Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Banditos ❯ The Silence in Timbers ( Chapter 6 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Manga-Chick 
“Murderer!” Virgil screamed, the sound echoing off the valley walls.
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Horror / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.01.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.9K | Visits: 380 | Status: Completed
“Murderer!” Virgil screamed, the sound echoing off the valley walls.
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Horror / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.01.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.9K | Visits: 380 | Status: Completed
Extreme AU, OOC, non-historic West, violence...supernatural themes, violence...Just be prepared for the amount of violence and utter chaos.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
Based somewhat on that thrilling vid-game, Darkwatch. Heh. My inspiration for something gory and dark.
I'm Alive: O_O um...please don't cry. It's all just...fiction...(scared, runs). Hehe. Yah, this is entirely different from the story I had going the first time! XD I just couldn't do it. It was hhhaaaarrrddd (hangs shoulders) So I popped up with this! I was never interested in zombies---I think the only exception I made was NME's story, Mind the Gap. But once I started thinking about it, it was like, Hey. I have nightmares about zombies all the time...HOLY SHIT! I should write about it! O_O And this is what happened. sorta. Kinda. XD I don't think Richie's going to be around, for awhile...DONT HIT ME, wait! Probably in a few more chapters, he'll come around...and things will be...surprising! Yah...surprising...and there's PLENTY of crying in baseball! I see big guys crying all the time when they lose! XD
Chapter Six:
The Silence in Timbers
Their animals were dead. Bodies were cast everywhere–it was as if someone had come through, randomly killed off any animal that was in their path, making a mess out of their demise. The structures were burnt, a few support beams smoldering here and there. The gardens were ruined–bodies of the other ranch hands lay everywhere.
In a state of shock, Virgil leapt off Sparky, moving into a run as he shot toward the smoldering house. He screamed Sharon’s name, alternating between his father and older sister as the others shot into view. Adam was doing the same, shouting for his wife, his voice full of panic and heavy anxiety.
Though they recognized that the dead had been there for hours–indicated by the heavy congealing of blood around them, the heavy bloating caused by the heat, the fact that whatever position they were in, blood had dripped from various areas of their bodies to settle closer to the ground–they still hoped someone had survived.
The stench was growing thicker as the day warmed–there wasn’t any hope at all for any survivors. Virgil slowed to a stop before the house, staring in agonized despair at the ashes and various things that hadn’t been eradicated to piles of cold ash. It appeared that the house had been burning for awhile. The metal, porcelain–all of it was scorched black and gray. Melted around some edges.
The barn had burnt fastest, with its stock of straw, wood and other supplies. The carefully tended bales of hay that were stored underneath a cover shed were burnt as well–the areas around it were black, wisps of ashes settling further and further with the day’s breeze. The ranch hands’ quarters was completely gone, as well, save for various pieces of metal and steel.
Virgil fell to his knees, unsure of what to do in his grief. Adam kept looking throughout the area, hoping and hollering that somebody was still around. The animals–various horses, mules, cattle, dogs, chickens, ducks, turkeys–lay scattered throughout the area in their own blood and gore. Feathers of various assortment fluttered weakly throughout the dirt, sailing in the breeze. The other hands, too busy gaping to move, took up the small area that had been the house’s front walkway.
Charge nickered quietly as he and Hotstreak entered the scene, the redhead staring sullenly at the destruction that had been wrought. Something deep and hot boiled up inside of him, upsetting his stomach and squeezing his chest. This had been his home–this is where he’d felt safe, welcome. To see it all gone...destroyed by the creatures he’d help unleash so many years ago, made him entirely and suddenly indifferent.
A coping mechanism that worked handily whenever bouts of trauma occurred. Despite his stunned state, he was already wondering how he was going to move on–where he was going to go, next. Who would take him in? It seemed that no matter where he went–this followed. It looked as if he couldn’t escape it.
He stared down at the bodies, and grew anxious. Leaving Charger, he pulled out his six-shooters, handling them nervously as he walked slowly toward the others–he’d learned, long ago, that bodies just didn’t lie there to rot. They were up and moving at an unseen, silent prompt. He had to get the others out of there before they were killed, too. Adding to the army.
He walked over to Virgil, who was sitting on his knees, in stunned silence as he watched his house smolder. Adam’s shouts for Sharon and Robert carried on in the distance–visible between the thin rows of trees that surrounded the living property. Hotstreak stared at the blackened mess, recognizing parts of the kitchen, the living room–trying not to look too hard at the couple of corpses that were merely unsettled skeletons. He didn’t want to think that it was Sharon and Robert–thinking of the older man, he remembered how he favored his knees; arthritis bothered him from time to time, and he couldn’t move very fast.
And Sharon...the woman would put up a fight, but...she was just one woman against who-knew-how-many?
He looked over at Virgil, feeling guilty at the face that was full of despair and loss. He didn’t know what to say–but having those dead bodies around made him anxious to leave. He looked back at the others, trying to find his voice to tell them to arm themselves. Their faces were full of the very same thing Virgil had.
Looking up, he saw Adam walking heavily in their direction–trying very hard not to weep. It was a hard loss, to lose everything to things that one couldn’t understand; especially to zombies.
A glance at those bodies had Hotstreak shifting from one foot to the other. “Virgil,” he said quietly, seeing the other man give a slight start at the sound of his voice. “Virgil...we haveta leave. Quick.”
At first, he thought that Virgil hadn’t heard him–he’d spoke too quietly. For Virgil continued to stare at the smoldering mess, his full lips open, his eyes sightless. Something in the distance shifted, and Hotstreak’s pulse began to race.
“Virgil...Virgil we have to leave.”
Finally, the younger man looked at him, blinking away that sightlessness. Understanding of his words touched him, and he simply stared up at Hotstreak in silence. Until his brow furrowed, and his expression turned into anger.
“Why?” he barked, his voice sending some birds into flight. “Where we gonna go? This is our fuckin’ home!”
“Virgil,” Hotstreak tried again, trying to keep his voice calm. More shifting had him looking over his shoulder–one of the bodies had moved. He swore it did. “Virgil, if they came through here, and they kilt these guys...they gonna be just as undead as the others.”
Virgil looked over in the direction that he was looking, failing to understand. Unable to–grief and shock had him still and blank. He rose, shakily, Hotstreak moving to help him stand. Angrily, with growing helplessness and devastation, Virgil threw his arm off. He looked around once more, spying Adam, giving him a flicker of hope.
Adam shook his head sorrowfully, turning to stare at what used to be the back end of the house. There were wet trails down his cheeks, and he was continuously wiping at his eyes. It looked as if he were starting to accept that those he loved were dead.
Hotstreak looked back at the bodies, then at Virgil anxiously. “Let’s go, man. There isn’t anything here we can take wit’ us. It’s all gone.”
“This was my home!” Virgil cried, his voice breaking. “This was my home! My father and my sister–! I can’t just leave–!”
“I lost my home, too, Virgil! And my family! I know what it feels, like, man! I know! But those guys, they ain’t gonna lay there for long–!”
“What are they going to do, huh? What they gonna do?” Virgil asked, on the verge of breaking down. He swept his hat aside furiously, spurs jangling noisily as he paced with agitation. “They gonna stand right up, an’ come at us?”
Hotstreak blinked. “Well...yeah. Pretty much.”
Virgil gave him a look of disgust, then looked away, staring at the smoldering house. He sat with a hard sigh, knees drawn up slightly so that he could rest his elbows atop of them. Staring at the ashes, he once more lost himself in his grief as Hotstreak shifted anxiously once more, looking around them. He looked over at Adam, realizing that he wasn’t going to be much help. Looking at the other hands, he saw that they were looking just as down–none of them were bothering to heed his warnings.
He looked over at the bodies, frowning at them. Hating what he had to do to men he’d known for six years. Walking away from Virgil, who just vaguely turned his head to watch him go, Hotstreak headed for Charger. He unloaded the small pickaxe he’d packed, in case they’d need it on the trail, and then headed for the closest body. Grimly, he paused before the bloated mess, recognizing him as a tender hearted hand that was fond of birds and the horses.
Exhaling heavily, he brought the pickaxe over his head, and brought the curved end down at the nape of the man’s neck with a loud and sickening crunch that had everyone else looking over at him. It was almost a clean sever–another should do. He repeated the action, Virgil clamoring to his feet and racing over as he threw another clean chop, completely severing the dead man’s head from his body. He was about to hook the body with his pickaxe when Virgil reached him, shoving him viciously enough to send him sprawling in the dirt.
“You outta yer mind?” Virgil hissed, looking in horror at the dead man Hotstreak had just beheaded.
“Virg, look–! I had more experience with these things!” Hotstreak picked himself up from the dirt, brushing off his pants. “If’n we don’t get rid of them now, they gonna get us. How would you like it if you found yourself starin’ up at yer daddy, that’s lookin’ to kill ya? We gotta take off their heads, an’ burn ‘em before they get to us!”
“My daddy ain’t gonna be no fuckin’ zombie!’ Virgil shrieked, on the verge of hysterics.
“How do you know?” Hotstreak asked, picking up the pickaxe. “Huh? You knowin’ somethin’ I don’t? The least you can think is that yer daddy ain’t gonna feel nothin’–he’s just a mindless body, now. He already gone!”
“Don’t you talk about him that way!” Virgil snarled, shoving at him again. Once he realized that shove wasn’t enough, he pushed him again. Easily, Hotstreak swept him aside, and he hit the dirt in a muffled mess, kicking up dust and ashes.
“Stop it, Virgil. I don’t wanna fight wit’ you. But we gotta do this, man. Before they start movin’.” Hooking the man with the curved point of his pickaxe, Hotstreak began dragging the body, sans head, towards the house. The others were staring at them in numbed disbelief, unsure if they were going to move–unsure of what to do.
Virgil picked himself up from the ground, tripping over the head. Sprawling again. Hotstreak glanced at him, pitying his grief stricken state, and went to work on the next body. The other hands avoided him as if he were going to turn on him, and Adam rose slowly, starting to come back to life, again. Staring at the ruined head–eye sockets swollen, eyeballs covered in dirt, blood pooled in weighty measurement against face skin, Virgil went still, eyes wide. When the maggots began falling from the clamped nostrils, he started to vomit.
Hotstreak looked over, noticing this. “Don’t look at it, man,” he said with exasperation, beheading another body. Then repeating the action with another, and another. The hands looked at each other, not knowing what to do.
Adam followed Hotstreak with his eyes, then something caught his peripheral vision. Feeling as if his head were being held in place, he jerked to look, shock numbing him intensely as he realized one of the bodies were starting to move. A twitch of the leg, a jerky flit of an arm–his mouth fell open, and he stared without saying anything, unsure of what he was seeing.
Hotstreak caught sight of the body, and abandoned his task with dragging the bodies toward the first. Quickly, before the body could move any further, he brought the pickaxe down against the top of the head, and swung outward. The resulting, watery mess made Adam’s stomach jerk to his throat. Human skulls weren’t supposed to do that–weren’t supposed to make those sounds.
The body fell against the dirt, still once more. Panting, Hotstreak demolished the head–a friendly man that had taken his poker earnings many nights before–with several stabbing motions of the axe. Spreading skull matter, bits of hair and congealed blood all over. His boots were splattered with it by the time he was done.
Turning, he hooked that body with his pickaxe, dragging it quickly toward the others. “Light them up,” he ordered, looking around the place for more. “Without their heads, they can’t do shit! You gotta burn the bodies–they can’t use ‘em when they’re all burnt.”
Nobody moved, staring at him and those bodies in numbed horror. He realized this, and decided that he didn’t have time to wait. Hurrying toward Charger, he took out a box of matches, and some documents that recorded his purchases in Alva’s town earlier. Crumbling those, he hurried toward the mess of bodies, stuffing the paper in random order. Then, lighting them, he didn’t bother to see if they would catch as he rushed off, looking for more bodies to destroy.
Sightlessly, Virgil watched the flames catch, scorching well-worn material of the dead’s shirts, spreading from limb to limb–catching quickly on rotting corpses. One of their hands twitched, and a leg kicked out–but other than that, the fire burned intensely. As for the heads that were left behind, he jerked his own about, looking at them, feeling his stomach lurch. He had known them. He had known them all.
“Hhhhuuuuaaaahhhhhhhh....” came a low, guttural noise behind him. Adam was already on his feet, dark skin turning pale. The other hands moved, and it seemed as if that sound was more than prompting for those in shock to finally snap to reality. Virgil turned, looking over his shoulder, seeing Robert Hawkins walking up the path...drunkenly and stiffly walking toward them.
Quickly, he climbed to his feet, and moved to race over when Hotstreak, spying them, screamed at him to stop. Just hearing the bigger man’s desperate scream stopped Virgil in his tracks. He didn’t take his eyes off Robert, though. As he stood there, the larger man lumbering up the path toward them, he began to become aware of the sightless eyes–the matted thickness on the side of his head, how one elbow dangled uselessly from the knob. His feet were dragging, scuffing the dirt and gravel with each step. He walked extremely pigeon-toed, stumbling every little step.
Virgil wanted to believe that Robert was okay–that he was merely injured from a fall off his horse. It looked as if that were true–but how could that be when the man’s brains were visible from the half moon at the back of his skull? He saw this when Robert turned, scanning the area, uttering those same guttural noises–his tone surprised in that he could actually do so. As he shifted about, it looked almost as if he were looking for the person making those noises–not understanding that he was doing it himself.
“P-pops?” Virgil asked, weakly, still staring. Hotstreak hurried over, having traded his pickaxe for a fire scorched cleaver that he’d found within the kitchen area of the house. Protectively, he stood before Virgil, hating what he was seeing, trying to tell himself the same thing he’d told the younger man earlier.
That this wasn’t Robert–this was just a mindless body. But it was hard, looking into the face of a man that had given him a chance when nobody else was willing to. This man had loved his children in a way that he’d wanted, and Robert had been a tough hand, neither hurtful or commanding, just stern whenever Hotstreak proved his stubbornness in things. He’d grown fond of the older man–it was just such a damn shame that he would have to destroy it. Robert was no longer Robert–it was an It. It was just a body of a man that he knew.
“Virgil...Virgil, your father’s dead,” he said quietly, watching Robert continue his approach. “That ain’t your daddy, Virgil. That’s one of them.”
Virgil’s shove came out of no where, and Hotstreak stumbled until he caught himself, righting himself quickly before he could hurt himself with the cleaver. “That’s my father!” he screamed, pointing at Robert, as if no one could see or recognize him. “That’s my fuckin’ father! That’s my daddy! How can you say that?”
“You know I’m right, man! You know it! You’re just in shock, buddy, it happens. That ain’t your daddy–it’s them. It’s one of them, and it’s gonna hurt you if you let it!” Hotstreak shouted back, noting that Robert was now shuffling toward them, antagonized by their loud words. “You can’t get near it! It’ll kill ya if’n it gets a hold of ya!”
Virgil felt his throat tighten, and a sound of despair left his full lips as he looked back at Robert. Closer now, he realized that the man was missing his right ear–that half of his face was covered in telltale scorch marks from buckshot. Someone had shot his father–someone had deliberately shot his father. But how–? When–? Where–?
He suddenly realized that Hotstreak was approaching Robert, cleaver held tight in one hand. He realized what was going to happen, and started to race forward, screaming a negative at the man’s actions. Adam was there, suddenly, wrapping his wiry arms around him and pulling him back.
“Virgil, stop it, stop it, you see that he ain’t there!” Adam coaxed, holding tight, managing a Nelson as his younger brother-in-law struggled to get away. “That ain’t Robert, V! That’s one of them creatures, and you know it!”
“That’s my father!” Virgil screamed again, watching with horror as Hotstreak reached out, grabbing Robert by the front of his shirt, forcefully swinging him around and down onto the dirt. It was as if Robert couldn’t catch himself, landing face flat into the gravel. Virgil heard himself screaming nonsense as he sent both him and Adam onto the ground, struggling to reach his father as Hotstreak followed the throw, walking up behind the larger man, stepping over his back and rendering the cleaver. As Robert started to move, to pick himself up, he had the cleaver slicing through the nape of his neck–repeatedly until the head flopped and hit the dirt with a spray of thick gore and dust.
The body twitched before falling onto its side, then stopped moving.
Virgil stopped moving just as abruptly, staring sightlessly as Hotstreak exhaled heavily, stepping away from the job he’d just performed. The silence was thick...seemingly interminable.
010101010110
The fire he was watching was fueled by the bodies of the various men he’d grown up around. Friendly, hard-working men that worked long hours and gave cheery grins. It lit up the falling darkness, and it cast a stench like no other. Animals were being fed into the fire as well–bloated, heavy bodies that required two men, at times, to drag them from their death posts and into the carefully prepared bonfire.
Virgil was sitting in the middle of the correl–the only place free of rotten, bloated bodies. The other hands were working quietly, a couple weeping, dismembering their former comrades as per Hotstreak’s instructions. Without a head...the body didn’t work. A few scares had popped up here and there, bodies moving while their heads were still attached, but nothing serious. Animals had tried clamoring to their feet, but they were destroyed quickly before they could even straighten themselves.
Hotstreak knew what he was doing–which was good, Virgil realized, because no one else, did. They would have never thought of desecrating their comrades’ bodies. Never thought of burning them. Never thought that they’d reanimate themselves in that way they had.
He was stuck in a heavily numbed state of disbelief and shock. Unable to move much–staring almost sightlessly. He couldn’t bring himself to think, yet. Couldn’t register that he should be afraid of the area, now. Should be questioning himself on whether or not more were going to attack. More would show up.
Hotstreak was running the show, and while he was wholly depressed and down, he knew what they had to do. It kept him going as he worked, numbly wondering how it was they had overtaken Hawkins’ Dakota Ranch. It wasn’t near town–a two days’ ride from Alva’s....and yet, it had been destroyed just as easily as the town.
They still hadn’t found Sharon–Adam was starting to believe that one of the corpses in the ashes of the house was hers. He couldn’t bring himself to think that she would turn out like Robert–mindless and dead. If she were...he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
Hotstreak finally loaded the last body into the fire–the hands were standing silently nearby, staring into the burning waste. Someone was uttering a prayer, but he wasn’t sure which. The stench was horrendous.
He looked for Virgil, finding him sitting by himself in the correl.
It took awhile, but he walked over, and joined him, sitting in a similar position next to him, watching the smoke fill the sky, and for the flames to roar. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do, now. Wasn’t sure where they could run–figuring that other towns were overran, as well.
For the first time in months, he wondered how Blayne was doing.
He looked at Virgil, who hadn’t moved at all–his fingers were entwined, and his mouth was slack, but it was obvious he really wasn’t all there. Unsure of what to say, he exhaled heavily and stared at the fire...wondering what happened to the amber-eyed boy. Wondering if he’d escaped, or was part of the undead.
010101010110
The hand on his shoulder jolted him awake. Inhaling sharply, Hotstreak blinked heavy eyelids, looking up to see Adam giving him a similar, exhausted expression.
“You hungry?” he asked on a heavy exhale. “We managed to get to the cellar door–some food was stocked in there.”
Hotstreak sat up, kicking off the light blanket that had been laid over him. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. Looking around, he realized it was morning–that bonfire was smoldering, smoke thin and wispy as it caught the morning breeze. He registered that everyone had camped around each other–packs were unloaded, horses were loose nearby. Virgil was no where in sight.
If it wasn’t for the obvious destruction, and lack of animals and workers, it seemed like it always had; the trees were buzzing with insects, the sky was blue...the air was warm. But there was a heaviness to it all that reminded him instantly of what had happened.
“Where’s V?” he asked, disregarding the instant potatoes and jerky that Adam held in one metal plate.
“Down at the creek.” Adam shaded his eyes from the morning sun, staring in that direction. “Still in shock.”
Hotstreak wanted to ask if they’d found Sharon yet, but held his tongue. He was once again thinking of that boy–hoping that he’d gotten away. Couldn’t imagine him being one of them. The other hands were still lying around, or meandering through the area–looking at things.
Brushing at the crumbs at the corner of his eyes, Hotstreak rose, feeling stiff throughout every limb. He’d been clutching his pickaxe, and was surprised when it fell to the dirt.
“You okay?” he asked over his shoulder, at the man that stared quietly at the weapon.
“Yeah.”
Hotstreak wasn’t sure, but Adam was managing. He headed toward the creek, where he could see Virgil washing up at the stream. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say...Sorry? Gee man, this sucks?
By the time he had reached him, Virgil was just crouched there, letting water drip from his flattened dreads, his eyes staring off into the distance once more. Hotstreak carefully took a spot some distance behind him, crouching to examine the calluses on his hand.
He watched his friend–Virgil had been somewhat sheltered his entire life. He hadn’t seen half of the things Hotstreak had; not counting the undead. He wasn’t sure how Virgil was going to act, from now on. Aron had went brain dead, and never came out of it. Blayne had gone on to be a ‘badass zombie killer’. He hoped that Virgil would somehow recognize that they were okay. That they needed him to continue.
“You okay, man?” he asked quietly, peeling the scab off of one wound. Getting sick at the sight of his own blood.
Virgil started, as if he hadn’t heard him approach. Shifting, he turned to look down at him, his face expressionless for a few moments. It looked as if he hadn’t slept at all, last night. Hotstreak squinted his eyes, staring up at him, waiting for an answer or reaction. For a few minutes, all that was heard was the birds in the trees, and the sounds of the bubbling creek. Someone’s horse let out a whinny.
“So, what’s gonna happen, man?” Virgil asked, in a slightly high pitched tone. His eyes went wide and rounded, and his expression seemed serious–only not. “You all zombie knowledge, here. You know everything. What’s goin’ to happen?”
Hotstreak sighed heavily–hysterical people never rubbed well with him. He lowered his head to examine the dirt under boot. “I don’t know, Virg. I don’t. I...I was kinda hopin’ that you had an idea.”
“There ain’t no where else to go!” Virgil shouted, gesturing at the area.
“Hey, calm down, man. It’s–you just need to keep your voice down,” Hotstreak hissed, paranoid that they were still around. All the hands were accounted, for, though. The numbers matched–only Sharon was missing.
“Why? Who’s gonna be hearing us?”
“Look...mebbe...mebbe we can find Kills. Maybe they gotta an idea, all right? Cuz...I’m seriously lost, here. I don’t...I don’t know where to go, I don’t...know what to do. I’m not an expert, man. I just know how to kill them.”
Virgil stared at him for a few moments, then looked away with an exasperated, ‘Ch!. “Useless,” he muttered.
Hotstreak immediately took offense, straightening. “Look, sorry Virgil, about your family! But there ain’t nothing I can do about it! I can’t do anythin’ about it! How were we supposed to know this was gonna happen?”
Virgil reared on him. “You were involved with this shit! You were there when they first started out! Why couldn’t you have known they were comin’ here!”
“Because I spent most of my life runnin’ away from that shit, V! I didn’t want to be involved–! I fucked up enough as it is, makin’ that decision, an’ what am I supposed to do about it? I hate what’s been done, too! This felt like my family, too!”
“Oh, some family,” Virgil scoffed. “You all let those fuckers kill your family!”
Seething, Hotstreak removed his hat, flutters of red catching the breeze. “I can’t help what was done, Virgil, nor could I have known they were this way. I can’t know all that–! I ain’t psychic!”
Virgil looked away, but not before Hotstreak could see tears in his eyes. Feeling instantly remorseful, feeling helpless and guilty, for destroying his friend’s life, he lowered his head, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, man,” he apologized. “I...I just didn’t know this could happen. I didn’t...I never wanted any harm comin’ to this place. You gotta believe me! I loved this family, too, Virgil!”
Virgil looked at him, wiping his eyes with the back of his forearm, glaring at him accusingly. “Maybe they was after you, huh? Lookin’ for you all this time? You say you from Orleans, they makin’ their way up North, like you? What about that, huh? What about that? What if they are looking for you?”
Hotstreak thought about it. He didn’t think he could be of any importance to them. To...to Caine, and to ‘him’. Whomever ‘him’ was. He’d jumped from town to town–perhaps they were following. Perhaps that’s why Hawkins’ Ranch was targeted, because they had somehow known that he was here. This had him intensely flustered, sucking in a deep breath. He didn’t want to believe it–he didn’t want to be responsible for the murder of this family, too. This destruction–but perhaps they were looking for him.
This caused his chest to clench, hard–his breath to suddenly weigh heavily in his chest. He looked up, blinking repeatedly. He’d loved this family–he had loved this area. This had been home. To know that he was responsible for its destruction left him feeling weary and defeated, inside.
“M-mebbe,” he uttered thickly, traces of that Southern drawl audible. Virgil looked at him, glaring at him with a sort of stubbornness he was known for. Feeling entirely awkward, Hotstreak started to move, unsure of what to do with his hands, with his feet.
“Where you goin’?” Virgil snapped, following after him. “You gonna run off, now? Find some other place so they could fuck it up, too?”
Hotstreak really wasn’t sure. He was just numb from that disbelieving accusation. He couldn’t even get his shoulders to shrug, even as he thought about it.
“You kill all us off, now you gonna lead them to kill everyone else?” Virgil asked, his voice rising as Hotstreak started to walk faster. Drawing attention from the others as they continued to mill around the open cellar. “Huh? Why don’t you take some fucking responsibility, in yer life? Go back to where you came from! You go back, an’ you turn yerself in, so that this doesn’t happen to everyone else!”
‘This’ was indicated with a wide flap of the arms, indicating the ranch. Hotstreak didn’t look back, hurrying towards Charger. Calling him with a croaking voice that wanted to fade. The animal hurried over, sensing its master’s mood and obeying every command.
And still Virgil followed, utterly furious at the loss of his life. Of the remaining members of his family. He wasn’t thinking clearly–if he was, he wouldn’t be doing this at all. But he followed Hotstreak, hounding him with accusations as Charger was saddled quickly, Adam hurrying over to see what was going on.
“You go back there, an’ you atone for all this bullshit!” Virgil was screaming, now. “My family didn’t have to die because of no-good shits like you! Runnin’ from everythin’! You go back there, an’ you die for what you did! I don’t ever wanna see you again!”
“Virgil–! Virgil!” Adam barked, reaching them, grabbing the younger man and pushing him aside. He watched as Hotstreak climbed atop of his saddle, looking just as shaken as Virgil was. “Where you goin’, man?”
“Out. Away. I’m sorry. I didn’t–! I didn’t think this would ever happen–!”
“Yeah, you go’wan!” Virgil shouted, picking up some rocks. “You get out of here! Done enough damage, you get out of here! Murderer!”
“Virgil, stop! Don’t go, Stone, you know he ain’t in his right mind!” Adam pleaded, moving as Charger was turned. But he watched helplessly as Charger was coaxed into a hard run, Virgil running after them, flinging stones after them.
“Murderer!” Virgil screamed, the sound echoing off the valley walls.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
Based somewhat on that thrilling vid-game, Darkwatch. Heh. My inspiration for something gory and dark.
I'm Alive: O_O um...please don't cry. It's all just...fiction...(scared, runs). Hehe. Yah, this is entirely different from the story I had going the first time! XD I just couldn't do it. It was hhhaaaarrrddd (hangs shoulders) So I popped up with this! I was never interested in zombies---I think the only exception I made was NME's story, Mind the Gap. But once I started thinking about it, it was like, Hey. I have nightmares about zombies all the time...HOLY SHIT! I should write about it! O_O And this is what happened. sorta. Kinda. XD I don't think Richie's going to be around, for awhile...DONT HIT ME, wait! Probably in a few more chapters, he'll come around...and things will be...surprising! Yah...surprising...and there's PLENTY of crying in baseball! I see big guys crying all the time when they lose! XD
Chapter Six:
The Silence in Timbers
Their animals were dead. Bodies were cast everywhere–it was as if someone had come through, randomly killed off any animal that was in their path, making a mess out of their demise. The structures were burnt, a few support beams smoldering here and there. The gardens were ruined–bodies of the other ranch hands lay everywhere.
In a state of shock, Virgil leapt off Sparky, moving into a run as he shot toward the smoldering house. He screamed Sharon’s name, alternating between his father and older sister as the others shot into view. Adam was doing the same, shouting for his wife, his voice full of panic and heavy anxiety.
Though they recognized that the dead had been there for hours–indicated by the heavy congealing of blood around them, the heavy bloating caused by the heat, the fact that whatever position they were in, blood had dripped from various areas of their bodies to settle closer to the ground–they still hoped someone had survived.
The stench was growing thicker as the day warmed–there wasn’t any hope at all for any survivors. Virgil slowed to a stop before the house, staring in agonized despair at the ashes and various things that hadn’t been eradicated to piles of cold ash. It appeared that the house had been burning for awhile. The metal, porcelain–all of it was scorched black and gray. Melted around some edges.
The barn had burnt fastest, with its stock of straw, wood and other supplies. The carefully tended bales of hay that were stored underneath a cover shed were burnt as well–the areas around it were black, wisps of ashes settling further and further with the day’s breeze. The ranch hands’ quarters was completely gone, as well, save for various pieces of metal and steel.
Virgil fell to his knees, unsure of what to do in his grief. Adam kept looking throughout the area, hoping and hollering that somebody was still around. The animals–various horses, mules, cattle, dogs, chickens, ducks, turkeys–lay scattered throughout the area in their own blood and gore. Feathers of various assortment fluttered weakly throughout the dirt, sailing in the breeze. The other hands, too busy gaping to move, took up the small area that had been the house’s front walkway.
Charge nickered quietly as he and Hotstreak entered the scene, the redhead staring sullenly at the destruction that had been wrought. Something deep and hot boiled up inside of him, upsetting his stomach and squeezing his chest. This had been his home–this is where he’d felt safe, welcome. To see it all gone...destroyed by the creatures he’d help unleash so many years ago, made him entirely and suddenly indifferent.
A coping mechanism that worked handily whenever bouts of trauma occurred. Despite his stunned state, he was already wondering how he was going to move on–where he was going to go, next. Who would take him in? It seemed that no matter where he went–this followed. It looked as if he couldn’t escape it.
He stared down at the bodies, and grew anxious. Leaving Charger, he pulled out his six-shooters, handling them nervously as he walked slowly toward the others–he’d learned, long ago, that bodies just didn’t lie there to rot. They were up and moving at an unseen, silent prompt. He had to get the others out of there before they were killed, too. Adding to the army.
He walked over to Virgil, who was sitting on his knees, in stunned silence as he watched his house smolder. Adam’s shouts for Sharon and Robert carried on in the distance–visible between the thin rows of trees that surrounded the living property. Hotstreak stared at the blackened mess, recognizing parts of the kitchen, the living room–trying not to look too hard at the couple of corpses that were merely unsettled skeletons. He didn’t want to think that it was Sharon and Robert–thinking of the older man, he remembered how he favored his knees; arthritis bothered him from time to time, and he couldn’t move very fast.
And Sharon...the woman would put up a fight, but...she was just one woman against who-knew-how-many?
He looked over at Virgil, feeling guilty at the face that was full of despair and loss. He didn’t know what to say–but having those dead bodies around made him anxious to leave. He looked back at the others, trying to find his voice to tell them to arm themselves. Their faces were full of the very same thing Virgil had.
Looking up, he saw Adam walking heavily in their direction–trying very hard not to weep. It was a hard loss, to lose everything to things that one couldn’t understand; especially to zombies.
A glance at those bodies had Hotstreak shifting from one foot to the other. “Virgil,” he said quietly, seeing the other man give a slight start at the sound of his voice. “Virgil...we haveta leave. Quick.”
At first, he thought that Virgil hadn’t heard him–he’d spoke too quietly. For Virgil continued to stare at the smoldering mess, his full lips open, his eyes sightless. Something in the distance shifted, and Hotstreak’s pulse began to race.
“Virgil...Virgil we have to leave.”
Finally, the younger man looked at him, blinking away that sightlessness. Understanding of his words touched him, and he simply stared up at Hotstreak in silence. Until his brow furrowed, and his expression turned into anger.
“Why?” he barked, his voice sending some birds into flight. “Where we gonna go? This is our fuckin’ home!”
“Virgil,” Hotstreak tried again, trying to keep his voice calm. More shifting had him looking over his shoulder–one of the bodies had moved. He swore it did. “Virgil, if they came through here, and they kilt these guys...they gonna be just as undead as the others.”
Virgil looked over in the direction that he was looking, failing to understand. Unable to–grief and shock had him still and blank. He rose, shakily, Hotstreak moving to help him stand. Angrily, with growing helplessness and devastation, Virgil threw his arm off. He looked around once more, spying Adam, giving him a flicker of hope.
Adam shook his head sorrowfully, turning to stare at what used to be the back end of the house. There were wet trails down his cheeks, and he was continuously wiping at his eyes. It looked as if he were starting to accept that those he loved were dead.
Hotstreak looked back at the bodies, then at Virgil anxiously. “Let’s go, man. There isn’t anything here we can take wit’ us. It’s all gone.”
“This was my home!” Virgil cried, his voice breaking. “This was my home! My father and my sister–! I can’t just leave–!”
“I lost my home, too, Virgil! And my family! I know what it feels, like, man! I know! But those guys, they ain’t gonna lay there for long–!”
“What are they going to do, huh? What they gonna do?” Virgil asked, on the verge of breaking down. He swept his hat aside furiously, spurs jangling noisily as he paced with agitation. “They gonna stand right up, an’ come at us?”
Hotstreak blinked. “Well...yeah. Pretty much.”
Virgil gave him a look of disgust, then looked away, staring at the smoldering house. He sat with a hard sigh, knees drawn up slightly so that he could rest his elbows atop of them. Staring at the ashes, he once more lost himself in his grief as Hotstreak shifted anxiously once more, looking around them. He looked over at Adam, realizing that he wasn’t going to be much help. Looking at the other hands, he saw that they were looking just as down–none of them were bothering to heed his warnings.
He looked over at the bodies, frowning at them. Hating what he had to do to men he’d known for six years. Walking away from Virgil, who just vaguely turned his head to watch him go, Hotstreak headed for Charger. He unloaded the small pickaxe he’d packed, in case they’d need it on the trail, and then headed for the closest body. Grimly, he paused before the bloated mess, recognizing him as a tender hearted hand that was fond of birds and the horses.
Exhaling heavily, he brought the pickaxe over his head, and brought the curved end down at the nape of the man’s neck with a loud and sickening crunch that had everyone else looking over at him. It was almost a clean sever–another should do. He repeated the action, Virgil clamoring to his feet and racing over as he threw another clean chop, completely severing the dead man’s head from his body. He was about to hook the body with his pickaxe when Virgil reached him, shoving him viciously enough to send him sprawling in the dirt.
“You outta yer mind?” Virgil hissed, looking in horror at the dead man Hotstreak had just beheaded.
“Virg, look–! I had more experience with these things!” Hotstreak picked himself up from the dirt, brushing off his pants. “If’n we don’t get rid of them now, they gonna get us. How would you like it if you found yourself starin’ up at yer daddy, that’s lookin’ to kill ya? We gotta take off their heads, an’ burn ‘em before they get to us!”
“My daddy ain’t gonna be no fuckin’ zombie!’ Virgil shrieked, on the verge of hysterics.
“How do you know?” Hotstreak asked, picking up the pickaxe. “Huh? You knowin’ somethin’ I don’t? The least you can think is that yer daddy ain’t gonna feel nothin’–he’s just a mindless body, now. He already gone!”
“Don’t you talk about him that way!” Virgil snarled, shoving at him again. Once he realized that shove wasn’t enough, he pushed him again. Easily, Hotstreak swept him aside, and he hit the dirt in a muffled mess, kicking up dust and ashes.
“Stop it, Virgil. I don’t wanna fight wit’ you. But we gotta do this, man. Before they start movin’.” Hooking the man with the curved point of his pickaxe, Hotstreak began dragging the body, sans head, towards the house. The others were staring at them in numbed disbelief, unsure if they were going to move–unsure of what to do.
Virgil picked himself up from the ground, tripping over the head. Sprawling again. Hotstreak glanced at him, pitying his grief stricken state, and went to work on the next body. The other hands avoided him as if he were going to turn on him, and Adam rose slowly, starting to come back to life, again. Staring at the ruined head–eye sockets swollen, eyeballs covered in dirt, blood pooled in weighty measurement against face skin, Virgil went still, eyes wide. When the maggots began falling from the clamped nostrils, he started to vomit.
Hotstreak looked over, noticing this. “Don’t look at it, man,” he said with exasperation, beheading another body. Then repeating the action with another, and another. The hands looked at each other, not knowing what to do.
Adam followed Hotstreak with his eyes, then something caught his peripheral vision. Feeling as if his head were being held in place, he jerked to look, shock numbing him intensely as he realized one of the bodies were starting to move. A twitch of the leg, a jerky flit of an arm–his mouth fell open, and he stared without saying anything, unsure of what he was seeing.
Hotstreak caught sight of the body, and abandoned his task with dragging the bodies toward the first. Quickly, before the body could move any further, he brought the pickaxe down against the top of the head, and swung outward. The resulting, watery mess made Adam’s stomach jerk to his throat. Human skulls weren’t supposed to do that–weren’t supposed to make those sounds.
The body fell against the dirt, still once more. Panting, Hotstreak demolished the head–a friendly man that had taken his poker earnings many nights before–with several stabbing motions of the axe. Spreading skull matter, bits of hair and congealed blood all over. His boots were splattered with it by the time he was done.
Turning, he hooked that body with his pickaxe, dragging it quickly toward the others. “Light them up,” he ordered, looking around the place for more. “Without their heads, they can’t do shit! You gotta burn the bodies–they can’t use ‘em when they’re all burnt.”
Nobody moved, staring at him and those bodies in numbed horror. He realized this, and decided that he didn’t have time to wait. Hurrying toward Charger, he took out a box of matches, and some documents that recorded his purchases in Alva’s town earlier. Crumbling those, he hurried toward the mess of bodies, stuffing the paper in random order. Then, lighting them, he didn’t bother to see if they would catch as he rushed off, looking for more bodies to destroy.
Sightlessly, Virgil watched the flames catch, scorching well-worn material of the dead’s shirts, spreading from limb to limb–catching quickly on rotting corpses. One of their hands twitched, and a leg kicked out–but other than that, the fire burned intensely. As for the heads that were left behind, he jerked his own about, looking at them, feeling his stomach lurch. He had known them. He had known them all.
“Hhhhuuuuaaaahhhhhhhh....” came a low, guttural noise behind him. Adam was already on his feet, dark skin turning pale. The other hands moved, and it seemed as if that sound was more than prompting for those in shock to finally snap to reality. Virgil turned, looking over his shoulder, seeing Robert Hawkins walking up the path...drunkenly and stiffly walking toward them.
Quickly, he climbed to his feet, and moved to race over when Hotstreak, spying them, screamed at him to stop. Just hearing the bigger man’s desperate scream stopped Virgil in his tracks. He didn’t take his eyes off Robert, though. As he stood there, the larger man lumbering up the path toward them, he began to become aware of the sightless eyes–the matted thickness on the side of his head, how one elbow dangled uselessly from the knob. His feet were dragging, scuffing the dirt and gravel with each step. He walked extremely pigeon-toed, stumbling every little step.
Virgil wanted to believe that Robert was okay–that he was merely injured from a fall off his horse. It looked as if that were true–but how could that be when the man’s brains were visible from the half moon at the back of his skull? He saw this when Robert turned, scanning the area, uttering those same guttural noises–his tone surprised in that he could actually do so. As he shifted about, it looked almost as if he were looking for the person making those noises–not understanding that he was doing it himself.
“P-pops?” Virgil asked, weakly, still staring. Hotstreak hurried over, having traded his pickaxe for a fire scorched cleaver that he’d found within the kitchen area of the house. Protectively, he stood before Virgil, hating what he was seeing, trying to tell himself the same thing he’d told the younger man earlier.
That this wasn’t Robert–this was just a mindless body. But it was hard, looking into the face of a man that had given him a chance when nobody else was willing to. This man had loved his children in a way that he’d wanted, and Robert had been a tough hand, neither hurtful or commanding, just stern whenever Hotstreak proved his stubbornness in things. He’d grown fond of the older man–it was just such a damn shame that he would have to destroy it. Robert was no longer Robert–it was an It. It was just a body of a man that he knew.
“Virgil...Virgil, your father’s dead,” he said quietly, watching Robert continue his approach. “That ain’t your daddy, Virgil. That’s one of them.”
Virgil’s shove came out of no where, and Hotstreak stumbled until he caught himself, righting himself quickly before he could hurt himself with the cleaver. “That’s my father!” he screamed, pointing at Robert, as if no one could see or recognize him. “That’s my fuckin’ father! That’s my daddy! How can you say that?”
“You know I’m right, man! You know it! You’re just in shock, buddy, it happens. That ain’t your daddy–it’s them. It’s one of them, and it’s gonna hurt you if you let it!” Hotstreak shouted back, noting that Robert was now shuffling toward them, antagonized by their loud words. “You can’t get near it! It’ll kill ya if’n it gets a hold of ya!”
Virgil felt his throat tighten, and a sound of despair left his full lips as he looked back at Robert. Closer now, he realized that the man was missing his right ear–that half of his face was covered in telltale scorch marks from buckshot. Someone had shot his father–someone had deliberately shot his father. But how–? When–? Where–?
He suddenly realized that Hotstreak was approaching Robert, cleaver held tight in one hand. He realized what was going to happen, and started to race forward, screaming a negative at the man’s actions. Adam was there, suddenly, wrapping his wiry arms around him and pulling him back.
“Virgil, stop it, stop it, you see that he ain’t there!” Adam coaxed, holding tight, managing a Nelson as his younger brother-in-law struggled to get away. “That ain’t Robert, V! That’s one of them creatures, and you know it!”
“That’s my father!” Virgil screamed again, watching with horror as Hotstreak reached out, grabbing Robert by the front of his shirt, forcefully swinging him around and down onto the dirt. It was as if Robert couldn’t catch himself, landing face flat into the gravel. Virgil heard himself screaming nonsense as he sent both him and Adam onto the ground, struggling to reach his father as Hotstreak followed the throw, walking up behind the larger man, stepping over his back and rendering the cleaver. As Robert started to move, to pick himself up, he had the cleaver slicing through the nape of his neck–repeatedly until the head flopped and hit the dirt with a spray of thick gore and dust.
The body twitched before falling onto its side, then stopped moving.
Virgil stopped moving just as abruptly, staring sightlessly as Hotstreak exhaled heavily, stepping away from the job he’d just performed. The silence was thick...seemingly interminable.
010101010110
The fire he was watching was fueled by the bodies of the various men he’d grown up around. Friendly, hard-working men that worked long hours and gave cheery grins. It lit up the falling darkness, and it cast a stench like no other. Animals were being fed into the fire as well–bloated, heavy bodies that required two men, at times, to drag them from their death posts and into the carefully prepared bonfire.
Virgil was sitting in the middle of the correl–the only place free of rotten, bloated bodies. The other hands were working quietly, a couple weeping, dismembering their former comrades as per Hotstreak’s instructions. Without a head...the body didn’t work. A few scares had popped up here and there, bodies moving while their heads were still attached, but nothing serious. Animals had tried clamoring to their feet, but they were destroyed quickly before they could even straighten themselves.
Hotstreak knew what he was doing–which was good, Virgil realized, because no one else, did. They would have never thought of desecrating their comrades’ bodies. Never thought of burning them. Never thought that they’d reanimate themselves in that way they had.
He was stuck in a heavily numbed state of disbelief and shock. Unable to move much–staring almost sightlessly. He couldn’t bring himself to think, yet. Couldn’t register that he should be afraid of the area, now. Should be questioning himself on whether or not more were going to attack. More would show up.
Hotstreak was running the show, and while he was wholly depressed and down, he knew what they had to do. It kept him going as he worked, numbly wondering how it was they had overtaken Hawkins’ Dakota Ranch. It wasn’t near town–a two days’ ride from Alva’s....and yet, it had been destroyed just as easily as the town.
They still hadn’t found Sharon–Adam was starting to believe that one of the corpses in the ashes of the house was hers. He couldn’t bring himself to think that she would turn out like Robert–mindless and dead. If she were...he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
Hotstreak finally loaded the last body into the fire–the hands were standing silently nearby, staring into the burning waste. Someone was uttering a prayer, but he wasn’t sure which. The stench was horrendous.
He looked for Virgil, finding him sitting by himself in the correl.
It took awhile, but he walked over, and joined him, sitting in a similar position next to him, watching the smoke fill the sky, and for the flames to roar. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do, now. Wasn’t sure where they could run–figuring that other towns were overran, as well.
For the first time in months, he wondered how Blayne was doing.
He looked at Virgil, who hadn’t moved at all–his fingers were entwined, and his mouth was slack, but it was obvious he really wasn’t all there. Unsure of what to say, he exhaled heavily and stared at the fire...wondering what happened to the amber-eyed boy. Wondering if he’d escaped, or was part of the undead.
010101010110
The hand on his shoulder jolted him awake. Inhaling sharply, Hotstreak blinked heavy eyelids, looking up to see Adam giving him a similar, exhausted expression.
“You hungry?” he asked on a heavy exhale. “We managed to get to the cellar door–some food was stocked in there.”
Hotstreak sat up, kicking off the light blanket that had been laid over him. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. Looking around, he realized it was morning–that bonfire was smoldering, smoke thin and wispy as it caught the morning breeze. He registered that everyone had camped around each other–packs were unloaded, horses were loose nearby. Virgil was no where in sight.
If it wasn’t for the obvious destruction, and lack of animals and workers, it seemed like it always had; the trees were buzzing with insects, the sky was blue...the air was warm. But there was a heaviness to it all that reminded him instantly of what had happened.
“Where’s V?” he asked, disregarding the instant potatoes and jerky that Adam held in one metal plate.
“Down at the creek.” Adam shaded his eyes from the morning sun, staring in that direction. “Still in shock.”
Hotstreak wanted to ask if they’d found Sharon yet, but held his tongue. He was once again thinking of that boy–hoping that he’d gotten away. Couldn’t imagine him being one of them. The other hands were still lying around, or meandering through the area–looking at things.
Brushing at the crumbs at the corner of his eyes, Hotstreak rose, feeling stiff throughout every limb. He’d been clutching his pickaxe, and was surprised when it fell to the dirt.
“You okay?” he asked over his shoulder, at the man that stared quietly at the weapon.
“Yeah.”
Hotstreak wasn’t sure, but Adam was managing. He headed toward the creek, where he could see Virgil washing up at the stream. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say...Sorry? Gee man, this sucks?
By the time he had reached him, Virgil was just crouched there, letting water drip from his flattened dreads, his eyes staring off into the distance once more. Hotstreak carefully took a spot some distance behind him, crouching to examine the calluses on his hand.
He watched his friend–Virgil had been somewhat sheltered his entire life. He hadn’t seen half of the things Hotstreak had; not counting the undead. He wasn’t sure how Virgil was going to act, from now on. Aron had went brain dead, and never came out of it. Blayne had gone on to be a ‘badass zombie killer’. He hoped that Virgil would somehow recognize that they were okay. That they needed him to continue.
“You okay, man?” he asked quietly, peeling the scab off of one wound. Getting sick at the sight of his own blood.
Virgil started, as if he hadn’t heard him approach. Shifting, he turned to look down at him, his face expressionless for a few moments. It looked as if he hadn’t slept at all, last night. Hotstreak squinted his eyes, staring up at him, waiting for an answer or reaction. For a few minutes, all that was heard was the birds in the trees, and the sounds of the bubbling creek. Someone’s horse let out a whinny.
“So, what’s gonna happen, man?” Virgil asked, in a slightly high pitched tone. His eyes went wide and rounded, and his expression seemed serious–only not. “You all zombie knowledge, here. You know everything. What’s goin’ to happen?”
Hotstreak sighed heavily–hysterical people never rubbed well with him. He lowered his head to examine the dirt under boot. “I don’t know, Virg. I don’t. I...I was kinda hopin’ that you had an idea.”
“There ain’t no where else to go!” Virgil shouted, gesturing at the area.
“Hey, calm down, man. It’s–you just need to keep your voice down,” Hotstreak hissed, paranoid that they were still around. All the hands were accounted, for, though. The numbers matched–only Sharon was missing.
“Why? Who’s gonna be hearing us?”
“Look...mebbe...mebbe we can find Kills. Maybe they gotta an idea, all right? Cuz...I’m seriously lost, here. I don’t...I don’t know where to go, I don’t...know what to do. I’m not an expert, man. I just know how to kill them.”
Virgil stared at him for a few moments, then looked away with an exasperated, ‘Ch!. “Useless,” he muttered.
Hotstreak immediately took offense, straightening. “Look, sorry Virgil, about your family! But there ain’t nothing I can do about it! I can’t do anythin’ about it! How were we supposed to know this was gonna happen?”
Virgil reared on him. “You were involved with this shit! You were there when they first started out! Why couldn’t you have known they were comin’ here!”
“Because I spent most of my life runnin’ away from that shit, V! I didn’t want to be involved–! I fucked up enough as it is, makin’ that decision, an’ what am I supposed to do about it? I hate what’s been done, too! This felt like my family, too!”
“Oh, some family,” Virgil scoffed. “You all let those fuckers kill your family!”
Seething, Hotstreak removed his hat, flutters of red catching the breeze. “I can’t help what was done, Virgil, nor could I have known they were this way. I can’t know all that–! I ain’t psychic!”
Virgil looked away, but not before Hotstreak could see tears in his eyes. Feeling instantly remorseful, feeling helpless and guilty, for destroying his friend’s life, he lowered his head, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, man,” he apologized. “I...I just didn’t know this could happen. I didn’t...I never wanted any harm comin’ to this place. You gotta believe me! I loved this family, too, Virgil!”
Virgil looked at him, wiping his eyes with the back of his forearm, glaring at him accusingly. “Maybe they was after you, huh? Lookin’ for you all this time? You say you from Orleans, they makin’ their way up North, like you? What about that, huh? What about that? What if they are looking for you?”
Hotstreak thought about it. He didn’t think he could be of any importance to them. To...to Caine, and to ‘him’. Whomever ‘him’ was. He’d jumped from town to town–perhaps they were following. Perhaps that’s why Hawkins’ Ranch was targeted, because they had somehow known that he was here. This had him intensely flustered, sucking in a deep breath. He didn’t want to believe it–he didn’t want to be responsible for the murder of this family, too. This destruction–but perhaps they were looking for him.
This caused his chest to clench, hard–his breath to suddenly weigh heavily in his chest. He looked up, blinking repeatedly. He’d loved this family–he had loved this area. This had been home. To know that he was responsible for its destruction left him feeling weary and defeated, inside.
“M-mebbe,” he uttered thickly, traces of that Southern drawl audible. Virgil looked at him, glaring at him with a sort of stubbornness he was known for. Feeling entirely awkward, Hotstreak started to move, unsure of what to do with his hands, with his feet.
“Where you goin’?” Virgil snapped, following after him. “You gonna run off, now? Find some other place so they could fuck it up, too?”
Hotstreak really wasn’t sure. He was just numb from that disbelieving accusation. He couldn’t even get his shoulders to shrug, even as he thought about it.
“You kill all us off, now you gonna lead them to kill everyone else?” Virgil asked, his voice rising as Hotstreak started to walk faster. Drawing attention from the others as they continued to mill around the open cellar. “Huh? Why don’t you take some fucking responsibility, in yer life? Go back to where you came from! You go back, an’ you turn yerself in, so that this doesn’t happen to everyone else!”
‘This’ was indicated with a wide flap of the arms, indicating the ranch. Hotstreak didn’t look back, hurrying towards Charger. Calling him with a croaking voice that wanted to fade. The animal hurried over, sensing its master’s mood and obeying every command.
And still Virgil followed, utterly furious at the loss of his life. Of the remaining members of his family. He wasn’t thinking clearly–if he was, he wouldn’t be doing this at all. But he followed Hotstreak, hounding him with accusations as Charger was saddled quickly, Adam hurrying over to see what was going on.
“You go back there, an’ you atone for all this bullshit!” Virgil was screaming, now. “My family didn’t have to die because of no-good shits like you! Runnin’ from everythin’! You go back there, an’ you die for what you did! I don’t ever wanna see you again!”
“Virgil–! Virgil!” Adam barked, reaching them, grabbing the younger man and pushing him aside. He watched as Hotstreak climbed atop of his saddle, looking just as shaken as Virgil was. “Where you goin’, man?”
“Out. Away. I’m sorry. I didn’t–! I didn’t think this would ever happen–!”
“Yeah, you go’wan!” Virgil shouted, picking up some rocks. “You get out of here! Done enough damage, you get out of here! Murderer!”
“Virgil, stop! Don’t go, Stone, you know he ain’t in his right mind!” Adam pleaded, moving as Charger was turned. But he watched helplessly as Charger was coaxed into a hard run, Virgil running after them, flinging stones after them.
“Murderer!” Virgil screamed, the sound echoing off the valley walls.