THE OUTLAWS
Escape and Revenge
The country plains were hot and harsh. The wind was so red that it caused burns to scar upon the face and arms of every person who dared walk outside. It was a hot summer, and the world was in suffer. There were skeletal trees barely able to stand up straight as their dead weight unearthed their roots from the ash-red ground. There were flowers with nothing but a shriveled stem to show for their growth. There were dead chicks under fallen nests, that could kindle within a moments notice. There were starving stock, and crisp straggly strands of wheaten grass without even enough moisture to keep their stems from breaking.
“Some troubles are brewing.” some of the townsfolk whispered. “There ain't never been the likes of this before.” they murmured before they continued on with their daily activities.
Trouble was coming - bad trouble, in the form of young men who rode wild with a small gang as they challenged the world around them to battle. The leader's name was Edwards Ash Redbarre, and his wrong deeds caused his hands to hold blood as red as the red sand that dusted the horses hooves, and sins as black as the black ash that covered the parched earth.
Edwards rode towards a muddy riverbank, and then reigned in his horse.
“This will do for water.” he muttered to the gang who sweated over mares just as weary.
The horses rushed for the riverbank, and began to greedily slurp at the stew. They grunted a little – but their need for nourishment overtook all other senses, and they continued to lap and slurp.
“Don't suppose that mud flat is good enough for us too eh?” questioned Edwards younger brother, Doug Walter Redbarre.
“If you don't mind the slugs.” orated his friend Peter Vale Corkshire as he bent over the bank, and began to slurp.
“What's it like?” questioned Austin Trace Williams as he bit a finger over the prospect of shoving his face in the still brook.
“Like poison shoved through a loo.” orated Peter as he backed away from the bank, and threw himself onto a mound of dry grass. “Well we killed a police man, and robbed four scoundrels – what are we to do next?” Peter questioned as he rolled his eyes to the group who sat by the river with faces stuffed with muddy water. “Eh?” he muttered to Doug who brought his face out of the water, and began to hiccup his disgust over having had drunk something that tasted like wined mud-flat.
“I don't know...” he coughed as he thumped hard on his chest in order to make the thick liquid slide down into his stomach. “Edwards?” he questioned over his shoulder to his brother who was busy biting on a ton of grass in order to get a good taste filtrating inside his mouth.
“Hmmm...” murmured Edwards as he slowly chewed the grass down.
“We'll make it up on the way.” orated Doug who threw himself onto a bed of weed, and closed his eyes to rest.
After the four outlaws had rested, they got onto their horses and began to ride. They rode far and fast, and eventually managed to site a farm house that sat on a clearing beyond a fenced off area.
The four outlaws nodded to each other, then pushed their wacky scarves over their face, and rode towards the gates. They raised their horses limbs high, and pushed their horses to jump the gates as they neared them. The horses jumped on command, and each was able to clear the low-rung man-made fence-line with ease.
The four outlaws hollered, and then kicked their horses into gear. They stirred up dust like a person stirred up a flame, and then raced to get to the farm house.
The farm house was a dainty one, with a white lined fence, a whiteboard house, and plenty of tiny ports in order to give the family herbs and lettuce while the season was in drought.
The outlaws jumped the picked fence-line, and then tied their horses to the porch. Like a bullet they ran up to the front door, which they then busted open with a shot and a kick.
The four outlaws broke in, and began to hunt for hostages. They did not roam far before they found a couple hiding in the kitchen pantry.
“What's this? A ma, and a boy?” orated Peter as he gazed at the two huddled together without a gun. “Where's the chief?” he questioned as he ran sharp eyes around the room.
“Out...” orated the woman who had tears in the film of her eyes.
“Well ain't that a treat?” questioned Austin before he shoved her aside in order to reach a jar of oven-baked cookies.