The year is 1884. It's Summer. A gentle breeze plays softly with my hair and caresses my skin. I can taste the sun on my tongue as I breathe, feel my skin tingle under its rays. The crows and hawks soar above, the freedom ruffling their feathers and their calls echoing through the surrounding hills. The scent of smoke from my camp fire nearby tickles my nose as I inhale deeply, enjoying the familiarity of it.
I hear the snap of a twig, jolting the serenity. My eyes snap open and ears prick up. I deliberately slow and deepen my breaths, keeping my heart rate low and remaining quiet. I slowly push the brim of my hat up back over my eyes and stop chewing on the barley resting between my lips. My eyes shift around out of pure instinct. I'm hidden in the tall crops of the field I sit in, leaning against a tall oak tree. I can't exactly see much else, but it was unusual for anyone to be round these parts other than the farmer himself and he'd gone home a while ago.
I hear it again, louder this time as it gets nearer. My hand inches toward my gun in its holster at my hip. I slowly withdraw it as I rise up from the ground, scanning my surroundings and keeping low. The sound of dirt being kicked carelessly sounds from right behind me, round the other side of the tree. I tense. My eyes narrow and I whirl around to the source of the sound, gun raised and cocked before I've completed the turn. I pause. There's nothing there. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising, my heartbeat quickens, my eyes widen.
I feel another set of eyes burning holes in the back of my head. To say I am uncomfortable would be an understatement.
I hear a new sound. Kind of like a swishing sound.
My body instantly relaxes as I breathe a sigh of relief. I throw my head back and run a hand over my face, letting out an exasperated laugh. I re-holster my weapon, drop my shoulders and shake my head, a smile playing at my lips. Finally I turn around.
Archer snorts when he sees my reaction and snickers playfully. Little bastard!
"Archer, I'm not going to lie, you actually had me scared there! You're getting good at this!" I laugh, stroking his mane and scratching behind his ear.
When I was a kid, our family horse had a foal who I named Archer. I was given responsibility over him and throughout the years he's been the closest thing to a real friend that I've had. Sure, the other kids in the area were sort of my friends but they never really understood me the way Archer does. For hours every day we would lounge about in the paddock and I would just tell him everything that came to mind. Obviously it wasn't like he could talk back but instead of just standing, eating grass and wandering away, Archer stood in front of me as I sat cross legged on the ground, staring at me as if he understood exactly what I was telling him. We've even been through scraps together. A couple of times when I would stop at the local saloon I've gotten in fights with other patrons. This one hulk of a guy literally threw me out through the swinging doors and down the front porch. When he squatted down over me to pick me up by the collar of my shirt, Archer pulled so hard on the rope I'd tied him up with that it had snapped, he then galloped up to me and the man, reared and kicked the guy off me. Luckily the man wasn't killed but he didn't mess with me again. I honestly don't know what I would do without Archer, I love him like a brother. I know that sounds weird but it's true.
Archer whinnies and snickers, his tail whipping around again. He nudges me with his nose, pushing me back a little. I giggle and hold is head in both of my hands and rest my forehead against his.
"Where to now, buddy?" I ask. "I'm thinking back to Armadillo. Maybe pass through Thieves Landing for a game of Blackjack against ol' Kurt and Blaine. See if they have any information they might fancy passing on."
Archer whinnies again, kicking the dirt in agreement.
I walk behind him, take a deep breath, steel myself and narrow my eyes briefly in determination. I run the short distance between me and Archer, jump as high as I can, plant my hands above his tail and push myself to land in the saddle, grinning in achievement. He snorts and rears a little before breaking into a flat out gallop as he touches back down. I laugh loudly, enjoying the wind in my hair. I imagine that this is how it feels to be a hawk, flying through the hills, completely free.
See, I'm pretty free. I don't have a stereotypical job. I'm not the woman that helps her father as his nurse assistant. I'm not the girl with certain "clients" down at the saloon. I don't have a husband and kids to look after or a house to keep clean. Far from it, actually.
"Brittany, would you like some warm milk?" My mother asked me, smiling as she popped her head in through the living room door.
"Yes please, Ma!" I grinned. I loved warm milk before bed, it always helped me get to sleep and lately with growing pains, sleeping getting harder to do.
I looked up to my father who was sitting in the armchair by the fire, reading one of his adventure novels. His glasses were slowly but surely sliding further and further down his nose. He sensed me staring at him and looked up and smiled.
"Everything okay, Brittany?" He asked curiously, still smiling.
"Everything's great, Pa." I beamed.
I loved this. I loved the relationship my family had. My mother would always be more than happy to cook the best meals I'd ever tasted and I would always help her without hesitation. My father would let me help him in the fields with the crops and we would play fight when we stopped for breaks. I would jump on his back and he would pretend he didn't expect it and fall to the ground, feigning agony. At first I would get concerned that I had actually hurt him but then out of nowhere he would tickle me until I cried from laughter. In the evenings we would all sit together around the table, enjoying each other's company and relaxing. I loved my parents more than anything.
Just then I heard a noise that was odd, for this time of night and in this area. I cocked my head and strained my ears to listen harder. It sounded like hooves, thundering closer. My eyes widened and I looked back to my father. I didn't think he could hear it because he just looked back up at me questioningly.
What happened next changed my life forever.
A bunch of men stormed into the house from all directions at the same time. Literally, all directions. The front and back doors were barged off of their hinges and every window was shattered as bodies threw themselves through them.
My mother screamed and I heard a pan clatter to the floor in the kitchen. My father jumped out of his chair but was tackled to the ground, bound and gagged within a few seconds.
I stared, my eyes the size of dinner plates, unable to make a sound nor move. All I could hear was my heart battering my ribs.
My mother was brought in a second later by a huge, grimy man; her hands also bound behind her back and her mouth covered by the man's disgusting hand. Both my parents stared back at me, terrified.
A large, dirty paw pressed down on my shoulder and I stiffened. I didn't dare turn around. Besides the three men holding me and my family, there were about twenty or so others lining the walls, watching with menacing grins.
There was a long silence as my parents struggled against their captors, trying to get to me, until I heard footsteps on the porch outside. Everyone in the room turned towards the door in anticipation. In walked two people.
The first was another man. He had on faded blue jeans underneath tan leather chaps. He wore snakeskin boots with shiny silver spurs and his torso was clad in a dirty black shirt. He wore a red neckerchief up over his mouth and nose, with his hat pulled down low, shading his eyes. One of his tanned hands was clenching and unclenching while the other rested on the gun at his belt.
The second person was blatantly a woman. She was beautiful. Her skin was also of a tanned complexion, a little dirty but smooth. She had on a scarlet dress with a white lace trim and long sleeves. Her hat was also pulled down low, but there was no hiding her long, wavy black hair. She smirked as I scrutinised her, walked over me and grabbed my chin. She turned my head from side to side, examining me. She raised her eyebrow and her lips quirked into a devious little smile.
"Tie her up too. She doesn't look like much but she has a similar fire in her eyes to our little one." She said. She had an accent that was rare around here. Spanish, I thought. My father had taught me about the Mexicans, these two people and a few others here must have been from there.
The hand on my shoulder moved to bind my hands but didn't cover or stuff my mouth to stop me talking.
"How old are you, little girl?" The woman asked sharply.
"Thirteen years old." I replied, shocked at how calm my own voice sounded.
The woman's dark eyes widened slightly and her lips parted a little. She turned to the man she walked in with. They seemed to have a silent conversation and a minute later the man nodded.
"She is not to be harmed." She spoke to the man behind me. I felt him stiffen and then relax as he nodded.
"Now," This time it was the man who spoke. "Billy, how are you? It's been a while. Honestly, didn't you miss us enough to pay us a visit?" His voice was menacing as he spoke to my father, who was still on the floor.
My father tried to talk but the cloth in his mouth muffled his words. His eyes were wide as he struggled underneath his captor.
"Billy, that was rhetorical. If I wanted to listen to your irritating voice I would have never ordered the guys to gag you before we came in here. You have a debt to be paid, Billy. I gave you time but apparently you're too cowardly to come to me. Did I mention that there was interest on the debt? See, the money would have been nice at first. But we grew impatient. Besides, we don't need the money, it just would have been nice. Also, we know you don't have an awful lot of money so we figure we'll just... Take the lives of you and your wife here." He smirked.
"NO!" I screamed. "No! You can't! Please! Please! Don't kill them!"
The large hand covered my mouth and held me back as I tried to jump up. My parents looked at me with fear in their eyes. It wasn't fear for themselves, but for me. If they weren't going to kill me what did they want with me?
My mother tried to kick the man who held her but another just grabbed her by the legs and they dropped her onto the floor, straddling her.
My father squirmed, trying to get to her but failed.
"Any last words, Billy? Wife?" The woman sneered, gesturing for her cronies to take the cloths out of their mouths.
They turned to me again, eyes apologetic and hopeless.
"We love you, Britt." They both said in unison.
I felt the tears that had welled up in my eyes escape freely now, an unending waterfall cascading down my face.
"I l-love you t-too." I cried.
My heart was frantic, my blood pounded through my ears, a lump sat in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to look away but hands held my face so I could only face my parents. I watched as the faceless man pulled his gun to my father's head and another held a knife to my mother's throat.
There was a gut wrenching bang and a blood curdling slice and my parents were lying on the floor in front of me, in pools of red mingling together.
I felt sick. I felt dizzy. My heart was pounding against my ribcage too hard. My blood was surely past boiling point. I threw up into the hand that covered my mouth and all over myself. Black spots popped up, blocking my vision. My head felt too light. My breath hitched as I tried to suck down more air. I felt weak. My eyelids felt heavy but I fought against the blackness. What was happening? I didn't know but I did know that that was the last time I ever saw my parents...
After that night I woke up in a strange room to sunlight streaming through the window. It turned out to be Sheriff Sylvester's house. She took me under her wing from then on, training me to use weapons and how to fight. She felt strongly about me being able to defend myself after that night. I wasn't complaining. In fact, I loved it.
I made a promise to myself. I would hunt down the people who killed my only family. I would make them pay for what they did. I would make them feel the loss I had felt. I wouldn't kill them, that wouldn't cause them enough pain. I would hunt down their "little one" the woman had referred to. Then they would know what it felt like.
I started to ask questions and though Sheriff was reluctant, she told me everything I wanted to know. I learned that the murderers were Carlos and Maria Lopez and their gang. I found out that they had a daughter named Santana who was the same age as me, which was why I guessed they had spared my life.
At eighteen I left the Sheriff with Archer and set out to hunt down those that took everything away from me. I became a bounty hunter, capturing outlaws for money but mainly for information. The Lopez gang had a fierce reputation, but I was determined.
Three years later, I'm twenty-one years old and my skills are unmatched. I have never lost a duel, never lost a race and never not caught an outlaw. I've been biding my time, patiently gathering all information possible before I face the Lopez monsters. They are a crafty gang. Outrageously notorious and yet almost inconspicuous in their crimes. But someday soon, I will fulfil my mission.
Santana Lopez, you better watch your back. You're family made the first move and now it's my turn.