AN: Hey guys here's the second chapter! :D Things get a bit intense here and bloody so the M rating is for a reason :P
Chapter 2: Remembering Home
They were in an old bar, sat at a creaky wooden table that showed its years of servitude to drinks, fights and god knows what else. There was the heavy smell of tequila in the air, very pungent alcoholic smells flowing through his nose. The walls were a sandy stone colour, and the people, they were darker than him his father. And spoke a different language. He couldn't understand a single word, but this didn't worry him. He wouldn't be here too much longer. He looked around, at bar was another floozy flirting whit yet another man. He thought.
'Yet another victim to that bowlegged bitch.' He chuckled. He turned back to the matter at hand.
He was sat opposite an old man with grey, wispy hair, wrinkles showing his age being in his much elder age, late 50s to early 60s at least. He was holding this gun by the barrel, the stock pointing towards him, a voice damaged with years upon years of tobacco smoking, or chewing, he didn't really know, he was saying.
"Well done son, you're a good killer, just like I was. And so I give you your own revolver, like my papa did when I was a young gunslinger like yourself." He moved in a grabbed the weapon by its hefty wooden stock. His fingers wrapped around the stock, it perfectly fitting his hands, his finger instinctively going onto the trigger, not pulling it firmly, just resting on it.
"That there is a Single Action Army, Cavalry standard, a very good gun." He rolled it around in his hands, tracing the intricate swirling engravings with his eyes. It was a beautiful shine of silver, the polished wood glistening under the small electric light of the bar. He held it out straight and closed one eye, lining up the sights perfectly, just aiming at the floor. The old man said suddenly.
"Don't worry about the sights." He looked into his old grey eyes. "I set them earlier, and tested them too…" He paused. "I'm going to miss you son…" He saw his eyes twinkling with tears, before his father looked away, or so he thought was his father, you could never be sure of these things. He reached over and put a hand on his supposed father's shoulder and said, comfortingly.
"It's okay, I'll be back, you've taught me well, very well." He smiled. The man turned back towards him and smiled, before looking quickly over his shoulder, the smile disappearing quicker than a startled cougar, being replaced with a deathly look. He followed the track of his companion's eyes to outside the bar.
Opposite the building was a small church, built of the same lightly coloured stone as the bar, it reflected the midday sun and was a very bright colour of white. But that wasn't what his friend was looking at. In front of the bar, in the courtyard outside, a small group of men were arriving on horses. They wore green uniforms and had rifles on their backs, apart from one.
"Stay calm." Whispered his companion "They are probably looking for rebels… Like us. But they won't dare point us out… Yet." He patted him calmly, he then turned back and faced him. But he could feel their eyes on him piercing into his back, his acute senses began to kick in, he could hear the steel heels of the sergeant's boots on the stone floor going across the room, coming towards him.
He turned his chair round to face this man. The bar was now completely empty, the floozy and man at the bar had left, and the barmaid had retreated into a back room. The sergeant was now at an arm's length away from him.
He was big, not tall, but wide. His small beady eyes were deeply set in his face, it was a miracle how he could see anyway. On his wide face stood a proud bushy moustache and an angry expression, hidden by the crooks of fat on his neck. He said calmly.
"Problem sergeant?" He smiled, trying to lure him into a false sense of sense of security, before the round began to fly. He led back relaxed, leaning the back of his chair on the edge of the table. Smiling as he did, but laying a hand on his new weapon, just in case he didn't fall for this trap.
The sergeant said in English, with a Hispanic accent.
"No, nothing at all… But we had heard that there had been some troublesome Americans helping the rebels. Would you know these two Americans?" He smiled. The old man replied quickly.
"Why no, of course not, but there are a lot of Americans in Mexico, do you know what these two people look like?"
"Well descriptions of them said that they worked in a pair, an old and a young man, which made me think of you two. So, are you going to come with us?" He answered with a chuckle, the hand on his revolver tightening, in preparation.
"Now why would we want to do that? We were just having a nice drink." The sergeant turned to his men quickly and shouted.
"Seize them!" They both stood up quickly, the old man drawing his revolver and aiming towards the group of men who were fumbling with rifles, while he grabbed the sergeant by hooking an arm around his neck and planting the barrel of his weapon into the base of his back.
"No sudden moves." He said quickly to the sergeant. The sergeant shouted in blind ignorance of his command.
"Shoot them!" As he threw is hand into his holster, the young man's reaction was instant. He pulled the trigger firmly this time, blood showering from the front of the sergeant's chest. His body collapsed to the stone floor. Dead.
Bullets began to fly this way and that. The soldier's firing bolt action rifles towards the two rebels. The old man flipped up a table and dived behind it as the rounds burst the stone was behind him. The young man dived left, firing two more rounds as he landed and rolled behind the bar, shards of glass from bottles and shot glasses falling all around him.
"Damn, I wish I could still do that." The old man said chuckling, as he reached around a withdrew a second revolver, then popping up and loosing some rounds towards the soldiers, as they released another flurry of rounds missing him and being stopped by the table, sending shards of timber left, right and centre.
The young man chuckled, before bursting from beneath the bar and firing more rounds at the soldiers, who had now scattered into cover around the bar. One was just outside behind a table in the veranda, one at the door of the bar itself, and the last was running towards the horses. He had to be stopped. They couldn't do with anymore soldiers. He aimed his last two rounds at this man, they hit their mark perfectly. Stopping him dead in his tracks, he collapsed to the floor in a heap. The two rounds had penetrated through his back and exited through his chest, spraying blood in a large arc in front of him.
The horses startled and ran from the hitch, scattering out of the courtyard and out of his field of vision. Now they had no escape, they were to die now. He led back and moved his hands in his well trained and practiced reloading trick, loading six rounds into the separate chambers.
He looked at the old man and nodded. And he nodded back, a simple signal to both of them. He breathed deeply, preparing for the worst. Quickly he rolled over the top of the bar, running swiftly towards the door and out to the veranda, the old man following him through the left exit onto the flank of the veranda.
The soldier at the door came around and aimed his rifle, but his eyes widened to see him almost on top of him. The young man raised his weapon quicker than the soldier could react, shooting him through the skull, his head exploding in a spray of blood and skull fragment. Some splayed back towards him, catching blood drops on his coat. The soldier's head flicked back and he fell to the ground faster than a full sack of rye.
He jumped swiftly over the body and into the burning midday sun of the Mexican summer, instantly making him sweat. But he did not let anything falter him, he needed to find and kill this last man. A burning rage inside spurned him on. His eyes dashed his field of vision left and right, his weapon following his eyes in a straight arm, he heard the old man shout out.
"He's over here! I got the bastard!" He ran to the source of the shouting and saw the soldier laid on the ground, his rifle kicked away from him and holding one side of his face, his nose bleeding, probably broken. He looked at his companion.
"So what do we do with him now?" He asked. The old man fired mercilessly silencing the final soldier's painful screams, spraying his brain matter all over the floor.
"That." He said simply and easily, shrugging his shoulders.
AN: Hey again! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! And leave reviews with feedback and stuff :P