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With a nudge of the gate, the first bull charged through, its bellow a war cry that ignited the herd into action. The ground trembled under their weight, a rumble that promised pandemonium. Rachel watched, her heart a drumbeat synced with the thunderous escape, as the beasts surged towards the cabin, the world narrowing to the raw power of untamed retribution.
Her fingers curled around the grip of her service weapon, its familiar coolness a balm. The mountain air was still, holding its breath for the chaos about to unfold.
She raised her arm, the gun pointing skyward—a metallic promise against the blue expanse. She didn't hesitate, didn't falter. With a squeeze of the trigger, Rachel shattered the silence. The gunshot reverberated off the mountains, a solitary clap of thunder in a clear sky.
The bulls, roused by the piercing noise, became a living tide of fury and muscle. They poured from the paddock like floodwaters breaching a dam, their hooves drumming a wild rhythm into the earth. Dust billowed, a storm summoned by the beasts' rampage. Rachel's heart raced, mirroring the pounding of their charge.
Gunmen scrambled, shouts lost in the cacophony. Orders barked out, fragmented by panic. The front porch of the cabin splintered under the onslaught, wood giving way to brute force. Shadows of men danced chaotically among the flying debris, guns rendered useless against the tide of horn and hide.
She was already moving, hastening around the back of the log cabin. Ethan was already waiting for her, crouched against the wall under a low window.
"Damn, Rachel," Ethan breathed out, a mix of awe and disbelief coloring his tone. "You always had a knack for stirring the pot."
"Learned from the best," she replied curtly.
"Let's go," Ethan said, urgency lacing his words.
Ethan's hand on her arm, a silent signal—now. Rachel nodded, adrenaline a live wire beneath her skin as they skirted the edge of chaos. The bulls' roars and the men's shouts faded behind them, replaced by the crunch of underbrush underfoot, the sharp scent of pine assaulting her senses.
"Back door," Ethan mouthed, his eyes scanning for movement.
They moved with practiced stealth, shadows flitting from tree to tree, boots whispering over fallen needles. Chests heaving in sync, guns drawn, they reached the cabin's rear entrance—a forgotten utility door hanging off one hinge, an invitation, a risk.
"Quick and silent," she whispered.
"Always," Ethan agreed, his voice low.
The door gave way to their concerted push, hinges protesting in a brief whine that set Rachel's nerves on edge. They froze, listening, but the stampede still commanded all attention.
Inside, the air was close, tinged with desperation. A half-packed duffel bag lay abandoned near the splintered dining table, a bottle of whiskey overturned, its contents bleeding into the wood grain.
"Upstairs," Rachel said, trusting Ethan to cover her six as they ascended the creaking steps, leaving shallow imprints on the thick layer of dust. "Saw him bolt inside when the stampeded started."
"Think he'll be armed?" Ethan asked, his voice barely more than a breath.
"Wouldn't put it past him," she replied, thumb caressing the safety on her gun, ready for anything.
The second floor was a maze of doors and shadows, each room echoing a quiet emptiness until a soft scuffle betrayed Terra's presence. Rachel's heart hammered, the chase narrowing to this final confrontation.
"Joaquin Terra, stop!" Ethan called out, authority edged with steel.
No answer, just the scrape of a window opening, the flutter of curtains caught in an escape attempt. They burst through the last door, and there he was—Mad Jack, caught like a rat in a trap, the afternoon sunlight casting him in stark relief.
"Going somewhere?" Rachel snapped.
Terra spun a gun in his hand, the shadow of fear in his eyes. "You won't take me alive!"
"Drop it, Terra. You're outmatched," Ethan's voice, solid, unyielding.
Terra lunged, a growl tearing from his throat, the pistol swinging wildly. But Rachel was faster, a coiled spring unleashed. She collided with him, shoulder first, his shot going wide, the bang deafening in the confined space. Ethan was right there, his grip iron, twisting the gun from Terra's grasp.
"Nice try, Jack," Rachel panted, her knee planted firmly between his shoulder blades, her own gun pressed to the back of his head, her breathing ragged with exertion.
"Damn you both," Terra spat, his body sagging beneath their combined weight.
"Game over," Ethan said, snapping handcuffs around Terra's wrists with a satisfying click.
Dust billowed up around them, a cloak of confusion as Rachel and Ethan hauled Joaquin Terra across the battered landscape. The chaos they had unleashed roared behind them – an orchestra of snorting bulls, shouts, and the splintering of wood.
