Introductory from a WIP. It's to be a Western, it may have fantasy elements or may not.
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The bullet clipped her boot heel a good second or more before the report cracked the sky overhead, making her horse shy just a little. Lannister pulled the Winchester from it’s scabbard, leaned down behind the animal, and did her best to flow onto the ground below, being careful to grab the extra long reins as she rolled onto her back, away from the hooves. She scanned the high and rocky skyline beside her. Nothing.
Without hesitation she rolled onto her belly, dropped the reins and began to crawl toward a small boulder, about ten feet to the left. Something impacted the sand ahead of her and then the sky cracked loudly again. She stopped, looked up at the rocks briefly and then she quickly came to her feet in a very low crouch, sprinted to the boulder, and wriggled down behind it, doing her best to crawl under the rock, though that proved as impossible as she had expected it to.
No further shots came immediately and seconds ticked by. Lannister counted thirty and nothing happened.
She surveyed the area, carefully leaning around the boulder’s lower edges for furtive glances but seeing a sandy waste in all directions save the high outcrop her assailant was behind. It was actually very lucky even this little boulder was here
Damn, Damn, Damn, She thought. She had known she should have worked around this area, stayed in the rocks, maybe even went further North and tried to find a nice shady forest, though it was fat chance of that in this climate. But she was tired, and hungry, and wanted to get to Kingslin before nightfall.
And now thirsty, it came to her as she remembered the canteen still on the horse.
It isn’t fair, she thought uselessly. The war is over, there shouldn’t BE anyone shooting at me.
‘Life isn’t fair’ the tired, futile and bitter, old platitude suddenly brought back that awful day in 1865 at Petersburg. The shock and sudden terrible grief she had felt then flowed over her like a cloak of awful darkness. To go all that time, to suffer all she had, and then…
She heard a soft pattering noise just above her and felt shards of hot rock land on her neck. A second later the sky cracked again.
He’s trying to flush me she thought, he's getting impatient. .
She assessed her situation. She had a full magazine of 7 shots in the Winchester and more in the ammo belt. She even had a loaded Colt in the holster at her side, a surprisingly good distance weapon though probably useless here. No problem with bullets.
Otherwise, she was back with the 12th at Petersburg. It was only a matter of time. Soon, he’d work his way around to somewhere he could see her. The very thing that made the boulder cover now would then hold her fast and allow him to shoot her at his leisure.
She chanced another look around the boulder’s edge. Her horse was still standing where it had been. Good animal, maybe battle trained, she thought, but horses are cheap and this one just looks old rather than brave. This guy is probably after me because I have full saddlebags
I wonder if he’d be willing to let them get away. She brought the Winchester to her shoulder and shot underneath her animal, once and when it didn’t move, quickly once again. The animal shied and fled.
From a place on the high rocks a shot echoed out, then another and another. The smoke was as clear as an Indian’s signal. Lannister brought the repeater up and emptied her magazine at the rockline directly under the smoke as fast as she could work the lever. Even from where she was she could hear the ricochets chipping shards.
She dived back around the boulder and reloaded with the clear and fast precision she’d been taught. Then she turned back and brought the weapon to bear on the same area again while nearly standing. This time she laid two shots on her previous target then rapidly raked the rockline out from it, alternating right and left until empty. She dived again, reloaded and then counted to thirty, and then thirty again. After giving it another full minute for good measure she stood up and faced toward her so far invisible foe, keeping her weapon leveled.
There was silence for a good two minutes before she relaxed.
It seems he prefers easier prey, but she still kept the Winchester leveled.
She heard an even more distant shot behind her. In a moment of sick panic she turned and saw distant figures approaching from the vast wasteland to the rear, but then noted that one of them was waving a rifle to which he had attached a white handkerchief. She waited a few moments and then waved her gun back, heaving a sigh of relief as she noted that they seemed to be in uniform
Strange looking, she thought as they approached. She wished she had the spyglass now still on her horse. Looks like Zouaves, a little, but what would Zouaves be doing this far West?
She placed her rifle to one side and sat down on the rock. She still wore the Confederate butternut coat because it hid well the inconvenient fact she was a woman. She had heard there were still active Confederates here though, and didn't want what seemed Union soldiers to mistake her for a hostile one. That would be the cruelest irony, to die for the one thing she hated most in the world, after it was no longer even useful.
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The bullet clipped her boot heel a good second or more before the report cracked the sky overhead, making her horse shy just a little. Lannister pulled the Winchester from it’s scabbard, leaned down behind the animal, and did her best to flow onto the ground below, being careful to grab the extra long reins as she rolled onto her back, away from the hooves. She scanned the high and rocky skyline beside her. Nothing.
Without hesitation she rolled onto her belly, dropped the reins and began to crawl toward a small boulder, about ten feet to the left. Something impacted the sand ahead of her and then the sky cracked loudly again. She stopped, looked up at the rocks briefly and then she quickly came to her feet in a very low crouch, sprinted to the boulder, and wriggled down behind it, doing her best to crawl under the rock, though that proved as impossible as she had expected it to.
No further shots came immediately and seconds ticked by. Lannister counted thirty and nothing happened.
She surveyed the area, carefully leaning around the boulder’s lower edges for furtive glances but seeing a sandy waste in all directions save the high outcrop her assailant was behind. It was actually very lucky even this little boulder was here
Damn, Damn, Damn, She thought. She had known she should have worked around this area, stayed in the rocks, maybe even went further North and tried to find a nice shady forest, though it was fat chance of that in this climate. But she was tired, and hungry, and wanted to get to Kingslin before nightfall.
And now thirsty, it came to her as she remembered the canteen still on the horse.
It isn’t fair, she thought uselessly. The war is over, there shouldn’t BE anyone shooting at me.
‘Life isn’t fair’ the tired, futile and bitter, old platitude suddenly brought back that awful day in 1865 at Petersburg. The shock and sudden terrible grief she had felt then flowed over her like a cloak of awful darkness. To go all that time, to suffer all she had, and then…
She heard a soft pattering noise just above her and felt shards of hot rock land on her neck. A second later the sky cracked again.
He’s trying to flush me she thought, he's getting impatient. .
She assessed her situation. She had a full magazine of 7 shots in the Winchester and more in the ammo belt. She even had a loaded Colt in the holster at her side, a surprisingly good distance weapon though probably useless here. No problem with bullets.
Otherwise, she was back with the 12th at Petersburg. It was only a matter of time. Soon, he’d work his way around to somewhere he could see her. The very thing that made the boulder cover now would then hold her fast and allow him to shoot her at his leisure.
She chanced another look around the boulder’s edge. Her horse was still standing where it had been. Good animal, maybe battle trained, she thought, but horses are cheap and this one just looks old rather than brave. This guy is probably after me because I have full saddlebags
I wonder if he’d be willing to let them get away. She brought the Winchester to her shoulder and shot underneath her animal, once and when it didn’t move, quickly once again. The animal shied and fled.
From a place on the high rocks a shot echoed out, then another and another. The smoke was as clear as an Indian’s signal. Lannister brought the repeater up and emptied her magazine at the rockline directly under the smoke as fast as she could work the lever. Even from where she was she could hear the ricochets chipping shards.
She dived back around the boulder and reloaded with the clear and fast precision she’d been taught. Then she turned back and brought the weapon to bear on the same area again while nearly standing. This time she laid two shots on her previous target then rapidly raked the rockline out from it, alternating right and left until empty. She dived again, reloaded and then counted to thirty, and then thirty again. After giving it another full minute for good measure she stood up and faced toward her so far invisible foe, keeping her weapon leveled.
There was silence for a good two minutes before she relaxed.
It seems he prefers easier prey, but she still kept the Winchester leveled.
She heard an even more distant shot behind her. In a moment of sick panic she turned and saw distant figures approaching from the vast wasteland to the rear, but then noted that one of them was waving a rifle to which he had attached a white handkerchief. She waited a few moments and then waved her gun back, heaving a sigh of relief as she noted that they seemed to be in uniform
Strange looking, she thought as they approached. She wished she had the spyglass now still on her horse. Looks like Zouaves, a little, but what would Zouaves be doing this far West?
She placed her rifle to one side and sat down on the rock. She still wore the Confederate butternut coat because it hid well the inconvenient fact she was a woman. She had heard there were still active Confederates here though, and didn't want what seemed Union soldiers to mistake her for a hostile one. That would be the cruelest irony, to die for the one thing she hated most in the world, after it was no longer even useful.
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