Gunfire zipped around Hettie, and she scrambled for cover. The sting of a bullet across her forearm made her drop into her syrup world on instinct. She took a moment to stanch the graze, then continued her search for Walker, worry growing the longer it took to find him.
A horizontal rainfall of bullets streaked the air, and she swatted them away to clear a path. The scorching-hot slugs smarted like beestings. Picking up a wooden club, she batted a few away from one villager’s head. The club chipped into splinters. She couldn’t keep this up—every bullet she touched loosened her grip on the time bubble.
Finally she spotted the bounty hunter atop the gantry, rifle in one hand, revolver in the other. A nearly empty bandolier of bullets crossed his chest. When she reached the top of the steps
