The night of 20 December 1893 descended over Willowbrook like a dark omen. The wind whispered through the empty streets, carrying the distant thud of horses' hooves. From the shadows, the Death Bringers surged into the town—over forty gunslingers, their faces masked, their eyes cold, their weapons ready. Within minutes, chaos erupted: houses splintered, screams pierced the air, and flames licked the wooden walls. Willowbrook was dying.
Jake Reynolds, tall, wiry, with the steady hands of a master cook, ducked behind overturned barrels. Beside him, David Bennett—towering, strong, eyes sharp as a hawk—took aim. Two gunslingers approached carelessly. A swift strike, a sharp knock, and they collapsed.
"Move, move!" Jake hissed, guiding the dazed survivors into a makeshift cart.
The cart was packed, the air tight with fear. One gunslinger spotted them from afar. He fired blindly—piercing the mother's hand as her child tumbled out of the cart. Time slowed. The masked rider urged his horse forward.
Without hesitation, David lunged—swinging his rifle to block the horse's path. Sparks of hoof against wood rang like gunfire. He brought the rider down with a precise shot, sending the horse skidding. The mother clutched her child, trembling, eyes wide with terror.
This was war.
The Marriage of Noah Blake & Cara Wells
Noah Blake and Cara Wells had shared a childhood of laughter and rebellion, their friendship blossoming into forbidden love. Both born in 1867, their families were rival gangs. Marriage had been a dream deemed impossible. But in 1893, they ran to Willowbrook, seeking freedom.
Evening fell. Amid the flickering lamplight, Noah and Cara exchanged quiet vows—no witnesses, only whispered promises. The world felt still. Until chaos returned.
The Death Bringers struck. Boxes toppled, dust and smoke stung their eyes. Noah grabbed Cara's hand, hiding behind wooden crates. Then, a scream tore through the night.
A gunslinger was charging a child under his horse's hooves. Noah didn't think—he ran, body slamming into the child's path, kicking the horse aside. Pain shot through his side as the rider's steel spurred grazed him. Cara caught the baby, placing him safely in the cart.
David's rifle cracked—one shot, one gunslinger down. Another figure emerged—the mask slipping, revealing Cara's father. He raised his gun. Noah twisted just in time but still felt the sting of a bullet grazing him. Chaos spiraled around them, but they survived.
In the darkness, Willowbrook burned, their dreams smoldering in the night air.
The Willowbrook Aftermath
Two years later, Willowbrook was still haunted by the events of that night. Streets lay silent, buildings crumbled, and the memory of the massacre lingered in every shadow.
Alexander and Elena, now closer than ever yet unspoken feelings tethering them, rode with Marcus through the ghost town. The stench of death and decay made Marcus tighten his jaw. He feared the worst—David and Jake, vital allies for his gang, might have been killed.
But the survivors were alive, hidden deep in the forest. Injured, tired, and wary, they regrouped. Jake scavenged herbs for makeshift medicine; David hunted chickens to feed them. By the fire, the small group circled, sharing their pain and planning for survival.
David remembered the man named Roger, who had once offered him an opportunity. That offer had been refused—then. Now, it was time. He shared the plan, reigniting hope among the weary survivors.
They divided into teams, rebuilding a cart for safer travel. David drove the first, Jake the second. Cara teamed with Lisa—the mother of the child Noah had saved. Cara spoke little, her grief still raw. Among the group was the old veteran, the one Alexander had helped years ago. Most resented him, seeing only weakness. But David, Jake, Cara, and Lisa valued him—his knowledge, his wisdom, his heart.
The forest was cold, the night silent but tense. Every shadow could be an enemy, every rustle a warning. Yet, as the carts moved toward Meadowvale, determination burned in their eyes. Willowbrook might have fallen, but its survivors were rising. And they would reclaim what had been stolen.