A Bullet Or Two

Chapter 2.6

Their screams were horrid, confused, and scared. Pain tracing each high-pitched squeal as the cart came to halt in a ditch along the road. Shots rang out in harmony.

All movement had ceased apart from the mares that continued running. Their legs projecting them far from the travesty. 

Delilah stumbled to her feet, gripping the backbench as she heaved up her rifle, right arm aching in agony where it collided with solid stone.

Behind them, Jonnie pulled at his reins to slow his mount as the rider picked up and raced past the wreck. Its front left wheel was in shambles, pieces piled everywhere and two carved with a clean hold. The rider hadn't aimed for Charlotte or Delilah.

Rifle in hand, she shot. Followed the direction of the dark-haired man as he continued down the road. 

His black cloak covered his tall build and blocked any clear shot into his flesh. 

The trigger was hot against her finger, but Delilah shot on. Determined to kill the Robin Hood with a ferocity and rage that consumed her completely. Crops gone. Cart gone. His cold, bloody body was her last chance for victory.

Deep breath. Cool into her nose, warm out of her mouth. She pulled it one last time until the distance was too much.

A twang rang out. The metal buried into his arm.

Only, the rider did not fall. Did not cry out in surprise, pain...or anything.

He just rode on until he was no longer in sight.

Jonnie ripped the rifle from her hands. Smooth wood and metal grazed against her palms and Delilah was left with a hollow lightness. She turned to him, face alive with nerves and her entire being disheveled. "Give that back." She would not shoot anymore. Would not waste more bullets. But he seemed to think otherwise, and something curdled inside her at his distrust. "Your work is here. Not that rider." Jonnie said. "Let him go." Delilah only stared back, expressionless. He looked fine. Gold-skinned, slick blonde hair, prim black uniform still buttoned up to protocol. A model guard yet to be touched by conflict even though he was targeted numerous times. A perfect soldier. A perfect marksman. Delilah bit at her cheek.

Turning to check her cousin, Delilah spotted the specks of blood dribbling out of her own shoulder. A graze. That was all. Then, examined Charlotte for any harm. strands of barley had threaded in her frizzy hair. Her pants were torn at the knees, however, no blood was visible. Unharmed, Charlotte merely stood taking in the wreckage.

Wood merged with crops, and small metal bullets scattered inside the bundles. The two horses had stopped not far ahead. Finally halting at the open fields. 

Delilah, Charlotte, and Jonnie had been so close to the bandits. Metres away and only one rider left. So close to completing the task. Instead, Delilah now stood before a wrecked cart somewhere between the towns Goodsborough and Waltersford.

"Bas can just kill me now." She slumped to the floor, burying her head between her knees.

"Think Uncle will be pissed?" Charlotte asked, nursing her legs.

Delilah resisted a twitch in her expression. She could not say of course he would. Could not tell Charlotte of the violent frenzy Delilah's stepfather would fly into upon her return. Silence was the best answer. The best option when it took every ounce of Delilah's discipline to prevent her from bursting like a riverbed in a pathetic heap on the ground. She had failed...again.