"Now." They backed toward the cabin door, keeping their guns trained on the three men. Harlo started to stand, but Wyatt shook his head. "Stay put." "You move before those riders get here, I'll put a bullet in you."
"They'll kill you anyway," Harlo said. "Either way, you'll have company in hell." Wyatt and Ayla slipped through the door and slammed it shut. Wyatt threw the bolt and started piling furniture against it, the same barricade they'd built earlier. Ayla ran to the window and looked out.
"They're almost here," she said. "How many can you count?" "Four? No, five. One's lagging behind."
Wyatt joined her in the window. The riders were spreading out as they approached, circling the cabin like wolves around wounded prey. Professional. These weren't hired thugs. They were experienced men, the kind who killed for a living.
"We're trapped," Ayla said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not yet," Wyatt said, though he didn't believe it himself. The riders pulled up in front of the cabin. Harlo stood and walked over to the lead rider. A tall man with a black duster and a hat pulled low over his eyes.
They spoke in voices too low to hear. Harlo gesturing toward the cabin. The tall man nodded, then turned his horse to face the door. "Mercer," he called out. "Name's Garrett.
I'm here on behalf of Mr. Harlo. "You got 10 seconds to open that door and come out peaceful-like, or we're coming in." And if we have to come in, it's going to get real ugly real fast. Wyatt didn't answer. "Five seconds!"
Garrett shouted. Ayla looked at Wyatt, her eyes wide with fear. "What do we do?" Wyatt looked around the cabin at the boarded windows, the barricaded door, the meager supplies they had left. They could hold out for maybe an hour, maybe less.
And then what? They'd run out of ammunition, run out of options, and the men outside would burn them out or storm the cabin. But giving up wasn't an option either. Not after everything they'd been through. "We fight," Wyatt said.
The door exploded inward under a barrage of gunfire. Wood splintered, glass shattered. Wyatt and Ayla dove for cover as bullets tore through the cabin, punching holes in the walls, the furniture, everything. Wyatt fired back through the gap in the window, aiming for the muzzle flashes. Beside him, Ayla did the same, her shots sharp and precise.
The gunfight was chaos again, worse than before. There were too many of them, shooting from too many angles. Wyatt emptied the revolver, reloaded, emptied it again. His ears were ringing, his eyes stinging from gun smoke. A bullet grazed his shoulder, a hot line of pain that made him gasp, but he kept firing.
Then the shooting stopped. Wyatt and Ayla crouched behind the overturned table, breathing hard. The cabin was a wreck. Holes in the walls, furniture destroyed, the smell of gunpowder so thick it was hard to breathe. "Mercer!"
Garrett's voice came again. "That was just a taste. You want to keep going?" We can do this all night. Or you can be smart.