By the second day, the caravan reached the Potomac. The river was wide and brown, the bridge over it broken in places but patched enough for brahmin to cross. Ash's gut told him before his eyes did—something was wrong.
A crow wheeled overhead. Too quiet otherwise. No wind, no bugs, no sign of life.
"Stop the brahmin," Ash said. His tone was low but sharp enough to cut.
Crow frowned but obeyed, tugging the reins. The guards shifted uneasily, weapons up.
Then came the whistle—high and sharp—and the raiders boiled out from the ruins on either side of the bridge. Half a dozen, maybe more, armed with rifles, pipes, blades. At their front was a man with a battered revolver, hair greasy, eyes bloodshot.
"Well, look here!" the man hollered, voice ragged with drink and smoke. "Caravan ripe for the pickin'!"
Cale Dixon.
He didn't know Ash was there for him. Didn't know his name was already blackened in Megaton. To him, this was just another score.
"Drop the goods and maybe I'll let ya crawl away," Dixon sneered, raising his pistol.
Ash didn't flinch. His revolvers were already in his hands, one low, one high, moving like extensions of his arms.
"You're making a mistake," Ash said simply.
Dixon barked a laugh and pulled the trigger—
Two shots cracked in the space of a heartbeat. The first tore Dixon's gun from his hand, spinning it into the dirt. The second ripped through his thigh, dropping him screaming to the bridge.
Silence hung for a half-second. Then the raiders broke, scattering back into the ruins under a storm of gunfire from the caravan guards.
Ash strode forward, smoke rising from the barrels of his pistols. Dixon writhed on the ground, clutching his leg, face pale with shock.
"You—what the hell—" he spat.
Ash crouched beside him, calm as the grave. "Sheriff Simms says you've got debts unpaid."
Recognition flickered in Dixon's wide, fearful eyes. "Megaton… damn it…"
Ash pulled him upright, rope biting into his wrists, the man limping and cursing under the drifter's grip.
Crow approached, eyes wide with something between fear and awe. "Hellfire, boy… you just shot his gun clean out his hand."
Ash didn't answer. He hauled Dixon forward, leading the caravan across the bridge. Another bounty down. Another whisper in the wastes.
The drifter didn't miss.