A Bullet Or Two

Chapter 2.5

Bullets flew back and forth.

They had attacked before Delilah had even realized they were there. Charlotte's straw bonnet hat flew off, a coin-sized hole skimmed the crown. "DRIVE!" Delilah screamed. The rifle resting in her hands waited, aimed along her sight, and pressed against her shoulder.

They emerged from behind, hollering on horseback after the first shot. Five Highwaymen with cloths that disguised their faces, and cloaks that tangled in the breeze. 

Delilah squeezed the trigger over and over, ducking her head and pushing Charlotte's down when their aim was too accurate. She had no time to check where Jonnie was, no time to call for his help. Her eyes trained on the thieves chasing her. Her thoughts focused only on killing them and stilling her shaking body. She would hit.

She would hit.

Sweat was soaking her hands. The sun continued to beat down on them and Delilah could hear Charlotte panting next to her. 

The cart swayed violently from side to side, struggling to stay stable as the horses galloped. Stacks of wheat jumped atop the barley but remained trapped in the cart. Delilah thought to remind herself if they survived to thank Billy for his obsessive knotting. The ropes held tight, keeping the stacks from flying off. 

A crack interrupted the sound of bullets leaving their chambers and the horses ran faster. Delilah grabbed onto the bench once again, praying for this torment to end. The cart was no better than riding horseback.

Another crack echoed between the rocky hills, a signal that caused Charlotte to urge the horses on, whipping their reins to push them harder, faster. Delilah would not let her cousin die.

Another bullet passed. Then another. Missing Delilah a mere inch from her shooting arm. One hit to that arm and it would all be over.

She nudged herself closer to her cousin, then pressed herself into the wheat. 

Jonnie had meant to be the marksman, she begged him and begged him to let her do it. Her aim was not as steady, nor was it as precise, but she needed to prove herself to her step-father, show him she was more useful than being a pretty piece of meat. 

She breathed deep and focused her gaze. Her talent was close combat, with pistols or words. Not with a rifle in hand and aiming for moving targets a distance away. 

The rider at the front was closest. His tricone long gone. His hair was blonde and garments dark, the rest a blur in her vision. She locked her eyes on the centre of his figure. Breathed deep once, then twice, and pulled the trigger tight.

---

Jonnie was still nowhere to be seen, too far ahead for Delilah to shout to. The chatter of the girls was long gone, the clatter of horseshoe against rock an echo of the past.

Guns blasted again and again. Bullets wedged into the rocky hills, causing debris to crash down to the ground. The whip of the horses' reins grew louder and louder.

The cart was in disarray, rocking over each side of the road, with broken wheat strands tumbling from its boundaries. Charlotte sat frantic, wide-eyed, and tense – screaming for her mares to pick up speed. The horses responded, attempting to pull the heavy cart further along, to lift their legs higher and escape the confines of the road into the open fields further out.

Her rifle shot one bullet after another. Not all met their mark, but with every pull of her trigger, her aim improved. The clattering of hooves and bullets shooting melded together, the noise so overwhelming. 

Four armed men now chased after the cart and one horse without its rider clambered on. One man paled as the minutes passed, blood poured from his shoulder where her last bullet had sunk. Delilah dropped behind the crop stacks and reloaded the gun. Seconds would pass before she was ready to fight again. Vital seconds that the highwaymen would take to catch them.

But there, in her new eye line was Jonnie. Atop his black stallion, withdrawing his revolver and passing the cart before it swerved.

Reins in one hand and gun in the other, Jonnie's first kill was swift. The rider to the right of the cart, closest to him, failed to acknowledge his newest enemy and tumbled down, slamming into the cart before the ground, where it was trampled by the rider behind him. That rider was larger than the previous. His balance was clearly unprepared for a gun battle on horseback. 

Delilah hastened to reload, all too aware of why she had not specialized in rifles. 

The time it took for her to reload itched at her mind, irritating her every thought as she loaded the new bullets. Time favoured the thief instead, and he shot and shot and shot. His bullets fired into the wood of the cart, the rocks on the hill, even into the gravel on the ground. They lodged anywhere but in Charlotte, Jonnie, and Delilah herself. A blessing she would thank Saol for later.

Another thud and the thief was gone. Jonnie's steady hand guided the bullets to their targets. One shot. Two. She heard each bang of his gun.

And another thud of a body hitting the road.

---

Handle back. Old cartridge out. Cock the pin. New cartridge in. She always struggled with the cumbersome process. Only rushed it now to assist Jonnie before he rode to his death. Baron had told her to practice her rifle skills. Improve them so she could be the best. Like always, she ignored him. Pistols were better – smaller, lighter, and easier to hide.

Returning to her previous position, Delilah noticed three fewer men and the appearance of Jonnie behind the cart. His steed caught up to the final rider.

Bullets still pierced through the cart's wood. Charlotte let out a yelp each time they hit as if her flesh were the crop bundles. 

Delilah needed to end this. Poor Charlotte would be in hysterics if they survived. The rifle in her hand was ready. One deep breath was all she took. Her finger closed around the trigger, yearning to end the battle.

Another breath and Delilah pulled her finger tight, only for her vision to be blurred. Wood splinters floated upwards, and Charlotte's yelps turned to screams.