a Western thingy.

[Citadel16 he/him]

I was going through my computer, trying to find things to delete to save space and I found my first ever attempt at writing.

 

I have it right here, the whole story.

 

To punish and protect.

(spoiler tag for length)

 

Brack sighed in annoyance as he heard the sound of a sidearm clearing the holster in the alley way behind him. He should have seen this coming. With all the arrests recently it had only been a matter of time before one of Brand’s men got smart and decided to eliminate him.

            “Hold it, marshal,” that voice sounded familiar. It was Lenny, one of Brands short heighted head lackeys. Brack set his hands slightly out to each side of him in a seemingly harmless gesture. The way he had been taught a long time ago, by his trainer. That had been a long time ago.

            Brand had sent a common thug to take down a U.S. Marshal. He would hang for this, and a dozen other crimes his men were wanted for.

            Brack turned slowly and met the eyes of the thug in the cold moonlight. He held a common .45 caliber revolver action sidearm that was leveled at Brack’s chest.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” Brack said casually.

“Don’t give me that crap,” Lenny growled, the gun clicked as he cocked back the hammer.

Brack shrugged, his arms still out to his sides in a seemingly harmless gesture. “So what’s it going to be?” he said, “A beating? A shot through the forehead?” Brand liked those statements.

Lenny grunted and pointed the revolver at Brack's right thigh.

Brack grabbed his shooting wrist and, twisting into it, slammed his elbow into Lenny’s stomach. He ripped Lenny’s revolver from his loose fingers.

            Brack twisted away and leveled the revolver at Lenny, but misjudged the distance between them. Lenny dove at Brack's legs and they both toppled to the rough ground. As Brack fell forward, the gun went off.

Brack rolled to his feet, revolver still ready. But Lenny didn’t move from his position on the ground. Cautiously, Brack moved towards the limp figure on the ground

The sound of running to his right caused him to whip out his own side arm, an ivory handled colt peacemaker from its holster and aimed it down the alleyway. Four men skidded to a halt and leveling their own weapons. Sheriff Haines men. One of them carried a lantern that revealed Brack’s face.

“Its Marshal Calloway,” one said, and they lowered weapons, rushing to his side. One looked down at Lenny on the ground. Cursing, he began to check him for vitals. “Go for Connors!” he shouted and a pair of men ran off. They seemed to show a lot of respect to this apparent youth. He stood up to look Brack in the eye.

“You need to begin explaining yourself.” Brack scowled at the kids demand. Who did this boy think he was, the sheriff’s boy?

“I’ll explain myself to sheriff Haine,” not you.

“Yeah well, I’m his son,”

Bracks scowl deepened and he shoved passed the boy and holstering his peacemaker, left the alleyway.

He was halfway across the dirt road when a shrill voice shouted into the cold.

“I have you now brand! You won’t get away from me this time!”

Bracks eyes widened as Greta- the town’s incredibly short bartender and pub owner- pushed her way through the pub doors, carrying a massive moose rifle nearly twice as tall as the bartender. She aimed the weapon and Brack dove to the ground. A deafening CRACK! Sounded and some brick and mortar shattered behind him.

Brack pulled himself up.

For pity’s sake, woman! It’s only me!” where was she? Then he saw her, dazed, Greta stumble to her feet about three feet away from where she had fired the rifle.

“Oh!” she said, dazed “well then, quiet down!”

A few of the deputies from the alley way came to see what the commotion was. The sheriff’s kid came and stood beside him.

   “Everyone wants to shoot you today, eh marshal?”

 

Brand pushed open the door of Doctor Connors home. The well lit room illuminated him in his long brown coat that went down to the middle of his shin. It was open at the front, revealing a pair of holstered revolvers at his hips. His peacemaker was on his left hip, positioned to be drawn from his right hand from across his body. The second was a plainer sidearm with a shorter barrel that rested on his right hip, also to be drawn from the right hand. In case he needed to be quick on the draw. Like today.

A pair of guards toting rifles stood ready on the inside. And for a moment Brack considered whether or not brand would come for his man. One of the men nodded in respect as he walked by.

Brack returned the nod then went to the back room. Inside, sheriff Haine and the doctor stood in conversation. On the table beside them lay a still unconscious Lenny. The conversation stopped as Brack entered.

“How is he doctor?”

Doctor Connors scowled. “He’s dying” he said with gritted teeth.

Brack simply nodded and the doctors scowl deepened. sheriff Haines looked at conners, then turned his gaze to Brack.

“one of my men says that this fella got in a tussel with you last night. Then my son had some… things to say about it. What happened?”

“What happened? Lenny tried to shoot me. That’s quite obvious, I should think.”

   “Obviously!?” Connors sputtered, “There’s hardly a mark on you!”

“That’s because he failed.” Brack stated, “Obviously”

Doctor Connors scowled again. He seemed to be getting good at it.

“Brack, may I speak to you for a moment.” Sheriff Haine left the room.

Brack gave a nod to the doctor, who turned red He opened his mouth to say something, but Brack was already out the door.

Both guards had left the room, leaving the sheriff and Brack alone. Sheriff Haine was a thin man, with greying hair and a drooping mustache. he kept his hand on the .45 walker pistol he had at his side as if expecting a fight.

“I want to know what happened, in excruciating detail, and don’t leave anything out.”

Brack complied. and the detail was excruciating. When he finished the sheriff had a thoughtful look on his face. Then he sighed and shook his head.

“Brack, I know you mean well. You’ve been a great help here, and I appreciate that. You’ve taken a load off my shoulders, and for that you have my thanks.

“But I’m the law in this town. And I simply cannot allow you to keep going on like this! Do you know how many deaths we’ve had since your arrival? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Eighteen.”

“My point exactly. In two weeks you’ve managed to put down eighteen individuals. Granted, they were criminals, every last one, but that isn’t our job. Our job is to enforce the law.”

“That’s what I am doing.”

“No, what you’re going on a rampage killing anyone who a judge might sentence to hangin’. That’s fine for the most part, except for one thing: if they aint got a trial, then it’s not right, do you understand?”

Brack nodded.

“So try to tone it down, okay?”

“I will do my best, sir,”

“Good,”

 

“The usual?” Greta asked, giving no mention to the night before, when she had shot at Brack. The pub wasn’t busy, only a few of Haines deputies sat at a corner table.

Brack nodded and accepted the glass of whiskey. He swallowed half of it in one gulp. What to do now. The promise he had made to sheriff Haine may just upend his whole plan.

Someone sat down next to Brack and ordered a drink. Greta paled and Brack stiffened as he recognized the voice of his enemy.

Brand leaned against the counter as Greta stared in horror at the unwanted visitor. The first thing Brack noticed was his weapons. There was a browning rifle slung across his back, and a pair of gleaming pistols hung from his belt. He was dressed for a fight.

So was Brack.

There were three more men in the room, two with rifles and the one dark clothed one that carried no visible weapons. The deputies in the corner had left; Brack was alone with the thieves.

Brack regarded his broad shouldered foe with a calm expression. All thoughts of his promise to Haine went out the window. This could be so easy…

Brand looked at Brack with smirk. “Good to see you again marshal, I heard you had some fun last night.”

So easy…

Brack placed a hand on the revolver on his right.

Brand shrugged. “Well someone recently killed an associate of mine, and well, it’s made me quite angry,” reaching behind the counter, brand pulled out a fresh bottle of whiskey and opened it with a knife.

“Well,” he continued, “whoever did it should know better. I may have to teach them a lesson so that no more accidents occur.”

“We both know a simple ‘lesson’ won’t stop me,” Brack said, his voice was firm. And cold, “the only way this will end is with a gravestone.”

Brand swallowed his whiskey, and then placed the empty glass on the counter “we’ll see about that.”

He walked away, leaving the bottle on the counter. So easy…

Brack reached across his body and pulled the peacemaker from its holster. Four men, two by the door, the dark clothed one in the center, and then brand.

Brack spun from his stool and it clattered to the ground behind him, he leveled the peacemaker at the crime lords back.

But as fast as he was, the man in black was faster. He spun and hurled a knife at Brack. Brack twisted and the knife split his glass in half.

Brack leveled his sidearm to face this new threat. He ducked to the side as another blade flew past his cheek. He over turned the table as a third blade stuck it.

“Ah,” brand said, “I see you met my new hit man, seeing as you killed my last,” Brand chuckled. “You might find him a little harder to-”

Brack jumped from his hiding spot and fired twice at the knife thrower. The first shot collided with the knife in a shower of sparks.

The second went right through his chest. Blood sprayed out hi back and he tumbled to the floor, knocking over tables and chairs on his way down.

Brack swung his revolver around at Brand, but dove for cover as the two thugs fired. He knocked down another table and hid behind it.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Brand sounded disappointed. Brack heard the pub doors creak open, “kill him.” he heard brand say, and then the door creaked closed.

Bullets sent splinters flying as they smashed though the table, inches from Bracks face. He fired two shots over the table.

A lull in the gunfire followed and Brack leapt from his cover, firing the last two shots in rapid succession. One of the thugs cried out.

The other thug fired a shot that grazed Bracks shoulder. Before another could follow, Brack dove over the bar counter, smashing glass as he fell to the ground. He groaned and forced himself up.

He holstered his peacemaker, and drew his other shorter barreled pistol.

Greta cowered behind the counter, with her fingers in her ears, showing none of the bravado she usually showed in public. Brack waved her to away and she crawled quickly to the back room.

Brack drew back the hammer of his revolver and jumped up, dashing to the right, he took a shot at the thug.

The bullet caught the thug in the side of the face and his head jerked back, he fell to the ground, knocking more tables and chairs over.

Brack holstered his sidearm and drew his peacemaker. He opened the chamber and began to reload the six chambers.

A flurry of gunshots sounded outside, and Brack rounded the counter to join whatever fight was ranging on outside.

The thug on the ground that was still alive struggled to his feet in front of the doors, his shoulder bleeding profusely. He tried to lift a gun to aim at Brack.

Brack kicked him in the chest, the thug cracked into the doors, flinging them both open before landing on the ground, hard.

With a flick of the wrist, Brack closed the cylinder on the peacemaker and strode into a battlefield.

Shots rang out all around him, splintering wood and shattering windows. Brack ducked behind a barrel to avoid it all. He looked over the barrel to survey the field.

A dozen deputies were scattered throughout the town center, firing on a single building. The sheriff himself crouched beside his son taking cover behind a wagon riddled with bullet holes.

Dozens of men, at least four times as many men than the deputies, were holed up in the town bank house, firing from every hole available. For a brief moment, Brack thought he saw Brand taking a shot from the balcony.

Brack ducked behind the barrel as another shot cracked over his head. There was too many to take with a straight fight. An idea came to him.

‘I’m crazy’ he thought.

He broke into a run, dashing from the relative safety of the barrel. Straight between the deputies and bandits.

Bullets cracked through the air around Brack. Flying past his face and ears. Right across the street, the town armory.

Brack charged up the steps and slammed into the door. It didn’t budge, so he shot the lock off and forced it open.

   Suddenly Bracks foot jerked out from beneath him and he fell to the floor. Without a second thought he dove into the armory and rolled away from view. He inspected his boot.

Brack frowned as he noticed that the heel of his boot was missing. He stood back up on his uneven boots and dashed to the supply crates. He scanned the labels. Trying to find a specific one.

He saw it, shoving a box aside he found the one he was looking for.

   Dynamite.

He grabbed three and lashed them together quickly. He snatched a fuse, and cut it with his knife. He jammed the fuse into the explosives, and then lit it on a lantern.

He dashed outside again, and without a second thought, hurled the dynamite through a window.

There was a burst of fire from the windows the building seemed to bulge.

Then it shattered with a deafening explosion.

Bracks vision went black.

 

Brack searched the wreckage of the bank. There had been very few people to survive the explosion, but he still kept his peacemaker in his hand, ready to fire.

Nine of the thirteen deputies had died in the gun fight, sheriff Haine himself was wounded. His son was acting as sheriff until he recovered, he hadn’t done anything wrong so far, but Brack still had his doubts.

A pile of bricks shuffled to his right, and Bracks gun was up in a flash.

A choking laugh followed.

Brand. He survived.

Barely. He stumbled forward, towards Brack. His clothes were covered in ash and burns. He laughed again.

“You think you’ve won, marshal?” he said that last word like a curse, “well you’re not even close! You’ll never get me in court. I own them!” he flew into another fit of coughing.

“I own them.” he repeated “they do what I say! I’ve owned them for a long time!”

“I know.” Brack said.

He pulled the trigger of his peacemaker.

 

    The end.

I wrote this as a junior in highschool. I'm surprised I found it...

 

[baby he/him]

Nice short story, apart from a few typos here and there, it looks great! Good job!

Edited February 9, 2016 by Onceler

[Citadel16 he/him]

thanks! But what do you think I can do to improve it?

[baby he/him]

The action and all that happens is just a bit too sudden, I'd like if there was just a little more exposition to make it feel natural.