Fire and Water: a Red Dead story

21

Arthur joined him by the shot-out window, helping him with the heavy fire he was taking. "What the hell happened, Marston?" It was more of a rhetorical question, asked in the heat of the moment, but John took it as looking for blame and took the opportunity to bite back when he felt wounded.

John gave him a look, blood dripping down his face. "This ain't my fault. Stupid son of bitch got himself shot because he can't do shit." He shook the blood from his eyes, and spun around, shooting off a quick volley. 

"John," Arthur yelled, pulling the younger one's attention back. "Listen for fuck's sake. Back door, right? We can make it out that way, and ride the hell out of here, but we have to be quick." He crawled back through the shattered glass and relayed his message to the other two. He had been blessed enough to notice the door when he had marched the teller back to the vault, thinking that maybe they could just slip out that way when it had suddenly went to shit out front. Goddamn somebody had to notice these things, and it might as well be him. 

He sent Mac out first, the man couldn't raise his arm, and he had gotten shot in his dominant arm. Davey followed after, the two of them stuck close, one rarely left without the other. 

He motioned to John to follow, and John, reluctant to stop shooting but in a rare moment of wisdom, followed after Arthur as they crept back to the back door. 

John went to open the door, one hand on the rusted knob before he paused, glancing back at Arthur. "Ain't gonna be no one out there right?" 

Arthur froze, he really hoped not, otherwise, the Callender boys were either dead or worse, in the hands of the ever-reaching law. He listened for a few seconds, both of their muffled, ragged breaths echoing in the dim hallways. "Don't hear nothin'." He offered, and John shrugged, cautiously opening the door and stepping out, gun raised. 

It was just Mac, partially hidden behind some crates, gun raised quick at the sound of the door opening, and he dropped it with a quick laugh when he saw who it was. 

"God," he breathed. "This went south."

"Where's Davey?" Arthur hauled him up, ignoring the hiss of the other man. "We have to move."

"Went to go get our horses," Mac grunted, holding his arm close to his side. "'Bout five minutes back."

John cursed, "Fuckin' moron, he's gonna kill himself."

Arthur dumped Mac into John's arms and went to glance around the side of the building. He could hear the low voices of the local militia and knew they only had a few minutes before it was discovered that they weren't actually dead, but had escaped. 

"Okay," he whispered as he came back. "Okay, Mac we're gettin' you out of here, not much use with a hole in your arm. Me'n'John we'll come back for Davey if he needs it." He scrawled a quick note for the man if he happened to come back that way and tucked it in the crates. 

The three of them ducked out, taking back alleys, and sticking to the walls as they sneaked back. There were two horses, no doubt left there while the owners went inside to drink away the day, and Arthur led them back to where he had stashed John and Mac. John took one horse, helping Mac up behind him, and Arthur took the other, first settling the heavy saddlebags over the horse and then swinging up on the horse. 

............................

They made camp a few miles off the main trail, Arthur tending to Mac's arm, and ignoring the man's anger at their leaving Davey behind. 

"Told ya," he said for what he thought was the tenth time. "We ain't leavin' Davey."

"No man left behind." John supplied, where he was shaking glass out of his hair. "That's what Dutch always says." He shivered, wrapping his long arms around himself. "It's fuckin' cold out here."