A Powerless World | Book 3 | Defend The Homestead Hunt, Jack (read my book TXT) 📖

with firearms. I offered to come up here with my crew but he said that he felt better if you went with us. You know, with your close ties with the community and all. Just in case things get out of hand, you could act as a mediator.”

He nodded.

As they rode side by side on horses, with two of his men behind him, he fished for details, any dirt he could dig up on Dan.

“Forgive me for asking but I notice Dan seems a little… what would you call it… green?”

Johnson looked at him. “That’s because he hasn’t been in office long.”

“Ah, right. And so he was a deputy like yourself before this?”

“What are you asking, captain?”

“Under the circumstances we’re facing, and with the mayor dead, would it not make sense to have him step down, just temporarily, and let someone more capable take the reins?”

“Are you suggesting yourself?”

“Of course not.” He chuckled. “I’m no glorified pen pusher. No, I’m a hands-on man. I like to roll up my sleeves and avoid all that paperwork. Though I imagine you haven’t been doing much of that lately.”

He cut him a glance. “Dan is doing a good job.”

“But you could do better.”

Johnson’s eyes widened.

“I mean. Correct me if I’m wrong but you seem to be the brains behind the department whereas he’s merely the face.”

“He’s the sheriff, captain. And I have no intention of taking over from him for now. So if you don’t like his ways, that’s fine, but you’ll have to get used to them. I support him in his duties and I don’t plan on going behind his back,” he said in a tone that indicated he knew what Benjamin was trying to do. Mutiny. And yes, he was right. It seemed that perhaps Johnson wouldn’t be better. Still, he had to test him. Poke the nest. See what he was made of. See who he was dealing with. Unfortunately, he was loyal, one of those by-the-book kinds of guys. God, he hated those. So picky. So deluded. He’d soon get him in line.

“Just to give you a heads-up. Expect them to come out armed. Keep your finger off the trigger and they won’t give us any issues,” Johnson said as they rounded a bend on a single dirt track.

The terrain of the mountain was rough and offered hardly any visibility to what lay ahead. In many ways, it was the perfect place to have a homestead, somewhere remote, protected by a curtain of towering redwoods. He’d heard stories of the outlaw culture. Those who burrowed deep into the woods to run their illegal activities. They were the kind of people that would have fit in perfectly with the militia — folks who didn’t like government dipping a finger into their profits every year, folks who didn’t mince words and were more than ready to squeeze a trigger if necessary.

The closer they got to the Strickland farm, the more No Trespassing signs there were. Rusted. Sticking out of the earth. Some nailed to trees.

And then…

Long before they saw a gate, or fencing with barbed wire — they heard them.

The guttural roar of engines.

Not one, not two, but at least five on ATVs, masked up like outlaws with baseball caps and camouflage clothing. All of them sporting assault rifles on their backs. It was a show of force, a message to anyone looking to get close.

Johnson lifted a fist and the riders stopped their horses. “Let me do the talking.”

Chapter Sixteen

The act of violence upon Jessie was a warning. A clear message. Colby sat on the porch with his family, listening to them make accusations. Miriam believed it was the Stricklands’ retribution — another strike at their family — for the death of the Strickland three. Others agreed. He wasn’t too sure.

His mother hadn’t come out of the house since he’d returned.

It had taken a good hour to get the family doctor to come up to the house and in that time, tempers had flared. Each of them burned with indignation.

This shouldn’t have happened.

An agreement had been made.

Colby ran a hand through Kane’s fur, staring into the redwoods, pondering. The smell of the damp forest permeated the air. A cool breeze blew against his cheeks. Hours earlier he was all but ready to pick up and leave the county, but now with a threat against the Wiyot Tribe and an attack upon his kin, it was beginning to look less likely.

The attack had unearthed something buried deep in him. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Anger. The same anger he’d tried to keep in check all these years. Pushed down. Tried to ignore it. One that was nurtured from an early age. The kind that had fueled generations of Rikers to lash out.

Alicia placed a hand on his and gave it a comforting squeeze. He hadn’t thought for a moment what it must have been like for her to be caught up in this, to be exposed to the skeletons in his closet. He was about to say something when the doctor emerged with his mother. He closed the black bag in his hand and talked quietly with her. His mother nodded, thanked him and he cast a glance toward Colby.

“So?” Dylan asked, pushing away from the porch railing. “What did he say?”

“He’s given him painkillers and will be back later tonight to check on him.”

“But he’ll be okay, right?” Miriam asked.

“He’ll survive just as you did. Just as we always do.”

“I’m going down there and dealing with them once and for all,” Zeke said, scooping up a rifle. Colby rose and stopped him from leaving, pressing a hand against his chest.

“Zeke. Wait.”

“For what? For them to attack another one of us? Screw that! I’m taking them out now. Every last one of them.”

“It might not have been them.”

“Of course it was. I’m going with you,” Dylan said, glancing at the others.

“Stop. Both of you,” Martha bellowed. “Colby might be right. Either way, if it is them, this