Disclaimer: this is a mature story, with violence, moderately gory details, and adult themes woven throughout.
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Recap
Adrenaline is coursing through your veins, and though the water and mud are deep and deterrent to your advance, your body and legs push onward as if with a mind of their own and only one objective: survive. Another shot. This time, you can hear the zip as the bullet whizzes by mere inches from your ear. Too damn close!
Moments later, you reach the nearest shack and burst in through the door. Turner isn't far behind you, breathing heavily from the exertion of running for his life through the mire. He leans against the door, a revolver clutched in each hand, readying himself to either continue running from cover to cover or to stand and fight. You've already stabilized your own breathing and reset your natural adrenaline response to steady your breathing and your hands - increasing your ability to shoot with deadly accuracy.
"Well, kid, looks like it's time to earn that 30%!" You state with a wry smile. "Let's go hunting..."
He takes another deep breath, readjusts his grip on the revolvers, then gives a quick, succinct nod. It's going to take the two of you working in coordination to get out of this alive, but you're left with a choice:
(A.) Stake up here and wait for your attackers to hopefully reposition so you can see where they are and return fire from a distance with your rifle while Turner watches your back.
(B.) Have Turner rush out the door to the next shack or two in the hopes of drawing some fire from the bank, giving you a bead on their position but separating you and Turner.
(C.) Continue to move together, leapfrogging from shack to shack, in the hopes of closing ground between you and the brick and stone of the cemetery. Potential for better cover, but greater risk for both of you.
Taking a quick moment to assess the situation and weigh the risks, you steel yourself for the dangerous but necessary task ahead of you. Peeking through a crack in the slats comprising the wall of the shack you've taken cover in, you attempt to ascertain the location of your attacker, but the view is too obscured to make out many details on the far bank... let alone identify a human figure likely hidden somewhere in the thick shrubbery and reeds. You turn to your young partner to begin planning your escape...
Chapter 4: Life or Death
Image Artist: @anikekirsten
"Okay, kid, seems to me there's only one good way out of this. Between us and the cemetary are several small shacks along this boardwalk... if you and I take turns moving, we might confuse them by spreading their targets out, allowing us to cover a lot of ground quickly, and somewhat safely. No guarantees that one of us doesn't get shot, but that's a risk we're forced to take."
The Jenkins boy takes a deep breath and exhales forcefully. "I was thinking the same thing, mister. This here shack is fine enough fer hidin' in, but a bullet'll punch through them walls easy enough." He glances around the run-down shack incredulously, licking his lips nervously. "Since I'd rather not be dyin' today, I'd rather haul ass down this boardwalk than sit around here just waitin' for them to pepper us to death hopin' for a lucky shot!"
He barely finished expressing his last thought when another shot rang out across the still waters and a board splintered in the corner of the shack. Hell, that was damn near prophetic, kid. "Okay... y'see that next shack over there? I want you to run like hell and take cover there. I'll see if I can get eyes on the sumbitch out there. On my signal, run like hell to the next one and I'll move at the same time. They can't shoot at both of us, and I only hear one gun right now."
Turner scowls, but nods in agreement. He doesn't seem too pleased to be the first one out the door, but it's as good a plan as anyone could make, given the circumstances. "It's a helluva gamble, mister," he says, "but I can feel Lady Luck smilin' on me today... perhaps I'll take my money to the card table after all this is over!" The scowl is now replaced by a roguish grin that you can't help but return. The devil-may-care spirit of this young whelp reminds you of when you were younger - hunting with your father. Another bullet rips through the boards nearby, interrupting your thoughts.
"Okay, off you go. Don't get yourself killed, boy."
"I could say the same of you, old man!" He laughingly exclaims. Taking a few more quick breaths to steel his nerves, Turner raises his revolvers to his shoulders - gripping them tight - and then turns to sprint headlong out the door. You turn your attention back to the far bank, looking through the corner of the window this time. Another shot blasts out from an area on the bank further to the right from where you're looking, but you're unable to see the muzzle flash in your periphery. Dammit... okay, now I know where to look. Moving closer to the doorway, you peer down the boardwalk to check for Turner - dead or alive. With a sigh of relief, you spy him crouched at the corner of the next shack, his chest heaving from the headlong sprint he just took. You wait a few moments for him to recompose himself and catch his eye. You sign to him to prepare himself for another spring and wordlessly mouth a countdown from five. On "one", you both spring into action, unsure about which one of you your assailant will fire upon next. The expected shot comes after a short pause, the bullet striking the boardwalk behind you. Good, our simultaneous movement threw them off. Maybe they'll continue to aim for me since they know I'm here.
"Move on to the next one, I'll try to lay eyes on em!"
He gives you a pert nod, readjusts his grip on the pistols once more, then takes off to the next house - a bit further down the boardwalk than the previous two. You whip around the corner of the building and scan the stretch of bank you remembered one of those last shots coming from - rifle raised to your shoulder, you say a quick prayer. Another shot reverberates across the water, the muzzle flash clearly within your visual range this time. Gotcha... Adjusting your aim to rest approximately where you believe the hidden hunter to be lurking, you return fire. Quickly pumping the lever to eject the empty cartridge and chamber another round, you take one more shot - eyes never leaving the location of the muzzle flair - and then begin to sprint headlong to the next shack. Perhaps, we have more opportunity to move freely now. Either I hit them, or made em think twice about sticking around. You reach the shack uncontested, and swiftly check down the boardwalk for Turner. When you catch sight of him, patiently waiting for your signal, you quickly wave him on.
"GO, GO, GO! They should be occupied for a moment!"
Upon that prompt, you and your partner leap into action once more, sprinting at breakneck speeds down the boardwalk. The lack of follow-up shots from the far bank is somewhat encouraging, but you choose to pause at the next shack - continuing to wave Turner on since he is so close to the red brick stairs leading up to the cemetary now. You return your attention to the far bank in case your assailant attempts further engagement, taking a deep, calming breath to steady your heart rate and hands. Sure enough, they take another shot, and a yelp from the Jenkins boy indicates that it was directed at him.
Shit, hope he's okay... what the hell? Have I grown a soft spot for the boy? No matter, right now, I need him. Odds of survival are higher with him.
As these thoughts are occuring to you, you catch sight of movement among the reeds along the bank running closer to the cemetary. A short moment later, you see a black short-brimmed hat peeking out through the reeds, moving slowly as if stalking quietly through the brush... almost tiger-like, but without the primal grace. Leveling the sights of your rifle to line up with the point just beneath the pinnacle of the cap, you let out a slow breath, gently squeezing the trigger until you feel the butt of the rifle kick against your shoulder. It's a familiar feeling, almost like it's an extension of your very being. The jump of kinetic energy carries through the barrel of the rifle, into the stock, and then absorbs through the flesh in your shoulder and spreads throughout your body. As the small shockwave dissipates throughout your body and the smoke from the blast clears from the muzzle of your rifle, you notice the hat lurch to the side suddenly and disappear in the reeds.
Taking a moment to quickly breathe through the adrenaline of the moment and suppressing the basic human response to taking someone else's life once more, you once again steel yourself and sprint to the next shack - hoping to catch a glimpse of your young partner. As you sprint, no gunshots continue to pursue your advance. Perhaps it was just the one? On your approach, you glance up the semi-protected stairs to find your young companion sprawled out on the stairs, breathing heavily. Oh no... After a quick environmental check for danger, you rush up the stairs to the boy's body.
As you draw near, the he looks up at you, roguish grin plastered across his face. With labored breath, he asks "Well? Didjya get 'im?" You breathe a sigh of relief and kick his boot playfully.
"Good to see you breathin' too, kid. Ya did good. And yes, I think I did, but we oughtta stay alert... no tellin' if they gotta partner lurkin' round here..."
The Kid breathes out a deep sigh, "Man, I ain't run like that since I nabbed a fat pocketbook off one of them banker folks a few years back. Thought fer sure the Sheriff was fixin' ta catch me, but 'parently no one got too good a look at mah face! Never did catch up, heh heh..."
"Well, let's go check our friend to make sure he ain't followin' us."
After checking around the corner of the brick wall, tempting any other assailants to take shots, and assessing for the presence of any undead drawn to the sound of gunfire, you begin making your way over to the reeds where you presume your assailant has fallen. As you draw close, the sound of gurgling greets you. Pulling the reeds back, you find the mystery assailant lying on the ground, blood flowing out of a wound in their neck as well as their nose and mouth. That's when you notice the long black hair, braided back, and the fullness of the Hunter's chest. Shit... they're a woman. Even though the proving grounds are a brutal place, without mercy, they ARE open to anyone with the guts, lack of brains, or insanity required to enter the Hunter's Collective. Still, something deep down beneath the mantra of "cold and calculated" feels fundamentally offended at the idea of hurting a woman. Damn you and your chivalry, Pops... you just HAD to pass that onto me, didn't ya?
"Aw SHIT!" Turner exclaims behind you, "She still alive?"
"Appears so."
"What're we gonna do?"
"I don't know..."
"I mean, we can't just leave her here, can we?"
Surprised at the boy's reaction, but mind still racing, you respond, "Just shut up for a second, I'm trying to think!"
The wound, though bleeding, doesn't look beyond treatment, but the woman looks like she might have gone into shock. It's a good little hike back to the carriage, and you came here to do a job, not rescue someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, something deep in your soul can't just leave her there lying in the mud, bleeding out...
You're left with a choice:
(A.) Attempt to stem the bleeding and carry her back to the carriage with the help of the Kid, maybe you can get her back to town in time to save her life. The chances are slim, but the chance is worth taking.
(B.) Do her a favor, and put her out of her misery now. There's little chance you'd get her - or yourselves - out alive, and even with medical attention, it's not sure that she'll make it.
The choice is yours, my friends. Thank you for your time and attention, I look forward to seeing your votes in the comments!
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As always, take care of yourselves and each other, and stay thoughtful!
Your friendly neighborhood dork,
~Thinkr
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