Turbinio

Coca Leaves

Distracted, you remained to look at Hot Pants. Confusion became clear on your face. He had made this plan, he was about to flank Ringo, and now he's giving up? You watched him slowly walk away, and then a crash echoed through the house.

Hot Pants attacked him with his spray. Whatever that was. But Ringo dodged exceptionally as if he already knew this was going to happen. Cadichon stirred more, she could sense you were nervous, so she walked away with cautious steps.

''Impossible! What was that?! My spray definitely got him!'' Incredulous at Ringo's prowess, Hot Pants exclaimed.

A shocked silence ensued until Ringo gave his word.

''Six seconds... I was fair and have already explained to you, in all fairness. You will never be able to escape unless you kill me!''

You froze when you heard a gunshot followed by a guttural scream of pain and agony. Ringo shot Hot Pants in the hand. Your eyes widened, watching the impressive exhibition of absurdities that Gyro and Johnny's dexterity and skill could achieve. Johnny was the first to attack. He fired fewer shots than he actually intended, as Ringo returned with a well-aimed shot to the jockey's head.

Gyro and Johnny's strengths were purely concentrated in their method of attack, it being simplicity and surprise itself. Ringo knew when and where Johnny would shoot, so he was able to avoid most of the shots by finishing him. From behind, Hot Pants attacked again but was also met with a fatal shot. With your hands clutching Cadichon's mane, your only objective now was to try not to fall to the ground, as despair had taken over every part of your body.

Your body shuddered more and, in a move purely driven by impulsiveness, you shot at Ringo. Or at least tried. Not unlike Johnny and Hot Pants, you were also answered with a gunshot. The throbbing pain and the adrenaline rush didn't let you assess the state of your wound or even where it was. You heard Gyro scream for Johnny, who was lying on the floor. A trickle of blood trickled slowly down his face. Looking at Johnny's body was, in many ways, worse than watching Gaucho's slow, agonizing death.

You let Cadichon drop you and turned, gasping. You tried to get up and staggered like an insect that has just been stepped on, dripping and squirming. The sound of more gunfire startled you and Gyro fell off his horse.

He too staggered back, hands clasped to his abdomen. He looked wildly around as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening and then dropped to one knee. You heard his breathing fast and hard.

There were clicks as Ringo idly dragged Johnny's body, scarce of life, and then disappeared into the dark house. You were on your feet, paralyzed by shock and acute pain. You felt something warm run down your arm and saw the blood spurt thickly between your fingers. Ringo was fast and his aim was impeccable, you had to admit, and you were pretty sure that shot in the shoulder was purposely a warning of sorts. He wouldn't shoot a woman the way he'd shot your other three partners.

Everything felt remote like it was happening in slow motion. You walked slowly to Gyro, balancing yourself with difficulty as if you didn't know exactly how to do it.

''That guy... this bastard...'' You heard Gyro growl between bloodstained teeth.

The pain in your shoulder was punctuated with a sharp rage. You bent down to pick up your carbine and your bag, opening it with the arm you could still move. Staining the old fabric with fresh, warm blood, you picked up a vial with your slick hands. Coca leaves soaked in jambu oil. If this anesthetic solution didn't make you pass out in a few minutes, it would ease the pain considerably. You opened the vial with your teeth and chewed all the crushed leaves in it, feeling your tongue burn terribly. You can't die there, so pathetically, from bleeding.