EMP Catastrophe by Hamilton, Grace (books to read in your 20s female .txt) 📗

turned around and ended up not working out. Now, he held a weapon in his inexperienced hands and didn’t think about bad or good. Instead, he pondered wrong versus right and hoped he’d be able to save his mother and son without having to fire the gun. Saving his mother was the right thing to do, but if it came to blows and he had to do violence against Samuel…well, he’d accept the consequences of his actions. Just like he did at the gas station. If it was between his mother and Samuel, Matthew would choose Ruth every time

There would be no second chances. Matthew had one shot. Even though Samuel seemed drunk, he could probably fire on Matthew without a second thought. Matthew’s element of surprise would be one-and-done. If he messed it up, he wouldn’t have another opportunity. He had no doubt that if Samuel managed to get the shotgun trained on Matthew, Matthew would be a goner.

Matthew ran through the ways to hold and shoot a gun, tips garnered from his little experience and David’s direction, but he wasn’t an expert marksman. Yet at the same time, the next few minutes would be determined by whoever was the fastest or the best shot, and Matthew wasn’t going to be the one bleeding out from a wound in front of his mother. Not today.

The sound of Samuel’s raised voice filtered through the air and reached Matthew’s ears. It oscillated between crooning and shouting. Matthew lined up against the corner before the dining room became the lobby and listened intently to what was being said.

“Give me another drink, sweetheart, that’s a good girl. Did you put up this wallpaper? Well I’ll tell you what, it looks like trash. First thing I’m gonna do is tear it down. Can’t have a hunting lodge be full of roses and daisies, now can we?”

“If you think that’s best.” Ruth’s voice sounded clipped, hiding her anger.

“You modern folk only think of changing what’s there so it looks popular. Never appreciate the hotel. Just ruin it like everything else. Good thing I took back what’s mine, innit?”

Ruth cleared her throat and Samuel seemed to take that as an agreement.

Matthew held his breath and then let it out slowly, trying to calm the thudding of his heart. Sweat beaded on his brow. He looked down at his hands and was surprised to see that they were steady. He took a quick glance around the corner.

Samuel had stood up from his previous spot on the couch. He had a bourbon bottle near his feet and the glass Ruth had brought him was nearly empty. Swaying, he pointed the gun at Ruth, who stood unflinching as if she’d become used to his behavior. She was closer to the picture windows with her hands folded in front of her. Even though her eyes were trained on the ground as if in submission, Matthew could tell by her tensed shoulders she’d had just about enough of Samuel.

Luckily, she wouldn’t be in direct danger if Matthew shot his gun. She wouldn’t get hit. He hoped. Matthew thumbed the safety off of the .45. He raised it, aiming it at Samuel. Make peace with your decision, he thought. If he didn’t do this, who knew what kind of harm Samuel would do to Matthew’s loved ones? It was them versus him and Matthew would always choose his family.

He relaxed his elbows, widened his stance, and to his surprise, his hands remained steady. For a moment, he wavered in indecision, knowing that if he shot the gun, his life might be completely changed. People might look at him differently. His mother might only see him as a murderer, despite his good intentions. Could he lose her respect to save her life?

“Gimme another,” Samuel shouted, even though a tiny amount of liquid still remained in the glass. Ruth walked over and bent down to retrieve the bottle of bourbon that was near his feet. She held it up to him. “You drank it all,” she said in a flat voice and then backed away closer to the picture windows.

Samuel shouted something incomprehensible and then Matthew finally made out what he was saying. “You’re not earning your keep. You know what I do to people who can’t earn their keep?” Samuel pointed the shotgun straight at her and hesitated for too long. Matthew knew, down in his bones, that Samuel was going to kill her.

The trigger felt stiff under Matthew’s finger, but when he finally pulled it, the recoil jolted his arms. The sound momentarily deafened him. He heard the ping of the bullet.

Ruth screamed, her hands raised to cover her ears. Samuel jumped, shock covering his face. The shotgun clattered to the floor and Matthew went cold with terror as he briefly wondered if the shotgun would go off accidentally and hit one of them.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Samuel bellowed at Matthew and shakily began to bend to retrieve the gun, as if he had double-vision and couldn’t focus enough to grab it. The smell of spilled bourbon filled the air.

Despair quickly replaced the terror inside Matthew. He’d missed. The bullet had cleaved off a portion of the wall and left a rounded hole in the wallpaper and plaster underneath. As Matthew raised the gun to take another shot, Ruth lunged forward for the shotgun, yanking it away from Samuel’s clumsy attempts to reclaim it. The weapon looked huge in her arms, but the niceties fell away and Ruth bared her teeth at Samuel. She backed up, aiming the double-barrel at the man.

“Now be a good boy,” Ruth snarled, “and get off our property, Mr. West.”

Samuel snorted at her and then broke into a full-bellied laugh when he spotted Matthew. “I’m asking again, as owner of this fine establishment, who the hell are you?” He pointed a finger at Matthew.

Matthew couldn’t believe it. The man clearly thought having two guns trained on him was nothing to worry about. It just