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The wind howled around him as John pushed his horse forward, the cold of the mountains piercing through his tattered coat. The blizzard was relentless, blurring the already unforgiving landscape of the mountains. His horse trudged slowly through the drifts, her breath clouding the air in front of them. They’d been out for a long time now, scouting ahead for the gang as they settled into camp.
Beside him, Micah hummed, his eyes scanning the horizon.
“Think we’ll find anything out here?” John yelled over the roar of the wind, his voice tight with cold.
Micah chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “Find something, probably.” He sneered at John. “Maybe a lonely bear looking for a warm hug. Or a couple of hungry wolves feeling frisky.” The joke, if it could even be called that, fell flat.
Biting back a remark, John looked forward once more.
They rode in silence for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds the crunch of hooves in the snow and the relentless wind.
“I’m going ahead here, how about you head on to the left, see if anything of interest comes up?” Micah waves his hand off to the side. “We can cover the area quicker, and regroup after.”
John shrugged. “Sure. Not too long though, you never know with these conditions.”
Heading their separate ways, John headed further into the mountains.
The blizzard continued to storm around him, visibility gone down to near nothing. Squinting ahead, John couldn’t make out anything beyond the sheet of white. Cutting his losses, he decided to head back when he heard it. A low growl, rising up into a chorus of snarls and yelps. John tensed, his hand instinctively going to the gun sitting at his hip.
John had barely begun to react when the pack came into view, a gray, snarling mass of teeth and fur. His horse reared, startled, her eyes wide with panic as they were quickly overwhelmed. The first wolf leapt, jaws snapping, and the horse whinnied in terror, the cry quickly swallowed by the wind. In an attempt to keep himself thrown from his horse, John gripped the reins tightly.
The world dissolved into chaos. John drew his pistol, firing a shot that went wide, causing the closest wolf to rear back in caution, but the others surged forward undeterred. The horse stumbled, her legs buckling as one of the beasts sunk its teeth into her flank. John kicked out with a yell, firing another shot, but they just kept coming. Going around, a wolf leaped at the horse’s neck, tearing at her throat with savage efficiency. The horse collapsed, twitching wildly, sending John sprawling into the snow.
His pistol flew from his hand and landed some distance away, buried in a drift that he knew he would never reach. John scrambled to his feet, drawing his knife, but the wolves were already on him. He kicked and slashed, fighting with every ounce of his strength, but they came at him from all sides, their growls ringing in his ears. He felt a searing pain in his leg, stumbling back into the snow. Taking advantage, the wolves pressed into him, raking claws through his coat and causing deep lacerations to his chest. He was being dragged backwards, no amount of kicking deterring his attackers.
Unbeknownst to him, a rider had shown up in the distance upon hearing the gunshots. Micah. The older man watched in cold detachment, keeping quiet and not drawing attention. He could intervene. He had his rifle, a weapon capable of scattering the pack with a few well placed shots. He could ride down, help John, and return to the gang with a tale of bravery and loyalty for Dutch’s ears. Though a different thought endeared itself to him more.
John was ambitious, clearly a favourite of Dutch despite abandoning the gang and returning with his tail tucked between his legs. He was quick and clever, despite Arhur’s remarks, and would definitely stand against Micah when it came down to it. Never mind that the old geezer that Dutch deeply cares about, Hosea, has a soft spot for Marston and values him much more highly than he ever would Micah. A right thorn in his side, a constant reminder of some kind of morality that existed in this world that Micah could care less about.
If John were gone… things would be different. He could fill the void. So Micah didn’t draw his gun. He didn’t move. He sat there, a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the storm, his expression unreadable. If John died in the snow, it was simply a tragic accident. No one would question it. No one would know that Micah could have saved him but chose not to.
He watched as the wolves tore at John’s horse, ripping the animal apart. John, still struggling, was clearly injured, and losing blood. As the wolves circled the downed man, Micah could hear his cries, muffled by the howling wind and the deafening roar of the storm.
The blizzard raged around him, a perfect accomplice to his crime. He’ll get back to camp, find Dutch, and tell him what happened. He would tell the others, his voice full of regret, about how John’s horse spooked and bolted, and led its poor rider right into the starved wolves. What a tragedy it was.
As the wolves continued to drag the man away, the cries faded into silence. The only noises Micah could hear was the distant snarling and the howl of the wind. He turned around and urged his horse onward, back to the camp, leaving John Marston behind to the cold mountain and the wolves. He was certain the man was dead. He had seen the blood. He had seen the wolves on top of him.
The snow fell heavily, obscuring his retreat. Leaving behind a frozen, shallow grave.
What a tragedy indeed.
John wheezed as he was pulled further and further from his horse. The rare glimpses he managed between snarling teeth and swarming limbs he could see the shredded remains of his poor mare. With fleeing hope he yelled out for Micah, on the chance the other man was nearby, but the wind tore the sound away.
A wave of despair washed over him. He was alone. Utterly and completely alone. He struggled, fighting the wolves with what ferocity his frail limbs could manage. But there were too many, their teeth too sharp, his own blood staining the snow red.
In a last ditch attempt, John swung his arm holding the knife up and behind him, aiming for the wolf that gripped him by his shredded coat. With a yelp, the animal dropped him, backing off with a deep wound to the shoulder.
John wasted no time swinging the knife around, catching another one in the side, and causing the closest wolves to retreat. Attempting to sit up however, gave one the chance to lunge at him again. It’s claws digging deep into his face. John pushed it away with a grunt, and scurried to his feet.
Brandishing the knife at the wolves once more, he attempted to walk backwards. It was slow going, the snow deep enough to hinder his movement, but he pushed on. The wolves prowled close in front of him, but more reluctant now that they had sustained injuries.
Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the wolves retreated. Heading back towards where John’s horse lay dead far in the distance. John stood there, realising just how far he was forced away into the mountain. Arms shaking, he knew that it was only a matter of time before they tried their luck again.
He felt a stream of hot wetness drip down his face, barely seeing the blood drip down staining what remained of his coat. It ran into his eyes, making what little visibility he had worse. He was shivering, the snow biting at his exposed skin.
Sighing, John turned further into the mountain. Trudging through the snow until he came to a ledge where he could hop down. It should keep him safe for now. Perhaps once the blizzard dies down a bit he’ll try and retrace his way back to camp. With no horse however, he was pretty limited in options.
Leaning back against the rocky surface with a sigh, John closed his eyes in exhaustion. He’ll keep the knife out, just in case.
Micah should soon notice that he didn’t make it back, and may try to find him or go back to notify others at camp. Hopefully soon, as he’s pretty sure people aren’t meant to be out in these conditions for too long, and wouldn’t want to risk losing any fingers or toes.
And if help does arrive, he really fucking hopes that Arthur isn’t the one to find him here. The man will never let him live it down.