Jon Mckay

I heard again those savage screams I had heard in my delirious dreams. They were coming—all of them. Arrows filled the air, whacking the wood walls of the cart. “Load!” I yelled to Miranda, handing her the spent pistol. I didn’t even know if she could. I leveled the Hawken and took another from his mount. I dropped it to Miranda, who was still fumbling with the pistol. She kept to her task. The other long gun was a flint fowler. I cocked, aimed, and fired. The horrendous blast took a third along with his horse, and both went tumbling over each other. The kick of the weapon did damage to my healing shoulder. I had no idea what she had in that old piece, but it packed a wallop at both ends.