#swampborn

     The humidity of the air, even at night in the swamps was suffocating. One of her boots had gotten stuck and lost in the mud -- some bullfrogs new home or a gator’s chew toy now. Lemoyne raiders were hot on her trail, their bullets ricocheting around her head, hitting trees and splintering the wood. Despite being hunted like some swamp fox she didn’t fear them as much as she feared the lingering gazes that seemed to be following their every move. 

          “How about you boys call it already. Y’all can barely hit the broad side of a barn during the day. How in hell you reckon you’ll hit me in the dark?” She called after ducking behind an old abandoned shack. Here she could catch her breath and fire at the men as they held torches to avoid the hissing gators. She changed position often to keep them from guessing where she was but knew if she didn’t get help soon they’d get ahold of her.