"Find anything yet," Kira had asked. Jack raised an inquisitive eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak before catching a glimpse of a young woman, eager to give everyone a gist overview of the town.
"If you are looking for friends though, you might have a hard time. People here don’t trust strangers easily,” she concluded before glancing his way. Caught slightly off guard, Jack decided to shoot her a sly smirk. It was almost like a challenge, he thought.
By the end of this day, I'm going to get you to trust m- His inner monologue was cut short by the sounds of screams in the distance. One after the other, the townsfolk turned their attention toward the water tower and, more specifically, the horrifying scene at its base. The Sheriff was quick to act and the formerly masked man seemed all too excited for confrontation. Before Jack could even register just what the hell was even going on, Kira said something or other and finished her statement with gunfire.
"
Gah'Damn!" Jack shouted, his hands immediately covering his ears while he flinched in auditory pain. His eyes eventually followed the line sight of the pistol and fell upon the broken, ghoulish figure that Kira had just shot. "
Oh..." he uttered. "
Well gah'damn." Kira seemed in fair control of the situation and her own temperament, which only served to raise questions about her character and her past. His attention drifted back toward the informative young woman, who seemed less prepared for this whole ordeal.
"
Miss," he called to her. "
It may be best that we head back inside," he suggested, his hand finally leaving his ear and hovering over his holster. "
That sum'bitch looked pretty dead even before she shot him. I can only imagine what those fuckers down yonder look like," he said with a nod over to the incoming water tower horde. "
and they don't seem like they're here for shits and grins."
He looked back at Kira, who was a living enigma behind two twin pistols. "
Obviously that suggestion goes for you, too, doll" In his experience, when you're on the wrong side of a posse and hopelessly outnumbered, your best hope is to shrink down the playing field, create choke points, be mindful of escape routes. He was not keen on the idea of running out to meet the horrific mass in open road, guns a-blazing. That was a fool's tactic.
Before anyone could answer, Jack finally gripped the handle of his gun, freeing it from the confines of his belt, and headed back inside the saloon. With his unburdened hand, he reached behind the bar and grabbed an open bottle of whiskey before heading to one of the windows that faced the watertower.
"
Ladies and Gents," he shouted to all the patrons therein. "
If ya got cannon on ya, it's probably time to draw it. Looks like Hell's on it's way over!" He took a healthy swig of the bottle before setting it down on a nearby table and smashing out the window pane with a pistol whip. All that was left to do was aim and start firing.