All characters are over the age of 18
The Ballad of Decker Crane
Harp Strathe
Chapter Twelve
Figures emerged from the woods as Decker fired his pistol, Kay and Cabot doing the same. Kay hit one man and others went for cover. Cabot ran for the porch and Decker went with him.
"Ambush," Kay yelled from the porch, firing. "Get inside, girl."
Adya ran into the house. Chione was standing over Persya and yelling, firing. Cabot bolted up the steps and grabbed her, but she didn't want to go. He turned his shoulder, his arm around her waist, pulling her in with him screeching. Bai rushed out the front door to get Persya, who was on the floor of the porch, bleeding, probably to death.
Decker turned around on the top step, aiming and taking one out, cold, and then taking out another. Then four or five popped up, and more, shooting, and he ran. A bullet went past him as he ducked inside. It hit the far wall, the wall splintering, as Cabot closed the door.
Kay was putting the wood slats up to the windows that had crosses in them for firing. He pushed them into their slots. Adya was trying to help.
"Get down, girl," Kay snapped.
Adya dropped. She did listen. A bullet whizzed through the thick glass, the women screaming.
"Everybody down on the floor," Bai yelled, leaning down, Persya at his feet.
"Sons of fucking bitches," Decker spat, coming in low and getting to Persya. She was unconscious or dead, blood on her head and face and in her silky hair.
"Lie her down on the floor here, Decker," Grace said, her voice calm, crawling to them and bringing her bag.
These bastards had an endless supply of bullets, plugging away at them like they were the only whore in town. Then it slowed, the men yelling at one another, disorganized. Decker hated these kinds of assholes. Fucking amateurs.
The firing stopped and someone began to yell, all of them listening.
"Hello in there," the voice called. "You must be Decker who owns Briken Ranch. I'm Shay Dather. Sorry about the woman. I'm a little rattled, given those fucking monsters caught and ate nineteen of us. We know you got women in there. We seen them from afar. We come for them. You shot three of my men, but there's still seventeen of us left, which is a lot more than the four of you and a pretty little whore with a gun. We counted six women and two girl-childs. Send them all out and we'll go on our way and let you live. We'll doctor the woman if she's still warm for fucking. Or, we can take them after we kill you. Those are your choices."
Another prick who talked too much. Decker had turned to move before the fucker's stupid speech was halfway over, going low. Idiots like that always needed time to think and talk and think some more, like action could be slowed at this point. Cabot was already moving toward the kitchen too, the back door, looking over his shoulder at Decker. Their eyes met. Decker looked back at Kay, who looked at Bai, and then Decker went faster.
Kay and Bai began shooting out of the cross sections of the wood as he and Cabot exploded out the back, clearing it. Decker went first, five men there aiming at him. But they hadn't really expected Cabot and him to come out like that because it was still early for something like that in their minds and the men were armed and there were a lot of them and most people feared a gun and because these losers still needed time to think. The rapidity of events in play simply overwhelmed them.
Everybody thought being a known frontier outlaw was standing still like an asshole at paces and some kind of dueling like in those stupid stories in Prime. What it really came down to was simply firing and actually hitting what you were aiming at. It was a lot more difficult than people thought, practicing their shooting. Aiming at an unmoving target wasn't the same as aiming in motion at someone else in motion in the heat of conflict when you might get hit any moment. It put a powerful fear into you.
The simple fact was, you needed practice with the real thing to ignore that fear and get good at it, which was what happened if you survived. That was the whole and entire difference between these men and himself. He'd survived. They tended to miss and he didn't. And he didn't stop acting in order to think about what the fuck he was doing. He was a lot more used to killing, too. But they were still five men with guns.
He took one out, the man spinning, and Cabot shot twice, hitting his target both times. He was good. A bullet came at Decker, missing, another coming and seeming to part his hair. Decker shot one guy. Cabot took out the last one, who'd missed them twice and then a third time. Cabot put him down for mercy. Decker shot two men who were still moving.
Both he and Cabot ran and got guns from the dead men, because running out of loaded bullets was always a problem. They went in opposite directions. Cabot had said he was good in a fight, and he was. Decker looked around the corner of the cabin and saw a man bringing Tag out to the front of the house. Tag, who'd warned them and gotten caught in the open. They'd taken his gun.
"No. Tag," a woman yelled from the house. That would be Grace.
Twelve against four, spaced far enough apart. They might do it. Maybe.
"You can watch your man here die--" the leader said, his stupid self planted dead center in front of the house, right before Decker moved, taking aim and shooting.
The fucker who had been about to shoot Tag flew back with a bullet in his throat. At the same moment, Cabot came around the other side of the cabin at a full run, firing.
At the same time, Kay and Bai came out the front door, one and then the other, selecting their targets. Now they were in it.
Then Chione came out, closing the door behind herself and shooting, because that woman didn't ever hold back. Decker had to say they could use the help. Five was better than four. Tag got his gun off the dead man, staying low and aiming. He shot a man, and six was better than five, to be sure.
It was a shit show, bullets flying everywhere this way and that. They got hit just merely out of luck. He heard Tag yelp. Bai yelled low not much later, going down. Bai rolled, his one hand going to the calf of his leg, coming up on his side and still firing with his other hand.
"Bai," a woman yelled from the house. That would be Dawine.
Decker was still moving, because standing and presenting a target was stupid. They missed him some more. He killed two, one right after the other. A bullet brushed by him on his left and he swore it tugged at him, turning him a little as he aimed and killed another.
He shifted and brought his gun up, but before he could fire, Cabot killed the man aiming at Chione. Chione turned her head and saw it, grimacing, and aimed again, pulled her trigger, grim, the man she was aiming at shot in the chest. That was good. Now she just needed to survive the fight. Decker shot another.
It was finally fucking over. Decker was panting, standing over the man who'd spoken to them. The leader of this lame-ass misguided idiot parade, the son of a bitch. The man's arm was hanging at the wrong angle, a bullet hitting the bone and shattering it. It was ugly.
"You're Shay Dather?" Decker said, cold and breathing. He kept flashing on Persya lying on the porch bleeding, shot with a bullet intended for him.
"I'm him," the man panted, vomiting from pain and then spitting into the grass, groaning and rocking. "Who are you?"
Decker was furious. He hadn't ever been so mad in his life. "Decker Crane. You shot my girl. Don't you know you never shoot a woman? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
The man forgot it all for a moment, staring up at him. "Decker Crane? The outlaw?"
"You missed me and your chance, stupid," Decker said.
