Bounty in the Rain
The rain came down in sheets, drumming on the tin rooftops, spilling over the edges of crumbling walls. Each drop hit the earth like a hammer, turning dirt into thick mud that swallowed my boots. The village lay ahead, half-buried in fog, little more than a graveyard of hollowed-out buildings and splintered beams. Everything had a dull, gray sheen, the world blurred by the relentless downpour.
I tugged at my coat, trying to keep the water off my neck, but the chill had already crept in, settling into my bones. Every breath I took tasted damp, the air heavy with the scent of wet ash and rotting wood. Somewhere nearby, smoke mixed with the rain, a faint curl of it winding through the ruin.
Jonah walked a few steps behind me, his hat pulled low over his face. He hadn’t said a word since the rain started, but he didn’t need to. The way his boots sank into the mud with each step, the way his shoulders hunched against the weather—it all told me what I already knew. He hated this.
We both did.
But we weren’t here to complain. There was money on the line. Two thousand dollars for Davis, dead or alive, and after weeks of trailing him across the South, we were close. I could feel it, the way you feel a storm building before the sky splits open.
“He’s holed up here,” Jonah said, his voice barely louder than the rain.
I didn’t respond, but I could taste the truth of his words. The air felt wrong here, thick with tension, like the whole village was waiting for something to break. The wind howled through the empty streets, rattling the shutters that still clung to broken houses. The mud sucked at my boots, trying to pull me down with every step, but I kept moving, hand resting on the butt of my gun, eyes scanning the ruins.
“There,” Jonah muttered, nodding toward the remnants of a building up ahead.
It might have been a church once, or something like it. The roof was half gone, the rest of it sagging inward, as if the building had given up on holding itself together. Smoke curled up from inside, thin and gray, mixing with the rain. Someone was in there.
Jonah and I exchanged a look. He unslung his rifle, checking the chamber with a quiet click that was swallowed by the downpour. I drew my pistol, the cold metal slick in my hand, and we moved closer, keeping low. The rain covered our approach, the steady beat of it on the ground masking the sound of our footsteps.
The smell of wet wood and smoke grew stronger as we neared the building. My breath fogged in the cool air, the chill of it seeping deep into my lungs. I could hear the faint crackle of a fire inside, struggling to stay alive in the damp.
I motioned for Jonah to take the left, and I circled to the right, keeping close to the crumbling walls. The mud squelched under my boots, clinging to me like it didn’t want to let go. I crept around the corner, gun held ready, the rain stinging my face as I moved.
Inside the building, the fire flickered weakly in the center of the room, casting long shadows against the cracked stone walls. And there, slumped against the far wall, was a man. He sat with his back to me, his body limp, hat pulled low over his face. His shoulders were hunched, motionless.
I froze, heart pounding, the cold steel of the gun steady in my grip. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.
Jonah slipped in from the other side, rifle raised, his eyes locking on the figure. We moved closer, cautious, our boots making soft, wet thuds on the stone floor. The smell of blood hit me first, thick and metallic, cutting through the smoke. I clenched my jaw, holding back the taste of bile that rose in my throat.
I reached out and nudged the man’s hat back with the barrel of my gun. His head lolled to the side, revealing a neck that had been sliced open, the wound jagged and black with congealed blood. His skin was waxy, pale in the dim light, and his eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.
“Damn,” I whispered, stepping back.
Jonah crouched down beside the body, inspecting the man’s clothes, the dirt-caked boots, the frayed edges of his coat. His hand brushed the dried blood on the floor, his fingers coming away dark and sticky.
“It ain’t Davis,” he said, his voice low, barely audible over the crackling fire. “But Davis did this.”
The words hung heavy between us, thick as the air in that room. I could feel the tension crackling like a live wire. The rain outside picked up, hammering against the walls, filling the room with a low, constant roar.
I took a deep breath, the smell of death filling my nostrils, mixing with the dampness in the air. “We need to move. He’s close.”
Jonah stood, wiping the rain from his face, his eyes sharp. “Too close.”
We slipped back into the rain, leaving the dead man behind. The wind whipped through the village, biting cold against my face. I could feel Davis out there, somewhere in the gray, watching us. He was always one step ahead, like a shadow that disappeared just as you turned to face it. But this time, we were close.
We cut through the village, sticking to the walls of the broken buildings. The mud slowed us down, every step a battle, but I pushed through. My pulse quickened, the familiar rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins. The rain hit the brim of my hat, running down the back of my neck, soaking into my shirt.
Up ahead, the silhouette of a large building loomed through the fog—the town hall, or what was left of it. The walls still stood, towering over the rest of the village, the roof sagging but intact. If Davis was anywhere, he’d be there. It was the only place big enough to offer cover.
Jonah’s eyes flicked to mine, and I nodded. We moved forward, keeping low, our boots sloshing through the muck. The rain was falling harder now, drumming on the rooftops, masking the sound of everything else.
I could feel the tension rising in my chest, a tightness that made it hard to breathe. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air, mixing with the wet earth and the faint, acrid scent of gunpowder. My hand tightened on the grip of my gun, the weight of it familiar, comforting.
And then I heard it—a soft click, barely audible over the rain.
“Down!” I shouted, diving behind a pile of rubble just as the first shot rang out.
The bullet slammed into the stone beside me, sending shards of rock flying. My heart hammered in my chest as I crouched low, gun drawn, eyes scanning the windows of the town hall. Jonah had already dropped to the ground, his rifle raised, steady.
“He’s up there,” Jonah growled, nodding toward a second-floor window.
I could barely make out the shape of Davis, hidden in the shadows, his rifle poking through the shattered glass. He fired again, and I ducked as the bullet tore through the air, whistling past my head.
“We’ve got to flush him out,” I said, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. The rain poured down, soaking through my clothes, chilling me to the bone.
Jonah didn’t respond, but I knew what he was thinking. We had one shot at this. Davis was pinned down, but if we didn’t move fast, he’d slip away again.
“Cover me,” I said, already moving before Jonah could answer.
He fired off a shot, the crack of his rifle echoing through the village, as I sprinted toward the building. The mud sucked at my boots, but I pushed through, my body tense, adrenaline flooding my veins. Another shot rang out, splintering the wood just inches from my head.
I reached the side of the building, slamming my back against the wall, breathing hard. The sound of the rain filled my ears, drowning out everything else. I could hear Davis moving above me, the creak of the floorboards, the shuffle of boots. He was up there, waiting.
I slipped around the side of the building, finding a narrow staircase that led to the second floor. The wood was slick with rain, each step threatening to give way beneath me. My hand tightened on my gun as I moved, slow and deliberate. I could hear my own breath, harsh and ragged in the silence, the smell of wet wood and sweat filling my nose.
When I reached the top, I paused, listening. The room was dark, the windows broken, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and damp earth. I could hear Davis moving just ahead, his boots scuffing against the floor. He didn’t know I was there.
I took another step.
The floor creaked beneath me.
Davis spun around, his rifle raised, eyes wide. I saw the flash of movement, heard the sharp crack of the shot, but I was faster. I dropped to one knee and fired. The bullet caught him in the shoulder, spinning him back against the wall. His rifle clattered to the ground, his body slumping forward, blood dripping from his mouth.
I stepped closer, gun still trained on him, my heart pounding in my chest. The smell of blood filled the room, thick and metallic. Davis looked up at me, his eyes wild, a twisted smile on his lips.
“It ain’t ever over,” he rasped, blood bubbling from his throat.
I didn’t hesitate. I fired again. The shot echoed through the empty room, and Davis slumped forward, dead.
For a long moment, I stood there, breathing hard, the smell of gunpowder and death heavy in the air. The rain tapped softly against the broken windows, and for the first time in weeks, there was silence.
I holstered my gun and walked to the window, wiping the rain from my face. Jonah was standing below, rifle still in hand, watching. He gave me a single nod.
I nodded back
It was done.
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