Retribution: An EMP Survival Story (EMP Aftermath Series Book 3) Read online

  After the crowd dispersed, Andrew took a deep breath and seemed to collect himself. "We were almost home. Everything was going good until then. We sold almost all of the liquor to a riverboat captain at Huntington. He paid us in gold coins, more than we expected. Then we left Huntington and went to Malden and bought as much salt as we could carry back with us on the wagons. Everybody in the caravan was so happy. The trip was a success. We had some gold and even some whiskey left over after buying the salt.

  "We’d just left Malden and were on our way home. It was getting dark out so we camped a few miles outside of town. That's where they got us. They ambushed us. I think there were four or five of them. They shot the Joker's Hangmen guards while we were all eating supper around the campfire. We never had a chance to fight back. And my--"

  "Damn it, Andrew! What about Sarah? Where is she? Is she alive?" Kenny asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

  "She's alive. But... I don't know where they took her. Those men stole the horses and anything else they wanted from the caravan and then tied us up. They threw Sarah and me over saddles and brought us to a building somewhere. I had a bag over my head. I don't know where it was but it was dark and... I just don't know. They took Sarah away somewhere, and then they put me in these clothes and chained me up with some other prisoners in the boxcar of a train. They made me drink something that tasted foul... a drug I think. It made me sick. I don't know what it was. I was so high and jittery, it was terrible. I couldn't tell where I was until the train stopped and they unloaded me at a prison.

  "There was a fight between a prisoner and the guards when they were unloading us. While the guards were distracted I buried myself in the engine's coal bin. I didn't know where the train would take me, I just wanted to get out of there," Andrew said. Tears streamed down his face, washing the coal dust away in streaks. "Kenny, we have to find my sister!"

  "When did this happen? How long ago?" Kenny asked.

  "Two days ago? Maybe three. I don't know. It's hard to tell. My mind’s still hazy from the drugs."

  "You were smart to hide and get out of there. We’re lucky you made it back, or we might never have found out about this. Where’d this happen? The ambush, can you show me exactly where you were on a map?" Dutch asked.

  "I think so. I know which roads we took after Malden, but everything after the ambush is foggy," Andrew said.

  Kenny's chest felt like it would cave in, it was so difficult to breathe. All he could think about was Sarah, worried that she was hurt or in pain somewhere. He felt helpless and out of control. Where was she? How would he find her? He would go to the last place that Andrew still knew his location. After that... he just had to have faith that he could pick up her trail. "Let's get a map. Show me where you think the ambush happened. I'm going after her," Kenny said.

  "Slow down a minute, Kenny," Dutch said. "You can't just rush over there without planning--"

  "No. I'm not waiting. No planning or thinking. I can do all of that in the saddle. Andrew’s going to show me where they were on a map and then I'm going right now to get her back. I'm stopping at home to get guns and supplies. I’m sure my mother will want to come with me too. If you can send someone with us I would appreciate the help, but I can't wait. Sarah’s in danger," Kenny said, his dry throat making his voice crack.

  "This couldn't have happened at a worse time. I just got a note from Chief Howell this morning, he's gone off somewhere, but he didn't say where. Roy has half of the Joker's Hangmen out on a supply mission a hundred miles from here. Your father is away fighting a forest fire. With four of my best men killed in the ambush, I'll be damned if we can handle any more trouble here in town than what we just had. We're spread thin, Kenny. I don't know how many men we can send to look into this right now," Dutch said."

  "I'm going to go with you," Andrew said.

  "You're in no shape to go. Dutch, just tell the chief and my dad what happened when they get back. My mom and I can take care of ourselves. Andrew said there were only four of them. They got the drop on the caravan, but they won't catch us with our guard down. We can handle ourselves."

  "I just wish you would wait a bit. Another day won't kill--"

  Rage filled him. What didn't Dutch understand? This was Sarah, the woman he loved. "No. I'm going now," he snapped.

  Dutch drew back defensively and put his open hands in the air. "OK. I didn't mean anything by it, Kenny. I just don't want you to put yourself in danger too. I'll let your father and Chief Howell know what happened. Come over to the shop and we'll put you on a fresh horse so you can ride hard and get home fast."

  "Thanks, Dutch," Kenny said.

  Kicking himself for letting Sarah go with the caravan, he stormed over to the motorcycle club following Dutch. He would go through hell and back to find Sarah and bring her home. The thought of something happening to her sickened him and filled him with a burning rage. Those men. If they'd laid a hand on her, he'd kill them. The thought of losing her... he just couldn't lose her. His feet were ahead of his mind and he found himself almost at the club, leaving Dutch far behind as he helped Andrew limp along. He wanted to get the horse and get out of here, now.

  They couldn't wait for reinforcements. Sarah's life was on the line. By the time they got a posse together of people that were worth bringing, it would be too late. Besides, a large posse would alert the highwaymen. They might slip away and escape capture. He would go home and get his mother. She was the only one who would understand how he felt and understand what he needed to do. She was the only help he needed. Danny was old enough to watch over the farm while they were gone. His mind raced, creating a list of all the things he would need to bring. Rifles, pistols, ammo, knives, outdoor gear, and oats for the horses.

  It was better if just his mother and he went after Sarah. A woman and her son traveling through the countryside wouldn't draw as much attention as a big group of heavily armed men thundering down the road. It would be obvious that group was a posse in pursuit of the caravan's raiders.

  They would keep a low profile and be on the lookout for trouble. The highwaymen were probably preying on easy targets like the caravan. Four guards hadn't been enough. He needed to go to the site of the ambush and see for himself what had happened. There had to be some clue left behind as to where the bandits had gone. The stolen horses would leave hoof prints behind, and Kenny could track anything with four legs.

  "Are you sure about this, Kenny? What if you get there and you find more outlaws than you can handle?" Dutch asked.

  "If we're outgunned we won't engage them. We'll go and get help from a nearby town. We'll find local law enforcement and ask for help. Nobody likes highwaymen."

  "Fair enough. I feel terrible about this, Kenny, but Chief Howell made me promise I wouldn't budge an inch from Wheeler while he's gone. If we left the town unprotected and something happened here he'd never forgive me," Dutch said.

  "I understand. This isn't your fault, Dutch. Take care of Andrew and stop by our farm if you can to check in on Danny while my mother and I are gone." Kenny followed Dutch through the stables next to the motorcycle club. Dutch led a mare out of a stall and handed the reins to him. The mare pulled at the reins and stomped.

  "Watch her, she's feisty but fast as hell. She'll get you home in no time," Dutch said. “About your brother, I'll do even better than stopping by. We'll get Andrew patched up and I'll bring him up to the farm. I'll find somebody from town to watch over the two of them while you and your mother are gone. Stay here and I'll fetch the map," Dutch said.

  A moment later he emerged from the club with a folding map in hand and spread it out across the saddle. "Where were you attacked, Andrew?" Dutch asked.

  "There's Malden. Let's see. It was right here, just before this fork in the road. There's a big field with three old grain silos on the left side of the road next to a burned out farmhouse. One of the silos is half collapsed and the field backs up to the woods. We camped right there," Andrew said. "You can't miss it."
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br />   "You're sure, Andrew?" Dutch asked, folding the map back up.

  "Positive. That’s where they ambushed us."

  Kenny took the map from Dutch, stuck his foot in the stirrup, and pulled himself into the saddle. Without a second of hesitation he spurred the horse on, galloping full speed down Wheeler's main street towards his homestead. The mare was faster than any horse he'd ridden before, and he clung tightly to the pommel to keep his seat. He would find Sarah and bring her home safely. God help the men who killed her parents and took her away. His nostrils flared as he imagined Sarah’s pain looking on as her parents were killed in front of her. God help those bastards when he found them.

  Chapter 7

  Chief Howell shoveled the last bit of loose soil on top of Sutherland's grave. The soil was dry, and a film of dust coated his sweat-soaked shirt as a gust of wind picked it up and scattered the dirt about. He stepped into the shade of a tall spruce tree to get out of the sun's heat. Drenched with sweat and exhausted, his arms felt like rubber. Even with the help of the farmer who had happened by and pitched in to dig the grave, Howell was out of steam.

  It felt like an insult to Jerry, being buried in a grave with no stone marker on the side of the road far from his home. Men like him, that had served as long as he had should be surrounded by friends, family, and fellow officers, put to rest in a more deserving location with flowers and fanfare. The grim reality was that if they didn’t bury him quickly, his body would soon begin to decompose and present a health risk for others. Nobody embalmed the dead these days, and in this heat, there was no way to transport his body home in a state fit for burial. The EMP had stripped away all of man's illusions about death. You said your piece and then you picked up and moved on. Hearts would heal with time, but only if they were connected to a body with a full belly, and that wasn't something that anybody took for granted anymore.

  "Thank you for your help. I'll say a few words for him," Howell said, passing the shovel back to the white-haired old farmer who had stopped to offer his assistance.

  The man bowed his head and clasped his hands respectfully, waiting for Chief Howell to speak.

  "You deserve better than this, Jerry. You were a good friend and you'll be missed. The savage that did this to you is dead. I'll get the son of a bitch who paid the killer next. Rest in peace. Amen."

  The old farmer glanced up at him under arched eyebrows, and then carried the shovels back to his cart.

  Howell climbed into the saddle, and with one final look back at Jerry's grave, spurred his horse down the road.

  The image of his friend's gaping, tongue-less mouth stuck in his mind. Howell gritted his teeth and could barely see straight. He felt like a pot that was ready to boil over. Hanging a man was bad enough, but cutting his tongue out had been a clear message to whoever found his body: speak out against Tweed, and this could happen to you next. Sheriff Sutherland had been a vocal opponent of Tweed, a thorn in his side. As far as he was concerned, it removed all speculation about Warden Dodson's untimely death. Even without hearing the details of how he was killed, he would be surprised at any cause of death other than murder at this point. Tweed was clearly bold.

  This was more than a corruption investigation now. It was a murder investigation, and it was personal. Jerry had been brutalized and murdered, and Howell would make sure Tweed paid for it. No matter what the cost, he would find the evidence he needed to make the charges against Tweed stick and bring down his empire, or he'd kill him. Maybe both.

  Chapter 8

  A pair of grain silos towered over a pasture that had long since gone to the weeds. Ruins of a third silo, half the height of the others, leaned heavily to one side, the upper half of the structure reduced to a pile of loose bricks around the base of the silo. The ruins of a burnt out farmhouse sat a short distance away. At the edge of the field, Kenny looked up and down the highway, looking for signs of danger before he left the road. It was empty, with nothing but the shimmer of heat dancing just above the hot asphalt as far as the eye could see. Kenny's shirt was soaked through with sweat and his legs chafed from the saddle. The horses, too, had a thick layer of sweat that had foamed into a lather beneath their harnesses. His mother was stoic, but he knew she must be feeling the heat as well. They were all overheated and exhausted, having ridden through the night by the light of the full moon to reach the site of the ambush.

  And now they were here. This was definitely the place; it was unmistakable from Andrew's description. Kenny took a drink of water from his canteen, trying to ease the lump in his throat. As they drew closer to the edge of the forest where the caravan had camped, a foul stench reached his nose like the sickening smell of roadkill after a few days baking on the pavement. Kenny spit and fought back the urge to vomit.

  "Let me go down and see what happened, Kenny. You don't need to see this," Amy said.

  Kenny shook his head vigorously. "No. I'm going, too."

  Amy sighed and slid down off of her horse. She brought a rag out of her saddlebag and wrapped it around the lower half of her face.

  Kenny followed suit, taking a handkerchief from his pocket. He wrapped it around his face, bunching it up under his nose and mouth to dampen the foul odor. It didn't help much.

  Four bloated bodies sat around a long dead campfire in a ring of stones. He knew they were the caravan guards by the leather jackets they wore, the Joker's Hangmen patch visible on the back of one of the men laying face down in the grass. The bodies of the rest of the caravan team lay scattered about the wagons. The smell was intense and eye-watering.

  Kenny retched and doubled over, ripping the mask off of his face, unable to hold back his stomach any longer. He heaved repeatedly, keeping his eyes sealed shut until his stomach finally calmed. When he stood up again he saw that his mother was in a similar state, and he turned away from the sight to prevent his stomach from revolting again.

  He looked at the bodies, surveying the area, terrified that Andrew had been wrong and that he would find Sarah lying there bloated and disfigured like the other bodies. The wagons were full of large blocks of salt. They were likely too bulky and heavy for the thieves to carry away. Everything else of value had been taken. The personal belongings of the caravan team had been thoroughly ransacked, their suitcases and travel chests tossed open and contents scattered across the field. The horses and mules were long gone.

  Amy joined him in the search, but neither of them found any sign of Sarah. He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved that she wasn't dead or dismayed that she was gone, kidnapped. Helplessness filled him. Where was she? What had happened to her?

  "Mom, she's not here. She's gone. What if we don't—"

  "Don't you dare give up hope, Kenny Miller. We'll find her. We're both tired and hot, so let's slow down and think this through. Wyatt taught you everything he knew about tracking. You can track a deer across miles of woods with little more than a broken twig or a drop of blood to go by. The highwaymen took all the horses with them, so it should be easy enough for you to follow their trail. Get to it, Son," Amy said.

  Kenny mopped the sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath, trying to center himself. She was right, he couldn't let his fear of what might have happened to Sarah cloud his mind. He scanned the wilted green grass and patches of brown dirt in the pasture, looking for signs of what direction the highwaymen had traveled. He found several sets of deep hoof marks that had hardened some time ago in the soil, showing where several horses had traveled. The marks led to a wide trail leading through the woods beyond the wagons.

  "Here. They left this trail through the woods. The marks are a few weeks old."

  "Good job, Kenny. Let's go."

  He mounted his horse and urged the animal on down the trail. It was wide and well traveled, and the deep hoof marks were easy to follow in the soft soil, even at a canter. He followed the path as it meandered up and down the mountains, slowing his horse as they traversed tight switchbacks with sharp cliffs along the side of the trail.

>   They traveled for a long while before they let the horses rest and drink water from a stream. The shade and water seemed to reinvigorate the horses, and they started back down the trail.

  Two hours later, the trail emptied out into a pasture, and Kenny tracked the hoof marks until he came to the edge of a two-lane highway. The trail went cold, and he searched along both sides of the highway, looking for any sign that the highwaymen left the road again. The sun was low on the horizon, the clouds in the sky fiery red. It was going to be dark soon and hard to see anything from atop his horse. He dismounted and led the steed as he walked along the roadside, desperate for any evidence of the group. Which way had they gone? Was he even going the right direction down the highway? What if they went the other way?

  "Kenny, it is time to call it a day. These horses need rest or it's going to kill them. We need rest and food, too. We need our wits about us if we’re going to find the highwaymen and get the drop on them."

  He didn't want to stop looking but he knew she was right. There wasn't any point in looking any further tonight. They were both spent, and they didn't want to run into the highwaymen in this condition. Kenny bit his lip, fighting back tears. Sarah was out there somewhere, terrified and alone.

  He spotted a small town a short distance ahead and rode until they reached it. The town, if it could even be called that, consisted of ten or eleven buildings clumped together along the side of the road. A rundown motel advertised rooms available for rent. Kenny slid down from the saddle and lashed his horse to a tethering post out front then went inside the motel office.

  A shriveled old man sat behind the desk, elbows on the counter and his head propped up in his hands, snoring loudly.