Shot at

by Blueriver

The gunman smirked as he suddenly raised his weapon and fired at the woman. It was a difficult shot for a revolver, any man could have missed. But he wasn't any man; the bullet flew 200 meters to strike the lady square in the chest.

“Hey, that hurts!”

She wasn't any woman either. She had been, a normal girl in a normal town, but that was before life happened.

She was born on an autumn day in 1823, but it wouldn't be until she was 20 that her story would begin. Until she decided to leave that rotten town and try her luck on the road. Lose herself to find herself, if you gather my meaning.

The people she came in contact with had hearts as full of dirt as the road itself, but at the very least you could count on them doing what was best for them, which made them predictable. Predictably, they tried to strip her of her possessions. Predictably, they backed away from her gun, deeming her rags unworthy of getting shot for. And predictably, they followed her lead when she explained her plan of robbing banks instead of filthy travelers who couldn't even afford a healthy horse.

At first things were easy. She could shoot a rifle better than anyone the gang had ever seen, and her plans were good. They assaulted, she provided cover from afar. They got everything they could carry and lit the bank on fire. She covered the retreat, not caring for the bullets the pursuers throwed at her. They ran and never came back, always staying on the move.

After the first three or four hits they found their next target heavily secured. And they skipped it. Laid low, rode far, found a bank not ready for them and hit it.

Then the gunslinger came.

Gunslingers, the knights of old. Some said they had inhuman gunman powers, able to bend the trajectories of their bullets. They couldn't actually do that, but they were as close you got to inhuman. Well, maybe except for her. We'll see.

The gunslinger tracked her gang down. Nobody knows how they did it, but they seemed to be able to track you even through solid rock. And they were cunning. And he was ruthless. Never mind the bounty on their heads, he simply shot them dead. All of them, before they could even react. And he shot her.

To her credit, she was tough. Nobody knew how or why, but she was tougher than bullets and knives. To his credit, he was damn good. He kept shooting that huge revolver of his while walking towards her, one shot every three or four steps. Always keeping her off balance and unable to run. And when his eight bullets were done, he reloaded in less than a second and kept shooting.

She was getting desperate. The monster of a man had already covered one fourth of the distance, and each of his shots hurt like hell. She was getting bruises all over her body, crying in pain and wondering how many shots it would take to crack her skull if he started shooting at her head. She had been shot with a rifle and laughed at it, yet this devil of a man with his hand cannons was damn close to killing her!

Suddenly there was another shot, and then silence. She strained her eyes and said a prayer. Mali, God bless his dying guts, had shot the gunslinger in the right arm! The armed demon was only stopped for a couple of seconds, before he drew his left gun and shot Mali right between the eyes. Yet it was all the time she needed. The gunslinger was close enough, and her arms hadn't been shot like her torso had. She set the rifle mount to her shoulder, aimed for the heart and fired.

The gunslinger seemed to sense it, for he whirled in place to shoot her before she could shoot him. Such was his inhuman prowess that in the time she pulled the trigger he had actually turned, aimed and fired himself.

He took a bullet to the heart and died. Or at least that's what she guessed. She herself took his bullet on the left eye, which was considerably less bulletproof than the rest of her. She hurt and bled and passed out, but she didn't die from it. Neither did the gunslinger finish her, so she guessed he must be as dead as he meant her to be.

After a couple of hours (or maybe a couple of days, who could say?) she got up. But that's a story for another time. At least she'll have to wear and eyepatch. Eyepatches are cool.