A Gunfight In Lake Derry

Ralph Ames was bleeding badly from his shoulder, and whimpering like a three-year old behind the Chief’s pickup. Jefferson was decidedly unimpressed with his deputy-by-default. He’d taken two in the kneecap on Hamburger Hill, and he hadn’t cried like that.

Another shot rang out. Ralph cried harder. Bastard.

Fortunately, Jefferson had had the presence of mind to bring along his sidearm and a clip of ammo. He may have been inexperienced but he wasn’t a stupid man. He stood and fired a volley of shots from his own pistol into the trees across the road, which were answered almost immediately in kind.

“They’re gonna kill us all!” Ralph was howling.

Suddenly, the shots just stopped coming.


Jefferson was just beginning to wonder what the hell was happening when he heard the distinct, unmistakable sound of a rock cracking against the truck. He popped his head up from behind the truck, and sure enough, there was a large stone resting on the undercarriage.

And was that a note tied to it?

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