Chapter Text
Jack left nearly the moment he found his fathers grave empty. And in those few short moments where he stared into the deep, black hole that was his papa's open grave, all that anger he kept for Ross wasn’t as strong anymore.
It was late at night when he left, he made sure his mama was asleep and that he was as quiet as possible while he packed. Uncle hadn’t crawled out of his grave, but Jack had shot one of those creatures right through the eye when it had wandered onto the ranch. That’s what spurred him to run up the hill where Uncle and John were buried, Abigail followed him up, she almost fainted when she found her husband's grave empty.
John’s horse was gone, too. Not the black warhorse with the white mane named Bullet, she had died while Jack and his mama were tied up in their home, completely out of their minds. It was the new one John had brought home, the one he said was jokingly named Death, but he never called it anything other than that. While him and his mama stood at the top of that hill trying to catch their breath and hoping this was a nightmare they’d soon wake up from, Jack almost swore he saw Death near the south entrance of Beecher’s Hope, a rider who he couldn’t quite see sitting atop the horse, surly looking at the both of them before he turned the horse and rode away.
Jack and Abigail had left Death alone after John was shot, they left him in the barn with Beowulf and Jack fed them both everyday, but he didn’t brush Death and lean against him the same way he did with Beowulf. The horse never seemed to like either of them, anyway. In the short amount of time that John had Death before the law showed up, he was pampering the horse nearly anytime he went into the barn. Jack didn’t know what to make of the horse, those pale eyes unsettled him, he always tried not to look at Death for too long.
He left a note behind before he left for good. It was short, no one would be there to read it to her and she’d forbid him from leaving the ranch if he tried to talk to her about it, all it said was “Be back. - Jack” with the letters spaced out, he left the note on his mama’s nightstand and kissed her cheek, closing her bedroom door with her and Rufus inside. He left his poor, grieving ma all alone in their home. Uncle wasn’t there to at the very least keep her company, maybe she’d find comfort in Rufus, like how Jack had, they’re both lucky that he managed to survive the first time this had happened. The bite mark on his neck had finally scarred over, so had the rope-burn on his wrists and ankles.
Everything was upside-down again, he didn’t know where to look for his father or where the next safe place to sleep would be, but he knew he had to keep his gun at the ready, if the stories from the poor citizens of Blackwater and his pa were anything to go off of. He doesn’t remember what his time being infected was like, he remembers being hungry, he’s disgusted with himself for it. Jack tried to eat his father the same way his mother tried to eat him, that mindless hunger is what almost ended the Marstons, and it only took a few minutes for them to reach that point.
He’s not sure what he’ll do when he finds his pa, he knows that he’s gonna be one of those people-eaters, knows that if he does find him, he’s gonna have to kill him again. Jack never did hear any stories of an undead that rode a horse or didn’t run to eat the first living thing it got its hands on, Jack can’t think about why his father would be different from the others, but maybe it’s better like this, better because this hopefully meant that his father wouldn’t go for his neck the second he stepped into view.
He looked in Blackwater first, most towns had gotten better at protecting themselves since the first time this happened. He didn’t wander into town upon arrival, he climbed up onto the roof of one of the houses on the outskirts of town near the cemetery and looked through the scope on his rifle when he shot. None of those shot-up bodies in town or the burnt ones in the graveyard had the same face as John Marston, none of them wore the clothes he did when he was shot and buried. Jack went into town when the firing had come to a complete stop, he asked around, trying to figure out if anyone knew anything about his reanimated father, but people looked at him like he was insane.
Some understood, sympathised, even. There wasn’t a single family that hadn’t lost someone to the madness that had spread across the west a few months before. He started checking the bodies of all reanimated corpses when people said that they hadn’t seen his father, he’s still deciding whether or not it was good that his fathers face didn’t match the ones the dead wore.
Manzanita had been similar when he passed by, though by the time he had shown up, the people there had mostly handled the situation. All the bodies of those who were bitten and the others who were doing the biting had been checked by him again, none of them matched his father in any way apart from being brought back to life.
The R.R. Post was doing well, too. The men there were armed to the teeth with TNT and dynamite, they’d even been hospitable enough to give him a few sticks and some ammo when he passed through. John hadn’t been there, either.
Theive’s Landing was no different from the other places he’d already been to, the townspeople there were still fighting off some of the undead, but they had mostly stationed themselves up on the balconies with the doors behind them barricaded so nothing could get to them. People there hadn’t seen John either, and once again, none of the bodies there matched his father. He stayed long enough to see the sun rise and to help the people there pile up the bodies so they could burn them.
The smell of burnt bodies, blood, and sulfur make Jack’s throat feel tighter and he can’t bite back the grimace that twists onto his face whenever he gets too close to the origin of the stench. He’s quickly getting over it, though. A few folks have told him that if he really can’t stomach it then he should keep some herbs on hand, either just to smell or to make the taste of vomit go away. He knows his pa won’t smell any better than anyone else once he finds him, might as well get used to it.
It’s hard to find a dead man, even more so when you have no idea where he ran off to and why. If John Marston is sentient, then it’s better than nothing. Doesn’t mean that the Marstons can go back to being a normal family, it just means that John Marston didn’t become an animal like everyone else.
Bonnie could’ve seen him, he hopes.
There was a border set up around the Upper Montana River, Jack couldn’t go north even if he wanted, the men that kept guard were army and hired guns, all he can hope for is that his pa somehow didn’t get through to somewhere he couldn’t follow and that the army wouldn’t make their way south to set up even more borders.
He stayed on the train tracks when he rode south, keeping his head on a swivel, one of those things could jump out at any second, he wouldn’t be very surprised if one fell from the sky. If it wasn’t the people-eaters that were going to come out of nowhere, it’ll be the mutated bears or cougars or wolves that were already hunters, but like this, you’re already dead the second they spot you.
A few rotten, caved-in bodies are strewn across the pathway on the way to the MacFarlane ranch, Jack had never seen anything like it. The flesh on their bodies was almost completely gone, torn away from the bones like they were eaten by hungry dogs. Flies buzz around the remains, a few ravens and vultures perched atop of them, pulling at the stringy flesh that remains. The corpses would have been like the ones who killed and ate them if there had been anything left of them to change.
Some towns and settlements have started a burn pile for the corpses that began to pile up, fire was a good way to return the undead to their previous state without having to waste bullets, any other fires started for bodies was to burn the undead and anyone who they had bitten, just as an extra measure to make sure they wouldn’t be coming back again. There’s no fire like that at the MacFarlane Ranch, no smoke and no stench, either Bonnie has been making sure everyone killed on her land will be buried, or she hasn’t seen too much trouble yet.
A few farm hands watch him ride in over the small bridge when he reaches the ranch, the guard that stands on the other side has an itchy trigger finger, his pa told him that they never got along with each other, he’d shoot if the opportunity presented himself, he must be in his own little heaven in a time like this. He keeps his eyes on Jack while he hitches Beowulf to the hitching post outside the main house, watching him as he walks up to the porch and knocks on the door.
There’s a few seconds where Jack and the guard stare at each other before the door is opened, Bonnie greeting him with a gasp. Her hand was covering her mouth when he turned to look at her, her eyes locked onto the old bite mark on his neck.
“Jesus, you really did get bit.” Was the first thing she said. Of course John had told her about how he and his mama got bit, she looked at him like he wasn’t supposed to be standing in front of her. But, like his father, he has a habit of showing up out of nowhere.
“Bonnie,” he stepped closer, “My pa— you seen him?”
She looked at him for a second, then, “John? I thought he—”
“He did, I-I know. He just… he came back.” he digs his fingernails into the meat of his palm as he speaks, “And he’s… he’s one of them, I ain’t stupid enough to believe he’s normal. But I gotta find him, I can’t let him walk around like that.”
Bonnie frowns, she looks between his scarred neck and his eyes. “I don’t know if you can find him.”
“I don’t wanna leave his grave empty!”
“There’s a lotta places he could be, Jack. And if he’s not walkin’ around then someone’s already killed him–”
“Just–” he runs a hand through his hair and rubs the back of his head, “Tell me you haven’t seen him and I’ll leave. Don’t gotta talk me out of it.”
She’s got a sad look on her face, John never told his son about how he had to kill mister MacFarlane and left him behind for his daughter to bury. “I haven’t seen him.”
He sighs and takes a step back, “Alright, thank you–”
“How long’ve you been out?” she takes a step towards him, leaving the doorframe so she can hold her hand out like she was going to grab his elbow.
He furrows his eyebrows, but doesn’t move away. “All night.”
“You want somethin’ to eat?”
“I don’t wanna impose. I should be on my way, anyway.”
“The hell is there to impose on?” she chuckled, it sounded more weak than she had meant it to. “I’ve been up all night, too. Just come in, I was already makin’ bacon. You drink coffee?”
She’s already stepping backwards into the doorframe, the hand she held out waving him in. Jack sighs and follows her, she’s already making her way to the kitchen when he closes the door.
He sits at the table while she curses under her breath and moves burnt bacon onto a plate and sets it out in front of him, she throws a few more raw pieces onto the pan before she turns to brew some coffee. Jack eats two pieces before he speaks, “You really don’t gotta worry ‘bout me.”
She doesn’t even look at him, “You’re a kid, and John was a good friend of mine. I don’t want nothin’ to happen to you when your daddy did so much to help me.”
He stays silent and eats more of the burnt bacon, didn’t even grimace when the charred parts stuck to the back of his throat. To Bonnie, John Marston was a good man. He’d heard his mama talking about how she thought Bonnie had a crush on his pa, and he’d hear her teasing jabs at John about Bonnie when he’d try and flirt with his wife. He doesn’t care if Bonnie did or didn’t like his pa like that, he knows she feels like she still owes him something and that that’s why she’s keeping him from leaving.
She gives him a mug filled with coffee and stacks more un-burnt bacon onto the plate, then she sits across from him and looks into her own mug for a moment.
“How’s Abigail? She’s not… one of them, is she?” Jack looks at her, she looks at him over the rim of her mug while she takes a sip.
He shakes his head, “Nah, she’s fine. Was sleepin’ when I left.”
“You mean you didn’t tell her?”
“She knows I’ll come back.”
Bonnie sighs, putting her head in both her hands. “You’re gonna break that woman’s heart if you don’t, Jack.”
He said nothing, didn’t take a sip of coffee, didn’t reach for a piece of bacon, just sat and looked at her. She was right, he knew that, he knew that the more that time would pass between him leaving and him returning home that he’d worry about her more and more. Abigail will kill him when he comes home, she’ll cry and say how stupid it was of him to leave in the middle of everything that’s happening, how she already lost John, she couldn’t lose her son, too. He’d rather face her anger later than stay on the ranch with the grave he dug left open, like it was just waiting for John to come back.
“And,” she looks up at him, her hands down on the table now. “I know your daddy wouldn’t have wanted you to leave your mama alone.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, but his eyebrows furrow and his fists clench in his lap. Jack figures he’s old enough to make the same decisions that his father would have made, he doesn’t need to be talked down by someone that’s not even a decade older than him.
But he doesn’t say anything like that to Bonnie, just, “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”
Jack stayed with Bonnie for the rest of the day, slept, and left in the morning. She said he could come back whenever he wanted to, that she’d never turn him away, but that if Abigail came asking for him, she’d tell her what he was up to.
The undead looked more unnatural in the day, despite the fog and grey skies, they still looked like they belonged to the night. One of them was dead on the side of the road next to a corpse with its throat torn out, two bullet holes were in the side of the undead's skull. Neither of them were his father, he kept riding.
A few corpses and the bodies of the undead were strewn across the road just outside of Armadillo, vultures and rats picked at what was left of them, as did the flies, black smoke from the bodies that were being burned rose up high in the sky, only that sky wasn’t muggy and grey, the sun was starting to peek out from behind the clouds, but the black smoke took away from the scene. Again, none of them were John, and he couldn’t check the bodies that were either being burned or had been burned already in ditches dug out behind the sheriff's office. Everyone there carried a gun on them, but no one showed any hostility towards Jack, and no one questioned when he rode up to the sheriff’s office and hitched up Beowulf.
John had told him briefly about the sheriff in town and how he was the first lawman in a while who hadn’t wanted to lock him up on sight. He doubted the marshal knew where his father was, but he figured it was worth a shot.
The marshal sat at his desk with his feet kicked up onto it, he looked at Jack when he entered, Jack looked between him and the sleeping woman he held in a cell. Jack paid her no mind, just waiting for the marshal to actually acknowledge him.
“Can I help you, son?” The marshal asks, Jack stiffens at his words, looking at him again.
“You Leigh Johnson?”
“Yes.”
Jack steps closer to his desk, “You knew my pa, John Marston.”
The marshal himself straightens at that, dropping his feet to the floor and turning his body towards Jack. “You’re Jack?” he nods. “Your father talked about you and your mama, I heard about what happened to him, I’m awfully sorry about that.”
“You don’t gotta be sorry,” Jack says quickly, “I was just wonderin’ if you’d seen him. He– he came back, like the others.”
Mister Johnson looked at him for a few seconds and stood up, looking out the window. “Can’t say that I have.”
Jack murmured “figured” under his breath as he stepped toward the door.
“How the hell’re you gonna find him? If John hasn’t already been shot, then there’s no telling where he’d be. How long're you willin’ to look for him?”
“I don’t…” Jack swallowed, “I don’t know yet. I just– I wanna at least try. My mama… I don’t care how mad she is, I know she’s not gonna like his grave bein’ empty, same as me.” Jack looks at the marshal even though he’s still looking outside the window, he’ll do what he wants to do no matter what he says, but he still waits for his blessing to leave as if he actually cares.
Marshal Johnson exhales through his nose slowly and looks at Jack again, “I want you to help me with somethin’.” Jack nods. “Coot’s Chapel is a mess, I’m not askin’ you to go in there yourself, but I’d appreciate some company.”
“Is that where they’re comin’ from?”
“Not all of ‘em, I just wanna get the ones that dug themselves out of their graves back in that hole.”
Jack looks out of the window with him, the town of Armadillo doesn’t seem to be doing too bad. All of these folks have gone through this before, they’ve got thick skin, and he’s sure that people have come by to help them, that goes for other towns, too.
A cemetery, though, that was different.
He had ridden past the cemetery in Blackwater and it had been cleared out already, but whoever had gotten rid of all of the undead in the cemetery must’ve ran off to help clear out the rest of Blackwater since by the time he showed up, all of the bodies had been burnt.
There’s not many places in a cemetery where you can get a good advantage, those things would get to you before you could find a way to climb up on top of the church, and if there’s no church, then you can hope for a tree. He could only imagine it, all those people coming up out of the ground, starving and completely deranged.
The marshal grabs the rifle he had leaning up against the wall behind his chair and checks the chamber before he opens the drawer in his desk to retrieve more ammunition. “You comin’, ain’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Coot’s Chapel looked like it belonged in this world perfectly, Jack would be shocked if anyone still even attended mass here, it couldn’t be used for anything more than a cemetery and a place to hold funerals. With vultures circling the building and its graveyard overhead, it wouldn’t be surprising to find forms of life so twisted and cruel.
The place was dead quiet. No groaning from the undead, no screams from a person getting their jugular torn out by a pair of human teeth, no shaky footsteps, nothing except the caws of the vultures.
Leigh Johnson hadn’t said much of anything that wasn’t about how everything went to hell again to Jack on the ride over, he hardly even looked at him, but he was looking now.
The two of them sat atop their horses just under the archway into the graveyard, Jack was originally going to wait outside the fence and shoot from a distance, but seeing as how there’s nothing to shoot, he rode in with the marshal. There were bodies, that’s for sure, but not as much as either of them would’ve expected. Some of the graves weren’t even dug-up.
Jack watches as the marshal gets down off of his horse and walks towards one of the bodies, Jack slides down off of Beowulf and joins him.
The skin is charred and there’s a bullet hole in the neck and another through the skull, mister Johnson poked at the body with the barrel of his rifle before moving onto the next one. All of the bodies were practically identical, there were two or three that were fatter than the rest, but what matters is that they’re all dead.
He eventually stopped in front of two graves, one of the headstones read “Eli” and the other read “Jonah”. The dirt over where their bodies lay is undisturbed, even though the headstones are hardly weathered, the date of death on each one was from a few months ago.
“Thought they’d’ve come back up.” The marshal says.
Jack chewed the inside of his cheek and shifted his hold on his own rifle, “They your sons?”
He chuckles, but there’s no mirth behind it. “No, deputies.” Jack swallows the spit in his mouth and nods, the marshal looks over his shoulder at him, turning slightly. “Idiots got bit, it was John who put them out of it.”
Jack nods again, mister Johnson shrugs and looks around, he whistles for his horse even though it’s not far, Jack does the same.
“Tell you one thing, you never get over the fuckin’ smell.”
That awful, rotting smell had been in the air since Jack left home. He’d gotten used to it in a few hours, but he was focusing on it more now. Dirt and that same old stench of blood and that same burnt skin is the normal smell of the air now, the heat makes it smell even more cooked.
Jack walked to Beowulf and grabbed the horn of the saddle where he had messily carved J.M. into it to pull himself up, he turned his horse around so that he and the marshal could leave.
“I’ll see who it was that came through here, you can wait at the office, if you’d like.”
“Sure,” Jack gave Beowulf a kick right under the ribs, mister Johnson pulled himself up onto his horse and followed after him.
“You can lay down in that other cell if you’d like, just don’t let that girl out.”
“Wasn’t gonna,”
The marshal nods, nothing is said again before they ride away. Neither of them see the horse tacks that were just outside the fence, heading west towards Armadillo or somewhere past it, just not following the road.