"So what do we do?" "We pick one side to defend and we hold it." Let them waste their time on the others. "Which side?" "The door.
It's the strongest point and it gives us a clear line of fire." We barricade everything else and focus our attention here. Ayla nodded, absorbing that. "What if they try to burn us out?" Wyatt paused.
He'd been thinking about that too. Fire was the worst-case scenario, the one thing they couldn't really defend against. If Harlo and his men decided to torch the cabin, their options were to burn alive or run out into the open and get shot. "Then we make sure they don't get close enough to try," he said. "It wasn't a good answer, but it was the only one he had."
By the time the sun started to set, they'd done everything they could. The cabin was as secure as it was going to get. They ate a cold meal, not wanting to risk a fire that might give away their position. And then they waited. Darkness came fast this time of year, the light bleeding out of the sky like water from a cracked jar.
Wyatt sat by the door with his rifle, Ayla beside him with the Winchester. Outside the wind picked up, howling across the plains and making the cabin creek. Every sound set Wyatt's nerves on edge. Every shadow looked like a man creeping closer. "You scared?"
Ayla asked quietly. "Yeah." "Me too." They sat in silence for a while. Then Ayla spoke again.
"If we don't make it through this, don't." Wyatt said. "I need to say it. If we don't make it, I want you to know that these last few weeks have meant more to me than anything in my whole life. You gave me something I thought I'd lost.
Hope, safety, a reason to keep going. I don't know how to thank you for that." Wyatt turned to look at her, her face barely visible in the darkness. "You don't need to thank me," he said. "You did the same for me."
She reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was strong. They sat like that, hand in hand, waiting for the storm to come. It started just after midnight. The first shot shattered the silence, the bullet punching through one of the boarded windows and burying itself in the far wall.
Wyatt and Ayla both jerked upright, hearts racing. They're here," Wyatt said. More shots followed, coming from multiple directions. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkness like fireflies. Wyatt couldn't tell how many shooters there were or where they were positioned, but it didn't matter.
He aimed for the flashes and fired back, the rifle kicking hard against his shoulder. Beside him, Ayla did the same, her shots measured and deliberate. The gunfight was chaos, noise and smoke and the acrid stink of gunpowder. Wyatt's ears rang from the explosions, his eyes watered from the smoke. He reloaded by feel, his hands moving automatically and kept firing.