#needs to keep us desperate enough that we keep comin back instead cause nothin else gives us the rush like he does

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

I wonder if I'm makin things better or worse for the collective bein like this. On one hand I'm not happy or makin any progress towards it, but...I can't rly even imagine that. I can't imagine a life without him. It's not that I don't want it, on some level I know it'd be better for me, but...I can't even dream about it cause I just can't imagine it at all.

On the other hand I make a great decoy. He's basically dropped all interest in Angel cause now he knows I'm the one who still wants him n loves him n can't exist without him. So at least one of us will make it out this time, I think.

[mikenips]

Do Sitting Ducks Take Acid

Woke up today with the same fear I wake up to everyday.  The mail on the table isn’t addressed to me.  But I’ve been known to break the law here and there.  So I read the open letter anyways.  The federal government with the news of the oncoming impending doom.  Twelve hundred in the bank account.  Sincerely.  President Donald J. Trump.  It feels surreal.  A sittin’ duck listenin’ the broken record skip for the past four years.  The loop echoes in the news and Facebook comments.  But just now recognizin’ that every revolution brings you back to where you started.  Recognize you’re stuck in the loop and there’s no way to spin on.  Move past it.  Pick up the needle at his signature copied to millions of people.  It’s real.  There’s nothin’ left to do now but face it.  And hope you can jump the acid loop.  Skip past election day.  And it’s all over.

All things must pass.  Everyone out here strokin’ the Beatles off.  But don’t wanna face the reality of George Harrison’s oncoming impending doom.  All things must pass.  The lines of ecstasy drip into the nosebleed.  Eventually come down.  Left sweaty and shirtless in your room.  Alone.  Watchin’ Big Bird sing at Jim Henson’s funeral.  Made it through years of revolution.  Revolution is comin’ to a doorstep near you come this November.  Look outside.  Wish the sun good morning.

Grow up.  Jim Henson’s dead man!  Step on the porch.  Nose clogged with baby lax and amphetamines as the hundred from unemployment unravel into ones.  Light a cig with coffee as the sunrises.  Maybe it’s the ketamine or acid or the fuckin’ coffee.  But step outside and realize you don’t remember how to get to Sesame Street.  And the neighbors you’ve lived next to for three years but don’t know their names don’t wanna see this shit outside their doors every morning.  Shit man.  There’s kids that live here.  They don’t wanna see you gaspin’ for air.  Hidin’ from the sunlight.

“I’m fine grandma.  Just sat down to play Scooby-Doo with the homies.”  Heathcliff the Big Cheese spits the oncoming impending doom into the phone.  Another story for her to tell her friends.  The needle keeps spinnin’ on the edge of the wax.  He tells you if you don’t beat the game the whole world is gonna implode.  Shit.  Between the Pentagon confirmin’ the dude from Blink-182 isn’t just a cook from our childhood but was onto aliens long before the CIA.  California is lookin’ like Blade Runner 2049.  Or some other movie set Hollywood uses to make underdeveloped countries look overly polluted.  A facist is paying our rent while plannin’ a coup.  And the hundreds of thousands dead are just sacrifices to keep Wall Street above the risin’ sea levels in the midst of a pandemic.  2020 is really turnin’ into some type of apocalypse film.  Arthur Lee always said the news of today will be the movies of tomorrow.  But I’m not so sure I wanna stick around to see the ending.  Not sure if I want this chapter included in my semi-autobiographical choose your own great American adventure novel.  I want the thrill of meetin’ new people and them sayin’ they’ve heard a lot about me.  Just don’t know if this is a part I want them to hear.

Drag on the cig while takin’ in the drag of reality outside the living room.  The grass seems more vivid.  More harsh.  But the neighbors don’t see the cosmos exhaled.  They don’t see the constellations of ash and clouds smoked through your nostrils to avoid a dry socket and another couple hundred dollar dental bill.  They don’t see the cliche survival story of hours spent researchin’ sellin’ plasma to pay the bill.  They don’t see that me and my friends are out here birthin’ our own cosmos.  We know the world can be as simple as Fraggle Rock.  And now without Jim Henson it feels like someone is pullin’ the puppet strings in a different direction.

We are the lonely and desperate people John Sinclair told you about.  We collage together sound bites and Harmony Korine B-rolls.  News broadcasts and Instagram photos.  Makin’ our own vibe boards.  Boredom is the vibe.  Cause no matter how far you move the needle.  You keep revolve in the same loop.  The constant struggle to make the moment bearable.  The Guilty Undertaker tries to drone it out behind chord organs and omnichord beats.  File it under the audiobooks on Bandcamp.  Like some self-help book that didn’t include an instruction manual.  It reads like noise.  But in relative pitch plays back like a symphony on the reel to reel.  But it just revolves back to where you started.  Nothing.

“Yeah.  I think hating yourself is just part of your twenties.”  PJ Banana tells you this.  While pissin’ into the oncoming impending doom in my front yard.  Takes a bump with a Gumby like omnipresence.  Downs the beer with toddler like chaos but is too old for childhood games like kick the can and nitrous oxide.  Somethin’ about that last third makes ya puke up all the drunken coherence.

We resist.  We take the streets.  We play rock and roll music in sweaty basements till one in the morning.  Record revolves in the living room.  Nobody is listenin’ to any of it.  No matter how much the record skips we just fall into the loop.  We grow into somethin’ we hate.  Throw in the towel after he says he deserves a third term for reckless endangerment.  Then pack it up for the burbs.  A place the news and movies don’t wanna go.  Replace the familiar characters of Oscar the Grouch and Cookie Monster with Phil the dentist who treats himself to another year of golf at the club on your unnecessary root canal financed by your plasma.  The lobotomizing mundane doesn’t hurt as much as the oncoming impending doom.  Call it god or Santa Claus.  But at the end of the day we’re still gettin’ punished.

Unwind in a hammock without the sound of duster cans firin’ in the distance.  Unsure if your actions are an ironic joke at your own expense.  You always said don’t take yourself so seriously.  Shove metal through your flesh.  The good memories never stay.  Only the nasty wounds scar.  You let your life imitate the art you once lived.  Masochistically ink yourself.  Tattoo the good memories that burnt up with the braincells from aluminum foil bowls.  You don’t remember the stories.  But you can still see Skaterino outside the club askin’ where the party’s at.

You can’t see his face or the Carhart beanie that probably stays on durin’ sex.  But you can see his smile.  Nicotine stains in his teeth glisten with childlike optimism at the oncoming impending doom.  Every morning I wake up with the same fear his question left with me that night outside the ol’ OLL.  Every morning I wake up to the shower head I don’t recognize.  But the familiar dirt on the ground.  Every morning I wake up to images of people that did terrible things to their bodies taped to my walls.  Everyday I wonder if I know where the party is at when I wake up.  A room of burnouts and drunks like sittin’ ducks gets you the fix we all crave when they say they’ve heard a lot about you.  We all live in the hopes someone else shares our urban legend to people we may never know.  A room of burnouts and drunks like sittin’ ducks in the rain dancin’ their cares away with the fraggles will always be more aware than Phil the dentist pullin’ a tooth from your skull with pliers in the most unprofessional medical procedure.  How much college do you need to learn how to destroy lives?

Everyday I wake up with the same fear that this is the day the party ends.  The drugs come down.  The fascists burn the Constitution in an Antifa organized wildfire to spread climate change propaganda.  Everyday I wake up with the fear that this is the day the fear ends.  I meet Jim Henson in the dead end alley where Sesame Street and Fraggle Rock converge with the oncoming impending doom.  Everyday I wake up with the fear someone just moves the needle forward and we’re still in a loop but with a different revolution bringin’ us back to where we started.

I see his name signed on a piece of government mail.  It surreally makes this apocalypse film a reality.  The Guilty Undertaker hits a bowl of salvia.  PJ Banana screams his head hurts.  His hands are sweaty.  And his face is hot, man!  His face is hot!  Before lockin’ himself in the bathroom with a fifth of Hornito’s.  But I know outside my door.  And outside my neighbors’ doors.  Revolution is happenin’ all around us.  People are birthin’ their own cosmos in the midst of space and time and whole damn continuum.  We’re all writin’ our own semi-autobiographical choose your own great American adventure novel.  Somewhere outside all our doors the ducks are on acid, dancin’ their cares away in the puddles and rain.  Somewhere Skaterino is askin’ where the party’s at.  Nicotine stains glistenin’ with childlike excitement and naivety.  Somewhere the angels are screamin’ at every single one of us sellin’ our bodies to the plasma bank.  While tryin’ to make the most of the oncoming impending doom and over inflated cost of dental work.

All of this must pass.  And we all wake up with the same fear that this is the day the scene ends.  This is when we forget how to get to Sesame Street and move to the burbs instead.  We wake up with the fear that someone is gonna skip our needle forward to a new loop on a broken record.  But hopefully someone sees the constellations in the clouds we smoke.  And are comforted by the hope someone out there is sayin’ they’ve heard a lot about us before we even meet ‘em.  But everyday we wake up with the fear that the reassurance our urban legends of cosmos we create are recognized won’t be enough to end the revolutions of the dronin’ loop of our oncoming impending dooms.

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 30

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Arthur’s POV

BEAVER HOLLOW

Bolting back to camp, Eddie and I powered through the roads like there was no tomorrow as we rode towards Beaver Hollow with the speed of a cheetah, completely forgettin’ about the stagecoach or the loot that was supposed to be in it.

At the moment, the thoughts in my head were rushin’ even faster than I was forcing my horse to go, and with every agonizing second that passed, the more my heart pounded in my chest.

Who knew what the hell Atticus was planning? If he and Cornwall stationed that many guards to protect a single stagecoach -- a trap that was meant to just capture me and Eddie alone -- I didn’t even wanna think about what he had in mind for the rest of the gang.

There was no doubt Atticus knew where our camp was -- all thanks to Micah -- and I just hoped we would be able to get to Dutch before anything else happened.

Our time may have been comin’ to an end...but I sure as hell refused to go down without a fight.

“...Arthur!” Eddie suddenly exclaimed in an alarmed tone, his voice shaking as he pointed to the sky. “...L-Look...!”

Bringin’ my attention to the top of the tree line, I felt the color drain from my face when I realized there was a monstrous cloud of smoke coming straight from our camp, its ghostly texture tinted with an orange glow as bright red sparks danced wildly around it.

There was no way in hell a simple campfire coulda produced that much smoke, and considerin’ the fact that I wasn’t at Dutch’s side to protect him right now, I could’ve only assumed that the gang had been attacked.

This was the perfect opportunity, after all. Our gang’s leader had been left alone with the very same rat who drove us into this hellhole in the first place, and without me or Hosea to keep the camp safe, Dutch was nothin’ more than a target to shoot.

I just hoped they weren’t all dead already. Our gang was vulnerable enough as is, and to be ambushed by someone like Atticus Rose...well, it didn’t leave much chance for survival.

We was at the end of our rope, here. We had done our worst, and tried our best, but now...it was finally time to face reality.

It was time for me to be a goddamned man, and protect the people I loved.

Skiddin’ to a stop, my horse’s hooves dug deep into the dirt below as I quickly hopped off and hurried back into camp, not wasting a single second while Eddie followed me from behind.

All around me, I could see fresh corpses littering the ground with their jaws hangin’ open as smoke rose from the barrels of their guns, and numerous flies began gathering on their flesh.

The stench of gunpowder and death filled my nose and caused me to grimace, my face twistin’ in disgust as I investigated the gruesome scene.

So far, I didn’t see anyone I knew buried in the pile of bodies -- and most of the casualties appeared to be from Atticus’ side -- but the situation still looked more than dire in the camp. In fact, it was downright nightmarish.

There were flames still ragin’ from what appeared to have been a hellish fight, many of the tents and wagons had been destroyed, a handful of our mounts had been slaughtered, and it looked like Dutch’s donation box had been smashed to pieces.

...Jesus Christ. What happened here?

Slowin’ down our pace a bit, Eddie and I cautiously ventured deeper into the ruined camp as the two of us gazed around in pure horror, unable to believe that this was the same place we left behind just an hour ago.

Most of our belongings had been broken beyond repair, and considering how we already had lawmen searchin’ for us in the rest of the states, I didn’t know where on Earth Dutch was planning to run to after this.

It was a big country, sure...but its people hadn’t forgotten us nearly as much as we hoped they would. Our faces were plastered on every building from here to Blackwater, and now that Atticus was teamed up with Cornwall, I doubted we’d have a very easy time escapin’ from Roanoke Ridge.

If we managed to escape at all.

“...Oh!” A brash voice suddenly blurted out sarcastically, grabbin’ my attention. “The hero returns!”

Snappin’ my head to the side, I turned towards the sound and squinted in the fire’s brazen light, only to see the rat himself.

“Micah!” I barked, clenching my fists. “What the hell happened here?”

The crooked man scoffed. “I thought you knew. After all, it was your friend Mr. Kingsley who caused this.”

I glowered at Micah, my voice lowering to an enraged whisper. “That man ain’t no friend of mine, and neither are you.”

“Calm yourself, woman,” he retorted. “Ain’t no point in denyin’ the truth. We all know what’s really going on, and so does Dutch.”

I shook my head in confusion, my words damn near colliding with each other due to how fast I was speaking. “What’re you talkin’ about--? Y’know what, forget it. Where is Dutch?”

A third person joined in, interrupting our conversation.

“Over here, Arthur.”

Gazin’ behind Micah’s shoulder, I spotted a furious Dutch sauntering in our direction as he walked past all the lifeless bodies surrounding our blazing camp, his eyes devoid of any compassion or empathy, and his brows furrowed in anger.

Contrary to the shocked state I expected to find him in, Dutch only appeared to be consumed by rage alone, and I could almost hear his teeth grindin’ in his mouth with how tightly he was clenching his jaw.

There wasn’t a hint of sorrow, or remorse, or grief in his expression. Instead, all I saw was a burning desire for revenge, and I had a bad feelin’ he was about to take it out on us. I just hoped I’d be able to talk some sense into him.

“Dutch!” I called out, rushin’ over to the man.

He simply glared at me in response.

“Arthur,” he said lowly, “where...have you been?”

I glanced back at Eddie, makin’ sure the boy was behind me.

“We was robbin’ that stagecoach,” I replied. “Just like you wanted us to.”

Dutch let out a frustrated breath. “Well, I hope it was worth it. That crazy bastard Rodrick ambushed the camp while you was away. Killed poor Kieran in the process, too. Strauss is also dead, accordin’ to him. As for everyone else...” he looked around the mini battlefield, “...they’re alive, but Mary-Beth, Swanson, Uncle, and Pearson are all missing. Vanished in the middle o’ the fight.”

I fell silent at the news, suddenly realizin’ how much smaller our gang was.

“Oh, Christ...” I cursed, “were they captured?”

“I don’t think so,” Dutch denied. “I think they ran off. Used the chaos as an opening to desert us. Goddamn cowards!”

Micah jumped back into the conversation, crossin’ his arms in an accusatory manner. “I’m just surprised you didn’t take off with them, Morgan. Y’know, considerin’ who you’ve got in your company.”

I sighed in annoyance, scowling at the sly man.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Dutch answered in his place, throwin’ his hands up out of anger. “Someone had to tell Rodrick where our camp was, Arthur! Someone had to let him know when you’d be chasin’ after that stagecoach, so you could run away while they attacked the rest of us!”

A dreadful realization thought hit me.

“Wait...” I said quietly, “...you think I’m the rat?”

The older man shook his head, steadily bringin’ his attention to the boy behind me. “No. Not you.”

Glancing back and forth between Dutch and Eddie, my eyes widened in fear once I understood what he was saying, and I immediately held a protective arm in front of the boy, warnin’ the others to stay back just as Eddie went for his holster.

“Now, hold on, Dutch,” I insisted, blocking his way. “Eddie ain’t the rat! He’s--”

But Dutch wouldn’t hear it.

“Step aside, son!” He demanded, his tone nearly feral at this point. “I know how you feel about him, but we’ve been fallin’ apart ever since I allowed that boy inside our gang. He’s usin’ you! He’s usin’ all of us! Can’t you see that?! We need to think about survival here. It’s time for him to go!”

I stayed in place and guarded Eddie like a brick wall, absolutely refusin’ to move.

“Just listen to me, goddammit!” I exclaimed, desperately tryin’ to get through Dutch’s thick skull. “The stagecoach was a trap! There weren’t no money inside. Atticus set us up. He knew we would try to rob it, and that’s why he gave Cornwall the extra security. They wanted to capture us, Dutch! Both of us! Eddie ain’t the rat, and you know it. I know it!”

Dutch remained unswayed. “Then who is?”

I gestured to Micah. “Why don’t you ask the man who’s been in your ear ever since Hosea died?”

The older man gazed at his friend and gave him a puzzled look, dismissing the idea.

“Micah,” Dutch questioned, clearly not buyin’ it. “Really. He has been loyal to me this whole time, Arthur. He is one o’ the few people left in this gang who still has faith! Him, Javier, and Bill are the only ones who have yet to turn their backs on me!”

“Loyal?” I fired back, ignoring his statement. “Eddie and I interrogated one of the guards, Dutch! He told us himself that Micah has been helpin’ them out! That rat is the reason we’re in this nightmare of a situation!”

Micah rolled his eyes at the accusation and strolled next to Dutch, almost laughin’ at how much more of an advantage he had over me.

“Really, cowpoke...?” He countered. “A guard told you I was the rat? That’s the best you can come up with? Alright, then, big guy. Where is this guard, hmm? ...Dead?”

I was silent in response, leadin’ Micah to let out a victorious chuckle.

“Yeah. Thought so.”

Stepping in between me and Micah, Dutch dragged a hand down his face before sending a glare in Eddie’s direction, his expression stiff with both a sense of betrayal and retribution.

The manner in which he carried himself frightened me, if I was bein’ honest. Dutch no longer acted like the same guardian so many of us had grown to love, and instead, stormed around like a mad tyrant who wasn’t gettin’ his way.

I knew something about him changed the minute we lost Hosea back at Shady Belle -- and I doubted we’d ever find a way to get the old Dutch back -- but the little boy in me still couldn’t believe that this was the same man I once saw as a father.

He was just so different. So deranged. So deluded. Not at all like the man I grew up with.

I mean, Dutch still hated law and order as much as he did twenty years ago, but the difference today was, he had become the very thing he claimed to fight against.

He preached about livin’ in a free society, yet caged us behind invisible bars called “faith” and “loyalty.” He damned corrupt businessmen like Leviticus for robbing people, yet reveled in the money he pried from a dead man’s hands.

He called me son...yet treated me like a complete stranger.

And the worst part was: I didn’t even think he realized it.

Refusin’ to back down, Dutch got right in my face and pulled out his gun, holdin’ the weapon at his side before giving me one last order.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he apologized flatly, his voice gradually rising with insanity, “but if we wanna survive, we gotta do what’s necessary. If we have to steal, then we’ll steal. If we have to run, then we’ll run. If we have to kill, then we’ll kill. We will do...whatever it, goddamn, takes. And right now, it requires taking Mister Ryan’s life!”

Dutch aimed the revolver straight at my head and cocked it, his hand shaking with rage. “So for the last time...step aside, son!”

I held my ground and stayed in place, subtly reachin’ for my pistol as I desperately tried to recognize the man standing in front of me.

“...You’ll have to kill me, first.” I stated, admittedly heartbroken that Dutch would pull a gun on me.

“Don’t make me do this, Arthur...” he warned darkly, his finger dangerously close to the trigger.

But before he could do anything else, John threw himself into this pit of chaos and intervened, aimin’ his own rifle at Dutch while Abigail and Jack stayed behind.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Dutch?” Marston scolded angrily, rushin’ to my side. “Do you even see what you’re doing?”

The outlaw whipped out his second revolver and pointed it at John, holdin’ both of us at gunpoint as Micah came to Dutch’s defense.

“I am doing what must be done, John!” Dutch yelled, his eyes wide with fury. “Now stay outta this! This is about Mister Ryan, and Mister Ryan alone!”

Marston shook his head. “No! This is about you losin’ your goddamned mind! Eddie saved my son’s life, Dutch. Arthur’s, too. I ain’t gonna let you murder him in cold blood. No matter how close we are!”

To my surprise, the other man seemed truly shocked at the response and tightened his grip on his guns, damn-near erupting with how outraged he was.

“How you two fooled me over all these years...” Dutch whispered, his voice rumbling like magma in a volcano. “I raised you as sons! Goddamn...SNAKES!”

The sound of someone cocking a shotgun reached my ears and I peeked outta the corner of my eye, only to see Miss Grimshaw joining me while Javier and Bill stood with Dutch.

“Put those guns down, Dutch!” Susan warned, her temperament resembling that of a mother bear protectin’ her cubs.

There was a newfound tension growing in the camp, and part of me dreaded to see what would finally ignite the flame.

“What is wrong with you all?” Williamson blamed, appearing genuinely disappointed in us. “I thought better of you! Our gang needs to stick together if we wanna survive. This ain’t how we do things here. This ain’t brotherly!”

Sadie aimed her rifle at them, her behavior relentless as always. “Good thing I ain’t your goddamn brother, then! No one’ll ever replace my Jake, but I sure as shit ain’t lettin’ you take my closest friends from me!”

Javier admonished us. “Come on...what’s happened to you people? I stuck with this gang because it felt like a family. But now, you’ve all become just like the O’Driscolls. Hell, worse. You’re traitors!”

“Bill, Javier,” I said, “think for yourselves! Take a look around you!”

Steppin’ out of hiding, Eddie walked up to my side and unholstered his weapons, glaring at Micah with a level of hatred I didn’t know he contained.

“After everything I’ve done for this gang...” he berated, his tone unusually dark. “I should’ve killed you the moment I laid eyes on you!”

“They’re lying, Dutch,” Micah insisted, practically hissing in his ear. “Lying!”

“Shut your goddamned mouth, Micah!” I snapped, turnin’ to the man who used to be my father. “All them years, Dutch...for this snake...?!”

“It’s done, Arthur!” He growled, failing to see reason. “No more! Lay down your guns...and let me do...what must be done!”

Without any warning, a stray bullet suddenly fired at us outta nowhere and hit Miss Grimshaw directly in the stomach, causin’ her to collapse on the spot while the rest of us whirled around in panic.

“Oh, sunshine!” Rodrick bellowed from inside the woods. “Miss me?”

“Goddammit!” Dutch cursed. “He’s back!”

Completely forgettin’ about the previous conflict, the entire gang immediately ducked for cover as a storm of bullets commenced within the small camp, decorating everything with holes and burns as splinters went flyin’ all over the place.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, throwin’ myself behind a wagon. Even with all the gunfire surrounding me, I could still hear Susan screaming in agony.

“Eddie!” I called out, frantically searching for him. “Are you alive?!”

To my dismay, there was no response.

I felt my heart stop.

“EDDIE!” I repeated even louder, almost feelin’ sick with worry. “Answer me, goddammit! Are you there?!”

A frail voice replied to me from a distance.

“...A-Arthur...!”

Following the lonely voice, I looked at the other side of the camp and spotted Eddie sittin’ behind a large boulder, causing a huge wave of relief to wash over me.

That was, until I noticed his left leg had been shot.

The boy groaned in pain, clutching his bloody knee. “I...I can’t move, Arthur!”

“...Aw, crap...” I muttered. “Keep shooting, Eddie! I’m comin’ to get you!”

Drawing their fire away from me, the pianist took out his fair share of Rodrick’s men as I bolted across the camp, holdin’ onto my gun as if it were a goddamned baby.

I had no idea how the hell we was gonna get outta this, or where the hell Rodrick came from, but now that I knew for a fact where Dutch stood -- or rather, who he stood with -- I was gonna do whatever it took to keep Eddie alive.

I might’ve lost the gang, and I might’ve lost my family, but I was gonna destroy the entire goddamned world before it took Eddie from me.

Leapin’ behind a fallen horse, I used the animal as a shield and crawled through the blood-stained mud, grabbing onto clumps of hardened grass as I dragged myself through the dirt.

“I see him!” One of Rodrick’s men alerted. “He’s right there--argh!”

Shouting in pain, the man abruptly fell silent and toppled to the ground as a bullet carved its way through him, leadin’ me to jolt my head towards the source of the shot.

John reloaded his rifle from behind a tree and gave me the “all clear” sign, urgin’ me to keep going.

“I’ll keep ‘em off you, Arthur! Just get that boy outta here!”

“But what about you?” I asked. “Where’s Abigail and Jack?”

“They already escaped!” He answered. “She took Jack and rode off the minute the ambush started! I’m gon’ find them later! You just worry about yourself right now! Now go!”

Giving him a firm nod, I picked up the pace and ran like hell to the other side of the camp as Marston continued firing at Rodrick’s gang, just barely holdin’ out considering he had nothing more than a tree to protect him. Our enemies seemed to have forgotten about me, and Eddie was still shooting them from his own position, but even with their help, I could still barely see where on Earth I was going.

A thick layer of gun smoke clouded my vision everywhere I looked. And with the amount of fire that was spreadin’ all over the camp, it felt like I was walkin’ through a sea of orange fog...and the only thing I could hear was screaming.

I didn’t see Dutch, or Bill, or Javier, or Micah anywhere. Half of me assumed they had just been shot and were now lyin’ on the ground with their enemies, but the smarter half knew they had run away like the bunch o’ cowards they were.

But none of that mattered to me right now. All I cared about at the moment was findin’ Eddie, and getting that kid somewhere safe. I had been through more than enough bullshit for one day, and I certainly didn’t plan on losing the one man I loved.

I just didn’t know where we would go.

Finally reaching the boulder Eddie was using for cover, I gunned down all the enemies that were surrounding him and helped the boy up, wrappin’ his arm around my shoulder as we made our way to the mounts.

The pianist’s skin had lightened into a sickly pale color by now, and even though he had me to support him, the man still looked like he was about to crash at any minute, which that only made me panic more.

“Hold on, darling,” I encouraged, liftin’ him onto the back of my horse. “We’re almost outta this. I’m gonna get you someplace safe. Just hold on!”

Climbing onto the saddle once Eddie was in place, I barely sat down all the way before snappin’ the reins like a madman, urging my horse to run for her life as a series of bullets showered the ground behind us.

I felt like a goddamned monster for not goin’ back to get John, but if I was being perfectly honest, I didn’t know if such a thing were even possible at this point. The camp had been completely overrun by Rodrick and Cornwall’s men, and judgin’ by the lack of any horses at the hitching posts, I guessed the other gang members had also fled the horrific scene.

I didn’t have a clue where Tilly, Charles, Karen, or Sadie had run off to, and I definitely didn’t give a damn about Micah’s safety, but as far as I was concerned...our home was nothin’ but a pile of ash now.

Everything we built, everything we worked for, everything we sacrificed -- it all meant nothing now because of that rat. Jenny, Davey, Mac, Sean, Hosea, Lenny, Strauss, Susan...all of them died just for a pathetic, little snake like Micah to come along and piss on it all.

We was nothing more than a bunch of scattered cockroaches now. The Pinkertons were most-likely gonna kill us off one-by-one within a matter of days, and that was only if Atticus didn’t get to us first.

Everything was going to shit. My entire family, the only life I’d ever known...it had all suddenly been destroyed right in front of me, and the one man who could’ve prevented it from happening didn’t. Dutch didn’t.

Instead, he simply stood by and watched his throne burn, and allowed a usurper to light the flame...even when he had Hosea to see it comin’ from a mile away.

He had finally descended into a pit of utter madness, and taken leave of every single principle he ever lived his life by.

He may have survived the attack...but the Dutch I knew died a long time ago.

Even with Dutch goin’ insane however, I supposed everything wasn’t lost. Against all odds, I still managed to escape the camp with Eddie by my side. We were both alive, and -- even if I didn’t know where on Earth we were gonna go -- we still had a chance to get things back on track.

Eddie was a fighter, and so was I. We were gonna make it through this, just like I promised him, and...God willing, finally pursue the freedom we had sacrificed so much to achieve. We had come too far to fail now.

Our future was waitin’ for us somewhere out there...and I knew I’d be damned if we didn’t find it.