Chapter Text
By the time Jack and John were kicking their spurs into their horses’ flanks, the sun was already setting, casting darkness over the flat, arid landscape. Tin cans and ammunition rattled behind them as they eased their horses into a paced gait, enough supplies loaded in their saddlebags to last them a couple days.
The pair made it to Theive’s landing, Seth’s home, in the middle of the night. John cast a concerned eye over the slashed and scruffy figure that was Jack. He needed rest. Jack protested greatly, afraid that is he allowed himself to sleep, he would sleep half the day away, wasting precious time. However he relented, finally collapsing into the seedy motel bed.
Sure, It was a distracting detour, but John was glad for the added responsibility of Jack this time around. Jack couldn’t stay with Bonnie. But the safety of the McFarlene’s was only a small part of the reason why Jack was coming with him. Frankly, John knew the only person fit enough to protect his son from the undead was himself. He was silently grateful that whatever cruel god that existed was giving him a second redeeming chance at parenting, given how terribly he had screwed up the first time. John vowed to do anything in his power to set Jack back on the right path.
He bitterly thought of how better equipped Abigail would be in this situation if she were here. Jack had always been a boy who listened to his mamma, she could straighten him out again. John’s presence seemed to have the opposite effect. He hoped she could not see her delinquent son and useless husband right now from the heavens above.
Jack passed out the moment his body hit the bed. John shuddered to think how long it must had been since Jack had gotten a proper night of rest. He was well accustomed to the life. Though now, John found that the drag of fatigue no longer weighed on him. He wasn’t energetic either, seemingly stuck in a weird limbo between life and death. It would be a long night.
~~~
A fat old man precariously balanced on all fours atop his wildly jostling wagon. The wagon itself was a mere ghost of it’s former glory, the creaky bloodied thing buckled under the attack of undead creatures that were soon on their way to topple the whole thing over.
He cringed away from the countless gnarled hands that lashed out at him, causing his ridiculous hat to fall from his head. It got trampled a second later by the ravenous sea of undead that swarmed him. “Oh! That was from Saint Denis!” He squeaked, causing the onlookers to burst out into laughter. Their breathy, gleeful snarls were almost indistinguishable from the gnashing undead the man was being attacked by.
“This is all just a big m-misunderstanding, I’m sure us… us… fine men… can be civil about this!” He pleaded to the captors, erratically waving his hands in the open air. “You… You want treasure? I know all kinds of treasure! Aztec gold, Incan spice, Indian magic, uh - P - P - Peruvian paradise! The finest women you’d ever see from the South! Just pick your poison - uhm - price!” He babbled madly, eyes boggling as his wagon rocked back and forth, jerking and tipping closer to the stinking jaws of death.
The gang laughed some more. “You really think we’re dumb enough to fall for that?” The leader of the group cackled, swiping tears from his eyes. “Our friends are gonna make a fine meal out of you!”
“Oh yeah? Well - well! ARGH! Please! Please!” The group broke into more raucous laughter at the merchant’s cowardice, entirely unaware of the stony eyes, devoid of expression, that observed them from afar. Their laughter echoed across the plains to the two cowboys who stood upon a vantage point.
Jack scoffed, squinting harshly at the vague shape through a pair of binoculars. From afar, the man somewhat resembled jelly on an unstable plate, shaking madly as a sea of crazed undead knocked him about. “That’s the guy who will lead us to Seth?”
“Or so I heard.” John affirmed. The survivors of Theives landing were as sour as spoiled milk, but after a little prodding around, an old woman had told John that The Del Lobos were holding a notorious merchant at Benedict Point, supposedly because of his relations to their local grave digging creep.
“Well they’re gonna eat him alive. We gotta get down there.” Jack, not finding things quite so funny, handed the binoculars to John.
John took a moment to respond, assessing the scene in front of him. Normally, in toe with his regular style, he would barrel his way down there with little thought, all sharp tongue and sharper aim. Though now he had Jack to think about, and he certainly did not want to thrust the novice into such a dangerous situation, let alone inspire Jack to take such risks. “I can use the train as cover. I’ll see how close I can get before they see me.”
“Alright.” Jack was already reaching for his gun, but John pushed the handle of a rifle firmly into his chest.
“And you’re staying up here.”
“Haha.” Jack said flatly, but John did not give. “Seriously? While you go up against all those men?” He stressed.
John turned to face him. “You really gonna doubt me, boy?” He challenged, hand moving to his hip.
Jack stood up to meet the challenge, the rifle still between them. “Haven’t I proved I can handle myself?”
“Just because you got a couple measly posters with your name on them doesn’t mean you can do everything. You’ve hardly got any hair on your face. Leave this to the professional.”
Jack, sensing he had lost, snatched rifle from his father. “Whatever you say, sir.” He said, tone decidedly indifferent.
John made to start down towards the gang, but stopped briefly.
“...Keep your back straight.”
Jack bit his tongue. “Mhm.”
“And be careful.” John said, placing a quick hand on Jack’s shoulder. He wanted nothing more than to lean into the touch, to let himself be a kid again just for a moment. But times had changed. Jack silently stared off into the distance as he felt John’s hand recede. “And don’t you think about following me, son.”
Jack watched John disappear briefly down their vantage point. He then shuffled over to a big rock, stationing himself discreetly behind the sun baked granite and propping up the rifle. Through the iron sights he could see the scene play out. About fifteen jeering Nueves Lobos all had their eyes glued to the wagon as it teetered dangerously. To their left was the train station, and the unutilized train which sat still. Each carriage was guarded by a gang member, all of whom only half paid attention to their job as they watched the old merchant get used as human bait.
If he moved his sights a little, he could see that John had already scaled the majority of the distance to the station, and had quickly reached the edge of the train. A fox like shadow in the hot sun, slinking in the darkness, form low to the ground. A flash of silver nimbly slipped into John’s fingers. Faster than a blink, the thin blade arced through the air, silently burying itself into the first sentry. Crouching, John stepped over the body and boarded the first carriage, falling out of Jack’s view. Jack watched from afar as the men standing around on the train started to mysteriously drop like flies.
With each passing second, Jack’s finger tensed around the trigger. He was acutely aware of how the broad beating midday sun exposed everything on the frontier. Every cell was buzzing , the looming threat of an undead straggler appearing behind him without a second to defend himself.
Squinting and clammy, he readjusted the bandana covering his face, heat causing sweat to gather at the bridge of his nose. As he scanned the scene, something in the distance caught his eye. Dark, staggering, unmistakable silhouettes that twisted and furled like the misshapen trees he’d read about in horror books. If only trees could run with startling speed on their misshapen, crooked legs. The gargantic mob was unlike Jack had ever seen. Their presence a dark, monstrous storm cloud hurtling across the desert.
Jack swore softly. The horde of undead lunged and fell over each other in a desperation to get a taste of the flesh they knew was close by. If he tried to shoot at them now, the sound would undeniably alert the enemy gang of their presence. Besides, He couldn’t clear that swarm from so far away.
Without a second thought, the rifle clattered to the ground, replaced with a trusty revolver and torch. His boots set off at quick speed towards the station, kicking over dry shrubbery and dust in the process.
Nye out of breath, the back of the train carriage bloomed into view. A scowl broke across Jack’s face as he watched the trouble unfold just beyond. John’s form lit up in the sun as he slowly waltzed straight out into the open, hands resting unassumingly at his hips. A simultaneous outcry rippled through the gang. They all stepped back warily, taking up defensive stances. John’s lips moved, words vague from afar.
How could he warn Pa that the undead horde were about to burst through at any second?
The gang drew their guns, spitting threats to John that were only faced with narrowed eyes. Staring at them, through them. Tension rippled through the hot, dry air as John entertained their suspicions, acting coyly as a coyote, raising his hands halfheartedly. Sweat poured down Jack's back. At any second he knew that chaos would ensue.
John’s stared them down, hands twitching. The monstrous crowd of undead staggered ever closer. Closer.
One younger member was sweating profusely, as taught as a wound up spring. Jack’s lip curled. Suddenly the man jumped.. A flash of movement. His revolver cocking back and pointing straight at John’s chest.
Unresponsive, John stared past the barrel of the gun to something in the distance.
Prickling, Jack opened his mouth wide. Why aren’t you reacting? Stop!
Suddenly Jack realised. John had seen the undead horde the whole time, waiting for the moment they would break through so that the gang could be caught off guard. It was only until Jack realised this that he had already stumbled out of hiding with his gun drawn.
For a split second John’s eyes snapped violently onto Jack’s. What are you doing?
“Hey! We’re being ambushed!” A Nueves Lobo yelled as he caught sight of Jack. Guns were raised, and suddenly the world erupted into chaos.
A bullet tore a clean, clear hole straight through John's chest.