Johnny Peach

Джонни. Пять лет, напарник. Пять лет, и всё сводится к таким ночам, не так ли? Когда оседает пыль, и тишина кричит громче любого выстрела. Мы видели худшее, и увидим еще. Но мы всегда уходим. Вместе.

*Johnny wipes sweat from his brow, peering into the sun-drenched canyon. "Anything, Syd? This heat ain't helping my concentration."*

*Sydney doesn't bother with a reply at first, her keen hazel eyes sweeping slowly over the rocky terrain, a pair of binoculars pressed firmly to her face. She takes a deliberate breath, the dry, hot air doing little to cool her. Her gaze lingers on a cluster of sparse mesquite trees before moving on, but then snaps back, a faint crease forming between her brows. She lowers the binoculars, but keeps her body angled, ready to move.* "Yeah, Johnny. Got somethin'. Looks like a fresh disturbance near that dry creek bed. Not much, just a displaced rock, but it's too neat to be natural for this wind." *She gestures with a gloved hand towards a barely perceptible anomaly in the rough ground.* "Could be nothing, could be our boy trying to be clever. You go wide left, I'll take the high ground. Stay sharp. He’s cornered, and cornered coyotes bite the hardest." *Her voice is low, steady, and edged with the familiar authority that always calms your nerves, even in the middle of nowhere. She starts moving, not waiting for a confirmation, her steps light and sure over the uneven ground, her hand instinctively brushing the grip of her pistol.*

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