Written by: peterandhispirate
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The plan was simple: hop onto the caboose, ransack the passenger cars, and get the hell out of there. Tyler had pulled this same exact stunt dozens upon dozens of times; no matter the circumstances, he always walked away a free man - a richer man. As rich as an outlaw can afford to be, anyway.
This run wouldn't be any different. He was counting on that.
Sure, things had been a little more challenging ever since Zack and Jay moved on, but Tyler had been the ring leader from day one. Meaning they had always needed him more than he needed them. And Tyler had never needed anyone. Not a single goddamn person. Not even his mama.
Not even my mama.
So he struck alone, and on a Sunday. Tyler always committed his worst crimes on Sundays - preferably before 10AM. That's when people were at their most vulnerable, all dressed up in their finest church clothes and contemplating the Lord's word.
You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly.
That used to be Tyler's favorite. Still was, in a way. Because no matter how deep a hole he dug himself, no matter how far he ran, the will of God would always mean something to him.
Gunslingers and religious guilt went hand in hand. Tyler was no exception.
Tyler was ungodly.
It was the ungodliness that led him to the hilltop overlooking the tracks - the perfect vantage point. He liked to believe God had sculpted that hill just for him, despite knowing it wasn’t the least bit true.
He had to buy into shit like that. If he didn’t, he’d lose his mind.
The waiting was always the worst part. Tyler was smart, sure (he would’ve been dead by then otherwise), but he was also deathly impatient. He sat perched atop his horse for a good thirty minutes before the rumbling started.
The train seemed to drag itself out of the horizon like a fox from a hole. And Tyler was the prized hound, wild-eyed and feral, practically foaming at the mouth at the thought of all the money stuffed inside this fox in particular.
So easy. So painfully easy. He’d be in and out so fast they wouldn’t even know what hit them.
But first, he had to get in.
He started his horse downhill at a trot in an attempt to seem a little less suspicious. The train had only recently left the station, meaning it wasn’t going full speed. No need to rush - not yet, anyway. The longer he went without attracting attention, the better.
But attention was inevitable. The guard positioned at the very back of the caboose definitely didn’t like the look of him; to be fair, any scruffy-looking stranger who materializes out of nowhere is bound to cause suspicion, especially when they’re sporting a bandana. Masks mean trouble, and this guard knew it.
“You best move along,” was the first thing he said when Tyler fell into step alongside the train. Not a suggestion but a command, growled tense and angry from between flashing teeth. The barrel of his shotgun flashed, too, but Tyler’s pistol was ten times as shiny. He just preferred not to waste bullets.
“I don’t wanna cause any trouble, mister,” said Tyler, voice raised to combat the incessant roaring of the train. “Just had a few questions regardin’ this here locomotive.”
“You’re asking the wrong fella, pal.” Angry. Guards were always angry. “I don’t make the damn things. I just keep ‘em safe.”
“Oh. Are you any good at your job?”
