Caleb and I came out shooting right behind the rolling tables. On the top of the Bootlegger's shop, Kaplan took out the two long shooters at both ends of town. The rolling tables gave us just enough cover for us to go to work. Splinters instantly flew as bullets hammered the thick wooden tables. The first nine men went down when I drew my guns. I filled their bodies full with lead. Bullets zipped past me, hissing as they ricocheted off the hard parts of the wooden table. I spun on my heels, reloading before putting down more Shadetown shooters. Six to be exact. Atwater took to cover when he noticed his men began to break ranks early. They weren't prepared to take on a Reclaimer as much as he thought.

  “Stand your ground! We outnumber them ten to one!” the Marshall cried out. That number would fall dramatically in the next few moments. Caleb and Kaplan played their parts. They took out the long range shooters while I decimated everyone in mid range. The world was a blur except when I honed in on my target. I could hear the constant, blinding roar of the shootout as a distant, hollow echo.

  I could feel the drag of time trying to slow my movements. The drag was like being in deep water. I could see my breath as I fanned the hammer to take down Skip Dawson. One of Atwater’s best shooters. He took a dirt nap amongst the third volume of men that fell under my rhythmic cadence of lead and gunpowder.

  My barrels glowed red, superheated by the sheer velocity of my movements, then cooled almost instantly as the time dilation caught up. I was running against the current of the universe. The strain was like trying to stop a runaway train with my bare hands. Every second of "saturation" felt like a year pressing down on my joints. The frost bite wasn't just a threat; it was a deep, bone-aching cold that felt like liquid nitrogen was being pumped into my wrists. I ignored the screaming pain in my knees—a consequence of pushing a forty-five-year-old body to speeds reserved for machines. I was a singularity of lead and death, but I couldn't sustain this level of movement against time indefinitely. The window was rapidly closing. I had to trust Caleb and Kaplan's work to keep the long shooters occupied. If my focus broke now, the frozen world would melt, and I would be left standing still, easy prey.

  That's when Atwater thought outside the box. I saw him light a dynamite stick and throwit at the Bootlegger's shop. The stick sailed through the air in slow motion past me, crashing through the window.

  The detonation blew the wooden shop to kindling. I was thrown off Adam's Leather metal guard fence. Not the best surface to bounce off.

  My ears rang something fierce. My eyesight was blurred. Thank God my hands still worked. I could feel the handles of my hammers. Muffled voices swirled around me but nothing I could make out. I was helpless until I got my bearings. I felt two hot stinging hit to my chest. My vest absorbing what I think is gunshots. I heard bullets careening off metal just about the time the world came back to focus.

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  GET BEHIND SOMETHING! Kaplan yelled. I saw two women taking aim at me across the water wooden street. They had me dead to rights. That was until there spacing or lack there of got them killed by a single bullet from Caleb's gun.

  I saw him crouch down where my two would be killers lay dead. Just then my faculties rushed back as debris stung my face.

  Atwater was retreating behind a wall of shooters advancing on us. We needed to get behind them. My ears gave me the idea. Lethe shops are metal reinforced. Hard, sheeted steel. Making ricocheting a real hazard. A hazard I could exploit. I downgraded my ammo and whistled to Caleb across from me. I banged on the steel door behind me. He nodded in agreement. He reloaded to give me cover.

  I mouthed the count. “On three.”

  Caleb nodded again. I had to trust him in this situation. I am going to shoot at an angle to make my bullets ricochet into the wall of the encroaching shooters getting closer. I couldn't rely on luck. I had to rely on skill. Reclaimers don't function on luck. We decide our path and proceed. Without pause. Without reflection. Zero doubt on the outcome we seek. Knowing completely in my ability to make the world bend to my will. By force.

  Three! I yelled out. We both unloaded hellfire and brimstone. The screeching and pinging filled our ears. As lead filled the backside of some of the men. Our shots were not meant for precision. They were meant to overwhelm. The men that didn't get hit did just that. I heard the crack of Kaplan’s Winchester above the ringing in my ears. I reloaded like a Reclaimer. Caleb and his men covered me.

  Shells flung away from me like wiping sweat from my brow. I shed enough lead to drop what was left of the wall of scattering shooters. Caleb came up with a shotgun. He hammered what was left of the men running for cover. All that was ahead of us was shop owners with weapons and a panicked Marshal with another dynamite stick in his hand.

  During the gunfight Caleb lost his cousins. Atwater was a better shot than I thought. Of course fleeing men are much easier to shoot in the back. He gunned them down in cold blood. They deserved their fate. I popped out and unloaded hate into the last of the shooters. Putting down every man and woman with a gun and intent to use it. Those that didn't dropped their pistols and ran away to cover. I recognized some of the people I gunned down the average shooters. Maggie Green, Loren Bolton. Charles Harland. Local butchers. Tam Carter was a Blacksmith. I would have to answer for killing him. The rest were nameless faces under the gun. I heard Atwater yell to his remaining men to hold fast.

  I heard my spurs chime as I placed my guns back in their holster. Caleb walked with me a little back alongside Kaplan. The few shopkeepers looked through their drawn steel shutters. Other men dropped their guns as I walked between the one way street. I made sure my coat caught the wind to add more of an aura my Reclaimer namesake would speak. I heard the whispers of my name being lauded amongst the patrons of Lethe.

  “It's true. It's Thee Corris Lee Bride…”

  “ Did you see him out down Marshal Atwater's boys?”

  “How did he shoot that many people with two six shooters on his belt?”

  “Quick unload your firearms. Here he comes.”

  “My Lord I hope he doesn't look toward me.”

  “Holster your damn pistol Jimmy before we are cut down.”

  I kept my gait with a knowing swagger.