.45-Caliber Widow Maker (.45 Caliber, Book 5) by Peter Brandvold

By Peter Brandvold

A jail wagon of caged killers potential hell on wheels for Cuno Massey...

Cuno Massey is decided to begin a brand new, peaceable existence. but if he comes throughout a jail wagon less than assault, he can[ t simply journey on. A gang of outlaws is hell-bent on granting 4 hardened convicts an early unlock, and with different lawmen down, the marshal is wrongly outnumbered.

Dispensing frontier justice from the barrel of his Colt .45, Cuno does his top to even the percentages and retain the murderous animals the place they belong[ of their cage.

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Extra resources for .45-Caliber Widow Maker (.45 Caliber, Book 5)

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Sam was already on the back of our truck, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves from the trauma pack. ’ He laid his hand on the boy’s head.  . ’ I went to his other side. The kid’s clothes were in shreds and it was easy to see the huge slit down his left thigh. It looked like a sausage that had split in a frying-pan. Most of his flesh was peppered with fragments of broken stone. His hair and face were caked with blood, sweat and sand. We didn’t have any fluids to get into him. There was nothing we could do but plug up the holes and try to stop him losing any more blood.

I followed him. I wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or the rebels were recruiting pygmies, but he didn’t cast much of a shadow. My foresight slowly passed his feet from behind, and as it got about three body widths ahead, I fired a longer, six-round burst. Rounds plucked at the sand around him, and he went down. More shouting. I looked down into the compound again. Frankenstein was getting Davy and some others to relieve the government troops of their RPG launchers and rounds. Standish exited the building, followed closely by the youngest of the women I’d seen by the crates.

The noise of eight weapons opening simultaneously was deafening. I was buffeted by shockwaves from the RPGs, then the hot back-blast washed over me. Gravel splattered me. My nose filled with the acrid smell of cordite and spent propellant. My eardrums zinged. I put another double-tap into the lead vehicle as one of the grenades hit home about three back. Its headlights swerved and the dustcloud it threw up obscured the set I was aiming for. Next thing I saw, my vehicle, too, was swerving. It went into a complete roll not more than twenty metres from the wall.

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