Who, Cerberus: An RDR Undead Nightmare Story [ John Marston x OC ]

xii. The apple wine of Valentine

The brief idyll that was John and Ruby's breakfast and coffee overlooking the mountain range was just that; brief. It was no more than a half hour into their ride east that they spotted their first undead, wandering aimlessly, midway up a hill but turning its head, then shoulders to them. It emitted a sickening screech, lowering itself to its hands to mimic a rabbit's frantic amble, hastening its pursuit of the two riders below.

As she had the day before, Ruby pulled her rifle from her back and held it by the barrel, taking a few practice swings in anticipation of the undead's head entering her orbit. But suddenly, looming over the hilltop were dozens more, all clambering to four limbs to launch themselves at Ruby and John.

John yelled, "Ride!" and the two spurred their horses on, eventually abandoning the reins to clutch to their necks, any direction away from the pursuant undead just fine with them. The horses made their way to the Dakota River, just south of Cumberland Falls. John and Ruby urged their mounts to swim to a small piece of land that rose up across the middle of the water, rife with bulrushes, the pair disrupting a few sleeping ducks. The first undead that led the pack let out a brief bark of annoyance on the riverbank, fixing its glowing eyes on both of them and cocking its head completely horizontally; ear to shoulder. A few others echoed the first, dipping their toes into the bracing water of the river and chirping their frustration.

Thoreau and Sybil snorted and stomped their hooves, their own displeasure noted by their riders. John finally dismounted, beckoning for the Carcano rifle from Ruby's saddle and crouching down to steady his aim, his knee pressing into the cool damp earth of the small river island. He exhaled through pursed lips before firing an expert shot through the first undead's forehead. It buckled and landed in the water, its corpse floating downstream, face down.

"Nice shot, Marston," Ruby gently clapped her fingers to her opposite palm, a pitter-pattering applause.

He stood, brushing off the mud caked to his knee, turned to her, grinning smugly. "Well, all these guns ain't just for show, Miss Dufresne." The undead, not ones to experience fear but certainly, the futility of the river's continued flowing, retreated back over the hill, into the woods. John felt capable, useful; not just trailing after the woman on horseback, who continued to look impressed with him.

"What should we do next, you figure?" Ruby asked, ready to defer, as John returned the rifle to its hollow on her saddle. "Break it for Valentine? Or camp someplace safe?"

John scratched at his beard, grown slightly long in his days away from his shaving kit. "Camp, I think," he said finally. "We don't know how we're gonna be received in Valentine; could well be another Strawberry. If that's the case, I'd rather be rested and ready to move on in the daylight if we find they're unfriendly."

His reasoning was sound, but all the same, they were unable to make camp on the relative safety of the island; it was too narrow, too damp. They settled for the opposing riverbank, John hammering in tent poles while Ruby went upriver, finding and bagging one of the ducks for a fire-cooked meal. Their stomachs full, and lips shining with duck fat, the two crawled into the tent at sundown after John generously sprinkled the elixir around it and the grazing horses.

It was the horses that woke them, braying and shrieking, heard over heavy rainfall that battered the tent's roof. Ruby was outside of the tent flaps first, one hand gripping her revolver, the other clutching her bedroll around her head and shoulders. John followed, his hat brim staving off the worst of the pelting rain, confronted with glowing green points of light, all along the riverbank. Ruby pulled him towards the horses, untethering them and riding them into the water, back to their island of salvation from the day before. There they huddled next to each other, drenched and miserable, until the undead scattered and day broke, and they could pack up their abandoned tent and leave.