EightThe morning found him sitting in the same position, staring into the distance, eyes full of grit due to lack of sleep, but he didn't care.
Looking across to the body, surrounded by a pool of black blood, he felt numb. As the daylight streamed through the door, he made out her details for the first time. A young woman, long flaxen hair trailing down her back, one arm reaching out, the hand frozen in a gesture of pleading. Pleading for her life. The life Curly took away.
He stood up, legs still unsteady, stepped out into the open and took a breath. His two companions remained as they fell, both moaning. He gave Arthur a cursory glance and went over to Brewster. The buckshot spread across his back, high up, between the shoulder blades. Clicking his tongue, Curly scanned the surrounding
