A Study of Humanity in the Old West (Hippopotamoose and EloquentArgument)

[Hippopotamoose]

Another bullet whizzed overhead, close enough to take a few strands of sweat-drenched black hair with it. Abraham swore, taking the Lord's name in vain as he dove for cover. He opened the cylinder of his revolver and dumped out the spent bullets, quickly reloading before he ducked from behind the makeshift barricade that had been erected to keep himself and other lawmen out.

His posse crept forward with him, moving from cover to cover in a strategic forward push. This hideout was too small to be a real stronghold, but the outlaws had dug themselves into a hillside quarry and set up perimeter defenses that were tricky to get around without opening themselves up to getting their heads blown off. He had suspicions of who their leader was--these bastards loved to come into town, swaggering and gloating about their exploits--but it didn't matter one jot to Abraham: the only good outlaw was a dead one. Especially when they were farm-burning, woman-killing, child-stealing bastards like this lot.

So he had gathered up a few good men and they rode out into the night, following the vague directions of the lone surviving farmhand, and eventually one of the scouts spotted the hideout. Now the lead was flying, and there was a trail of bodies left in his wake as he pushed inwards. Two more of the scum fell to his righteous fury before he breached the actual front door. A grungy man with stringy blonde hair lunged at him with a knife, and he caught it on the forearm before he could block. His hand closed around the man's wrist and he barreled forward with his shoulder, twisting until he could heave the man over his shoulder and throw him bodily across the room. BANG! BANG! He ducked, darted, and took the second assailant out at the kneecaps with another tackle, before putting his revolver to the man's temple and pulling the trigger.

"Don't move, lawman."

Moses "Savage" Greene had a shotgun aimed at his face. Not wanting to taste that much lead at that close a distance, Abraham froze in place, though his furious gaze darted sideways to lock onto his quarry. "Smartest move you've made since you took them kids, Savage. Gettin' me alone. I assume you got a backdoor outta here?"

Savage grinned, half of his teeth having rotted out of his head long ago. "Better. I got me a meal ticket, lawman, and I ain't fed it in a while. So yer gonna stand up and walk on back, let it have its fill'a ya, and then I'm gonna let it loose on yer friends out there."

Abraham stood, slowly, leaving his revolver on the floor by the slain outlaw. He lifted his hands into the air on either side of his head, and waited for Savage to gesture him forward. The outlaw gestured with his shotgun towards a door, and with cold rage etched into every line of his face, Abraham walked through the door into the main living area of the hideout.

 

[EloquentArgument]

Chaos erupted beyond the skeletal walls, sparks in the night heralded with cries and curses. There was no fear that jolted him, no worry clenched his throat. His eyes went from the grime-covered pane that let them look out at the scattered remains of what used to be a farm. On his feet by the time the firefight was in full bloom, he lurched toward the glass, squinting through the dust at the shapes that clashed in the night that bathed them.

"Stay down," His voice was a shredded rasp, a viper's hiss of scales against sand, barely a whisper, but he knew the children heard him. They were crowded together in the corner of their small prison; he couldn't tell what they were more afraid of, him or the thunder of lead rain in the dark. They remained motionless, and he didn't look at them. His eyes went to the door as he backed into the shadow of the room. It was the only place they had been able to get a proper anchor down into the floor, so the heavy chain that stretched to his neck couldn't be worked free. There was a window, yes, but it faced the rest of camp; escape, even if he had the strength, meant the children had nothing between them and the battle playing out.

He sank low in the dark, the chain that held him to the floor pulled taut in his left hand, and he poised still as death in the darkness. Beyond the door, he listened to meaningless words but didn't really hear them. His glassy, black stare unwavering as he waited.

The man was unfamiliar, but his raised in unmistakable surrender kept him in place, hunkered to the floor. In the darkness, he seemed almost skeletal - threadbare canvas wrapped around his hips, the ruddiness of his skin long washed out and greyed, but his eyes were still bright, the black of his huge pupils ringed with a thin circle of chartreuse. Closer, closer, closer, come closer, come closer---

The sound that came from him warbled, deep and dark, echoing in his slack jaws the unmistakable hiss of something angry, of something hungry, of something cold and hateful.

 

[Hippopotamoose]

The smell hit him first. An unwashed body, decaying even as its heart kept beating. He could almost taste the pheromones of fear and hatred on his tongue as he huffed, stepping surely into the dark room.

He heard the terrified chattering of the children's teeth, and spotted the darkened lump in the corner that was certainly them. And then he heard the threatening rumble of the hungry creature, of his impending death. He caught gleam of a hungry stare and felt his heart do flips. What in the Nine Hells have you locked up in here? Then shotgun dug into his spine, shoving him forward as Savage called out into the darkness. "Got a snack fer ya, freak-"

There's a common mistake people make when holding a hostage. Too many of them haven't seen real combat; they rely on large numbers and the luck that they won't run into trained killers in order to win in gunfights. This leads them to making stupid moves, such as standing close to your adversary and putting your gun right against their back. Savage, despite his name and reputation, was a thug and a bully; not a trained combatant. So he wasn't prepared for the quick turn, the heel of a palm to the barrel of his shotgun. Of course, he fired, which heated up the metal and burned Abraham's palm, but luckily the scattershot embedded itself into the wall and not into the children. Abraham shoved the gun to his side and drove the point of his elbow hard into Savage's throat, then his nose. The outlaw squawked in pain, trying to pull his weapon up for another shot, only to have it ripped from his hands. Once, twice, thrice: he drove his fist into Savage's bloodied face, then grabbed his collar and yanked him down as he drove his knee up into the other man's gut.

Savage fell to his knees, blinking up at Abraham a split second before the lawman drove the butt of the shotgun into his broken nose. Unconscious, he fell back, sprawled in the doorway.

Abraham, panting from the exertion, turned towards where he thought the children were crouched, squinting through the darkness. "It's okay now, he's done. He ain't gon' hurt ya anymore." He said, as soft and reassuring as he could make his deep baritone. He started to move towards the shape in the corner, hands held out in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "C'mon now, let's get ya outta here."

 

[EloquentArgument]

The smell of blood slowly creeping into his lungs had begun to take a certain prominence in his mind. A snack, he'd said; a lie, of course, and the stranger proved that with how quickly he took down the pig. Hunger was a constant friend, something he had learned to ignore, most of the time, but it had been so long since he had ripped into flesh and sated the coldness that had spread into his bones. It was enough to drive a man mad, but he could not let that happen. Not yet.

The children were terrified of him, but that was the fault of their fathers. They were innocent things, their sins only of ignorance, and they were so young. They had plenty of time to still grow into something better than the wickedness that followed the men. He grit his teeth with the strength of Atlas cradling the world, and let loose that wicked, low noise. It grew slowly, louder, a warning cast out from a hollow snarl as the man reached toward the children. His teeth seemed... wrong when his lip peeled back; too pointed in places, crowded tightly, strangely skeletal, like the rest of him. The man spoke softly to them, but that meant nothing, did it?

No, it didn't. Humans lied, it was one of their strongest skills. The children did not call him by name, they did not run to a savior; it was just as likely something worse had taken Savage's place.

He moved like a shadow in spite of the heavy clatter of the large links as the chain went taut. He stopped short of the man's hands, low to the ground, and launched his chest forward, clawing hard at what he hoped was the man's arms, but could not strike properly. He searched for a handhold, something, anything. If he could just get him closer―closer, closer, closer, please, just closer―they could run, out the window, through the door, it didn't matter. The gunshots seemed fewer, then, they would have a chance to get to the trees. "Run," The hiss roiled into a bellow, a tortured noise of raw anger that came from a moment far away from the present, moments that haunted every thought and filled the empty spaces inside of him, of screams and terror and so many more that couldn't be saved, that couldn't get away.

But the children did not run. They rose, tempted not by a stranger, but a familiar reassurance, and their chorus of shrill gasps surprised him. He tore his face toward them and saw only fear in their hesitation. No, no, no, no, please run, run, run.