Twin Cities Run

Chapter Eight

Miles away, in opposite directions, three factions heard the shots and marveled. There were few guns in the Twin Cities, and ammunition was scarce. No one would use ammo as indiscriminately as it was being used in the battle they were hearing.

In camp one, a handsome, muscular man with brown hair and blue eyes turned to one of his men. “I want six men ready to go as soon as possible. This bears investigating.”

“Right away, Z.”

In camp two, an obese, bald blob of a man slapped a confederate on the cheek. “Send some patrols out. Find out what the hell is going on!”

“You got it, Maggot!”

In camp three, the farthest away, a short, gray-haired man with penetrating green eyes, mused aloud. “Earlier we heard that one brief burst of gunfire, and now it sounds as if a veritable war is being waged.

Ordinarily, we should refrain from entering that hell hole at night, but this case is an exception. Our curiosity must be satisfied. Send out a patrol.

Instruct them to ascertain the source of firing.”

“At once, brother,” responded the second in command. “Your will be done.”