Christina peeked into the Sheriff's office, surprised to see a large selection of firearms of all kinds. But then again, he did confiscate weapons from all the criminals he arrested or shot, so it kind of made sense they would pile up like this. She picked up a fairly modern model of a Remington rifle, the same her father owned and used when he taught her to shoot. How ironic it was that she felt much better holding the heavy weapon in her arms. Normally she was not a fan of violence, mostly because she was the one who had to stitch up people who got in fights over and over. She also grabbed a few boxes of ammunition and put them into her satchel, praying to God it was the right kind. She was hardly an expert in that matter.

“I can handle myself as well as anyone in town, if not better,” she snorted a bit in response to Sheriff’s remark, even though she knew he probably meant well. The men were so overprotective sometimes. “It’s not like running and hiding would help me now.” [i]’And when your intestines are hanging out from your stomach, you will be glad I’m there to put them back inside,’[/i] she thought, but didn’t say that out loud. Still, the Sheriff was an authority and she had respect for him, especially now after he bravely took the lead in this crisis.

She walked over to her horse and climbed up, which was slightly more complicated when holding the rifle. Wiggling a bit to make herself comfortable, she cradled the weapon carefully in her arms. “So, where are we going?”

[@Nobodyman123]