06: Old Guns

     “FLETCH-ER FULBRIGHT!" The tall wolf called out emphatically, pacing back and forth before the now-closed circus gates. “Don't bother hiding away, let's make this easy and ain't nobody gotta get hurt in this!" Fletcher's breath caught and his muscles tightened, his body trying to shrink further down behind the pile of crates he now crouched behind. It wasn't the best hiding spot, but by folding his ears down and angling his head just right, he was able to at least catch a glimpse of the four bounty hunters.

     The circus structure was mostly all in place now, the tents and tiny buildings gratingly pulled off their wagons and constructed in a methodical and practiced fashion. The layout was liner; the auxiliary show set-pieces were first after the gates; a tiny maze of wonder patrons could happily lose themselves in. Beyond that was the big top, where the show proper took place, followed by the crew quarters tucked out of sight behind it all. The whole thing was ringed by a lightweight yet effective fence, made of metal wire strung up between tall wooden posts. It had taken them hours to set that fence up, but the twins had insisted it was necessary to keep overly curious customers away.

     Fletcher was in that moment, incredibly thankful for the gate and fence protecting him. It wouldn't stop anyone too determined, but it had at least slowed them more than no gate would have.

     “We know you're there, lad!" The tall wolf continued. “And we've got proper licensing with us here, s'all in order and we'll kick down this here gate if we have'ta!" Fletcher believed them.

     “Hey Fletcher." A light voice whispered from behind the shaking coyote, causing him to jump in place. Fletcher looked back to see Narem, also crouched down, his face tense, tail coiled narrowly around his body. “Who are they?"

     “I…I don't know." Fletcher replied. “Bounty hunters I think."

     “Here for you then?" Narem asked, his eyes widening. “I…better get Lyric, he'll know what to do." He turned to go, but Fletcher grabbed his shoulder.

     “No-no." He said hurriedly. Meridian had said to go to the jackal if anything happened – but this wasn't one guy itching for a fight, or some out-of-shape tracker who'd be scared to draw, it was a four-man team of professionals armed to the teeth. Lyric seemed capable and scary enough, but while brave, he wasn't prepared for how intense this might get.

     Plus, it was more than unfair to drag others into their mess.

     “We don't want to hurt anyone lad, but by Jordan we will if they get between you'n us! Anyone else in there feels like unlocking this here gateway, you will be fairly compensated for the trouble!" The wolf outside called again, before muttering something in a lower voice to his goons.

     “Get Thume. Please Narem!" Fletcher hissed. The leopard nodded, turning and darting back into the circus guts. Yes, Thume was the smarter choice. Thume would know what to do.

     Maybe we should give ourselves up? He thought. I put everyone in danger by coming here. Why should they protect me? He began wondering if anyone would take up that offer – half the circus hadn't even really met him yet, they owed him nothing. He hadn't proven his worth or done anything; he was just another mouth to feed.

     “Quite yer hollerin' I'm comin'." A different voice, feminine and broad. Fletcher peered around the side of his crate to see Clementine approaching the gate. With an air of practiced exasperation, she put her paws on her hips, watching the wolves through the gate.

     “Ma'am." The tall wolf said, mock-bowing. “My name is Patrick Sanders, and these here boys are with me. Now you may not be aware that you're actually harbouring wanted fugitives of the good Baron Fulbright himself in this here camp? Two people; a young coyote and a crazy old goat. Let us in so we can collect 'em, and we'll be on our way sure as buckets." Fletcher's breath stopped as Clementine stared vacantly back into the grounds, and for a second he thought she was actually about to cooperate. “Ma'am - we followed the boy here. Don't lie to me." Patrick said suavely, his accent twangy and lithe.

     “Ain't no goat here." Clementine replied casually, meeting the wolf's eyes. “P'raps it's a case of mistaken identity? The ringleader, our landlady, she ain't here right now I'm 'fraid, and so far as I know this counts as private property under merchant law. So you boys best buzz off now y'hear, and come back when Miss Meridian is about and we'll chat."

     Fletcher almost screamed as a tight hand clamped onto his shoulder. “Boy." He was relieved to hear Thume's gruff voice, turning to see the old goat wielding a revolver in each hand. “What did you do?" The old goat sneered, taking a quick peak past the barrels.

     “I saw them in town, realised who they were just in time. They followed me here from Rusten!" Fletcher said, not bothering with excuses.

     “Fucks sake." Thume breathed, rubbing at his eyes.

     “This ain't no case of mistaken identity Ma'am." Patrick continued, leaning conversationally against the gate. “I'm good friends with the Iron Baron y'see, done lotsa good work fer him, and when I bumped into that little mutt a few towns back I thought to myself gee, that looks an awful lot like Mason Fulbright's boy now don't it?" He chuckled, and Fletcher could see the teeth flash even at the distance.

     “We're gonna have to fight them." Thume whispered.

     “I don't want anyone to get hurt Thume! There has to be some other way right?" Fletcher asked, trying to avoid the revolver the goat was pushing into his paws. “Could we bargain?"

     “With what?" The goat snapped.

     Down at the gate, Patrick Sanders went on. “So I thought to myself hell, why don't me and the lads tag along fer a bit? We wasn't doin' too much. Funny enough, an old pal a'mine reaches out just yesterday, says there's a bit of bounty out on the duo. Funny. Seems that old goat picked up the boy and ran off a week or so back, making to offer a ransom I'd wager."

     “Now, Mister Patrick you listen we ain't the ransoming folk. We're good, hard working performers." Clementine said, her gigantic paws held up apologetically. “Now I won't lie to ya, we do have a young coyote here cruisin' wit' us, but he's been with us since months b'fore our stop to Gallentry. I think you've made a mistake, but if you're so keen why not ask those boys to set their guns aside, and we'll wait for the old raven to get back and chat then? How's that feel to ya?" Patrick chuckled, looking back at his gang, who made no move to put away their firearms. For a moment it looked as if he might relent, and Fletcher felt a flood of hesitant relief; at least they'd have time to get everyone to hide, to come up with a plan at least.

     I could never forgive myself if these people got caught in my crossfire. What have I done? He felt so naïve. Did he think bounty hunters wouldn't recognise him just because he had a new job? Stupid, stupid.

     “I never said he went missin' in Gallentry did I now?" Patrick asked wickedly.

     “I-I just assumed since--" Clementine stammered, her voice cutting off as the tall wolf drew a silver revolver from his hip, pointing it casually at her, grinning as if it were nothing. “Whoa now." She said nervously, paws shaking a little as they stayed up and she stepped back.

     “I've had enough of this conversation. Go on and open the door." Fletcher stared, finally gripping the revolver Thume had passed him. The handle was worn enough Fletcher could feel it's age, he hadn't even known the goat had these old things. The chassis too was half rusted through, the old black paint scratching off. Fletcher had only held a few handguns in his life, and compared to the elegance and balance of his rifle it felt clunky and gross. He hated holding it.

     Rifles could be used for hunting, target shooting, and apparently for performing too, it could be a sport. Handguns were made for one thing; killing people.

     “Are you ready boy? It's gonna get loud." The goat asked, and Fletcher shook his head in response, shaking all over. Out front Clementine hesitated, but her eyes were locked on that gun barrel, and after a moment of tense silence, she slid the deadbolt back and reluctantly pushed the gate to the side.

     “Thankya kindly Ma'am." Patrick laughed, stepping inside and motioning for her to take a seat nearby. The four began to walk through the main thoroughfare of the circus grounds, each of their weapons on a constant swivel. Fletcher pulled back behind the crate, suddenly paralysed. This was real.

     “Now if you're in here boy, and I know ya are, it'd do you best to come out now and save us the hassle!" One of Patrick's men called out, his lips peeled back.

     “Who the hell are you lot?" A masculine voice suddenly interjected, and Fletcher recognised it as belonging to Lazarus Eridan, a bear he'd only been cursorily introduced to. He silently begged the ursine not to do anything stupid. “Who let y'all in here?"

     “Nobody you wanna get mixed up in pal." One of Patrick's goons said, waving his double-barrel for effect.

     “Constantly. I'm so sick of this wheel." Thume said, apparently to himself. In one snapping motion he stood, firing off two quick shots toward the group.

     They were louder than Fletcher had expected, and the first slammed into double-barrel, knocking him down in a spray of blood and dust. The second went wide and pinged against the gate, drawing a scream from Clementine, who was still huddled nearby. Thume cursed as the three unloaded in his general direction, dropping behind the crates even as bits of them were blown apart.

     “Go, move!" He growled at Fletcher, ushering him further into the circus-maze.

     “It's the goat!" Patrick cried. “Hamish, you breathin' there?"

     “Fer now, chrissake, fuckin' sonovabitch." Double-barrel cried, clutching his shoulder and dragging himself to the side, a trail of bloody soil marking his progress. The three still standing scattered, finding cover for themselves around the thoroughfare, their weapons up, trigger-fingers itching. Thume popped out of one alley and let off three more shots, all landing in the dirt near to the bounty hunters' feet and kicking up a storm. He shoved Fletcher behind a large wagon, throwing his back up against it and popping open the revolver's cylinder.

     “Bastard sights are way off on these things. Can't hit shit with 'em, should've known it." Thume hissed, slamming five more bullets into place and flicking the cylinder back into the weapon. Fletcher screamed as buckshot exploded with a roar, turning the back edge of the wagon into splinters. Thume turned to him and grabbed a scruff of his shirt, slamming him into the trailer body. “Listen boy, yer gonna go right down that way, and I'm gonna draw their fire left. When you hear me reloadin', pop up and shoot at 'em. Don't matter none if you can't hit, just distract so I can finish it without dyin'. Ya got it? Got it? They'll want you alive at least, might slow those triggers." Fletcher nodded, the words going in one ear and straight out the other. He was drenched in sweat and needed desperately to pee, his tail tucked firmly between his legs, paws unable to stop shaking.

     “R-right." He stuttered. “I'll…yeah." He didn't know what to say, everything was spinning, his mind playing over and over the image of Nobu or Narem, lying on the ground, a stray bullet lodged in their belly or throat. All the buildings here were made of fabric; stray bullets would shred them to pieces! There was no telling the potential damage this could cause.

     “Move boy!" Thume roared, shoving him away and stepping out into the alley. He let loose three shots and peeled back into cover on the other side. Fletcher turned and ran, darting around unpacked boxes and between narrowly placed tents. As he ran his foot snagged on a guy rope and he crashed down, landing on his paw and twisting his wrist back painfully. He hissed through clenched teeth at the stinging pain, but quickly scrambled to his feet, clutching his aching wrist against his stomach, the old revolver gripped in his right paw so tight it was hurting his knuckles. He ducked around another wagon so that he was almost behind the bounty hunters, in another side-show alley. He was hyperventilating, feeling light headed, and still needing to piss terribly.

     Will I wet myself if I die? Will I even if I don't? Out of everything he could be thinking, it was almost funny that this was his thought now. He felt embarrassed at the idea and blushed, hoping nobody would see if he did. No, guns, what did Thume say? He tried to refocus, shaking his head. There was no shooting going on now. Should he go out? Or was he meant to wait? His mind was so fuzzy, and Fletcher bit into his lip, hating himself all over again.

     “Listen up goat!" Patrick cried from behind cover. “There ain't no need fer this! The good Baron, he wants ya dead. Give us the boy, and maybe we let ya go, he don't need to know it!"

     “Go fuck yourselves!" Thume cried.

     Now. Fletcher thought, suddenly certain. Now was perfect. He stepped out from his cover and raised the revolver, looking out to see three wolves hunkered behind cover, their now unarmed friend leaning up against a post, his front covered in blood, face a mask of agony at the shoulder wound.

     Fletcher pulled back the hammer and squeezed his trigger, the hand cannon kicking back with a thunderous boom, the slug slamming straight into the dirt close by Patrick and kicking up more dirt and grass. Two of the three hunters twisted back to him with their weapons raised and he froze, suddenly terrified. What if Thume was reloading now? What if one of his bullets went wide and hurt somebody? He was instantly overcome with a thousand fears at once, the myriad of possibilities overpowering him and paralysing his body.

     He didn't shoot again, but the wolves reacted on instinct, their weapons popping off a half-second after someone spear-crashed into Fletcher's side. The bullets shredded the wagon where Fletcher had stood only moments before. He hit the earth and slid across it painfully, grunting from the effort, something hard edged digging into his side. When his focus snapped back he realised the thing in his side was a knee; Lyric was looming over him now, pinning him down. Fletcher inhaled sharply, catching the jackal's smell before his eyes caught up and put it together. He realised then too that his ears were ringing, and he hoped they weren't permanently damaged.

     “Hey!" He gasped. The jackal sneered and climbed off him, stepping back into a crouch as Thume fired three more times.

     “Get back and get down. Stay there unless I say." Lyric hissed, even as a return volley confirmed the bounty hunters still lived.

     “Boy!" A wolf armed with a rifle called, stepping into the alleyway. “Patrick and Jeck got yer goat friend pinned down!" As if to punctuate the sentence a shotgun fired behind him, the click-clack of it cocking sending shivers throughout Fletcher's entire body. “We don't wanna kill him, so why don't you step out now and we'll end this craziness, huh? It's been a good one, you did nicely, but the fun is over now, an' we got you." Fletcher looked across the alley to where Lyric waited. The jackal nodded to him, gesturing for him to stand up.

     Fletcher mouthed what, and Lyric pointed towards the rifle-wolf, mouthing the word 'surrender' and drawing his slide-action pistol.

     “Aright!" Fletcher cried. “Okay, okay, if you stop shooting I'll come out!"

     “Throw that old clunker out first!" Rifle-wolf said, Thume and the other two exchanging pot-shots behind him. “I got him boys, you hold out there!" He cried over a shoulder, though Fletcher doubted his friends could hear over the gunfight. The coyote licked his lips, and tossed the revolver into the alley, slowly stepping up and out with his paws raised to heaven. “Yeah, there we go, nice and easy now boy." Rifle-wolf coaxed, shuffling toward him. He squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily certain the 'alive' part had been a lie. Rifle-wolf sighed, relaxing his stance and walking up to the coyote with a pair of handcuffs he drew from a coat pocket. As he stepped into place Lyric peeled out of cover and pistol-whipped him across the face. Rifle-wolf pulled his gun around on instinct but Lyric threw himself into the man, shoving the barrel of his own gun into the wolf's stomach and firing twice. Blood sprayed out behind him like a globule of spit, splattering against the tent wall as the wolf dropped to the ground in a writhing mass. Fletcher's mouth fell open as Lyric kicked away the rifle and walked forward.

     “Hey Isaac you still--" The other standing goon cried, glancing over only to be silenced as Lyric jogged out from the alley and shot him twice, his gun clutched tightly with two paws, shot grouping perfect even as he kept moving forward. Patrick whirled on him with his shotgun, but the jackal's momentum was relentless, and he shoved the barrel to the side as he crashed into the wolf, throwing them both to the earth.

Fletcher still couldn't make himself move, vapidly watching the two fumble and curse in the dirt, the one called Isaac vainly trying to crawl out of the alley.

     “Fuck-off me you filthy--" Patrick growled, shutting up as Lyric slammed the butt of his pistol across the wolf's face with a crack. The bounty hunter was stunned for only a second, and Lyric leaned back, putting two bullets in his chest with one smooth motion.

     The dust settled, Fletcher staring out from the sideshow in awe. He'd never seen anything like that before in his life. With a huff, Lyric spat onto Patrick's twitching body and stood up resentfully, looking over to the one named 'Hamish' – the one Thume had winged in the shoulder at the start of the firefight. The double barrel was left in the dust, much too far for Hamish to reach before Lyric intervened.

     The jackal began to walk over and the wolf rolled onto his belly, fear taking over as he began to try and crawl away. “Please don't mister!" His shoulder and back were drenched, the place where he'd propped himself up stained with a small pool of faded red.

     “Stop runnin'." Lyric said gruffly.

     “No don't!" The wolf cried, as Lyric grabbed his ankle and dragged him back into the central thoroughfare. His crying didn't cease as the jackal flipped him on his back, unceremoniously tugging the revolver at his hip free and tossing it away with a smirk. He put a boot on the wolf's chest then, gun trained on him, expression blank.

     Fletcher finally found the ability to move had returned to him, and with shaky legs he began to walk forward, only just realising how damned stupid it had been to just stand there in the middle of a fight. He nervously approached Lyric and Hamish, noticing only now the amount of foreign blood on the jackal's coat. Behind them, Isaac had stopped moving.

     “Did you tell anyone the boy was here?" Lyric barked, his lips peeled back into a snarl. Hamish shook his head faintly, his eyes woozy and distant as he began to go into shock. Lyric pressed his foot down harder, causing a whine to escape the wolf's lips. “How come?"

     “We…" Hamish said, grunting. “We wanted to be the ones to bring him in. No use calling fer competition…" His voice was distant, as if he were falling asleep.

     “You got buddies that'll come lookin' for ya?"

     “Not in Vellem…"

     “Good." Lyric said, shooting the wolf once in the chest, his face still impassive.

     “Oh my goodness." Fletcher exclaimed, feeling pale and swaying in place. Lyric holstered his pistol into his coat, glancing back with a serious look on his face.

     “Are you alright?" He asked. Fletcher nodded.

     “You just killed them. Like it was nothing." He said woozily.

     “They were worms, feral vultures tryin' to make a quick buck. And they were gonna hurt you. We didn't say we'd help you, only to give you up the first time we caught trouble." He shrugged.

     “I'm so sorry." Fletcher said, tears in his eyes. “I didn't mean…"

     “Not now." Lyric said, holding a paw up. Fletcher looked at the bodies, his sob catching, about to burst into tears at the sobering reality of it. Just hours before he'd been laughing at Meridian's antics, and now… Lyric was suddenly close, his voice low and even more serious than usual. “No…hey, don't look at 'em kid. Look up at the gate, out there okay? Or at me, the sky, just not them. These pieces of shit are scum, they don't deserve it. Save tears for later, ya hear me don't you dare cry." Fletcher looked away, wiping at his eyes and getting his breathing under control.

     “Okay. Okay." He said slowly, and the jackal nodded. “I'm okay."

     “You're good? Right then."

     “Is…anybody hurt?" Fletcher asked tentatively, almost not wanting the answer. “I didn't…"

     “Everyone got down as soon as the shots started." Lyric said firmly. “We've done this before. This is a tad more dramatic than usual, but we're not strangers to real life here. Nobody is mad at you, and nobody is hurt. So just, sit down and have a glass of water or a cigarette or somethin'."

     “Alright I'll try." Fletcher said unsurely, cringing as he saw Miss Meridian approaching on her feral, her face a mixture of worry and shock and outrage all wrapped up in one. She'd been very upfront in the past about wanting to protect her people – would that change now that Fletcher had brought armed gunmen into her circus? Lyric didn't seem to think so, but Lyric didn't know everything, and those two obviously didn't always agree.

     “What the hell is all this?" Meridian cried in her sing-song voice, dismounting at the gate and storming towards them. “I leave this place for ten bloody minutes and look what you do!" She glared accusatorily at Lyric. He shrugged nonchalantly, pulling out his pistol and reloading it, tucking the near-empty clip into a back pocket. “And you…" The raven closed in on Fletcher. “Are you alright? When you took off like that I didn't know what to think."

     “Yeah. I uh, hurt my wrist, but apart from that I'm fine." He said, laughing sombrely at it and shaking the digit, feeling embarrassed to have even mentioned it. “I saw them and just…I panicked sorry. I saw the leader back in Rusten, and then when they were there today it all came together, there wasn't any time to warn you."

     “I managed to put it together once I saw the group chasing after you." She glared next at Clementine, who was hesitantly approaching. “And don't you start with me! I've got another stray for us waiting outside, what a warm welcome for her? Why don't you go and try to make sure she's not too frightened, purr at her or something I don't know. And please try and keep her from seeing this mess." The raven tsked as the tiger ran off to find the no-doubt petrified sergal.

     “I'm so sorry Miss Meridian." Fletcher said, panic rising again. “I didn't mean for any of this to happen. If you want us to leave I'll…"

     “Oh stop you damn fool." Meridian said, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug. “You think I didn't realise this was a possibility when I agreed to help kidnap the only son of a Baron? The Bloody Iron Baron on top of that? Your father has a terrible reputation, do you really ­think me that stupid Fletcher?" He shook his head, pulling back.

     “I guess not." He said, smiling awkwardly. It all felt so surreal. He'd just seen four people shot to death, nearly been killed himself, and he just felt numb and cold, and a little amused. He laughed to himself, remembering that his biggest concern had been embarrassment over the possibility of wetting himself. Which he hadn't done, mercifully - though he did still need to go.

     Oh… He thought, also remembering Lyric looming above him, his ass aching from where he'd landed funny in the dirt. If he hadn't been there that shot would have torn me to pieces.

     “At least you had the sense to get Lyric." Meridian went on, looking around.

     “I only came because Narem got me." Lyric said pointedly. “But I heard that this idiot made him go for Thume first, and for some reason the airheaded twit actually did it." The jackal narrowed his eyes and Fletcher blushed.

     “I just…didn't realise…" He started, stopping himself before he began rambling.

     “Then where is Thume now by the way?" Meridian asked, glancing around. “Don't tell me you lost him."

     “That is…" Lyric began, turning his head back. “…a good question." Fletcher felt a whole new kind of dread weigh him down, and without a word he began hurriedly walking towards where the goat had last been.

     “Thume!" He cried, rounding the shredded wagon with a gasp.

     “Ah, hey there boy, I figured you'd get over here soon enough." Thume said with a smirk. He sat on the ground, back to the wagon, both hands clasped over one side of his stomach, the whole area soaked with gore and still bubbling. Fletcher dropped into a crouch.

     “No, no, no-no!" He repeated, stammering. He put his paws over Thume's hands, keeping the pressure.

     “Get Aloysius!" Lyric cried, running around and sliding to a crouch by the goat.

     “Get me off this rotation, damn it." Thume groaned. “No more cycles, I can't do it."

     “Shut the hell up, you crazy old bastard." Lyric snapped, putting his paws on Fletcher's shoulders and helping stabilise him. The goat swallowed, eyes sliding across faces, no recognition to be seen.

     “Bring them back." Thume whispered, coughing. Blood sprayed out onto Fletcher's face and he felt himself pale, what little feeling he had draining from him.

     As Thume's eyes drifted shut, Lyric again screamed for Aloysius, trying vainly to talk to the goat and keep him awake.

     As the world grew quieter and farther away, Fletcher heard only his own breathing and Thume's. With a horrid sense of powerlessness digging into his brain, he watched the old man's eyes slowly drift over to meet his, hold them for a brief second and then slip shut, his head lolling to one side.

     Fletcher wanted to scream, or do something, anything, but he couldn't move. So he sat there, just…staring at Thume's lifeless face, tears running down his own.