Finally, he grabbed the man by the arm and dragged him forward, and Daniel was forced to resume walking just to keep from falling down.

“No more stopping,” Greg said, releasing his hold on the man’s arm. “You’re not half as pathetic as you pretend to be. It’s an act, and I see right through it. You’re playing it up to try to gain sympathy or pity, so I’ll untie you. I have neither. When my family is threatened, I lose the ability to give a crap about weaselly little guys like you. Got it?”

“I’m not weaselly,” Daniel replied sharply. “I’m just trying not to get killed. If I’d shot you the first time I saw you, none of this would be happening.”

“Well, then, you’ve learned an important lesson,” Greg replied. “Your next lesson is how to stay alive by doing what you’re told. Keep walking.”

Daniel took a step then, and his left boot slipped on mud. Instantly, his foot went out from under him, his loose boot flying off. He tried to correct his balance, but with his hands tied, it was futile. He landed on his side, splashed in muddy water, and began sliding back down the wet trail. Greg was slow to react, and the hostage went sliding right past him.

“You’re failing the lesson,” Greg said with a sigh. “Am I really going to have to chase after you?”

Daniel quickly began picking up speed, spinning as he went, and Greg struggled to catch up to him. Every step felt precarious. Suddenly, he lost his own balance and fell forward, landing on his hands and knees, and sliding after Daniel. The trail beneath him seemed to have turned entirely to liquid. He lost his grip on the Winchester, but it slid along with him.

At a bend in the trail, Daniel went off the trail into the woods and was caught in a tangle of underbrush. Greg managed to drag his fingers into the wet trail and slow himself, and he came to a stop at the trail’s edge. Picking himself up, mud oozing down the front of his coat and pants, he grabbed the rifle and stepped carefully toward Daniel.

“Tell me you didn’t do that on purpose,” he said, as he approached his hostage.

Daniel was on his back, his legs sticking out of the bushes. He was rocking from side to side, trying to rip his way out of the tangle of branches, but he was stuck.

“Does it look like I did this on purpose?” he shouted. “Get me out of here! You’re heartless.”

He’d lost both of his boots in the fall. Greg stooped down to grab his legs and pull him out of the bushes. In that moment, however, Daniel kicked outward. He moved much faster than Greg’s sleep-deprived mind could react. Both heels slammed into Greg’s shin, and he fell forward. On the way down, he tried to grab a nearby tree with his free hand, but this only made him spin to one side. He landed in a narrow space between the tree and bush. When he rolled onto his back, he saw Daniel leap to his feet, moving nimbly, and with far more energy than he’d seemed to possess.

“That’ll do,” Daniel said. “A wise man once told me that a situation can go south at any time, so expect the worst.”

As Greg tried to pick himself up, he inadvertently let go of the rifle, and it landed with a splash in a puddle. He got a foot under himself and lunged forward, kicking off the ground in his attempt to reach the gun. He managed to fling himself beyond the narrow space, but he slammed into the ground on his ribs, feeling a surge of white-hot agony. Still, the rifle was just out of reach, inches from his fingertips, and he fumbled along the muddy ground trying to grab it.

Daniel appeared at his side then. He brought his arms forward. Somehow, the shoelace had come untied. “I can’t believe you’d think about shooting me at a time like this. Whatever happened to being flood buddies?”

He’d pulled his boots back on, and he raised one of them now and brought it down. At the last second, Greg tried to move his hand out of the way, but the heavy heel slammed down on top of it. His knuckles took the brunt of the impact. Greg shrieked as a burst of pain went through his hand and up his arm.

“Oops, sorry about that,” Daniel said. “I’m so clumsy sometimes.” He used his momentum to bend down and reach for the rifle.

Having little time to react, Greg didn’t even try to get up. Instead, he rolled toward him, though it caused waves of sickening nausea when he put pressure on his ribs. Daniel saw him coming and stumbled backward to get away, but he slipped again on the wet ground. Flailing his arms, he fell against a nearby tree but managed to keep his feet.

“I’m going to strangle you for that,” Greg snarled, pushing himself to his hands and feet. The back of his right hand was scraped. He saw a flap of skin hanging off the knuckle of his middle finger “Don’t you get it? I was trying to make peace with your little crew of bandits. I was trying to make peace. If that doesn’t work for you, so be it.”

A surge of fierce anger, hot as the heart of a flame, filled him, feeding him strength. Greg pushed off the ground, hopping to his feet. Daniel pushed off the tree, his eyes flitting down to the gun. In that moment, a great crash of lightning filled the sky behind him, the rumble coming less than a second later, shaking the treetops. That seemed to break something in Daniel. Instead of going for the rifle, he pushed himself backward, turned, and dashed off into the deepest part of the woods.

The ground was rough and uneven in that direction, the bushes and vines creating endless obstacles. This slowed Daniel a bit, as he had to take a meandering path. Still, he was moving fast, too fast, and Greg knew he would never catch the man. He was too banged up, even with the burst of adrenaline feeding him. Instead, he stooped down and picked up the gun, wiping a big glob of mud off the barrel.

He raised the gun, aiming at the zigzagging figure. There were too many damned trees in the way, but Greg did his best to track Daniel through the woods. Suddenly, the man passed through a big gap between trees. He was drenched and muddy, his beard hanging down like a bit of filthy rope. Greg pulled the trigger, sure he would miss. However, Daniel yelped, grabbed his left arm, and fell. He hit the ground, bounced on wet rocks, and slid into a tree.

“No, no, wait,” he cried in a shrill voice. “Don’t kill me. Don’t do it!”

Greg picked his way toward Daniel. By the time he got there, the man was on his knees, his left arm hanging limply at his side. The bullet had hit him just above the elbow. Greg couldn’t see the extent of the damage, but the twisted look on Daniel’s face suggested it was bad. Despite this, Daniel started to get up again. He was making weird, wheezing animal sounds.

“Try to run away again, and the next bullet goes in your back,” Greg said, stepping up behind him and pointing the rifle between his shoulder blades. “I’m still going to make the exchange with Sasha, if I can. For my family’s sake, not for yours.”

Daniel unleashed a hoarse cry then, rocking back and forth on his knees. “My arm! What did you do to me! I can’t move it, man. It’s destroyed.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Greg said. “At least I hit your arm and not something vital. Now, get up. We’re going.”

But Daniel continue to rock back and forth, moaning and whimpering.

“Daniel, if you’re exaggerating the pain in order to catch me off guard again, I will kill you,” Greg said. “I’m tired of threatening your life, but I’ve given you every chance to survive this. More than you deserve, quite frankly.”

Daniel’s yelling trailed off, and he seemed to settle down. Indeed, whatever the extent of his wound, it seemed he had indeed been exaggerating. He looked over his shoulder at Greg, resignation in his tired eyes.

“Fair enough,” he said. “But I had to try.”

“No, you didn’t,” Greg replied.

“You would have done the same thing in my place,” Daniel said. “If I’d tied your hands and marched you off at gunpoint to confront your family, you would’ve made every effort to get away from me.”

“I wouldn’t have bothered you in the first place, moron,” Greg said. “You started this, remember? Now, do you want me to look at your wound or not? We can fashion some kind of bandage or sling.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Daniel said, picking himself up. “I think the bullet went all the way through. I can’t tell. My forearm is mostly numb. Whatever the case, I don’t want you touching me.”

“Very well.” Greg stepped forward, planted a hand against his back, and shoved him in the direction of the trail. “Let’s get back on track. We have to make up for lost time, thanks to you and your shenanigans.”

25

Darryl made his way back through the caravan to the others, surer of his decision by the minute but still dreading it. He felt like he was about to recommend that his family jump off a cliff. Still, it had been Grandma’s idea first, and she’d argued for it vociferously.

Is this how Dad felt when he chose the shorter trail? he wondered. It feels like the right thing to do and absolute folly at the same time. If something bad happens, I’ll never forgive myself.

Emma was nudging one of the lead cows back into line when he approached her. The rain was coming down harder now. Its constant drumming against his hood, against his back, felt like nature was somehow trying to humiliate him. Or warn him.

“Emma,” he said. He had to speak louder than normal to be heard over the roar of rain. “We’ve reached a decision.”

She gave the cow a pat on the flank and turned to Darryl. She was knitting her eyebrows, clearly anxious about what he was going to say.

“Let some of the cows go,” he said. “The stragglers. The ones that keep falling behind. They’ll be more trouble than they’re worth.”

“We’ve already lost two more since the rain started,” she replied.

“I know. And if we lose every cow, it’ll be worth it so long as we get to the cabin safe and sound,” he said.

She nodded sadly. As he passed her, he grabbed her shoulder and squeezed gently. He would have hugged her if not for the rain, though hugs were rare between them. Justine was standing beside Marion’s horse now. She’d moved the papoose to the front, and she was shielding the baby’s face from the rain with her hands.. She came toward him.

“Tell me we have some sort of plan,” she said. “Standing here in the rain doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.”

He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “We have a plan. I’m worried about you, though. The next part of our journey isn’t going to be easy, but we have to get ahead of these strange people who are following us.”

“So the fire back there didn’t stop them?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not. They’re trying to sneak around it.” Darryl reached through the little opening in the papoose and brushed the baby’s fat cheek with his finger.

“Don’t wake him,” Justine said. “He’s sleeping.”

“Got it.”

He moved past Justine, approaching the horses. Horace was back in the saddle. He’d produced a small silver flash from an inner pocket—emergency whiskey, perhaps—and he was sipping it. Tabitha had climbed down for some reason, and she was currently standing beside their horse with her forehand in her hand. As Darryl approached, they both looked at him. Marion was in the other saddle, bent forward and shielding her eyes from the rain.

“Mom, you need to get back on your horse,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“What is Emma doing back there?” Tabitha said sharply.

Darryl looked back and saw his sister shooing a couple of cows away. Stragglers, they were always at the back of the line, always at least a few yards behind the others.

“What is she doing to the cattle?” Tabitha said, even more sharply. “Why is she running them away like that?”

“We’re cutting our losses,” Darryl said. The wind had picked up again, blasting cold rain right into his eyes. He almost lost his toque to a particularly fierce gust, but he reached up and grabbed it.

“The cattle are not losses we can cut,” Tabitha said. “We need them to survive. Don’t you understand? We didn’t bring them all this way just to scatter them in the mountains like garbage.”

“Take it easy, Mom,” Marion said. “Don’t get worked up. This is too much for you.” She dismounted, hopped down to the ground, and approached Tabitha. “Come on. Let’s get you back in the saddle.”

“No, I’m okay,” Tabitha replied. As she said it, she swooned and Marion caught her.

“You need to sit down,” Marion said.

“I said I’m okay,” Tabitha snapped. She jerked away from Marion and stumbled backward. This spooked her horse, and the mare eased away from her. “Tell Tuck he’s not going to get rid of my cows. This is our livelihood. How many times do I have to say it?”

As if to punctuate this point, a blast of wind swept over the trail, and Darryl had to brace himself against it.

“Justine, are you okay?” he called, raising an arm in front of his face.

“I’m still standing, if that’s what you mean,” she replied. “This weather sucks, and it’s not good for the baby. Can we go now? If we keep standing here, he’s going to get pneumonia.”

And then Darryl heard a loud crack above him. Looking up, he saw an enormous tree, almost forty meters tall, bending in the wind. The trunk had snapped about two-thirds of the way up, and it leaned over, tipping in the direction of the trail. His first thought was Justine, so he backed toward her, but as a massive section of the tree fell, he realized that the trunk was going to hit right where Tabitha and Marion were currently standing.

Horace grabbed the reins of his horse and turned her, as Tabitha and Marion both looked up and realized what was happening. Seeing the enormous section of the tree falling straight down upon them, they reached for each other.

“Move,” Tabitha snapped. She dodged Marion’s grasping hands, took her by the shoulder, and shoved her aside.

Marion stumbled and fell, landing on her back on the trail. And then the tree slammed down with a crash of limbs, needles, and rainwater. Darryl thrust his arms out and turned, shielding Justine, but he felt debris pelting his back. The baby began to wail. In the aftermath, as the tree settled, he stepped back.

“Are you hurt?” he asked Justine.

“I’m fine,” Justine said. “It landed over there. Go help them!”

She grabbed his arm and turned him. The tree had fallen directly across the trail.

“Tabitha,” Marion cried. “She’s beneath it! We have to get her out of there.”

Darryl rushed forward, swiping branches aside. It didn’t take long to spot his grandmother. She was directly beneath the trunk of the tree, lying flat on her stomach. He pushed and tore and kicked branches out of his way to get to her. As he drew close, she raised her head and looked at him with glassy eyes. Using her forearm, she managed to push off the ground. Blood ran down her forehead into her eye, but she angrily swiped it away.

“I’m alive,” she said, anticipating his concern. “Don’t bury me yet.”

Darryl stretched out his hands, and she took them. “I’m going to trying to pull you out from under.”

“Pull hard,” she replied. “Don’t worry about the pain. I can handle it. Just get me out of here.”

Fortunately, branches on the underside of the tree had prevented the trunk from falling flat against the ground. Indeed, it looked like Tabitha had a couple of inches between her body and the trunk. Still, Darryl was sure that the force of its fall had caused the full weight of it to bounce, and he didn’t doubt that her delirium was masking the true extent of the damage.

“Okay, here we go,” he said. “One, two, three.”

He pulled, and she cried out. Broken branches dragged at her clothing, scraped her back, her legs. After a moment, he stopped.

“No, no, keeping going,” she said. “It’s working. I said don’t worry about me.”

He resumed pulling. Slowly, she came out from under the trunk of the tree, snarling and cursing the whole way. By the time he pulled her free, her clothes were torn, with numerous long rips down the back of her coat and pant legs.

Marion appeared at his side then. She bent down and put her arms around Tabitha, helping to lift her. But Tabitha moaned and went limp, collapsing against Darryl shoulder.

“I’m fine. Just put me back in the saddle,” she said, voice slurring. “Back in the saddle. Come on, Tuck. I can still ride. Like you always said, I’m tougher than two-dollar steak. It’s a silly saying, though, isn’t it? You can’t buy a steak for a toonie.”

“You can’t ride in your condition,” Horace said. “Tabitha, dear, you’ve been badly injured. We need to treat your wounds.”

“No, we’re not going to sit here and wait for Emma to chase away all the cows,” she replied.

Dragging her backward, her feet sliding along the ground, Darryl moved to the travois. He felt a frantic sense of desperation. They were supposed to be heading downhill already, taking the shortcut to get ahead of their pursuers. What was he supposed to do now?

“I’m fine, I told you,” Tabitha said. “Why are you lugging me around like dead weight?”

“You’re not fine,” Darryl replied. “I’m putting you on the travois. We’ll make room, and you can lie there and take it easy. You’re all banged up, Grandma. Please, don’t fight me on this.”

Justine had taken a seat on a small box at the end of the travois, trying to shield the baby while she fed him. When Darryl approached, lugging a delirious Tabitha, she reached back and flipped her blanket aside.

“Here, she can have my spot,” Justine said. “I was going to walk for a while anyway.”

With Marion’s help, Darryl managed to hoist Tabitha off the ground and lay her on the travois, though it was already puddling with water. It couldn’t have been a more miserable situation. Tabitha made a vain effort to sit up, batting weakly at his hands.

“Why do I have to lay here with the supplies?” Tabitha said.

“Because we’re taking the shortcut,” Darryl replied. “We’re leaving the road and heading down the slope through the woods, just like you wanted. But only if you promise to lie down.” He positioned her on her side, so she wouldn’t put pressure on the worst of her wounds. Then he shifted the water barrel so it blocked some of the rain.

Tabitha looked up at him, some of the frustration leaving her face. “The shortcut,” she said. “We’re taking the shortcut. So you took my advice?”

“That’s right, so just relax here, okay? Don’t make trouble.”

She gave him a sheepish grin and settled herself on the travois, as he pulled the blanket over her. A trail of blood had run down her forehead, curling around her left eyebrow, and Darryl could just make out an enormous wound above her hairline. Nothing to be done about it now.

With a sigh, he rose and turned to Justine. She had the baby under her shirt, and she was rocking in a kind of gentle spinning motion, patting him.

“We need to make room for you on the travois as well,” he said.

She frowned at him. “I can walk.”

“Not the way we’re going,” he replied. “I’m sorry. We don’t have time to debate the issue. We have to get moving. Please, let me make room for you.”

Justine looked for a moment like she was going to resist. She tightened her jaw and pressed her lips together, but then she let out an expulsive sigh. “Well, so be it,” she said. “I guess I’d rather get out of here as soon as possible.”

Darryl moved some boxes around to create a place for her near Tabitha, and Justine slid backward onto the travois and settled herself in the space. By then, Emma had returned, looking glum, her hands on her hips.

“I sent a few of the straggler cows into the woods,” she said, shaking her head to get rain-soaked hair out of her face. “We’ve got seven left. Seven. But they’re the best-behaved of the cattle. I think we can keep them together.”

Darryl nodded, looking from his sister to his mother to the travois. He just didn’t feel good about this, but he didn’t feel good about anything. Their whole situation seemed hopeless, and suddenly, he was fighting an urge to cry. Instead, he dragged his fingers through his hair and tried to push the worst of his emotions down as deeply as possible.

“Okay, let’s get going,” he said. “Emma, keep an eye on the remaining cows, please. I’ll lead the way.”

And with that, he turned and headed back to the front of the caravan.

26

The ground south of the trail was rocky, which meant the trees were more spread out. While the downward slope was a bit of a problem, forcing them to check their speed constantly, it wasn’t as bad as Darryl had feared. The rocky ground meant they left fewer tracks behind them. Darryl considered that a massive advantage, even if it was rough-going for the people on the travois. He held the reins of Horace’s mare, guiding her in the lead as he headed into the woods. Marion rode just behind him, pulling the travois, and Emma was a little farther back, keeping the last few cattle together.

We’ve dwindled so much since we left the cave, he thought. Will there be anyone or anything left by the end?

He tried to put that thought aside. Better to fake being hopeful than give in to the despair that was so close to the surface. Unfortunately, the trees being so far apart meant they did little to shield them from the relentless rain, which was coming down in great sheets, hitting them at an extreme angle. Darryl retrieved the binoculars from the travois and used them to scan their surroundings. He didn’t see their pursuers anywhere. But, then again, with all the rain, he couldn’t see much of anything.

After perhaps a few hours of tromping down into the woods, the land opened up even more, the ground becoming mostly rocks with only smaller trees scattered about. Darryl looked back to make sure everyone was still in line, and he spotted Emma at the back of the group, walking alongside one of the cows. She was walking hunched over, letting the animal shield her from the worst of the rain.

When Darryl turned back around, he stumbled on a loose rock and struggled to maintain his balance.

“Son, you look like you could use some rest,” Horace said. “Why don’t you join them on the travois. This big draft horse can handle the extra weight.”

“He’s right,” Marion said. “You haven’t gotten enough rest in the last few days. Take it easy. We’re fine. We’ll just keep the horses moving straight ahead.”

“No, no, I have to see where we’re going,” Darryl said. The truth was, his every thought was swimming on the edge of blackness. A deep bone-weariness had sunk into every limb, and it took all of his concentration just to keep putting one foot in front of the other, but he was afraid that if he lay down, he would struggle to get up again for a very long time. And they needed him. His family needed him in case there were any other problems. “I’ll be fine for a while longer.”

“Son, just promise me you’ll take a break eventually,” Marion said. “You can’t keep pushing yourself to the breaking point. Otherwise, you’ll be no use if something bad happens.”

“You got it, Mom,” he said.

He scrubbed his face with his hands, hoping it would somehow wake him up. It did little. He pressed on anyway, guiding the horses down the slope. Over the next few hours, the slope gradually flattened out, and they found themselves headed across a broad shelf of rocks. Darryl assumed this was the area where the river ran underground. He considered asking Tabitha for confirmation, but she was sleeping. Ahead, the ground remained flat for a while before sloping down again and entering dense woods.

Darryl stumbled on a loose rock again, and this time, he went to his knees. When he picked himself up and looked back, he saw that Horace was slumped in the saddle, arms crossed over his chest, the silver flask dangling from his hand.

“Let’s take a break,” Marion said. “It’s time. Darryl, we’ve gone long enough. Anyway, it’ll be night soon, and we need to make camp somewhere.”

He wanted to argue with her, but he could barely stand up now. Raising the binoculars, he scanned their surroundings again. Still no sign of their pursuers. Maybe they’d given up and gone elsewhere. Maybe they’d come across the straggler cows and taken them. He could only hope. The rain, at least, was finally beginning to let up, though by now, they were all soaked to the bone. Darryl finally lowered the binoculars. He pulled the rifle off his shoulder, planted the butt against the ground, and used it to leverage himself to his feet.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “We’ve been going down the slope for hours. I guess we can let the people and animals rest for a while. I think we’re safe.”

“Good,” Marion said, climbing down off the saddle. “I’ll help Horace down. You go check on the others.”

Darryl nodded and headed back to the travois. All of the remaining cows were accounted for. Indeed, it seemed Emma had done an excellent job of keeping them close. Darryl gave her a thumbs-up, and she gave him one in return. Looking back the way they’d come, he had a beautiful view of the rocky peaks behind them. A bit of smoke still rose in the distance, as if the fire had not yet been completely rained out.

On the travois, Darryl found Justine sitting up, her back against the water barrel. She’d set the papoose beside her and was holding the baby in her arms. Darryl approached, catching himself against the edge of the barrel.

“Is everything okay back here?” he said. “Not too rough, I hope.”

“If this is first-class accommodations, I want a refund,” Justine replied. “Still no rum and Coke. Seriously, though, I can handle it, but it’s hard on the baby. Poor little guy can’t stay asleep. Otherwise, I guess we’re fine. Thank whoever is charge of the rain for turning down the dial a little bit.”

Darryl smiled at her attempt at humor, though he didn’t find anything funny at the moment. He leaned over the barrel to look down at Tabitha. She was curled on her side, the tarp pulled up to her shoulder. Her hands were pressed together and tucked beneath her cheek, and she was breathing loudly with her mouth open. The wound on her head had stopped bleeding and was beginning to scab over, but a lot of blood was clumped in her hair.

“How is she doing?” he asked Justine.

“She’s been asleep almost the entire time,” Justine replied. She climbed off the travois and rose, standing beside him. “She’s kind of a loud sleeper, but other than that, nothing to report. I feel bad for her. She’s all banged up and bruised. Shouldn’t we set up camp so we can treat her wounds?”

Indeed, she had visible bruises on her wrist, cheek, and temple, with shallow scratches on the back of her neck. Darryl leaned down and grabbed her shoulder, giving her a gentle shake.

“Grandma, we’ve stopped for a little bit,” he said. “Do you need something to eat or drink?” She didn’t respond, so he shook her more insistently. “Come on, Grandma. At least sit up and let me take a look at your injuries. Now that the rain has let up, we should probably clean and bandage the worst of them.”

She didn’t respond. Indeed, she didn’t react in any way. Darryl stepped onto the travois and knelt beside her, pulling one of her hands out from under her face.

“Grandma.”

He squeezed her hand, but she still didn’t react. Alarmed, he looked back at Justine, but she was trying to comfort the baby, patting him gently and rocking him from side to side.

“What is it?” Marion said, coming up beside him.

“She won’t wake up,” he said, setting her hand down. “She’s alive. I can hear her breathing, but I can’t get her to respond to me.”

Marion reached down and set the back of her hand against Tabitha’s cheek, then pressed fingers to her neck.

“Is it the head wound?” Darryl said. “Maybe she got hit harder than we realized.”

“Or it could be diabetic shock,” Marion replied. “Get the medicine box. She has an emergency syringe that’s supposed to help in situations like this. I think it’s called glucagon. It came with the rest of the medicine you got from the mayor of Glenvell.”

“Don’t remind me of that guy,” Darryl said.

He crawled to the back of the travois, where the small wooden medicine box was lashed down with ropes. He worked it loose and opened the lid. Then he dug out the smaller box that contained Tabitha’s diabetes meds. As he was doing that, he saw his mother pull Tabitha’s sleeve back and pinch her forearm. Grandma didn’t respond.

“No response to pain,” Marion noted. “That’s a possible sign of coma.”

Darryl opened the small box and felt a little jolt of fear. There were two pill bottles inside, but they were empty. He saw the cap of a syringe as well, but nothing else. Somehow, Grandma had used all of her diabetes meds at some point. He turned over the box and dumped the empty pill bottles into the medicine box.

“Nothing,” he said. “All of her meds are gone. How is that possible?”

He met his mother’s gaze, and a terrible realization passed between them.

“Tabitha’s been self-medicating,” Marion said. “Is it possible she took them all by accident at some point, confused by the onset of delirium?”

“Must be,” he replied. “When could that have happened?”

“Not sure. When we stopped to rest at some point. I didn’t have my eye on her constantly.”

Darryl looked upward. They’d been walking all day, and evening was settling in. The last trickle of rain persisted, but he saw breaks in the clouds along the western horizon. He felt a deep and profound hopelessness in that moment, and it paralyzed him.

He heard Emma approaching then, and he turned to her. “Emma, is there some kind of plant that can help diabetes?” he asked. “Reach into that encyclopedia you call a brain and think of something.”

“Sure, there are lots of natural remedies that can treat diabetic symptoms,” she replied. “Aloe vera, cinnamon, fenugreek, apple cider vinegar.”

“Do you have any of them?”

“I did. I gathered a whole bunch of stuff for Grandma’s diabetes, but they were all in my big herb bag.” she said. “All we’ve got now are black cohosh root and nettles”

“Where is your herb bag?”

Emma shook her head sadly. “It was on the other travois.”

Horace hobbled up then, leaning on his crutch. Darryl held out a last shred of hope that somehow the old man would have an answer. Maybe he would think of something they’d overlooked.

“Horace, sir, what do you think? How can we help her?”

“The dear lady,” he said, with a shoulder-slumping sigh. “It was just too much. All we can do is let her rest now and hope against hope.”

“That’s not a solution,” Darryl said.

“It is the solution when there is no solution,” Horace replied.

They had no choice but to make camp for the evening. Darryl desperately wanted to keep moving, but he saw no other choice. Tabitha needed to rest. Maybe there was a still a chance for her. Without saying anything, he began setting up camp. He strung a blanket between two small trees to block the wind, then cleared the area of loose rocks. Emma and Marion joined him and not a word passed between them. There was nothing helpful to be said now.

Darryl laid a tarp on the ground to cover the wetness. Then he made a pallet for Grandma. With Marion’s help, he carried her there and laid her down, doing his best to make her comfortable. She continued to breathe, and she had what seemed to be a strong heartbeat, but she didn’t respond to anything.

By the time camp was set up, it was dark. It took Emma almost a full hour to get a fire going. Everything was just so damp. The fire provided a little bit of light and heat, but it didn’t seem like enough. They broke out some food, eating from the last of their MRE pouches. Horace positioned himself beside Tabitha, and periodically, he reached down and laid his hands against her cheek or throat or forehead. Marion, Emma, and Justine sat down, but Darryl was restless. His mind was so fuzzy now, he felt like he was on the verge of going insane, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to keep moving, moving, thinking, acting. Otherwise, everything would be lost.

Justine finally walked up and handed him a cup of water. “At least drink something,” he said. “It’s not rum and Coke, but…”

“No more jokes, please,” he said miserably. “No rum and Coke. No Denisovans. No…nothing…”

Justine nodded sadly. “I understand. I guess I do it to cope.”

“Sorry.”

He raised the cup and took a sip, but even a single gulp of water settled badly in his stomach. He passed the cup back to Justine and resumed pacing. At some point, he must have come to a stop, crawled onto the tarp, and lain down, but he had no memory of it. He remembered walking restless circles around the camp, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled on his back on the tarp, moving in and out of sleep.

The rain had finally stopped completely, though he heard wind rustling the blanket. Somewhere, the baby was cooing gently, and through it all, Grandma continued to breathe loudly.

Fight it, Grandma. Whatever’s going on in your body, fight it and come back to us. We need you. I don’t know how we go on without you.

Darryl finally drifted into deep sleep, his whole body aching even in dreams.

The next time he opened his eyes, he saw early morning light in the sky, casting a pink-orange nimbus on the underside of the few remaining clouds. He rubbed his face, rolled onto his belly, and pushed himself to his knees. Marion and Emma were sleeping side by side, sharing a sleeping bag. Justine had created a makeshift backrest for herself in the angle of two boxes, and she was leaning back, sleeping, with the baby still somehow in her arms.

And then Darryl saw Horace. The old man was sitting up, gazing off into the distance. His beard had dried into a big, gnarled nest, and his knit cap sat askew on his head. When he realized Darryl was awake, he turned to him with red eyes. Darryl realized then that he was holding Tabitha’s hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, young man,” he said softly. “She’s gone. Quietly slipped away in the night. Couldn’t have been more peaceful.” Horace reached up and brushed away a tear.

Tabitha was on her back, eyes partially open but unfocused, lifeless, her mouth hanging open. Darryl nodded sadly and rose, tears blurring his vision. It wasn’t terribly surprising, but somehow, it just didn’t seem real. After all they’d been through, Tabitha Healy had seemed unbreakable. Indeed, she’d been the core of the family in many ways.

How can we lose another? Darryl thought, feeling a crushing despair.

Needing something to do, he began to gather stones. Standing still made it a thousand times worse. At some point, Emma and Marion came up beside him and began adding to his pile of stones.

“We’ll bury her under a cairn of rocks,” he said. “She deserves better, but I don’t know what else we can do.”

Emma and Marion both hugged him them, and they cried together for a while. But Darryl wouldn’t wallow. Best to keep working, keep moving, leave the worst of the emotions behind him. Not for the first time, he desperately wished his father were there. Greg would understand exactly how he felt.

He resumed collecting stones. The rest of it seemed so uneventful. How could such an incredible life end in such mundane fashion? They removed her hat and coat, her gloves, emptied her pockets, and laid her on the ground, then folded her hands upon her stomach. Then they piled up the stones over her, one by one, until they’d made a large cairn. Finally, they pried the lid off one of the boxes, and Darryl used a pocket knife to scratch a name on it: Tabitha Healy. He jammed it into the rocks as best he could so that it stood upright.

And then Marion, Emma, and Darryl just stood there beside cairn, and none of them spoke. It seemed there should be something: a eulogy, a prayer, a funny story. Still, quiet minutes passed. Finally, Darryl sighed and said, “Well, that’s it, then. I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m sorry, everyone. We’d better get moving again.”

With that, he turned away and headed back to camp. Horace was sitting beside the travois, hands on his knees, staring off wistfully into the distance. Justine was meandering about, comforting the baby, but she came to Darryl.

“Slow down,” she said to him. “Give everyone a few more minutes. They need it.”

He nodded without meeting her gaze. “Yeah, okay, if you insist, but we can’t wait around all morning.”

When he tried to step past her, she deliberately moved into his way. Then she thrust the baby at him. Confused at first, he just stood there. Then he realized what she wanted, so he took his son in his arms.

“What about Peter?” she said.

“What do you mean? Peter who?” The baby felt so tiny. He fit easily in the crook of Darryl’s arm. He tried to hand the baby back to Justine, but she held up her hands and stepped away. “Who’s Peter?”

Holding the baby wasn’t as intuitive as he’d expected. It felt sort of awkward. The little guy was all floppy and fragile, and Darryl worried that he might drop him. And wouldn’t that just complete his track record of failure if he dropped his own son? Still, the baby was resting contently, so he clearly didn’t mind.

You haven’t failed completely yet, he reminded himself. Get this little guy to the cabin, keep him safe, keep his mother safe, and you will have achieved something.

“As a name for the baby, silly,” Justine said. “What do you think about Peter?”

Darryl tried to settle his mind long enough to consider the possibility. “Eh, it makes me think of Peter Parker. You know, Spider-Man. That’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Well, I don’t read comics books or watch those kinds of movies, so I never…”

Her voice trailed off, and Darryl heard footsteps behind him. Boots on the rocks, crunching and stomping. It sounded like a whole bunch of people. Justine looked past his shoulder, her eyebrows climbing her forehead. When Darryl turned, he saw them there, a group of people approaching from upslope, stepping past the cows. The woman in the lead was dressed in very nice winter clothes. Darryl was shocked. Though her face was weathered, her hair scraggly and frayed, she was wearing a Canada Goose parka, some really nice ski pants, and what appeared to be an expensive pair of hiking boots. If not for the rough condition of her face, she would have reminded him of the rich city people who crowded the area ski resorts in the winter.

The man walking just behind her was dressed in a weird, handmade outfit of rough leather, like some kind of hippie guru from another decade. Completing the picture, he also had a ridiculous gray beard that was separated into three beaded braids.

“Well, what do you think, Harry?” the woman said to her companion, coming to a stop near the end of the travois. “Isn’t this a sad little scene we have here? I’m afraid we might have interrupted a funeral.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a somber group, boss,” the man replied. “Seems like they could use some help.”

“Help,” she said, and for some reason, this made her smile. “That’s right. Let’s give them some help.”

27

Daniel was nothing but a nuisance, and Greg had to fight a constant urge to strangle him slowly.

Don’t murder your only bargaining chip, he kept telling himself. Endure his insufferable antics until your family is safe.

Still, every step became an exercise in restraint. At least the rain had finally let up. That was one small mercy. Greg had retied the man’s hands behind his back.

“This really hurts,” Daniel said, for the thousandth time, as they reach another twist in the trail. “My arm is killing me. I can’t believe you tied me up again after you shot me. Show some pity, man.”

“Pity? After you tried to escape and steal my gun?” Greg replied. “I don’t think so. I’ll tell you what, my daughter is an expert on herbal remedies. She’ll be able to recommend some plant or root that will diminish your pain. I guarantee it.”

“I don’t need a plant or root,” he replied. “I need a Percocet and a swig of Jägermeister, and I also need my damn hands untied.”

They’d used a strip of cloth as a makeshift bandage to staunch the flow of blood from Daniel’s wound, but that was all Greg could do for the man. Having his arms pulled behind his back no doubt made the wound hurt worse, but Greg didn’t dare untie him. They were on the trail now. Fortunately, the rain hadn’t completely erased the tracks of the travois. Greg could still make out the faint grooves pointing the way.

“We’ll never catch up to them,” Daniel said, “so what’s the point of all this? They have too much of a head start.”

“Then walk faster,” Greg replied, jabbing him between the shoulder blades with the barrel of his gun. “I keep telling you that, but all you do is whine more.”

Daniel grunted and began walking just a little faster. After that, he fell into a brooding silence, though Greg didn’t doubt that he was still scheming, trying to come up with some way to either escape or kill his captor. Greg had no sense of how fast the caravan was going, but he knew from experience that the cows were slow. Surely, they were closing the gap, though he couldn’t tell from the faded tracks. He’d seen no sign of the bandits.

Around another bend, they found an enormous burned tree trunk lying across the trail. Some of the trees on either side had burned as well, but the rain seemed to have put out the fire. They clambered over the tree. As they did, Greg thought he could still feel heat radiating from it, and the charred trunk cracked and split beneath his feet. It had happened recently.

“Maybe my family chopped this down and set it on fire to block the road,” he mused aloud, “or maybe it was a simple lightning strike. I’d like to believe the former, but it seems farfetched.”

Daniel offered no opinion on the matter. The trail began another ascent up a gradual slope, and up ahead, Greg saw another tree that had fallen onto the path. Indeed, branches were down all over. A fierce wind had torn through this area and done surprising damage.

As they approached the second downed tree, Greg looked down to find the tracks of the travois again, and he was shocked to see them veer suddenly to the side of the trail and then disappear on the rocky slope beyond. As first, he assumed they’d simply circled around the fallen tree, but when he headed into the woods, he saw faint drag marks headed straight down the slope and far into the distance.

They’d left the trail completely. Had they been forced off by the bandits? Had they taken an unexpected route in order to lose them? He didn’t know, but when he glanced at Daniel, his captive had a weird little smile on his face. Clearly, he thought this was Sasha’s doing. Greg restrained the urge to punch the man in the mouth and instead nudged him down the slope.

“You’d better hope to God none of my people have been harmed,” he said.

Daniel said nothing to this, fixing his gaze on the ground ahead. Greg was following the tracks when some large moving shape caught his eye. Looking up, he spotted one of their cows standing a few meters away, nibbling at a small scrub brush. A straggler. It was one of the heifers, not a year old. Greg briefly considered trying to corral the animal and bring it with them, but he knew that would be more trouble than it was worth.

“Since that cow hasn’t been carved to the bone, I assume your people didn’t get hold of it,” he said.

“Harry and Jen are the ones who carve up the carcasses,” Daniel replied, his first words in a while. “They can make quick work of a full-grown moose or elk. It’s impressive, but if Sasha had other work for them, they wouldn’t bother.”

As they continued down the slope over a couple of hours, the forest gradually opened up, and they found themselves on open ground. It appeared to be a broad shelf of rock, a large gap in the trees where nothing could grow. They were making good time, moving fast. Far in the distance, Greg saw another dense line of trees. As he was staring at it, he saw another one of their cows roaming within the trees, as if it had nowhere in particular to go.

Still on the right path, he thought. Did they lose every cow along the way?

He heard a loud clatter of rocks then, and Daniel suddenly tumbled forward. He crashed onto a large pile of loose stones, then rolled off to one side, winding up on his back. This meant his arms were pinned beneath him, and he uttered a hoarse cry of pain.

Greg stooped down and grabbed him under his good arm, hoisting him off the ground. He slid the rifle over his shoulder so both hands were free. Then he set Daniel on his feet again.

“Please, man, you’ve got to untie my hands,” Daniel said, speaking through clenched teeth. “My arm is killing me. I can’t stand it. I’ve behaved, haven’t I? I’m walking fast now. Do me a small mercy.”

“Calm down, Daniel,” Greg said. “We’ll figure something out. I just…”

Something caught his eye then. There were patches of thick mud in the area, and he could see distinct footprints pressed into them. He was no expert on reading tracks, but it didn’t take more than basic observational skills to realize there had been a lot of people wearing a lot of different kinds of footwear in this area.

“People have been here recently,” Greg noted. “Quite a few, by the looks of it. I think we’re finally closing in on your crew.”

“That’s fine. Whatever, man,” Daniel said with a groan. “Make your trade. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. I’m hurting bad.”

“Just hang in there a little longer,” Greg said. “As long as the trade with Sasha goes well, we can part ways without further incident.”

At this, Daniel just rolled his head back on his shoulders and let out a long, shuddering breath. Greg’s gaze went from the obvious footprints to the pile of rocks. He hadn’t thought much of it, at first. Now, however, as he really looked at it, he realized it was not a natural feature. Someone had spent time piling up these stones. A piece of wood was lying beside the pile. As Greg leaned in close, he realized it was the lid to a wooden box.

He picked up the lid, shook a few loose rocks off of it, and turned it over. And there was the name, scratched into the wood. It appeared to have been hastily scrawled. The letters were crooked and uneven, but clear: Tabitha Healy. For a few seconds, Greg just stared at it, numb. Then he found it hard to breathe, as if the air in his lungs had begun to solidify. The makeshift grave marker fell from his hands and clattered on the rocks.

A cairn, he thought. That’s what it is. A cairn for my mother. And now both of my parents are dead.

The heaviness inside of him spread through his whole body, until he felt pressed down, crushed by the weight of it. He bent over, pressing his hands to his thighs to keep from collapsing. What at first had been a great wave of grief crashing over him quickly turned to panic. They’d hastily buried Tabitha here in the middle of nowhere instead of taking the body with them to the cabin. That meant they’d been in a hurry. On top of that, there were strange prints all around the cairn, which almost certainly meant the bandits had also been present.

“Bad news, pal?” Daniel said.

There was nothing mocking in the tone of his voice, but the question annoyed Greg anyway. He clamped his eyes shut and fought an urge to unleash all of this terrible heaviness in the captive’s direction. What if the bandits had killed Tabitha? It was at least a possibility. What if they’d killed her, given the rest of the family a few minutes to hastily bury her, then dragged them all off somewhere?

“I have to find them now, right now,” he said. “I hope you’re ready to run.”

He rose, clamping a hand to his forehead and taking deep breaths to calm himself. Then he opened his eyes, picked up Tabitha’s crude grave marker, and set it on top of the cairn.

Sorry, Mom. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you, he thought.

He turned to Daniel, who was standing with a dumb look on his face, as if he scarcely understood what was going on. Maybe it was the pain in his arm. Or maybe he was still playing the idiot.

“Let’s go,” Greg said, motioning for him to turn around and continue walking. “This is our last push, so give it your all.”

Instead, Daniel’s dumb, glazed-over look suddenly turned into a big smile that seemed to show every tooth in his mouth. His hands came around from his back, the shoelaces falling to the ground in pieces. At the same time, he opened his left hand, and a thin rock fell at his feet. Greg scarcely had a second to make sense of what had happened before Daniel lunged at him.

With his left hand, he batted Greg’s arms aside. With his right hand, he reached for the rifle and tried to pull the strap off his shoulder. In the midst of their struggle, Greg realized the guy must have grabbed the rock when he fell, then used the sharp edge to cut through the shoelaces while Greg’s attention was on his mother.

Daniel managed to grab hold of the gun. Before he could pull it off, Greg lunged forward, throwing his weight against the captive. Daniel was forced backward, stumbling along until his feet slipped. Then they both went down, Greg landing on top of his captive. His shoulder slammed into Daniel’s chest, and the captive unleashed an ear-piercing shriek. Then the momentum carried Greg forward, and he did an awkward somersault, tumbling past Daniel and winding up on his back. The captive continued to shriek, the sound becoming more animal, almost crazed, as Greg rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself off the ground.

Daniel was up already, blood seeping through the crude bandage on his arm. Still making an awful sound in the back of his throat, he stepped to one side, broadening his stance, and raised his right hand. He was holding the rifle.

“Yeah, that’s right, buddy,” he said. “I got it. What do you think about that?”

Blind with rage, scarcely thinking, Greg got his foot beneath him and lunged at Daniel. He came in low, off balance and letting his weight carry him forward. Just before he collided with the other man, he heard the echoing crack of a gunshot. It seemed to come from just behind his head, so loud it hammered into his skull. Then Greg caught him around the torso and shoved him backward. They hit the cairn and fell sideways across it, sliding over the top. In the chaos of limbs and shouting voices, Greg managed to grab the man’s injured right arm, clamping down as hard as he could. Daniel screamed himself hoarse.

“Drop the rifle,” Greg shouted. “Drop it, and I’ll stop hurting you.”

They wound up tangled in a heap on the other side of the cairn, thrashing and kicking. Daniel fired the rifle again, but Greg grabbed the bandage and yanked it, tugging it against the wound.

“I said drop the gun,” Greg said again.

Instead, Daniel flung his head forward and bashed Greg in the mouth with his forehead. Dazed, Greg grabbed the rifle, but Daniel thrashed, working his way out from under him. His vision was blurred by tears, so Greg began punching blindly. The first punch hit the ground, and he felt sharp pain in his already injured knuckles. The second punch hit Daniel in the chest. The third punch, the lucky one, hit the bandaged arm. Finally, there was a loud clatter as the rifle fell and skittered across the ground.

Despite this, Daniel managed to squirm out from under him again. Greg grabbed at him, taking hold of the back of his coat and trying to pull him down. But he heard a zip, and suddenly the coat was falling away. Daniel spun to one side, pulling his arms out of the sleeves. In the process, he pulled the bandage off as well. Greg could see now that the long sleeve underneath was soaked in blood from his shoulder to his forearm.

And then Daniel kicked backward, slamming Greg in the face with the heel of his boot. Sputtering, tasting blood, Greg flopped onto his back, fighting through the pain to make his body move faster.

“I knew you’d try something the second you got your hands loose,” Greg said. His lips hurt when he spoke. It felt like they were swollen again, and the old cut from his near-drowning had split open. “That’s why I didn’t untie you.”

“I untied myself,” Daniel said with a snarl. “I don’t need your mercy anymore.”

As he got to his feet, Greg realized Daniel was going for the rifle again, which had come to rest at the base of a large rock a short distance away. Greg rushed after him, tasting blood on his tongue. Daniel heard him coming and glanced over his shoulder with wild, bloodshot eyes.

“I won’t go back with you,” he snarled. “There’s not going to be a trade. Forget it!”

He kicked the rifle with the side of his boots, sending it flying. It bounced and rolled down the slope. Greg turned his head to follow it, intending to go after it, but Daniel used the distraction to take off running. He headed east, moving parallel to the distant line of trees. His course took him across the broad, rocky ground. Greg went after him, but Daniel was moving fast, taking long strides. Somehow, he’d found some deeper well of strength inside of him.

“You’ll never take me,” he shouted. “I won’t be a bargaining chip!”

Greg did his best to catch up to the man, but the ground was treacherous. Loose rocks kept trying to trip him, and the pain in his face made his eyes water. By now, Daniel was sprinting at full speed, cutting a straight course across the open ground. The land in front of them was wide open, but Greg gradually became aware of a distant low sound. It trembled in the rocks beneath him.

Suddenly, Daniel yelped and came to a stumbling stop. He fell to his knees and slid, grabbing wildly at the ground to arrest his forward momentum. As Greg closed the gap between them, he realized why. Straight ahead, the rocky ground dropped suddenly into a deep ravine. Below, the river gushed out of some underground chamber, casting up a cloud of mist as it crashed over the rocks and headed downstream. A few jagged edges of ice remained along the sides of the ravine.

Daniel had managed to stop just a meter or two from a sheer drop. Making weird mewling sounds, as if he’d devolved into some lesser thing, he flailed about, turned, and headed at an angle away from the water. Greg moved to intercept him, though every stride was a struggle, and he was constantly aware that he was on the verge of a spectacular fall.

“I said leave me alone,” Daniel said. “Sasha will kill you. She probably killed your whole family already, and I’m glad. You deserve it.”

He slipped, and it was all the advantage Greg needed. He took two long strides, closed the gap, and wrapped his arms around Daniel’s torso. As before, his momentum carried him forward, and he rolled, pulled the man off his feet, and they went tumbling across the rocks together. When they came to stop, Daniel was on top of him, thrashing wildly. They were less than a meter from the drop, and Greg felt the cold mist rising up around them.

“I’m trying…to end this…peacefully,” Greg said. “Don’t you get it? That was always my objective.”

But Daniel swung his head back and hit him in the face again. For a moment, Greg’s vision went black, and Daniel managed to pull out of his arms.

“She would never have made the trade. You don’t know Sasha Burke,” he said, backing away from Greg, still kicking and flailing his arms to keep him at bay. “She takes what she wants, she always has, and there’s nothing you can do to stop her. She’s ruthless, and you’re outmatched.”

Greg reached for him, trying to snag one of his legs. But Daniel did a little backward hop. It was one hop too far. The yawning drop was directly behind him, and he landed mere centimeters from the edge. Realizing what he’d done, he yelped and began spinning his arms in big circles on either side. But the rocks here were wet, and he slid backward.

“Help me,” he said in a last, desperate cry. “Please!”

Greg crawled forward, still reaching for him, but it was too late. Daniel toppled over the edge. Greg watched him fall, tumbling down the twenty or thirty meters into the dense cloud of mist. Just before he disappeared, he slammed into a jagged edge of thick ice, leaving a bright splash of blood behind. His scream ended suddenly. No longer flailing and crying out, he was devoured by the mist. Greg kept watching until he saw the body emerge downstream, floating face-down in the raging water as the current swept him away.

“Damn you,” Greg said. “I needed you alive, you idiot.”

In despair, he sank onto the damp rocks, feeling more bruised and battered than ever.

28

There was little he could do about his wounds. His lips were quite swollen now, and he had a welt on his forehead where he’d been kicked. His bruises had new bruises forming overtop them. At least he no longer had a foot-dragging hostage to worry about. That meant he could move as fast as he wanted. First, he went looking for the Winchester. It took a while to find it lying among the rocks. It was all banged up, but it didn’t seem to be broken. He slipped it over his shoulder and headed back toward the cairn.

When he got there, he spotted a wisp of gray hair sticking out of one end. A sudden swell of grief paralyzed him for a moment, tears blurring his vision, but he pushed past it. Stooping down, he spent a moment stacking the strewn rocks back on top of the cairn, then replanted and repositioned the grave marker.

Sorry about that, Mom, he said, laying his hand gently on top of the cairn. But I’m going to make everything right very soon, no matter what it takes or what it costs me. The rest of the family will be safe, I promise. Wait and see.

He bent down and studied the footprints on the ground, trying to make sense of them. Of course, he’d added his own footprints to the mix as well, but he could see drag marks from the travois headed off to the south across the rocky shelf toward the distant line of trees, accompanied by a number of other people.

Only one grave here, he noted. So, the others might be alive. It’s not too late.

Yes, it seemed most likely that Sasha and her people had taken them captive. Intending to do what? He didn’t know. The sooner he caught up with them, the better, but it wouldn’t be a peaceful prisoner exchange now. No, he would have to come in fast and try to take out the leader. If he could kill Sasha, maybe he could scatter the others. It was his best hope. But it all depended on the condition of his family. Getting them away from the bandits safely was the priority.

Though he was sore, in pain all over, and tasting blood on his tongue, Greg set off in the direction of his family, heading toward the distant trees. It didn’t take long to realize he had overestimated himself. After maybe twenty or thirty yards, his legs began threatening to buckle, and he felt darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision.

No. Keep going. You have to keep going. Don’t let your body dictate your actions. Bend it to your will.

He made the mistake of trying to slap his own cheek, hoping it would wake him up. Instead, it split open his lips even further, and he felt blood trickle over his lower lip into his beard. Far from waking him up, it caused him to swoon, and he had to stop for a moment to collect himself. Everything inside of him, every cell of his body, cried out for rest, but he pressed on.

From time to time, he saw more footprints and drag marks, which confirmed that he was headed in the right direction. They seemed fresh—the mud hadn’t yet dried. This helped keep him going, though every step now took absolute concentration. And the damned tree line didn’t seem to be getting any closer, no matter how long he walked.

A short distance ahead, he spotted a large, round rock, and he decided to sit, if only for a few minutes. When he finally got there, he eased himself down.

Just a few minutes, he reminded himself. You can’t afford to rest any longer than that, no matter how you feel.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, and tried to take slow, steady breaths. Daniel had hit him hard. His head hurt like hell. Greg reached up and felt the big welt on his forehead, then touched his lips and felt the edges of the wound that now bisected the middle of his upper lip.

Daniel was right about the Percocet and Jägermeister, he thought. I hate the taste of Jägermeister, but I’d down a whole bottle right now.

He was just about to stand up when something caught his eye—a little hint of green at the base of the rock. At first, he thought it might just be strange, discolored mud, but that he realized it had the texture of cloth. Stooping down, he snagged a corner and pulled it out. A toque, all crumpled up beneath the rock. And not just any old hat. He knew this one. He recognized it by its distinct forest green color. This belonged to Darryl.

He wouldn’t have left it behind unless he had no choice, Greg thought. Either he pulled it off and discarded it for some reason, or it fell off and he was unable to retrieve it.

The latter seemed more likely. Darryl had owned this hat for years and wore it often. Greg examined it for damage, but it was still intact, a bit frayed along the edges.

“They’re in trouble,” he muttered.

He rose, shoving the toque into the pocket of his coat. He’d rested long enough. His family needed him. They’d needed him long ago, and he’d let them down. Greg pulled the rifle off his shoulder and held it in the crook of his arm. Then he set off once again toward the tree line. Though he’d only sat down for a minute or two, finding Darryl’s hat seemed to have reenergized him. He dared a bit of speed, picking his way along the open ground at a jog.

Gradually, the rocky ground gave way to mud, grass, and thick shrubs, and the drag marks of the travois became clear again. He saw them cutting a gradual curve toward the trees. The prints of various shoes and boots were more obvious now, as well. There were quite a few people in this group. Indeed, as he considered this, he realized that he had never questioned Daniel about the size of Sasha’s crew. Was he dealing with five people, ten, more? Were they all armed? So many questions he’d failed to ask.

If only that idiot hadn’t thrown himself off a cliff, he thought. He was my best and only hope.

As he ran toward the trees, he kept the rifle at the ready. Speed and surprise were his only advantage now, assuming he had any advantage at all.

29

The ground here was so much easier to navigate as he headed down into the valley. He caught a glimpse of a trail far below, and it seemed his current path would take him right to it eventually. He found that reassuring enough that it gave him the energy to keep going. However, over the course of an hour or so, a shadow crept in on his right side, and he realized he was approaching a sheer rock wall on that side, which formed a hard border for this part of the woods.

At the same time, the steep drop on the left cut in from the other direction, so that eventually he found his path forward becoming quite narrow. This, at least, made it easier to keep following the group, since they were essentially being funneled in one specific direction. He dared to step close enough to the drop to see what lay below. He’d moved well beyond the river, so it was now about a forty- or fifty-meter drop into a broad ravine. However, as he gazed across the ravine, he caught a glimpse of the trail again, emerging from the trees below. He tracked it with his eyes and spotted a fence, an overgrown yard, and the corner of a large cabin.

He was so close. Now if he could just get his family there.

He noted evidence of the group’s passage more frequently now. He saw where hooves stamped into the soft places, the drag marks of the travois wending through the trees. Greg began stepping more carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. And then, after perhaps another half hour, he heard the lowing of a cow in the distance. He came to a stop, squatting behind a tree. While he could see the sheer drop on his left, he couldn’t see far ahead at the moment. Too many obstacles in the way. Greg raised the rifle, leading with it as he crept forward.

Gradually, he began to hear voices. A man and a woman in heated conversation. Even from a distance, he could tell which of the two was in charge. The woman had a commanding sharpness to her every word, and she interrupted the man frequently.

Sasha Burke, he thought. I’d bet anything that’s her.

And then he reached a gap in the trees. As Greg approached, inching into the shadows beneath the rock wall on his right, he finally spotted the group. He saw the cows first, and he was shocked at how few of them remained. He counted six, just six, though at least they seemed to be in good health.

A group of strangers was standing on the path beyond the cows. He could tell instantly that these were Daniel’s people. Many of them wore expensive winter coats and hats, but the men had long beards, and all of them had grim expressions. To Greg’s eyes, they seemed like a team of high-level executives that had gotten lost in the mountains. However, they were all armed, and most of them were pointing those guns in a specific direction. As Greg shifted position slightly, he finally saw his family. Darryl, Marion, Emma, Justine, and Horace—at least they were all accounted for. At the moment, they were sitting with their backs to the sheer rock wall, guns trained on them.

He felt a rush of relief. They were alive. Only Tabitha had been lost. And then he caught a glimpse of a tiny pink hand and heard the soft gurgle of a very young baby, and he realized Justine was holding the little one in her arms, wrapped in a blanket. Poor Justine had been forced to give birth on the trail somewhere!

The man and woman who were arguing were standing on the far side of the group beside the horses. The man had a long, braided beard, and he was gesturing down into the valley. Though the words were heated, they weren’t speaking loudly, so Greg couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally, the woman approached the edge of the drop, aimed a pistol down into the ravine, and pulled the trigger. The sound echoed loudly down in the ravine.

What the heck is she firing at? Greg wondered. Maybe she’s just trigger-happy.

The sound of the gunshot spooked the animals. The cows scattered, though they didn’t really have anywhere to go. Some of them ambled closer to the trees, toward Greg, while others moved toward the group. A large piece of shale, shaken loose by the sound, tumbled down from the rocks above and crashed among the cows, further scattering them. In the confusion, the group guarding his family moved closer to the horses, clearly trying to avoid getting bumped over the edge by a stray cow.

“Don’t do that, Sasha,” one of the other women said. “I thought we were under attack.”

“That was for Daniel,” the leader replied. Despite her expensive coat and hiking boots, she had a fierce, stony expression on her face, shark’s eyes, and a small, angry mouth. “He may need some kind of signal if he’s lost out there. Don’t second-guess my decisions, Jen. I know what I’m doing!”

“Of course,” the other woman replied.

Greg would have shot the leader then and there, but the risk to his family was too great. Somehow, he had to get them away from those guns.

He heard a soft gasp from somewhere nearby, and he turned to see that his daughter had spotted him. Emma was at the end of the row, sitting cross-legged with her arms wrapped around her. She was bleary-eyed, her hair tangled and messed up, but as she’d turned to watch the startled cows, she’d spotted Greg in his shadowy space beyond the trees. The look on her face was pure shock. He held a finger to his lips.

A plan had begun to come together in his mind, though it seemed dangerous. Somehow, he had to draw attention away from his family, so they could sneak away. Now that he had Emma’s attention, Greg pointed at the cows, then drew a line in the air toward the trees.

Use the cows for cover. He hoped the message got across. Emma nodded and leaned over to whisper something to Marion. Then it was Marion’s turn to look shocked. She clamped both hands over her mouth. Clearly, they had not thought he survived his tumble into the river. Greg rose, using the trees for cover, while keeping his gun at the ready. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly.

“What do you want with my family?” His voice carried out over the ravine. The bandits were startled at first and began scrambling about, aiming their guns this way and that. The leader made a loud clicking sound with her tongue and patted a hand in the air to calm them.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt a conversation?” she said, turning toward the trees where Greg was hiding. “Is Daniel with you?”

“I don’t know anyone named Daniel,” Greg lied. “What do you want with my family?”

She made another signal to her people, and they backed toward her, forming a line, as if taking up position to defend her. The cows continued to shuffle about, still spooked. When one of them stepped in front of Sasha, she smacked its flank, and it moved closer to the rock wall. This, in turn, put it between her people and Greg’s family.

“What do you want from my family?” Greg asked again.

“If you must know, I want your cattle and your supplies,” Sasha replied. When some of her people pointed guns in his direction, she motioned for them to lower their weapons.

Emma slowly rose to a crouch. Marion followed suit. Then Darryl and Justine, though the baby made another soft sound. To cover for them, Greg stepped out into the open. “Well, you have the cattle and supplies,” he said, gesturing at the animals. “There they are. Take them and let my people go.”

The man with the braided beard started to raise his gun at Greg, but Sasha put a restraining hand on his arm. “That’s awfully accommodating of you, sir,” she said. “It should be that simple, shouldn’t it?”

As she talked, Emma began very slowly creeping away, trying to position herself so the cows were blocking her from the bandits. The others started to follow, thought it was clearly going to be difficult for Horace. Darryl reached back and grabbed him around the shoulders to help him.

“Here’s the complication,” Sasha continued, as Greg took another step out into the open. He had his gun aimed at the ground in front of him, but his finger was on the trigger. They might decide to shoot him, but he was going to take out at least one or two before he went down. “Your family here is clearly headed somewhere specific. If I let them go, I may never find out where.”

“Maybe we’re just trying to survive up here in the wilderness like you,” Greg said. “Cities are dangerous these days. A lot of people have fled.”

“Right, except no idiot would herd a bunch of cattle up a mountain trail without some destination in mind,” Sasha replied. “This is a dangerous endeavor, as I’m sure you’ve learned the hard way, so the place you’re going must be worth tremendous risk. Now, I’ve asked questions. I’ve asked many questions, and all I get from your family are vague replies. They pretend to be stupid, and it’s wearing on me. I want to know where you’re headed.”

“And if I tell you, will you let them go?” Greg said. He took another step toward the group. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his family slipping quietly along the rock wall toward the trees.

“I would certainly be more amenable to it,” Sasha replied.

“Very well. They’re headed to a remote cabin in the valley, but it’s been abandoned for years. It’s in bad shape, dilapidated and dirty. Not much to see there.”

Sasha gave him a withering smile, but her eyes remained lifeless, plastic beads set in a stone face. “You wouldn’t have come all this way, and risked losing so much, to reach a dilapidated cabin. I don’t believe it. Now, look, if I didn’t think the real answer was worth getting, you’d all be down in that ravine by now, so let’s have it.”

“I told you the truth,” Greg replied. “There’s a cabin. It’s not far from here, in fact.”

Sasha sighed. Somehow, she made a sigh sound aggressive.

“They won’t tell you,” the man with the braided beard said. “Let’s kill them and be done with it.”

“Shut up, Harry,” Sasha replied. “I didn’t ask for your advice.” And then, to Greg, she continued, “Maybe my friend here is right. Maybe I should give up the dream and kill you all. Though, I have to say, I don’t know that I want to kill a baby. That’s a bridge too far for me, you know? So, we’re in a bit of a pickle. Do I kill all of you, including the baby? Do I kill you but spare the baby? Do I spare you so you can lead us to your destination? So many choices.” She clicked her tongue again, as if the decisions were almost more than she could bear.

“I’ll lead you to the cabin, if you’ll spare my family,” Greg said. Emma and the others had crept past him now, moving out of his line of sight. Greg shifted to one side to further draw Sasha’s gaze away.

“That seems dangerous,” Sasha replied. “You might turn on me, or you might keep trying to escape. I don’t make rash decisions, friend. How can I guarantee that you—”

She was cut off as another piece of shale broke off the rock wall and tumbled down onto the trail. This further spooked the cows, and they moved to get away from it. In the process, however, they parted like curtains from the spot where the family had been sitting. The man name Harry noticed it first and pointed, stuttering as he attempted to say something. Then Sasha turned and saw.

“So that’s what you were up to,” Sasha shouted, raising her gun.

As the others pointed their weapons, Greg lunged to one side, ducking behind one of the cows. One of the bandits took a shot, but it passed overhead.

“Don’t shoot the animals,” Sasha said. “I want them alive. Shoot the people.”

Greg heard the bandits fanning out, moving toward him. He raised his rifle over the back of the cow, but he hesitated to fire, afraid it might scare the cow and cause his only cover to depart. Suddenly, he realized someone else was standing beside him.

“Dad,” Darryl said, voice quaking. “We thought you were dead. Mom is back there freaking out.”

“Not quite dead,” Greg replied. “I had a few close calls. Get the family out of here. Back up the trail. find another way across the ravine. The cabin is in sight. Meet me there. I’m going to buy us some time.”

When Darryl didn’t move right away, Greg gave him a push. It was enough. Darryl went racing back into the trees. One of the bandits took a shot at him, and Greg heard the bullet hit a tree behind him. The cow started to move, trying in vain to get away from the sound. This forced Greg to move as well, following cover, even as the footsteps of the bandits got louder.

They were so close to the cabin. He just needed to give his family time to get away. At the cabin, at least they would have a defensive position. He decided to risk a blind shot, knowing it might cause the cow to flee. As the footsteps moved around to his left and right, he raised his rifle over the big animal’s back, aimed toward the sound, and fired a shot.

One of Sasha’s men unleashed an ear-piercing shriek.

30

Mom was a mess. She was crying, which blurred her vision. Darryl kept having to correct her course so she wouldn’t stumble off the cliff. This was hard enough when he was already practically carrying one-legged Horace. As they fled back up the slope through the trees, he heard a gunshot, and one of the bandits shrieked in pain. Darryl turned and looked back down the slope.

“We have to go back,” Emma said. “Dad needs our help!”

“No, we have to put some distance between us and the bandits,” Darryl replied. “Dad’s coming. Move!”

Marion was in the lead, an arm around Justine. She ran about twenty meters back up the slope before diverting suddenly and diving behind a large boulder at the side of the road. She caught herself against the rock and slid down to the ground on the other side, pulling Justine down with her. Darryl followed, lugging Horace alongside him.

“Was that really him?” Mom said, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “I can’t believe it. Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know,” Emma replied, dropping to her knees behind the boulder. “Suddenly, he was just there. I looked over and saw his face between the trees, and I almost screamed.”

Darryl didn’t want to stop, but he couldn’t just stand there and hold almost the full weight of Horace. With a huff, he lowered the old man to the ground behind the boulder.

“Dad wants us to keep going,” he said. “The cabin is close. Just beyond the ravine, if we can get down somehow.”

The shouting was getting more intense behind them. Darryl reached for the Remington, but of course, it was no longer slung over his shoulder. The bandits had taken it from him after capturing them. When he realized this, he dropped down with the others and looked back in the direction they’d come.

“I can’t believe he’s alive,” Marion said, brushing away fresh tears. “We’re not going to lose him again. We have to go back.”

But Darryl saw a figure moving between the trees, and he heard another gunshot. It was answered by two others, and he saw a bullet hit a branch nearby. Soon, his father appeared, backing toward them, using a cow for cover. He’d grabbed the animal by its collar and was pulling it along. Beyond him, the bandits were shouting and cursing.

“Go around! Go around!” That was Sasha. “Don’t be such cowards. He just got a lucky shot, that’s all.”

“Let me shoot the damn cow,” came the reply. He thought it was the one named Harry. “If I try to go around, I’m going to get hit.”

As if to prove to point to the man, Greg leaned around the neck of the cow and took a shot down the slope.

“Don’t let him pick us off one by one,” Sasha shouted. “Charge up there and take him out.”

Darryl felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he realized it was Horace.

“There’s a way down into the ravine,” Horace said. “I saw it a little way back. Heck, I actually entertained the notion of trying to sneak past our captor and make my way down.”

“Can you lead us there?” Darryl asked.

“I can point the way, if you’ll help me,” Horace replied.

Greg was getting close, slowed only by the reluctant, terrified cow. Only its ingrained obedience kept it going. Greg glanced over his shoulder and met Darryl’s gaze. With his free hand, he gestured for him to get moving.

“Okay, sir, lead us there,” Darryl said, and stooped down to put his arms around Horace. Fortunately, he was a shriveled old man, which made it easier to carry him.

As soon as he stepped out from behind the boulder, he saw one of the bandits suddenly lunge around a tree, trying to move past the cow to get a clear shot. It was Harry, the guy in the handmade leather clothes with the braided beard.

“Dad, on your left,” Darryl shouted.

At the sound of his voice, his dad turned and saw the man coming at him. He raised his gun and fired just as the bandit stepped past the tree, and the man cried out. He stumbled backward, grabbing his chest. Another bandit, a woman, unleashed a shrill cry at this, even as the wounded man fell backward. Darryl saw dark blood oozing between the fingers of his gloved hand before he hit the ground and rolled onto his side.

Greg ran toward Darryl. Even now, it was like seeing a ghost. Darryl had long accepted the death of his father, and his brain couldn’t fully comprehend that this was really him. Up close, he realized how badly injured his father was. His lips were busted, his face covered in bruises. He had a black eye and a large welt on his forehead.

“Horace saw a way down into the ravine,” Darryl said, waving his father past him. They didn’t have time for an emotional reunion. It would have to wait. “It’s back up the slope there.”

Marion flung herself at Greg, clinging to him. He put his arm around her waist and practically carried her as he fled back up the slope.

“I need to reload the rifle,” he noted. “Horace, point the way. Quick. They’re coming.”

Darryl dared another glance over his shoulder. A couple of cows were milling about among the trees, providing convenient cover for their retreat. However, he saw movement beyond them. A woman dressed in similar handmade leather garb was dragging the wounded man away, while the others eased to one side, intending to step around the cows through a gap along the rock wall.

Fortunately, Greg was moving fast, so Darryl hurried to keep pace with him. Justine was right on his heels, though the baby had begun to whimper and fuss. Emma came last, moving in a crouch and constantly looking behind her.

“This way,” Horace said, pointing off to the right. “There’s a narrow trail just over there.”

Indeed, they went another ten meters or so, and Darryl saw the beginning of a crude trail that cut down at an angle into the ravine. It was clearly manmade, but it had not been well-maintained. Not unlike their river shortcut, the edges were crumbling, but they had no other options.

As soon as Darryl, Horace, and Emma got to the trail, Greg waved them past.

“Go on ahead,” he said. “Hurry. Get down there as fast possible. Make for the cabin. It’s in sight now.”

“No, we’re not leaving you behind again,” Marion cried, grabbing his shirt with both hands. He winced at this.

“I’m not staying behind,” Greg said. “I just need to fend off the enemy.”

Emma stepped past him, whimpering as she came close to the edge. Darryl and Horace went next. Already, the trail made Darryl’s skin crawl. It cut a switchback course down into the ravine, but it was steep and rocky.

“I’m sorry you have to lug me around,” Horace said. He was trying to help, stepping with his one leg. “I hate to be a burden to anyone.”

“You’re not a burden, sir,” Darryl replied. “You’re the one who pointed out the trail. You might have saved us.”

Greg and Emma came last, but Darryl heard the voices of the bandits getting louder. Suddenly, his father took a shot back behind them. Sasha cursed loudly and began barking orders to her people.

“That way. Right over there. Just use the trees for cover. Go!”

The shooting had caused the cows to panic again. Indeed, it seemed they’d reached a breaking point. The two who were in the trees took off running. Darryl heard them, but he couldn’t see them from his position. He moved back up the trail to his father’s side just in time to see a cow barrel into one of the bandits and knock him down. The big animal kept going, trampling him in the process.

Greg turned then and grabbed Marion by the arm. She had lingered at his side. “Get going down the trail. Keep the others moving. I need you to listen to me, Marion. Please! If they reach the trailhead, they’ll pick us off.”

Marion hesitated, then hugged him suddenly. He returned the hug, and she finally headed down the trail. Once she was moving, Greg dropped down onto his knees and dug a box of ammo out of his coat pocket. As Darryl came up beside him, he quickly reloaded the rifle.

“Join the others,” Greg said. “I can’t let the bandits get close. The trail takes us down into the ravine, but there’s no cover. It’ll be like a shooting gallery. I have to buy enough time so you guys can reach the bottom and hide among the rocks.”

“Do you have another gun?” Darryl said. “Let me help you. We’ll pick them off as they come through the trees.”

“No, this is all we’ve got,” Greg said, waving his rifle in the air. He turned and gave Darryl an intense look. “I’m counting on you, son. Get the family down the trail as fast as you can. I’ll hold them off as long as possible. You have to do this.”

“Dad…” Darryl tried to think of some other plan, something that didn’t involve his father risking his life yet again. But they had no time. He saw Sasha coming through the trees toward them, then another bandit on the left, and a third on the right. They were moving fast. And they were all armed. Finally, Darryl laid a hand on his father’s back. “Okay, I’ll make sure everyone gets to the cabin safely, Dad. I promise.”

“I know,” Greg replied, giving his son a smile and a nod. “I trust you. You can do this.”

And then he turned back around and fired another shot at the approaching bandits. They scattered, seeking cover behind the trees. Darryl knew he couldn’t delay any longer, though he felt a terrible dread fill him. Finally, he turned, spotted his family picking their way down the trail, and hurried after them. The baby had begun to wail. All of the loud gunshots had finally proved too much for the little guy.

31

It had been a half-baked plan from the beginning due mostly to the fact that Greg hadn’t known what to expect. Unfortunately, when he’d finally caught up to his family, the terrain hadn’t cooperated with him, making escape even more difficult. As he knelt at the top of the trail, using the ground for cover, he realized that if it hadn’t been for Horace, they would have been in real trouble.

Well, it was the best I could do, he thought, and as long as I buy them a chance to escape, it will have been worth it.

Sasha moved swiftly from tree to tree, using them for cover in an attempt get close to the trailhead. Another one of the bandits, a woman draped in handmade leather, moved the other way. Beyond them, there were others, all taking up positions. Greg raised the Winchester, trying to catch one of the bandits as they shifted position. He decided to take a bold approach.

“Throw down your weapons,” Greg shouted at them. “Take the cattle and leave, and I’ll spare your lives.”

He dared a quick glance over his shoulder. Darryl was guiding the family down the slope at a furious pace. They’d already reached the first switchback. Unfortunately, it was all open ground until the bottom of the ravine.

“You’re outgunned,” Sasha replied, and, as if to prove it, she fired a wild shot in his direction. It pinged off the rocks somewhere to his right. “We’re not going anywhere, so why don’t you throw down your weapon.”

“Not going to happen, Sasha,” he replied.

At this, she grew quiet for a moment. Greg heard one of the bandits shifting around behind a tree, and he pointed the gun in that direction. He saw the edge of a leather coat for a second. Somehow, he needed to flush them out into the open. Maybe if he could push them to act irrationally.

“How do you know my name?” Sasha asked.

“Oh, your friend Daniel told me,” he replied. “Yeah, he told me all kinds of stuff about you shortly before he leapt off a cliff to his death.”

Sasha hesitated again, and when she spoke, her voice had tightened even more. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what he was thinking,” Greg said. “Desperate to get away, I suppose. He hit a big block of ice on the way down. Last I saw, he was floating face-down in the river.”

“I’m going to kill you for that,” Sasha replied. “I was going to kill you anyway and let your other family members lead me to the cabin, but now it’s settled. I was too compassionate from the beginning. It went against my better judgment.”

“Okay, quit talking about it and do it,” Greg said. “You like to run your mouth, don’t you?”

The woman with the leather coat was inching out from behind the tree. Greg saw more of her long coat, so he decided to flush her out. Aiming carefully, he took a shot. The bullet hit a corner of the coat, making it sweep back. This startled the bandit, who stepped backward out into the open, fumbling with her gun to point it in his direction. They fired at the same time. Greg heard the bullet sizzle over his head. In turn, he hit her in the leg, and she yelped and went down. She dropped her gun and grabbed her thigh.

Distantly, he heard the cry of the baby echo out over the ravine, and he felt a sudden, poorly timed swell of pride.

I’m a grandpa, he thought. I’m so grateful I got to see the little one.

Bandits were moving again, shifting positions. They had spread out, practically surrounding the trailhead. At least a few of them were down. Three had been shot, another trampled. He estimated about five were left, all armed. He decided to prioritize targets, so he turned his gun in Sasha’s direction. At the moment, she was well hidden behind a fat pine tree.

“Jen, can you still fight?” Sasha called.

The injured woman gave a wordless groan in reply. Greg dared another glance behind him. His family was practically flying now. Darryl was lugging Horace on his back. Emma and Marion were helping Justine and the baby. They’d reached the second switchback, heading into the third and final section of the trail.

I bought them some time. It’ll have to be enough, Greg thought. He felt a strange calm come over him then.

“Now,” Sasha said, a little bark of a command. “All at once. This is it.”

The bandits all leaned out from behind their respective hiding places and took aim. Greg had one clear second to see their faces. One man and two women, plus their fearless leader. Sasha was directly in front of him, holding his own Remington rifle. He noted sunlight glinting off a pair of fancy ski goggles, which were pushed up to the top of her head. The dark eye of the rifle was fixed upon him.

Make it count, he thought. This is your one chance.

Pushing off the ground with his right foot, he charged at her. The strange calm endured, even in that mad moment. Greg Healy felt a great swell of love for his family. They would live. He believed it. And then guns began to fire on all sides.

The next few seconds were chaos. He opened fire at Sasha, bullets striking the tree, shattering the glass of her goggles. She fired back once and ducked out of sight. She missed him, but a bullet from the right side hit him in the arm. He felt it, a sudden sharp stinging sensation just above his elbow. Instantly, the arm lost strength. Reaching down with his left hand, he managed to grab the Winchester before he lost his grip on it. Then he turned, even as the bullets continued to come in.

He saw two bandits immediately to his right. Corporate types, he thought, in their former lives. Either that or they’d raided a Saks Fifth Avenue for winter wear before setting out on their mountain trek. Greg fired at the nearest one. As he did so, he felt sudden heat in his shoulder. He’d been hit again.

The bandit stumbled backward, turning her face as blood erupted from her left eye. She went down. A third bullet struck Greg just above the knee. He felt his quadricep detach from his knee with a pop, and he fell. However, he managed to land on the good knee, shifting the gun to the next bandit. The woman realized she was the target and spun around, heading back behind her tree. Greg struggled to operate the gun with his injured right arm. Pulling the bolt was the hardest part, but he managed it through sheer hateful will. He shot the bandit between the shoulder blades, and she collapsed in a heap.

Finally, Greg turned back around to the place where Sasha was hiding.

“Well?” he cried. Sharp, burning agony was quickly filling his body. He knew he couldn’t hold up long. “What are you waiting for, Sasha? I’ve killed most of your people. Are you just going to die up here like a coward? You’ve failed. Your whole corporate life has led up to this one shining moment of failure. Think about it!”

“Damn you,” Sasha snarled in return. “I should have killed your entire family the second I laid eyes on them. I should have smothered the baby and threw it into the river.”

“Well, you can start with me,” he replied. “I’m right here. Or do I have to come back there and get you?”

He tried to rise, but it was no use. The right leg wouldn’t bear any weight. Still, he thought he could see just a small edge of Sasha’s padded shoulder. He took aim. Pain was making his arm shake badly, but he pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the trunk of the tree, casting out a spray of bark.

Sasha appeared suddenly, lunging around the other side of the tree. She opened fire with the Remington, even as Greg returned fire. He felt the first bullet pass within inches of his right cheek. As he returned fire, his shot went wild, cutting through tree branches high above his target.

Greg felt a sudden blow to the neck. In the madness of the moment, he thought another bandit had snuck up behind him, reached around, and punched him. Then he felt furious heat and felt wetness pouring down the side of his neck, trickling under the collar of his coat. He managed to draw the bolt and pull the trigger on his Winchester one more time. Then a wave of cold weakness washed over his whole body.

Trying to fight it, he pushed up with his good leg. He managed to get about halfway up before his knee buckled. He fell backward and slammed into the ground, his breath leaving him in a rush. Quickly, his thoughts were becoming indistinct, a dense fog filling his mind. He rolled onto his belly, but as he did so, he heard blood splashing onto the rocks beneath him. Still, fighting through the rising darkness, he dropped the Winchester and used his left hand to pull himself toward the edge of the cliff.

He only managed to inch forward a little bit before he lost all strength. However, it was enough. He was able to look over the edge, gazing down at the sheer drop below. Blackness crept into the edges of his vision, but he saw the trail winding down to the bottom of the ravine. His family was nowhere in sight. He’d bought them just enough time.

Greg felt a deep satisfaction in that moment, and he fell onto his side on the rocks.

I did it, he said. Marion, I did it. All for you. All for the kids. For the little one.

As the weakness swept the pain away, he felt only his love for them. A beautiful blue sky wheeled overhead, a crisp breeze carrying away the scent of blood, and it was okay. It was okay. Everything was okay.

Greg Healy shut his eyes and let the last breath leave him.

32

The trail was treacherous. With every step, Darryl felt loose ground shifting beneath his feet, as if the whole side of the mountain were on the verge of crumbling down into the ravine. Still, he knew they didn’t have much time. As soon as he reached the family, he grabbed Horace by the arm, stepped in front of him, and hoisted him up onto his back. The weight was almost too much, and he felt a little twinge of pain in his lower back. But he didn’t have time to think of a better plan.

Emma was leading the way, picking her way down the steep trail, but carefully considering each step. Justine was right behind her, hugging the rock wall as she descended, the baby carefully bundled in her arms. Only Marion hung back, and Darryl knew she was on the verge of bolting back up the trail to be with Dad. He couldn’t let that happen. Finally, he planted a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push.

“Mom, you have to keep moving,” he said. “They mean to kill us, and if we’re caught out in the open like this, we’re doomed.”

“Why does it have to be your father?” Marion replied, wiping away a steady stream of tears. “Let me go back and take the gun. I’ll hold them off. Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

“Dad would never let you do that, and you know it,” Darryl said. And then, to his sister, he shouted, “Pick up the pace, even if it’s dangerous. We have to get down to the bottom as soon as possible.”

“Can’t you see I’m working on it?” Emma replied.

As he looked below, Darryl saw three switchbacks cutting sharp angles as they headed for the mass of tumbled boulders at the bottom of the ravine forty meters below. He was trying hard not to think, not to feel. He’d left his father to fend for himself! But, no, he’d done the only thing he could do. It’s what Dad wanted, after all.

“We just got him back,” Marion said, though she did start moving a bit faster. “It’s like he came back from the dead, and now he’s…he’s…”

Darryl still had his hand on her shoulder, and he squeezed gently. “He’s saving our lives. He’s giving his grandson a chance at a life! Those bandits meant to take everything from us. This is what has to happen.” He was speaking to himself as much as to his mother. He needed to hear it, because he didn’t quite feel it.

Emma began moving faster, taking big, reckless strides that caused her feet to slide on the rocks. She let her left hand glide along the rock wall to steady herself. Within seconds, she reached the first switchback. As they rounded the bend, Darryl looked back up the ravine. He heard voices then, his father and Sasha, but he didn’t make out what they said.

“Why doesn’t he just take a shot at her and run?” Marion asked. “Why is he having a conversation?”

“He can’t let them reach the trailhead,” Darry said. “We’ll be easy targets from there. Mom, this is what he had to do, okay? I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t so, but this is how we survive.”

She was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “I know, but…” And she left it at that.

They were halfway down the second switchback when he heard gunshots. To Darryl, it was like a punch in the stomach. This was it. The flooded river all over again. The crumbling bank. But he couldn’t let the emotions take root, not now. This was a time to act—to act and not to feel.

Darryl readjusted Horace so the weight was higher on his shoulders and shouted for the others to run. Emma was practically sprinting down the path. Justine couldn’t go quite as fast with the baby in her arms, but she managed to press her back up against the rock wall and slide along, taking long, awkward side steps.

He heard more shouting above him. He tried to look up and see what was happening, but the angle was all wrong. His father was no longer in sight. As they reached the second switchback, he heard more gunshots, more shouting. A woman howled in pain. The bottom of the ravine was close now, and he could see numerous large boulders in the area. Plenty of cover. As he traced the path ahead, he spotted movement in the distance. The mountain pass above dropped down and joined up with the ravine, and not far from that point, Darryl saw a familiar trail curving out of the woods and heading off to the southeast.

He realized then that some of the spooked animals were charging down the slope toward the far trail. He saw both horses running at a gallop, along with a few of the cows. Apparently, they’d had enough gunfights for one lifetime and had decided to set off on their own.

“Keep running,” she shouted down to Emma. “Don’t look back. Don’t think about anything. Just get to the bottom and find cover behind the boulders.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Emma replied, her voice ragged and out of breath. She slipped then, her left foot sliding dangerously close to the edge, but Justine reached down and grabbed her arm. She pulled Emma against the rock wall. Somehow, she also managed to hold onto the baby with her other arm, though the sudden motion made the little guy start crying loudly. Justine shushed him in vain as she resumed her descent.

Just as they reached the final switchback, Darryl heard a terrible burst of gunfire. It sounded like multiple guns all firing at the same time. People were shouting as well, but their voices were buried under the crack-crack-crack of guns. Marion almost came to a stop then, clasping her hands in front of her, but Darryl nudged her with her shoulder.

“We’re close, Mom. Keep going.”

Just as the gunshots ended, and a terrible quiet descended around the trailhead, Emma reached the bottom of the ravine. She ducked behind the nearest large boulder and waved Justine in after her. The baby was still crying, and all of the chaos wasn’t making things any better. Marion reached the boulder next. Darryl glanced up the sheer rock wall just before joining them. He didn’t see anyone at the top of the trail. In the silence, it seemed as if they all had just disappeared.

Maybe they killed each other in that final shootout, he thought. He felt a twinge of grief. Dad, how could we lose you twice?

But just then, he saw a figure rise above the rocks at the trailhead, and almost immediately, he heard the crack of a rifle. A bullet hit the ground a few feet to his right, casting up fragments of rock. Darryl quickly backed behind the boulder and hunkered down with the others.

“He’s gone,” Marion said.

“You don’t know that,” Darryl replied.

“Yes, I do.” Marion’s face had gone blank, her tears abated. “I felt it. He’s gone.”

Darryl wanted to collapse in grief, but it wasn’t over yet. Pushing past the feelings, he went to Justine and hugged her. The baby seemed to settle down a bit then.

“We’re pinned down,” Darryl said. “Somehow, we have to get to the other trail at the end of the ravine. That’s our way home. We’ll have to move from rock to rock to maintain cover.”

“What happened to the bandits?” Emma asked. She had tears in her eyes, but her jaw was clenched, her eyebrows low. She was pushing past her feelings as well. “How many of them are left?”

“At least one,” Darryl said. “Judging by the shape of her, I’d say it’s the leader, Sasha. She took a shot at me.”

“Then we have to move fast,” Emma said, “before she follows us down the trail.”

“I wish I’d brought the damn papoose,” Justine muttered. “This would have been the perfect time for it, but I left it on the travois.”

“Just hold our baby tight.” Darryl gave Justine a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Kissing later,” Justine said, giving him an anxious look. “Running like hell now.”

“Got it,” he replied.

He looked toward the end of the ravine. The horses and cows were there now. They’d come to a stop and were milling about, as if they’d suddenly realized they were lost. Darryl judged it to be about a hundred meters. There was plenty of cover, but also many gaps between the boulders. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

“Put me down, son,” Horace said. “I’m slowing the group too much. Leave me here. Maybe I can throw them off your trail. You folks will move a whole lot faster without a useless old man on your back.”

“Stop that,” Darryl replied. “I’ve got you, and we’re not losing anyone else, not if I can help it.”

Darryl moved past the group. He wanted to lead from this point on. Dashing from cover to cover was going to be dangerous, and he didn’t want Emma to feel responsible if something went wrong. He brushed past her, giving her an encouraging nod.

“Okay, everyone follow my lead,” he said. “Run as fast as you can.”

“Well, at least I’m providing some cover for your back,” Horace said, with a gruff little laugh. “Let me be your human shield.”

“I said stop that,” Darryl said. “You’re the reason we made it down here in the first place.”

There was a five-meter gap between their current rock and the next one. Darryl braced himself, took a deep breath, and dashed out into the open. As he did, he glanced to his right up the side of the ravine. Near the top, he saw a couple of people picking their way down the trail, stepping lightly. He crossed the gap in three strides and quickly ducked behind the next boulder. Just before he moved out of sight, he heard one of the bandits on the trail cry out.

Emma and Justine came behind him, Marion bringing up the rear.

“Well, they’re descending fast,” he said. “We outnumber them, but, unfortunately, we don’t have any guns.”

“Couldn’t we wait for them here behind a rock and then jump out when they get close?” Emma asked. “If they’re close enough, we could probably overpower them. I’d like to beat that woman to death with my bare hands.”

“Too big of a risk,” Darryl replied. He gauged the path ahead. Another four or five meters to the next big boulder, but he could see the horses clearly now. They were milling about near the end of the ravine. The travois still seemed, miraculously, to be intact. But more than that, he knew that Sasha’s group had put some of their things on it.

“It’s not that hard to beat someone to death,” Emma added. “If you have to use your bare hands, just apply blunt force trauma to the throat, but with all of these rocks, a few hard blows to the head would do it.”

Darryl glanced at his sister and saw a wild, hateful light in her eyes. Her face was dusty, sunburned, her hair sticking out in all directions. Yes, he thought, this was someone who could beat an enemy to death, if she had a chance.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He took off running again, moving across the next gap. As he did, he looked at the trail again. Sasha was in the lead. He recognized the fancy orange and black coat. She was still picking her way down the trail, approaching the first switchback, but when Darryl stepped out into the open, she raised the Remington and pointed it at him. Darryl hunkered down and kept going. The crack of the rifle chased him a second later. He braced himself for pain, but the bullet went wild.

Only when he was safely behind cover again did he realize that Horace was waving his hands over his head.

“What are you doing back there?” Darryl asked.

“Just trying to draw her aim a little higher, so she misses you,” Horace said sheepishly.

“Stop making yourself a target, please.”

He waited until the rest of the family had joined him. Ahead, the rocks were a little more spread out, but the angle was changing as the ravine broadened. He thought this might make it harder for Sasha to get a good shot. Considering their options, he turned to his family. Justine, Emma, and Marion were all watching him intently.

“We have to get to those horses before they get spooked again,” he said. “This time, we’re running flat out, okay? No stop-start from rock to rock. Stay low. Try to make yourself as small a target as possible. When we get to the animals, move around behind them, use them as cover. Got it?”

The baby was fussing again, working himself up to another crying fit. Justine tried bouncing him, rocking him from side to side, patting him on the back. Nothing seemed to work.

The sooner I get them out of here, the better, Darryl thought.

“We’ll follow your lead,” Marion said. “When you go, we’ll be right behind you. Don’t stop and don’t look back.”

He nodded and turned. Fifty or sixty more meters to the horses, yet it seemed so far. Darryl’s shoulders and back hurt like hell from lugging the old man, and he had to adjust him again to get the weight up higher.

“Here we go,” he said.

And with that, Darryl took off running again, heading straight for the horses. He moved low, trying to keep his head down. However, he glanced one time at the trail behind and above them. Sasha and the other bandit were approaching the second switchback, picking up speed. She took another shot at him. He saw the flash of the muzzle as the sound carried down the ravine. The bullet whizzed past him, sizzling in the air somewhere to his right.

He kept going, letting adrenaline push him. He’d gone another ten meters or so when Sasha took another shot, but he didn’t hear the bullet or see what it hit. The unharnessed horse noticed him them and turned in his direction. Clearly recognizing him, the animal started to approach Darryl. Finally, he reached the horse, which had come to meet him. Grabbing her reins, her moved around behind her.

“Good girl,” he said, patting her on the neck. “I owe you so many apples and carrots after this.”

The rest of the family arrived a second later, moving around behind him. And now, the second horse, the one dragging the travois, followed the leader and came toward them. Darryl waited until she got close, then he passed the reins to Emma and moved to the second horse. He’d finally reached his limit on lugging Horace, so he moved to the travois and slipped the old man off his back. He set him down on one of the support beams of the travois, with the water barrel at his back for cover.

“See? You weren’t a problem at all,” he said to the old man.

Darryl leaned over and looked between the boxes and barrels. The bandits had left some of their packs here, and he saw them all piled together in the middle of the travois. He couldn’t help but smile at the delicious irony.

They came to steal from us, and we stole from them.

But his eyes were drawn to one specific item which stuck out of the corner of the largest backpack. He pulled it out—a small bolt-action rifle. The stock was painted in a light-green camouflage, the barrel in bronze. It was a nice gun that looked like it had never been fired. Darryl thought it might be a newer-model Browning, but he wasn’t sure.

He opened the breech and saw the shiny casing of a .30-06 bullet in the chamber. Just then, he heard another gunshot, as a bullet smashed into the water barrel. He closed the breech and raised the rifle. Sasha and the bandit were at the bottom of the trail now, and she’d taken a wild shot in their direction. Darryl aimed back at them, bracing his sore arms against Tabitha’s old medicine box. Then he took the shot. The jolt of the rifle was utterly satisfying, and when he saw Sasha and the other bandit dive for cover, wrapping their arms over their heads, he laughed out loud.

“Mom, Emma, Justine, either get in a saddle or get on the travois,” he called. “I’ll hold the bandits off while we hit the trail. Dad said the cabin is just down this trail a little way. Hurry!”

He heard them moving about, but he kept his eyes on the distant figures. When Sasha started to rise, he took another shot. The bullet hit the trail just above her, creating a little puff of dust. She dropped again. Justine appeared then, taking a seat on the travois, as she continued trying to calm the baby.

“He needs to feed,” she noted. “Poor little guy. Bullets are flying all over the place, and he’s just hungry.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be safe soon,” Darryl replied.

Marion had climbed into the saddle of the lead horse, and she used the reins to guide it onto the trail. Emma was on the second horse, and she tapped it with her heels to get it moving. Darryl remained standing, following behind the travois and keeping an eye on Sasha. Because she was crawling, she was too small of a target now.

He caught movement to his left, some enormous object barreling toward him. Turning, bringing the gun around, he discovered a few of the cows rotting dutifully after the horses. Marion was on the trail now, riding toward the trees. Darryl considered their predicament. If indeed the cabin was in sight, what was to stop Sasha from biding her time and attacking them as soon as the opportunity presented itself. No, they would never be safe as long as these bandits lived.

He turned back to the travois and realized Justine was staring at him hard.

“I can read your face,” she said. “Please, don’t do anything foolish.”

“Not foolish,” he replied. “I’m going to clear the road behind us, so we won’t be followed by violent maniacs.”

“Just remember, you’re a father now,” she said. “You can’t take crazy risks.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“I want to believe you, but reckless heroics run in your family,” she said.

“I know, but I’ve got a plan.”

Not entirely true. He had only the rough circumference of a plan. Marion had turned in her saddle to look at him.

“Get them to the cabin, Mom,” he said. “I’ll be along shortly.”

He saw her face scrunch up in agony. She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but after a moment, she closed it again and nodded sadly.

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Trust me.” Faint comfort, he knew.

Marion turned back around, shook the reins, and picked up speed, heading into the woods. The second horse followed, and Darryl opted not to look at them again, knowing he might second-guess himself.

Dad, you taught me well, he thought, standing now out in the open. Do whatever it takes to keep your family safe. Whatever it takes. That’s the rule we live by.

33

The woods were deep and dense here, and enormous evergreen trees grew close together with plenty of underbrush between them. That gave him a terrain advantage. As soon as the horses entered the woods, Darryl headed for the nearest tree. He looked back across the ravine in time to see Sasha and the other bandit moving across the ravine toward a nearby rock. Raising the gun, he aimed at them, but his arms were shaky. He had nothing to brace against, and by the time he’d steadied himself, they’d dashed behind cover.

So be it, he thought. We’ll do this the hard way.

He pushed through a dense screen of bushes, ripping at the branches as they clawed at his clothes. On the other side, he considered the trees around him. The most suitable was a smaller spruce tree. It had low enough branches that he could pull himself up. He slung the Browning rifle over his shoulder and reached for the lowest branch. Pulling himself up proved difficult, however. He was just so worn out.

Finally, he planted one shoe against the trunk, pushing with his foot while pulling with his hands. This was enough to get him off the ground, and then he managed to wrap an arm over the lowest branch. From there, he got his other leg over the top. He continued climbing until he was about maybe ten meters off the ground, with a decent view of the ravine. Unfortunately, he realized now just how littered the ravine floor was with large rocks. Even from this angle, Sasha had plenty of cover.

He scanned the area for her. They were hiding somewhere now. Darryl raised the gun, bracing the barrel against another branch and settling his shoulder against the tree trunk.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Step out of hiding, you little vermin. Give me one good shot at you, Sasha. Just one.”

He saw a flash of red nylon cloth as the second bandit stepped out from behind a rock. Darryl took a shot at the man, but he quickly ducked back out of sight.

How many bullets left? Darryl wondered. He opened the breech again and checked. He was shocked to see only a single bullet remaining. It looked like the magazine could hold a total of four, and he’d already fired three of them.

There were probably more bullets in the backpack, he thought. And I didn’t think to check.

Justine would never let him live down this poor planning, assuming he survived, but everything had happened so fast.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Give me a Glock 19 with a fifteen-round magazine over this four-shot rifle.” He sighed and raised the gun again, scanning for Sasha. He didn’t see her anywhere. Still hiding behind cover. And now, to make matters worse, he only had a single shot left. He had to let her get closer before he took it.

A flash of red drew his eye again. The second bandit was making another run for it. Darryl tracked him with the rifle, but he wanted to save the bullet for Sasha. He noticed that the man was walking strangely, limping, clutching his hip with both hands.

By God, I think I hit him, he realized. Still, he was alive and getting close, too close. And where the hell was Sasha?

The second bandit was moving at an angle from cover to cover, headed to the far side of the ravine, but he was clearly having trouble. And now, he wasn’t making much effort to find cover.

Do they know I’m low on bullets? Darryl wondered. How could they?

Unfortunately, the bandit was closing in, heading toward the end of the ravine and the trail beyond. Darryl tracked him, fighting the urge to pull the trigger. Sasha was clearly the more important target. Suddenly, the bandit came to a stop, bent over. He took one more step and fell forward, landing hard on the rocks.

Darryl’s gaze was fixed on the man, so when gunshots rang out, he didn’t know where they were coming from. Suddenly bullets were crashing through tree limbs all around him. He ducked back behind a branch as a cascade of needles rained down on him. The muzzle flashes came from him his left. He dared a quick glance over the branch and spotted her.

Sasha came from the left. She’d worked her way to the opposite side of the ravine from the other bandit, and she was running flat out now, trying to aim the rifle at the same time. And she was headed straight for Darryl.

She used the other bandit as bait to distract me into giving away my position, he realized.

Sasha fired again, and this time the bullet hit the big branch in front of him, the one he’d been using to brace the rifle. Splinters exploded into his face, one of them getting in his left eye. Darryl instinctively pulled away, but this made him slip off his perch. As he fell, he managed to wrap his arms around a branch. It slowed his fall, but it also made him drop his rifle. He toppled through the branches, crashing down, snapping through twigs, until he got caught, stopping just before the ground below.

Because of the angle of his fall, and the denseness of the branches, he found himself caught upside down, his legs sticking up, his arms wrapped in what felt like a net. He thrashed, swinging his arms and legs back and forth. Twigs scraped at his clothing, but slowly he tore himself free. With a final swing of both arms, he toppled to one side, fell out of the branches, and landed on his side on the hard ground.

Where is she? Where did she go?

Disoriented by the fall, he was unsure where he’d wound up. He pushed himself up on his arm, looking around for the rifle. He’d fallen behind the tree, and dense brush and thick trunks rose up on all sides. When he strained to listen, he no longer heard Sasha charging toward him. Indeed, the area had gotten strangely quiet, except for the dragging of the travois on the trail. His family wasn’t all that far away, after all.

As he picked himself up, he cast about for the rifle. It had landed in the crook of some branches just above him, and he reached up to retrieve it. Holding it close, he leaned around the tree trunk, pushing through the bushes so he could see into the clearing beyond. And if she was out there waiting for him, pointing the Remington at the tree, ready to fire? His skin crawled at the possibility.

Still, it couldn’t be helped. He had to figure out where she’d gone. Slowly, he pushed his way through. Beyond, he saw the ravine stretching out before him. The injured bandit was still curled up on the ground off to the right, unmoving, but Darryl saw no sign of Sasha. He kept pushing forward, slipping past the tree and out into the open. He tracked from left to right, aiming the rifle in front of him. The trail curled out of the woods just ten meters to his right, heading past the end of the ravine and back into the woods further on. When he turned in that direction, he saw one of the cows trotting along, the end of his family’s little caravan. The baby gave a loud cry then, which carried out over the ravine.

Where did you go, Sasha? Come on. Stick your head out of your hole.

He tracked back to the left, looking into the distance where the mountain pass dropped down into the ravine. The line of trees marked the end of the ravine. He was staring in that direction, aiming with the rifle, when she lurched out from behind a tree not five meters away. As she turned to face him, she led with the Remington.

And seeing the barrel of the gun pointed directly at him, he pulled the trigger. The Browning kicked against his shoulder, the report ringing out. And Darryl watched in horror as the bullet hit the trunk of the tree beside Sasha, splitting the bark.

“There you go,” Sasha said. “Great aim.” At first, she seemed entirely unscathed from all of the fighting. Then he noted the shattered goggles, which were pushed to the top of her head.

He considered lunging at her, but the distance was too great, and there was no time. The Remington rifle was centered on his chest.

I’m going to be killed with my own gun, he thought, and felt a bitter irony.

She pulled the trigger, and the gun clicked. She pulled the bolt and tried again. Nothing. She’d used every bullet in her charge. He saw her eyes go wide, her lips draw back to reveal teeth that were too white for the wilderness, too straight, too perfect. Indeed, they were an incongruence with her sun-burned cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

“Well, then,” she said, after a moment’s surprise. She turned the rifle around, grabbing it by the barrel. “You might as well take it back!”

She hoisted the rifle up over her shoulder and flung it at him, as if she were chucking a throwing axe in his direction. Darryl tried to duck back out of sight, but he bumped up against a tree. With the Remington sailing toward him, he had little time to react, so he raised the Browning sideways, using it as a crude shield.

The two rifles collided, and the force of the impact knocked the Browning out of his hands. They both clattered to the ground. In the process, Darryl turned away for a second, and when he turned back, Sasha was pulling something from her coat pocket. A small black Beretta. Darryl turned and lunged back through the underbrush, just as she took a shot in his direction.

“You killed all of my people,” Sasha shouted, “but you left the most dangerous one alive. That was a mistake. A big mistake.”

And, as if to prove her point, she fired another shot in his direction. He heard the bullet hit the tree at his back, and he pushed deeper into the underbrush.

“You’re going to die,” Sasha said. “Your whole family is going to die, and I’m going to take everything that belongs to you. Your father gave his life in vain! Get ready.”

34

She took a third shot, though he was well hidden now. The bullet crackled through the underbrush, and Darryl dropped low. As he cast about for some kind of weapon, he realized she was running. It seemed she’d taken the shot to cover her tracks, but he heard her now, sprinting full out, coming for him.

And then she passed by the spot where Darryl was crouched and kept going. Not coming for him, he realized. Heading for the trail, for his family. In the distance, his baby son was crying again, as if he knew what was coming. As she passed, she took another wild shot into the bushes. The bullet passed somewhere above him and ricocheted off a tree. Darryl dropped flat against the ground, but he heard her moving off to his right now, heading for the trail.

You’re just going to have to stop her, he told himself. By any possible means.

Nearby, a rather large tree branch lay on the ground. He thought it was the branch he’d broken when he’d tumbled from his perch. He grabbed it, stripping a few stray needles, and held it like a club. Then he rose.

“I’ll take care of them, Dad,” he whispered. “I promise. Our family is going to be safe. We protected them today, you and me.”

He felt the sting of tears, but he fought against the grief. Now was the time for cold purpose. Clutching his crude club, he pushed back through the underbrush, poking his head out just enough to see on the other side. When he turned to his right, he spotted Sasha. She was running full tilt in the direction of the trail, toward the sound of Darryl’s crying son. She still had the Beretta in her hand.

Seeing no other choice, Darryl stepped out into the open and started after her. To aim the gun at him, she would have to slow down and turn. He figured that would buy him at least one good second to dive back into cover. However, he tried to run as quietly as possible, moving lightly as he took long strides.

It wasn’t enough. Sasha was clearly athletic, and she had a head start. The distance between them was growing. If she reached his family, it was over. He wouldn’t be able to stop her. Desperate, Darryl knew he had to get her attention somehow.

“Coward,” he shouted, “get back here!” A dumb thing to say, but what did it matter?

She raised the gun and tried to point it behind her without looking. Having no other option, Darryl heaved the branch at her, using the same exact throwing technique that she’d use to chuck the rifle at him. She fired the Beretta, but since she wasn’t looking, her aim was way off. Still, it was close, too close, and Darryl lunged to one side.

The branch went spinning toward her. She must have heard it coming, for she turned back and looked. Seeing the branch flying at her, she raised both arms to deflect it, but her feet got tangled up. Falling, she landed hard on her belly and slid into a tree with a loud huff. The branch hit the ground beside her and tumbled away.

Darryl seized the opportunity, racing toward her. Sasha pushed herself up with her forearms and looked back over her shoulder. They locked eyes, but the gap was closing fast. Her weight was on her arms, but she still had the gun in her right hand. He saw the gun pivot, as she turned it toward him.

He leapt at her, just as she fired. Blood rushing his ears, breath ragged in his lungs, he felt only burning adrenaline in his body at that moment. He had no idea if the bullet had hit him. His leap closed the final few feet. Sasha, realizing he was going to land on top of her, rolled onto her side, bringing the gun up. She wasn’t fast enough.

Darryl crashed down on top of her. He had his arms up in front of him, bent at the elbows, and they crashed into her belly. Then the rest of him came down, slamming on top of her hips and legs. It knocked his breath out, and when his face bounced off his own arms, he saw stars. She fired another shot then, so close it made his ears ring. He didn’t dare take a moment to recover. Immediately, he began clawing at her, trying to get the gun.

“Get off me, you scum,” she snarled. “You redneck. You rube!”

With her free hand, she clawed at his face. He felt her fingernails ripping at his skin, but he focused on getting the gun. He managed to grab her right arm, pinning it against the ground, though she took another wild shot back toward the ravine.

“You will not hurt my family,” he said, his voice cracking. “You will not take anything else from them.”

“I said get off me,” she shouted. She balled up her fist and punched him in the face. He felt a burst of pain in his lips and tasted blood on his tongue. “Do what you’re told, you nobody.”

She continued punching him in the face, but he focused on wresting the gun from her grip. Punches hit his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his eye, his throat. And she was surprisingly strong. He felt blood running down his cheek from a fresh cut above his eye.

And then he had it. The gun popped out of her gloved hand, and he rose, pushing away from her. He fumbled with the Beretta for a second to get a good grip, then he pointed it at her. She bared her teeth at him, snarling like a cornered cat, reaching for the gun with both hands. He pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

You’ve got to be kidding me, he thought. Are there any bullets left in the world?

She sat up then, lunging for him. It startled him enough that he dropped the gun, and she managed to get her hands around his throat.

“These mountains belong to me,” she said. “I’ve claimed them. Do you hear me? They’re all mine!”

Her grip around his throat was fierce, and he found himself unable to take a breath. Still, he had her lower legs pinned beneath him. That, at least, restricted her movement somewhat. As the edges of his vision turned red, the words of his sister came to mind.

It’s not that hard to beat someone to death. If you have to use your bare hands, just apply blunt force trauma to the throat.

He clenched his fist, reached around her arms, and punched her. The first blow was aimed at her throat, but he hit her in the chin instead. Her head rocked back on her shoulders, but somehow, she managed to tighten her grip around his throat. A weird gurgling sound was coming out of his mouth, though he wasn’t making it intentionally. His vision was quickly dimming.

His second punch hit her right in the neck. For a split second, he thought he felt the small bone in her throat against his knuckles. A horrible raspy sound came out of her then, and she released her grip on him. As she fell back, she grabbed the Beretta. He punched her a third time, just as she swung the gun at him. The corner of the metal grip hit him in the temple, and his fist hit her in the right eye.

A burst of pain went through his skull, and he fell backward. He had a sense of her falling the other way, but then he landed on his back and lost sight of her.

“I’m going to kill that shrieking infant,” Sasha said in a raspy voice. “You hear me? It’s the least you deserve.”

She managed to wriggle out from under him. Darryl flopped onto his side and spotted the large branch beside him. He grabbed it in both hands and rose to his feet. Sasha managed to rise at the same time, holding her throat and struggling to take a breath. She sneered at Darryl and turned toward the trail. She managed to take a single step before he brought the branch down. Swinging with all his might, putting every ounce of force into the blow, even as his aching shoulders cried out, he drove the branch into the top of her skull.

His vision was swimming in and out, but he felt the violent jolt go through his whole body at the moment of impact. It started in his wrists, shot up his arms, and went all the way down his spine and through the soles of his feet. Sasha made an awful wet sound as she crumbled to the ground, her now strengthless limbs folding up beneath her.

Darryl stumbled backward and tossed the branch aside. He rubbed his eyes, but the pain in his face made him cry out. When his vision cleared, he looked down and saw Sasha at his feet. She was bleeding freely from the nose and mouth, from her ear, and from the hideous gash caused by the branch. As he watched, the light left her half-lidded eyes. Still, he waited a few seconds before squatting down and pressing fingers the side of her neck.

No pulse. No breathing.

Realizing this, Darryl felt a moment of stomach-churning disgust at what he’d done. But his son was still crying off in the distance.

I did what I had to do, he reminded himself. What Dad would have done.

Licking blood from his lower lip, he stepped over Sasha and headed for the trail and the sound of his son.

35

The cabin was halfway up a slope, on a grassy shelf overlooking the forest. A split-log fence marked the property line—roughly two acres of weedy ground set in a clearing. The mountain trail passed right beside the gate, as if it had been blazed specifically to bring the Healys to their new home. By the time Darryl rounded the last bend and came in sight of the cabin, the sun was setting behind the great mountain peaks west of the cabin, bathing the whole area in a warm light. It couldn’t have been more inviting if an artist had planned that first glimpse.

Still, Darryl was hurting, and he had to stop for a second, catching himself against a tree by the side of the overgrown trail. Sasha had battered him thoroughly. He had a fat lower lip, a couple of good welts on his face, and a deep ache around his right eye that he was sure would turn black in another day or so. Beyond that, he had taken the time to walk all the way back up the ravine, so he could check on each bandit and his father. He’d found no survivors among the scattered bodies in and above the ravine. Every bandit was accounted for. The long process of making sure meant he was thoroughly exhausted, and he needed a minute to catch his breath.

His family had gathered in the big yard in front of the cabin, and the cows were milling around the gate, chomping grass. There was his son, still whimpering but much calmer now. That was a good sign. He pushed off the tree and approached the fence.

As for the cabin itself, it was clear that it hadn’t been used in a long time. The wilderness was pushing in against the walls, wild grass growing up against the wood. However, the structure itself seemed intact. No broken windows. The roof was solid. A big red-brick chimney rose from one end, making him dream of a crackling fire, warm rooms, comfortable beds.

I did it, Dad, he thought again, reaching up to touch his swollen lip. Did you see me, Dad? Did you watch from somewhere? Our family is safe now. We’re home.

He allowed a few tears to fall, quickly brushing them away. Four cows left, but Darryl figured he could head out in a day or two and try to round up the others. He might find some of their lost supplies as well, along with more guns and supplies belonging to the bandits. Plus, he intended to bring his father home. Greg Healy would rest here at the cabin with the family he’d died to save.

Darryl had his work cut out for him, but he didn’t mind. This was his purpose.

As he neared the gate, two of the cows turned and looked up at him. In so doing, however, it was a bit like curtains parting. He saw his family gathered around the porch. It looked like Marion and Emma were unloading supplies from the travois and setting them by the front door. Justine was seated on a bench, feeding the baby, and Horace was sitting in a corner, his back to the porch railing. The travois had already been unfastened from the horse, and the big draft horses had joined the cows to feast upon the overgrown front yard.

Darryl passed through the gate, pushing it shut behind him, and stepped between the cows. Nobody had noticed him yet, but he could tell by the looks on their faces that they were in a miserable state. Grimacing, red-eyed, downcast.

They’re afraid I died, he realized.

He cleared his throat and said, “It’s done.”

His mother whipped around, dropping the medicine box which she’d been lugging. It hit the porch steps and popped open, Tabitha’s smaller box tumbling out. Emma gasped and looked up from the travois, and Justine broke into a big—and very rare—grin.

“Darryl,” Marion cried. “What happened?”

“They’re dead,” he replied. He held up the Beretta, as if to show them evidence. Then he stuffed it into his pocket. “All of them. It’s done.”

As Marion and Emma continued to stare in amazement, Justine rose and came down the porch steps.

“We heard Sasha screaming,” she said, pushing past Emma. She still had the baby in her arms, though she’d wrapped him in a blanket. “A bunch of gunshots. More screaming. But then there was nothing for, like, thirty minutes, and we kept debating whether or not we should go and check on you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving her a big hug that encompassed the baby. “I had to make sure the bandits were all dead. It’s such a mess out there.”

“How did you manage to kill the last of them?” Emma asked, coming down the steps.

“I took your advice,” he replied, making a fist and holding it up.

But she was close enough now to see the bumps and bruises on his face, and she gasped. “What did you do?” she said, in a soft voice—full of awe and fear.

“What I had to,” he replied.

His mother came down the steps then as well, and he saw that she was crying again. Tears had cut tracks through the dust and dirt on her face. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know, but…you went back and checked on him didn’t you…on your father?”

He nodded as his mother approached. Embracing him, she wept against his shoulder. “He died to save us. He died twice, in a way. I can’t believe it.”

“I would have done the same,” Darryl said.

“It was his way,” Marion said, pulling out of the embrace and furiously wiping her cheeks. “Come on. We’d better finish unloading and put the animals in the barn out back. It’ll be night soon.” Sniffing, she settled her face, jaw clenched. Then she turned and went back to the travois, pulling Emma along with her.

Darryl started to follow, but Justine stepped in the way again. Pulling back a fold of the blanket, she revealed the baby’s face. He was sleeping now, looking so peaceful with his fat pink cheeks and little nub of a chin.

“I have a name for him now,” Justine said. “It’s a bit old-fashioned, but it suits him.”

“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” Darryl replied.

“Now, look.” Justine gave him a serious look, eyebrows up, mouth tightening. “I’ve thought about this a lot, so don’t just dismiss it right away. I’m really fixed on this one.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said. “What is it?”

Justine averted her gaze, bit her lip, and said, “Greg. I think his name should be Greg Healy. After the man who died to save us.”

Marion and Emma had just been about to start unloading again, but they came stumbling back, bursting into tears again. Darryl joined them this time, and they all met in a big embrace, encircling the tiny sleeping baby. As Darryl looked past Justine, he saw Horace standing at the porch railing, smiling and nodding.

“Are you okay with it?” Justine asked.

“Absolutely,” Darryl replied.

When he looked down at the baby again, he saw that his son’s eyes were open, and he was currently jamming his stubby fingers into his mouth. Darryl stroked a fat cheek with his gloved finger.

“Hello, Greg Healy,” he said. “Welcome home.”

“Hello, Greg,” Marion said. “You’re going to have a safe and happy life. I promise. It’s what your grandfather wanted for you.”

“It’s what he gave you,” Justine added.

36

Six Years Later

The front yard was full of lazing cows, as usual. Sometimes, Darryl or Emma took them down the trail to graze in a clearing, or up the slope to a grassy place above the property line. However, they seemed to like the yard best. On beautiful afternoons like this, Horace liked to sit on his rocking chair in a corner of the porch and watch them. It was warmer now, but his frail body was cold most of the time anyway, so he always put on his heavy coat, gloves, and boots. However, they were in the heat of summer now, and he felt bold enough to remove his gloves and set them aside.

“It’s twenty-five, twenty-six degrees, I’ll wager,” he muttered, though he was the only one on the porch at the moment.

He slept quite a bit these days, but the Healys were always accommodating. Even now, as he began to drift toward sleep, he heard the front door open. Emma stepped outside. Unlike him, she wore only a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. He was amazed all over again at how much she’d grown in the last six years. Sometimes, he got confused and thought she was her mother.

“I brought you some hot tea, sir,” she said.

As she approached, he noticed the steaming enamelware cup in her hands. She set it on the small table beside his chair, and he reached for it.

“That’s awfully nice of you,” he said.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Oh, no,” he replied. He took a sip of tea, but it was just a bit too hot at the moment. “I’m perfectly fine to sit here and enjoy myself. I was thinking about taking me a little nap, but I’ll stay up for the tea.”

“Okay, but you just call for one of us if you need anything,” she said.

Emma went down the steps into the yard. A moment later, Horace heard the squeals of a tiny voice, and suddenly little Greg burst through the open door and went capering down the steps after his aunt. He was a little past six years old, and he was a bundle of energy. Horace could already see a lot of the grandfather in him. Same blond hair, blue eyes, same smile.

All of his clothes were handmade, of course. There were precious few stores in the wilderness of British Columbia. Indeed, at the moment, he was wearing a long shirt and pants that looked like they’d been made from a bedsheet. His shoes were crude moccasins. Horace had helped Emma make them.

“Papa, Papa, look at me,” Greg said, spinning circles in the yard.

“Oh, I see you,” Horace replied. “You’ll make yourself dizzy like that.”

“I know. It’s fun!” And then he stopped and cast himself onto the grass, arms and legs spread wide. “Whoa, the whole world is spinning and spinning!”

Horace often marveled at the amazing view they had from the porch. Because the cabin was set partway up a slope, they had an expansive view all the way to the vast gray mountains crowning the horizon. Of course, they’d done a lot of work on the cabin and grounds over the years, and it looked better than ever. Repairs had been made, and they’d cleared a bit more ground around them so they had some breathing room.

For a man like Horace, who had very few wants in life, it was paradise. He spent most of his time, even in his declining condition, feeling content. Now and again, of course, when his mind decided to wander, he would think of Tabitha and what might have been, and he’d feel a little moment of regret. But then he reminded himself of how much more they could have lost, and that always pulled him out of it.

Marion understood. And as she stepped out onto the porch, she gave him that knowing little look that she often did. “How are you doing this afternoon, Papa?” she asked.

“Got my tea. Got my chair. Got my family. That’s all I need.” He took another sip of tea. Emma had sweetened it with some wild honey, and it tasted amazing.

“You said it,” Marion replied, reaching over to briefly grasp his shoulder.

She headed down the steps. Emma was already at the well in the far corner of the lot, pumping water into a bucket. Marion moved to join her, but she diverted course first. Horace knew where she was headed, of course. She always liked to pay her respects when she stepped into the yard. The beautiful headstones for Greg and Tabitha were located in a small fenced area to one side. Marion approached, stood there for a moment with her head bowed, then smiled and walked away.

Soon, she was helping her daughter fill the trough with water, as the cows converged around them. Little Greg was now running back and forth from fence to fence, squealing with delight. “Can we ride the horses soon, Grandma? I want to ride the horses?”

“We’ll feed them in a little bit,” Marion said. “Do you want to help me do that?”

“Yeah,” the boy said, jumping up and down. “Can we ride them while they’re eating?”

“Maybe afterward,” Marion said.

The last members of the family appeared then. Justine and Darryl came through the door and crossed the porch. Horace thought Darryl looked quite imposing with his full beard. It matched his personality. The young man had boundless will and determination for getting things done, and he was always working on some project to improve the house, expand the property, boost their food supplies, or whatever else came to mind.

Even now, as he crossed the porch, he was in the middle of explaining to Justine his plan to expand their garden in the back yard. “We’ve got a few old tree stumps back there. If I can get the horses to pull them out of the ground, we could expand in that direction, add a few rows.”

“We need to grow more potatoes,” Justine said. “We’ve got way more radishes and turnips than we could ever eat.”

“You got it,” he replied.

Justine was holding the baby of the family, two-year-old Tabby, a chubby little thing with long, black hair like her mother. She began to thrash now, so Justine set her down. Immediately, she chased after Greg, her long dress swishing around her sandaled feet. Her dress had been made from fabric they’d looted from the bandits years earlier. Indeed, they’d gotten quite a bit of useful stuff from those awful people: lots of clothes, fabric, knives, guns, bullets, and more.

As the children ran around, Darryl hooked his hands into claws and made monster noises. He chased after them, as they giggled and pretended to be scared. But when he cornered them against the fence, he wrapped them in a big embrace and lifted them both off the ground. He kissed them on the head one at a time and set them down.

Horace smiled. It was one of those perfect little moments, and he’d had so many of them in the last six years. They’d left the old world behind and found a little paradise of their own here in the mountains. Maybe someday the young ones would have to trek back to civilization for supplies or simply to meet other people. As for Horace, he knew he would spend his last days right here, comfortable and well-loved. He took another sip of his tea and watched the children resume capering about the yard. Another beautiful day.

End of Survive the Journey

EMP: Return of the Wild West Book Three

PS: Do you love prepper fiction? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from Erupting Trouble and Escaping Conflict.

Thank you!

Thank you for purchasing ‘Survive the Journey’

(EMP: Return of the Wild West Book Three)

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About Grace Hamilton

Grace Hamilton is the prepper pen-name for a bad-ass, survivalist momma-bear of four kids, and wife to a wonderful husband. After being stuck in a mountain cabin for six days following a flash flood, she decided she never wanted to feel so powerless or have to send her kids to bed hungry again. Now she lives the prepper lifestyle and knows that if SHTF or TEOTWAWKI happens, she’ll be ready to help protect and provide for her family.

Combine this survivalist mentality with a vivid imagination (as well as a slightly unhealthy day dreaming habit) and you get a prepper fiction author. Grace spends her days thinking about the worst possible survival situations that a person could be thrown into, then throwing her characters into these nightmares while trying to figure out "What SHOULD you do in this situation?"

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BLURB

A father with a heart problem and a son determined to get him home…

Matthew Riley wants to believe that people will come together in times of great struggle, but as panic and chaos set in after a massive EMP event, he has to face the fact that the only people he can trust are his family. His ailing father, David, an Army vet, has the skills the Riley family needs to survive in the dark new world, but with no medication for his heart condition on hand, keeping him alive may be an impossible task as they journey home from what was supposed to be a simple day trip.

She’ll keep her daughter safe and reunite her family…

Kathleen doesn’t share her husband’s optimistic view of humanity. When the power goes out during a visit to her brother in prison, she and her teenage daughter will need to find their way out and start the long journey back to Galena, IL, in the hope they can reunite with the rest of their family.

They’ll defend their home…

With the rest of the Riley family gone, it’s up to Ruth and her grandson, Patton, to keep their newly renovated hotel safe for the family they know is coming their way. But food is running low and some see an elderly woman and a pre-teen boy as easy pickings.

In a broken civilization the only way to survive is strength in numbers. One family is determined to work together in this new world, but will they be able to defend themselves against desperate survivors?

Get your copy of Erupting Trouble

Available April 7th, 2021

(Available for pre-order now.)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

* * *

EXCERPT

Chapter One

From his spot in the cashier’s line of Wilson’s Antiques, Matthew Riley smiled at the gorgeous expanse of blue sky that he could see outside the shop’s windows. It was turning out to be a beautiful day, and not just because of the spring Wisconsin weather: he’d junk-hunted through rickety wooden chairs and strange metal plush seats from the ’60s, and had found the perfect set of green velvet chairs. They’d be perfect decor for the hotel's summertime grand opening. Even his daughter, Allison, would think them retro-cool instead of outdated-gross. The ticket to claim and purchase rested in his palm.

“If this line moves any slower, I might keel over,” David grumbled beside him. His father wasn’t wrong—it seemed a lot of people had the same idea of taking advantage of the weather to hunt for trash turned to treasure. They were near the back of the line, and up ahead, the cashier was doing her best to keep the line moving.

“We have nowhere else to be,” Matthew told his father. “You can consider this mission a success. We found everything we came for here.”

“And some things we didn’t expect to find. What is this thing, anyway?” David asked, gesturing to the items in the basket Matthew held.

“It’s an old-timey coffee grinder,” Matthew said.

“Could just buy a new one,” David responded, peering at the squat wooden box with a rotating handle. “Looks like a Jack in the Box. Remember those toys?”

“It’s about the aesthetic. The River Rock Hotel is a mountain resort, and that’s what our guests will expect. We won’t use it, but doesn’t it look cool? People will imagine what it was like, exploring the mountains and finding ways to get their morning joe while watching the sun come over the mountain.”

“Should’ve kept my coffee grinder from when I was a young man. It might not have had the same aesthetic, but at least it worked and looked old. You could’ve used that for free instead of paying twenty bucks for something that cost fifty cents back in the day.”

“Fifty cents might’ve been the same amount as twenty bucks,” Matthew said. The lights above flickered, almost as if someone was playing with the light switch. “It’s called inflation, Dad.”

David snorted a laugh. His blue eyes crinkled in amusement. The lights continued to stutter, casting a dim flickering glow over the customers. Then, with a sudden bright surge like the bulbs had been pushed to their max, the store fell into darkness. Around him, the customers in line groaned.

“Sorry, folks,” the cashier said in a loud voice. “Looks like we lost power, again.”

A collective groan rose louder than the first.

“We’ll just wait for it to kick back on, and then we’d be happy to give you all a 10% discount for your patience and understanding,” the cashier finished. She pushed straggling hair off her forehead and had the look of a rabbit caught in a trap.

“I can’t wait for you to get your store back in order," one woman near the front said. "You should be prepared for this. It’s Madison, for goodness sake. The electricity is always unreliable in the spring.”

“It figures,” a young man said to his friend just in front of Matthew. “These kinds of shops aren’t investing in tech or updating their contingency plans in case something happens. Something like this could send them under. You need to take steps to ensure you aren’t losing your customer base just because the electricity goes out. The winter ice must've done a number on their infrastructure.”

Some of the customers rolled their eyes and pulled out their phones as the grumbling continued, and Matthew sighed, wondering if he should speak up. He understood why everyone was frustrated—the world was a hustle-and-bustle kind of economy, where listless time meant money lost or accomplishments not achieved. Still, the poor cashier looked flushed and stressed, and Matthew tended to have a strong, soothing personality. If everyone just understood that they were in the same boat, things would calm down. Matthew had found, over his years, that people had good hearts that got lost underneath the go-go-go life they all lived. Sometimes it just took a little nudge for everyone to remember that goodness. He opened his mouth.

“Don’t even think about it,” David said under his breath to him. Matthew gave his father an irritated, if fond, look. The two of them were so similar, yet their experiences had shaped them into two very different men.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Matthew said, but even he could hear the lie in his voice. “While we’re waiting, I’ll check in on Kathleen.” He pulled out his phone and dialed his wife, wanting to keep her abreast of the situation. She'd been on his mind all morning. He knew today would be hard on her.

“She’s inside a prison,” David said to him gently. “I bet neither she nor Allison can answer. Especially during visitation hours.”

Matthew kept the phone to his ear, but he couldn’t hear anything. The phone was eerily silent. He ended the call with a frown. His battery was fully charged. Why wouldn’t the call go through? “It’s not that. The call doesn’t even go anywhere.”

David shrugged, even as he pulled out his much older cell phone. “This old building probably has too much concrete blocking the signal, plus the electricity is out. Maybe a tower’s down. I don’t have signal either.”

“It’s all right. I just wanted to check in with her. It’s tough for her, seeing her brother locked up. I feel bad not being there with her.”

“You can’t be in two places at once. She’ll be all right,” David said. “Plus, the hotel is like having another child. You were needed here.”

Matthew swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, steering the conversation back into familiar territory with a joke. “At least it’s a child we’re raising together.”

“The most time-consuming money-sink of a child I've ever had."

Matthew smirked, knowing his father liked to pretend the hotel hadn't given him some purpose in his retirement years. "You fuss over the place more than I do."

"Never thought I’d be a retiree,” David mused and scratched at his temple. He had the same sandy-blonde hair as Matthew, only his was cut military style and had been for decades. “In all honesty, opening this hotel together will be as good for me as it is for you.”

“It’s been Kathleen’s and my dream for a while now. It’s about time we took the steps to make it happen. I'm glad you and Mom decided to be part of that dream too.” Matthew paused. “I know we told Mom we’d be back early this afternoon to help her and Patton clean up the rooms, but they’ll understand why we might be late.”

David grinned. “Patton’s probably driving Ruth up the wall.”

“Hey, he elected to stay behind and help clean.” Matthew held his hands up, palms out. “Sometimes I don’t understand that child of mine. I wouldn’t be caught dead having to clean, especially on a nice day like this.”

"Oh yeah, as opposed to shopping, which has always been something boys enjoy."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny."

Up ahead, the cashier held her hands around her mouth. “Hi there, valuable customers! Since the power doesn’t seem like it’s coming back on right away, we are going to ring out customers with cash purchases only. If you have a cash purchase, please form a new line to the right.”

“Are you serious?” the woman near the front yelled. She walked out of line and around the numerous displays, leaving her pile of things in the middle of the store. “You’ve just lost my business.”

“I’m with that lady,” another man seconded, and abandoned his items.

"I'd be more than happy to put your purchases on hold until tomorrow," the cashier said, her face crumbled with distress.

"You think I'd ever come back to a mismanaged establishment like this?" The bell above the door jingled as the woman stormed out.

“That’s uncalled for,” David said, his gruff voice low. “No need to be rude.”

“They’re just frustrated.” Matthew released a sigh and looked down to his basket. “I don’t have much cash on me. Not enough to get the chairs, that’s for sure.”

David bit his lip as most of the customers left their items strewn about the store or dumped on displays. “Maybe we should come back when things aren’t so hostile.”

“Yeah, this poor lady has enough to deal with. Let’s go put our things back. The furniture hasn’t been pulled yet.” Matthew ran a hand through his short, wavy hair, and placed the coffee grinder back on the shelf.

He turned a watchful eye on his father, who was placing a few art deco hinges and doorknobs back, and searched for any signs of distress. It had been a couple of hours, after all.

“This whole thing has been a bust,” he said to David. “Feel like heading home? We can try again another day.” He shouldn’t push his father to keep going and explore the other antique shops in Madison.

“You read my mind.” David rubbed his gnarled hands together as if to warm them. His eyes skittered around the shop, always taking in his surroundings. Old habits died hard. Matthew nodded, and together they walked out into the bright sunny day.

The warmth hit Matthew’s face, dispelling his worry over his wife and daughter. It was hard to be upset on a day like today. Together, David and Matthew headed to Matthew’s silver truck—a couple years old, but still up to date. They hopped in the truck’s cab, and Matthew clipped his seatbelt before reaching to start the car by hitting the button.

Usually, a green light flashed at him when the car started up and his phone connected to the Bluetooth. Now, the light flashed yellow. With a frown, he pulled out the key fob from his pocket and held the angular piece to the button. The button flashed green, indicating the key was near, but when Matthew tried to turn the car on, nothing happened. “C’mon,” Matthew said, pressing the button again. “You have to be kidding me.”

“I’ll go check it out.” David laughed, opening the truck door to get out.

“There’s no way,” Matthew said, holding the fob closer to the button, only now, no colored light flashed to even indicate the key was present. He didn’t hear any clicking or whirring indicating that the system knew he was in the car. He followed his father out of the cab and popped the hood.

David lifted the hood up and hooked it open. Matthew bit back the admonishment to be careful. Ever since his heart attack, his father had been sensitive to Matthew’s hovering. David poked at the looping wires bundled along the engine, checked a few things that Matthew had no idea what they did—a master’s in business did not a mechanic make.

“What’s it look like?” Matthew asked.

“I can’t see anything wrong,” David said slowly. “Probably left an interior light on that drained the battery. Happens to the best of us. You’re low on washer fluid.”

“What should we do?” Matthew looked around and saw that despite the exodus of people from the shop, a lot of cars still filled the parking lot. “Call a tow?”

“If you have signal. Honestly, we should go back inside and see if anyone can give us a jump.”

“Good idea.” Matthew smiled at his father. “I’m sure someone will help us out.”

David patted Matthew on the back, and together they turned to head back inside Wilson’s Antiques.

Get your copy of Erupting Trouble

Available April 7th, 2021

(Available for pre-order now.)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

BLURB

They must adapt in order to survive when the lights go out.

After leaving college, Elna Pasqualee is determined to bring her family’s California vineyard into the twenty-first century. She hopes her diligent efforts will finally earn her father’s respect and keep visitors safe and comfortable.

But all her hopes for the future are dashed with the EMP attack.

Broadcasts offer only a brief warning before missile strikes wipe out all power and communications across North America. The idyllic setting on the private island quickly sours as food and water to sustain the Pasqualees and their guests grow scarce and life becomes a fight for survival. A fight further complicated when they are cut off from the mainland – and an unexpected assailant threatens their lives.

Someone is stalking one of the guests, hiding out on the island and sabotaging Elna’s desperate efforts to sustain their source of fresh water. When her father goes missing and another guest is gravely injured, remaining on the island isn’t an option.

But even if they reach the mainland, there are no longer guarantees of safety in a world where science and reason have descended into post-apocalyptic anarchy.

And survival of the fittest reigns supreme.

Grab your copy of Escaping Conflict (Island Refuge EMP Book One) from
www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

* * *

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Elna loved walking the orderly rows of their vineyard, where the trellis posts and tops of the wires seemed to stand at attention as she passed, like soldiers at inspection. There was a beautiful simplicity in it, though she knew there was a complex and exacting science behind the design—which made her love it all the more.

It was, in her opinion, the perfect time of day, with the sun burnishing the distant waves and casting long shadows over the island. It made the tasting room—a faux-rustic building, all aged oak and sturdy beams—seem almost to glow. The vineyard was on a slight slope, and as she worked the rows with her pruning shears, constantly kneeling, squatting, and standing, she felt the growing stiffness in her shoulders and legs.

As she often did when she worked alone, she had her earbuds in and was currently listening—well, half-listening—to a rather dull NPR interview on her phone. She preferred talk to music. It gave the restless part of her mind—the part that needed to think, consider, solve—something to focus on when she was doing repetitive tasks.

She had just rounded a bend and turned into the last row of vines when the interview abruptly cut off. After a moment of silence, there was a harsh squawk, and then a different voice cut in. Elna reached up to remove the earbuds, but just as her finger touched the wire, the new speaker’s words caught her attention.

“Breaking news. NORAD has issued a high priority warning confirming that missiles have been launched from multiple locations in the Korean peninsula, some of which are thought to be EMP missiles. According to the warning, EMP missiles work by detonating in the atmosphere. The intent is to disable electronics. The missiles were launched five minutes ago. Interceptor missiles have been launched in an attempt to minimize the attack, but this is”—the speaker’s voice cracked—”this is a massive attack involving dozens of missiles that could…potentially impact the whole of North America.”

Elna rose, the pruning shears slipping from her grasp. Was this some sort of War of the Worlds hoax? It had to be. How was such a strike even possible? Wouldn’t they have known about the threat long before the missiles were launched?

“It can’t be,” she muttered. But some deeper, more analytical part of her mind responded: Of course, it can.

“Anyone listening to this broadcast is advised to seek shelter immediately,” the voice continued. “We will provide more information as it becomes available. Again, we have confirmed an EMP missile strike targeting the U.S. from multiple positions in the Korean peninsula. If you are hearing this broadcast, take shelter immediately.”

Elna looked to the west. She had a clear view down a gradual slope toward the water’s edge. If the U.S. military was launching a counter-strike, would she see something? It was unlikely, but she scanned the cloudless sky for a few seconds anyway until the bright sun forced her to turn away. The voice in her ears was repeating the same message, so she pulled the earbuds out and tucked them into her shirt pocket.

What’s the speed of an intercontinental EMP missile anyway? she wondered, heart racing. How much time do we have?

Questions she intended to address, but first her father needed to know what was happening. Faintly, she heard voices coming from inside the building—a burst of laughter followed by the deep voice of her father. Elna hurried up the slope toward the back door. As she did, she put one of the earbuds back in. A different voice was sharing the same information, as if the first speaker had been overcome with emotion and had to step away.

As she passed beneath the awning at the back of the building and reached for the polished brass door handle, the endless voice in her ear offered a new vital bit of information.

“Estimated flight time for the first missiles is just over thirty minutes,” the speaker said. “Homeland Security is telling people to prepare for prolonged power outages and interruption of services.”

Elna repeated the information as she stepped inside the tasting room. “Estimated flight time,” she said, thinking out loud, “just over thirty minutes. But the news is probably a few minutes behind, and five minutes had already passed. How much time does that leave us?”

Her self-talk drew the attention of everyone in the room. The tasting room was a large open space dominated by an L-shaped bar of polished oak. A few decorative barrels were scattered about, but otherwise, the room was largely unadorned. At the moment, her father was behind the bar, frozen in mid-pour, with three guests sitting on stools before their wine glasses. George Pasqualee was wiry like his daughter, but he had a protruding gut—the consequence of a fondness for enjoying the family product. His face was craggy, had a perpetual reddish tinge, and he maintained a generous, well-groomed mustache. If not for the rather harsh glint in his eye, he would have seemed like a folksy fellow. At the moment, however, he was clearly annoyed at being interrupted by his daughter.

“Pardon us,” he said.

“Pop, turn on the news right now,” Elna said, trying to ignore Selene Bondere’s gaze. Elna had met each of the current guests already, and if there was one she’d taken a disliking to, it was Selene. “This is bad. Really bad.” She pointed at a small TV hanging in the corner behind the bar. “You have to hear it for yourselves.”

Selene glared at her like Elna’s inadvertent intrusion on her father’s wine tasting ritual was an attack. In her loose floral-print dress, her brand-new Birkenstocks, Selene was the quintessential New Age faux-hippie, a wannabe flower child who worked as a fortune teller. At least, that was Elna’s read of her. Her age was impossible to gauge. The combination of big cheeks with a lined forehead made her seem both childlike and weathered with age. She had big brown eyes, but crow’s feet sprang from the outer corners.

As always, the woman had her tiny white Bichon Frise dog tucked in the crook of her right arm. Selene’s profession alone went against everything Elna believed in, but under the “peace and love” vibe, there was a deep anxiety or unhappiness that showed in the tightness of her facial features.

“Right now?” her father said. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle—?”

“Yes, right now,” Elna said. “It doesn’t matter what you’re in the middle of doing. Everyone needs to hear this.”

Something in her voice must have gotten to him, because his annoyance melted into a gape-mouthed look of alarm. As he turned toward the television, Malin, another one of the guests, pulled his phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket and held it up.

“My God,” he said. “Look at this! We’re dead meat.”

Malin Weber was the kind of guy who wore colorful t-shirts and cargo shorts with a suit jacket—a gold-ring-with-white-sneakers type. He turned in his seat and showed his phone to the man sitting next to him, his best man. Both of them were stuck on the island after oversleeping and missing their flight home, refugees from Malin’s bachelor party the day before.

“Garret, are you reading this?” he said.

Garret was a stockier fellow in a lime-green polo shirt. “Missiles from Korea?” Garret said, as if he’d never heard the words before. “Impacting all of North America? No way. Dude, it can’t be real.”

By then, her father had found a national news network, which was in the middle of broadcasting a CGI depiction of the missiles being launched from North Korea and crossing the Pacific. Dozens of missiles.

This is really happening, Elna told herself, waiting for the reality of it to sink in. This is happening right now!

“Pop, we have to round up the other guests,” she said.

As always, her first instinct was deal with the problem. Even if it hadn’t sunk in yet, her analytical mind was already looking for solutions. Her father read the captions on the muted television a moment longer before turning to his daughter and nodding.

“The other three are outside,” she told him. “They were strolling around the vineyard while I was pruning.”

“I’ll go and get them,” he said, stepping out from behind the bar. His voice was shaking. George Pasqualee’s voice never shook. “Everyone, please stay here.”

He rushed out of the room, smoothing his thinning hair back as he went. Immediately, all three guests turned and looked at Elna.

Waiting for someone to tell them what to do, she realized. It was a bit more responsibility than she was comfortable with.

“Okay, uh…let’s wait until the others get back,” she said, moving across the room to stand at the end of the bar. “It won’t take more than a few minutes. Then we can decide what to do.”

Selene shook her head, loosening the sisal flower scrunchie holding her long brown hair. She held her dog a little tighter. The Bichon Frise gave a bark of disapproval. “Are we not going to consider the possibility that this is some kind of prank? When someone gets on TV and says that all of North America is about to be nuked, are we just supposed to accept it? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

“It’s not one person,” Malin said, flipping through screens on his phone. “It’s every single news source on the web, plus a message from the Emergency Alert System.” He turned the phone to show her the screen, but she didn’t look at it. “It’s real.”

“But we’re on an island,” Selene said. “Surely it won’t reach us.”

“We’re ten miles off the California coast,” Malin said. “They’re saying the EMP blast could reach all the way up to Northern Canada and as far south as Mexico City. I don’t think ten miles of water is going to protect us.”

“EMPs are bad news,” Garret said. He picked up a half-filled glass of red wine and downed it in a single gulp. “I’ve read a thing or two about them. How did this happen without us knowing in advance? What has the CIA been doing? Twiddling their greasy thumbs?”

“I don’t know,” Malin replied, “but I’ve gotta get back to the mainland. I need to be with Claire.”

He stood up, as if he intended to leave right then and there.

“Just wait,” Elna said. “Don’t go anywhere. Let’s get everyone together first, okay?”

He glanced at her, frowned, then sat down again, defeated. “Thirty minutes would get me across the causeway to the mainland, but then what? I’ll never get on a plane in time. Oh, man, this is bad.” Following his best man’s example, he downed his glass of wine.

A few quiet minutes passed before she heard the door in the lobby open and close, voices moving down the hall toward the tasting room. Soon, her father came into the room, leading three chattering guests.

They had just turned toward the bar when the lights flickered rapidly—as if someone were turning them on and off repeatedly. After a couple seconds, they went out completely. Then the refrigerator behind the bar gave a soft sigh and went silent, and a flash of yellow shone through the east-facing windows. Outside the windows, Elna saw a shower of sparks raining down from the power lines that fed into the guesthouse.

In the silence that followed, the late afternoon sun seemed to burn with a peculiar strength, casting the room in a fiery orange light. The silence was broken when Selene suddenly screamed and pushed away from the bar, stumbling backward with her dog wrapped in both arms.

“No, it hasn’t been thirty minutes,” she said. “They said thirty minutes. It can’t happen yet! It can’t be real!”

This set her dog off, who began to bark like he was being killed. The frantic barking was ear-piercing in the small room, and Elna had to fight an urge to cover her ears.

“Please, someone shut that dog up,” Garret snarled. “It’s hard to think with all that yapping.”

“He can’t help it,” Selene said. “He’s afraid!”

“We’re all afraid,” Garret snapped, “but we’re not screaming at the top of our lungs for no reason.”

As Selene petted the dog in an attempt to get him to calm down, Elna reached under the bar and picked up the landline phone that was stored on a shelf there. She lifted the receiver to her ear but got no dial tone. She turned on the nearby FM radio, but it didn’t work either. No static, no response, the little red light didn’t even come on.

“I’m telling you, that dog is driving me nuts,” Garret said.

Malin placed a hand on his best man’s arm, but Garret shook it off. Elna’s father pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the blank screen, as if he were unaware of the tension. Clearly, he still intended Elna to take charge of the room. With a sigh, she stepped up on a small footstool behind the bar so all of the guests could see her. She wasn’t sure what to say, and her heart was pounding so fiercely that she’d become light-headed.

Pop, say something. Do something. Put away the stupid phone and get a handle on this situation.

“Um…okay, everyone,” she said, but her voice cracked. “Let’s not panic.”

The barking of the Bichon Frise had finally stopped, but only because Selene had covered her dog’s mouth with her hand. Elna heard muttering, whimpering, and cursing all over the room. Only Malin was dead silent now, clenching and unclenching his fists on the bar top.

“We need to come up with a plan,” Elna said. A task which would have been a lot easier if there hadn’t been so many chattering people in the room. She could scarcely think.

Her father tossed his cell phone onto the bar. “It’s dead,” he said. “Can’t call out. Can’t even get the screen to light up.”

She was about to ask him what they should do when he signaled for her to continue.

“We need a plan,” she said again, all too aware that every eye was on her.

“Can we get off the island?” Malin asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Elna said. “The drawbridges are designed so that if the power goes out, counterweights cause them to automatically rise. It’s so boats can pass.”

Malin clapped a hand to his own forehead. “So we’re stuck here for how long?”

“Until power is restored,” Elna said.

At this, the room went dead silent. Even the dog had finally stopped making noise, as Selene paced back and forth in front of the west-facing windows, drawing her long shadow across the room. Afternoon was giving way to evening all too quickly, the orange light taking on a slight purplish hue.

“We need a—” Elna almost said it a third time but caught herself.

“It’s no use,” Garret said, interrupting her. “It’ll be night soon. We can’t do anything but light candles. If the power’s not restored by tomorrow morning—and it won’t be—then we can take inventory of what you’ve got on the island.”

“We have a powered water pump system,” Elna said, “with a backup generator. We’ve got canned food.”

“How much?” Garret asked.

Elna pictured the food pantry in her mind. How much would it last the handful of people on the island? “Maybe a week’s worth,” she said. “Plus, we have a stocked freezer and a small garden. We’re not a big operation here, as you all know, but we’re not without means.”

“And we have plenty of wine,” her father added.

Selene groaned loudly. “So we just have to stay put for the night with no idea what’s happened in the rest of the country? With no electricity? No phones?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Elna replied, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. She almost succeeded. All of this would have been so much easier without the guests. She dreaded having to deal with them if the problem persisted. She wasn’t good around people. “I’m afraid so. I think Garret’s right. In the morning, we can figure out what to do.”

“We get off this island is what we do,” Malin said. “We swim, we float on a log, we do whatever we have to do, but we get off this island. That’s it. I have a fiancée to return to. She’s all the way in Las Vegas, and she’s waiting for me.” To punctuate his point, he smacked the bar with his hand loudly enough to make Elna flinch.

Dabbing a sheen of sweat off her upper lip, she gazed through the west windows. The sun was dropping too fast. Night was in a hurry to arrive, ready to cast them into its hopeless dark. She shuddered at the thought.

Reassure the guests, dummy, she scolded herself. That’s your job.

“It’s okay, folks,” she said. “We have comfortable accommodations for you tonight. We’ll figure this all out in the morning.”

Her father had an uneasy smile plastered on his face, but he nodded at her and gave her a thumbs-up. Clearly, he wanted to reassure her that she’d handled it well, but she didn’t feel reassured. Not at all.

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