“The hell you doing, Corris Lee! We ain't done no score together. That's a bold face lie!” Caleb shouted.

  “Atwater doesn't know that. Last time I checked, he isn't the type to fishing for the truth when his money machine stops churning. The way I see it, he will just go for both our heads and recoup the money he lost at the Tin Ten. A win, win for him. Unless you want to go out there and convince him I’m lying?”

  Caleb said nothing.

  Right about now, I reckon his wheels are spinning. Caleb and his men would be sharing starch glances. Begs for appeals to surrender and ignore my ruse. Maybe one is trigger happy and wants to take his chances: shoot Caleb, then offer himself up instead of collecting the reward. To save his skin. In the crossfire, he will hope I am killed so the two cousins would live to fight another day. I don't see Caleb allowing that to happen. Then there is the voice of reason. One cousin may see teaming with me to get at this spectacular jam as the best path forward. He trusts in his gun skill. He doesn't know about Danis on overwatch. Four guns pushing for an exit is better way. Better odds since the majority of the attention will be on taking me down. It’s not a bad plan. Finesse over muscle.

  A voice, booming and crisp, cut through the red-tinted air outside.

  “CORRIS LEE BRIDE! CALEB GRIMSBY! Come out now. Throw out your guns and come out with your hands held high! We can sort out the bullshit later. You got sixty seconds.” Atwater barked out over the loud downpour of red rain.

  Caleb and his two cousins came running up to me to get a look at how bad their predicament really is. It was worse than they could have ever imagined. They all looked to me to make the call.

  “How will we shoot our way out of this shit?”Caleb asked. His eyes darting over the large mob on both sides of the town.

  “Grab all the ammo and the ammo belts you can carry. Two rifles slung and a third in hand. They will try to engage at midrange. We can’t let them. Our only way to close the distance is by using the card tables. They are solid oak. We use them as shields. First, rolling them out. Shooting from cover. Also grab the whiskey that is still good. Place a rag in it and toss it into the crowd on fire.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Wait, that's not going to work. It's raining outside. The rain will put it out,” Caleb countered.

  “We are in the Red Shadelands. Red rain doesn’t put out fire. Think, Caleb. You grew up in these parts.”

  “He’s right. The fire will explode like dynamite when it lands on them,” Corey Grimsby said, the more reasonable of the cousins.

  “15 SECONDS, GENTLEMEN!” Atwater yelled out.

  We all grabbed our gear, the tension thick enough to slice. Caleb was wrestling with the grim reality of their situation. I saw Caleb and his boys looking into each other's eyes. They were ready to die, not as Yellow Jackets.

  “Caleb. Your colors!” I said, extending my hand.

  He looked down at his bloodied jacket, then back at me. “Corris Lee, you son of a bitch. You want my shame?”

  “I want the truth. Why didn't The Judge send Pope?”

  Caleb tore the jacket off, throwing it at my feet. It was a dark, crimson-stained piece of craftsmanship. The Grimsby family crest sewn into the back of the jacket. Worn from years of use.

  “He didn’t send Pope because Pope is the one who fed my family Asher’s location! The Judge fed his own kid to the our family! Now get me out safe!”

  “Alright everyone get ready for a the biggest gunfight you will ever be a part of. You are responsible for your sightline. You pull a trigger you need to put a soul down. You hear me?”

  The Judge set up his own children to be violated by the Grimsbys. I didn't have time to process the betrayal. I grabbed the heavy, black oak card table and kicked it toward the broken saloon doors.

  “Go! Go! Go!” I screamed.

  The table crashed through the doorway.

  The three of us, hunched behind the next table, followed the first. It provided momentary cover. Caleb and his cousin Farcus, who I hadn't noticed before, followed my lead, slinging rounds blindly into the red haze.

  “Fire!” I yelled.

  Corey, the third cousin, tossed the last bottles of whiskey, now filled with the red water/rain, and fired a pistol shot at the bottles.

  The resulting explosion was less sound and more a burst of hellish, crimson light. A shockwave of heat and flame, as the alcohol-rain mixture ignited fiercely upon impact with the Shift-affected ground. The initial shock sent the hired guns scrambling, momentarily blinding them and buying us precious seconds.

  Kaplan, seeing the signal, opened up from her overwatch position, targeting the flanks of the panicked gunmen. She went to work cutting men down.

  I snatched up Caleb’s dropped jacket as we moved into the street, the

  red rain hissing as it hit the spreading flames.