illphated
The Last Stand of Rattlesnake Gulch
The sun bled across the Texas desert, painting the sky in hues of electric pink and neon blue, a surreal backdrop to a landscape that had seen a thousand sunsets, but none quite like this. In the heart of it all, amidst the stoic silhouettes of saguaro and prickly pear, stood Ellie Mae “Dynamite” Jones. Her blonde hair, usually tamed by a braided leather tie, was now a windswept halo around her determined face, and her stunning green eyes held the unwavering resolve of a hundred generations of Texas grit.
The year was 1943, and the world was aflame. While the battle raged across oceans, whispers of trouble had begun to slither through the dusty roads of Rattlesnake Gulch. Saboteurs, they said, were targeting the vital supply lines that snaked through the desert, essential lifelines for the war effort.
Ellie Mae wasn’t one to sit by and let a good fight pass her by. Her grandpappy had taught her to shoot before she could read, and her daddy had instilled in her a love for this unforgiving land, and a fierce protectiveness of its freedoms.
Tonight, under the vaporwave glow of the desert sky, Ellie Mae clutched her Winchester lever-action, its worn wood smooth beneath her calloused hands. She’d heard the whispers turn to shouts, then to distant gunfire. They were coming for the depot, the one she’d guarded with a silent vigilance for weeks.
A shadow detached itself from the encroaching dusk. Then another. And another. A small, but determined, force. They underestimated the desert. They underestimated the spirit of Texas. And most of all, they underestimated Ellie Mae.
She took a deep breath, the desert air, thick with the scent of creosote and dust, filling her lungs. Her gaze swept over the cacti, silent sentinels mirroring her own unyielding presence. This wasn’t just about the depot; it was about every acre of this land, every breath of freedom.
A smirk touched her lips as she adjusted her grip on the rifle. She remembered her grandpappy’s old saying: “A Texas woman with a rifle and a cause is a force of nature.” She squinted at the approaching figures, a fiery glint in her green eyes. The words echoing in her mind, not just a promise, but a declaration, a warning etched into the very fabric of the desert night:
“I’ve got 100 years worth of ammo.”
And tonight, she intended to use every last round.
