[TDS] The Good, The Bad, and the Sand

Chapter 2

Things catch up to you. They crawl out from the dead and come back to haunt you, don't even ask how. When I say they crawl out from the dead, my own situation was a more literal example. Even with the skull mask, brown armour, gloves to conceal and a hat to top it off, it couldn't hide their diseased skin. They concealed their sidekick better, yet another diseased walking corpse but with only a simple hat and leggings, a revolver in hand and a portion of their face burned off. They were all in the open, but greatly shadowed by the one thing pointed at me.

One black and gold revolver, muzzle built like a blunderbuss and a gold knife attached to the bottom. This wasn't a phoenix, but they may as well be considering they rose from the ashes. A sudden idea popped into my head, maybe the undead got to them first, maybe they did survive the burning building. His sidekick, I had no idea of. But the man in front of me, Adams, was a bomb about to blow up. I could stand here longer if I wanted to, but I damn well know that that gun was about to fire.

I dove to my right as the gun recoiled back, a bullet just missing my position. I scrambled up at top speed and bashed my shoulder into the bar's back door as both guns started to fire continuously. Gasps entered my ears as I walked in. Sir Gatsby looked at me confused while everyone else immediately upped and left.

"You absolute idiot," he reacted calmly, "was one beer too mu- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" He quickly shouted as I jumped up onto the counter and rolled onto the floor with him. He stared down at me, as I exchanged glances not to question it. I unholstered my gun as quickly as my hands could humanly go and peeked my head over the counter. I laid the sights right at the door. The pair took no regard to me getting the first shot, bursting in as if waiting for me to shoot them dead. I pull the trigger, expecting one to fall dead.

One rule of life is to never expect anything. Being in a small world of me and my desert surroundings had me almost blind to it. It's at the moment of expecting that life pulls the rug, and all of your plans go tumbling down with you. It's up to you to not step on that rug.

I quickly looked at my gun, the sweat dripping off my brow. Why did this have to happen now? Attempting to not sound like Gatsby, I immediately dove under the table before a bullet flew just over my hat. Sir Gatsby had his hands in the air, surrendering in advance, but in his usual way of "but get on with it and leave me alone afterward". Glass broke above me as the bullet pierced the various cups that lined the back wall.

"Oh yes, do go on and ruin my bar. It's fine." Gatsby reacted. I heard nothing else in response, as Adams probably had death on their mind. I was expecting another wave of bullets, and in turn a hell of a ride out of here, but all I heard was Adam's diseased voice.

"Get out here, you coward. You don't want to die like this." He suggested. I looked at the door, peering beyond the counter. It was just there, waiting for me to run out. I holstered my gun and took a breath. Sir Gatsby kept his eyes on me, waiting for my next move.

"Maybe I should do what you say," I replied, "you seem to have a good experience in dying." And at that, I rushed out the safety of the counter and charged toward the door. Sir Gatsby took his turn to hide under the counter as bullets started flying once again, Adams taking precise shots while his sidekick started fanfiring. The adrenaline rushed through me and coursed in my veins as I got to the door. I angled my shoulder to the frame as I ran straight into it, right into the hot sun of the desert, and right into a sheriff and a small militia of armed townsfolk.

I ran head first into the sheriff waiting at the front of the door, knocking him down. I wasted no time regaining speed as everyone on each side of him started firing too, trying not to accidentally hit each other. With a mountain of luck, I dove over a barrel between two buildings up front. I didn't even have time to check my surroundings, I felt like I had no idea where I was. The firing continued, but it wasn't from the people outside. All I could hear now was screams of death as Adams and his sidekick mowed down the opposing force.

"He's out here somewhere," I heard, "You take the right, Colt. I'll take the left. We'll split the payload around." And the rest were boots on the ground, running off to find me. I wanted to stay where I was, hide in the barrel. Being so close to death made me want to hide forever, I all of a sudden didn't have the upper hand. The rival I killed off came back, and I didn't want to go up to the challenge again.

Like all fears, they become things you get used to when you expose yourself to them. Expose myself to this one and any kind of fear of living is immediately evaporated. I like to say I fear no man, but there's always someone stronger than you out there. And one day, they may very well find you.