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

xvi. Assault on Saint Denis

Ruby paced in front of John and Pearson, in her element. She explained to them that through John's binoculars, she'd spotted an array of guards along the cemetery wall. The former entrances into the city were - perhaps literally - minefields of barbed wire and spiky, wooden abatis; so the wall was their better bet.

"And I don't want us killin' any of those people guards up there," she said, almost scoldingly, wagging a finger and gesturing behind her towards the wall. "Ain't their fault the powers-that-be are a bunch of selfish fucks. No, better still if we can get them to help us clear out that cemetery of undead. Probably tired of watching them mope around all day, hungry, moanin'.

"John, can I count on you to turn on that old Marston charm and start yelling about the devil or some such?" He grinned to himself at her teasing, at the memory of their first battle together, which started much like this one. "Soon as we get those guards to scatter or join us, I want you on that Gatling, ready to shoot at first daylight." John nodded, patting the barrel of the Gatling tied to Thoreau's back.

"Now, Pearson," Ruby's attention shifted to the fearful man stood next to John, approached him holding out the Carcano rifle. "This ain't about stackin' cans, you hear me? You think you can handle this fella?"

Pearson snatched the gun from her, demonstrated that he could reload it, peered through its sight. "I was in the navy, you know," he said, sniffing.

"So you can get piss drunk and still swim, not sure what that has to do with rifles." John stifled a laugh as Pearson looked stung, and Ruby softened in tone and manner, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Just do whatever the hell you did with that fire bottle back there, amazing, inspired work." She patted the shoulder and stepped backwards, looking at them both.

"We're invaders, gentlemen," she grinned, looking delighted by the prospect. "Pearson, keep an eye on us until I give you a wave from the wall and then get yourself some rest; you'll hear the Gatling soon enough. John, you're with me."

Ruby proceeded up the street, quiet and light-footed on her boots; John followed, leading Thoreau with the gun. It was dark enough that they could easily avoid the dim pools of light cast by the torches along the cemetery wall, and they were soon leaning up against its cool stones, Thoreau tossing his stately dun head and snorting in protest at the stench of undead on the other side.

"'S'OK, boy," John soothed in a whisper, patting the stallion's neck to still him as Ruby climbed into a stirrup and then stood on the saddle, stretching her fingertips up towards the edge of the wall, gripping it before digging her toes into whatever gaps in the stones were available. Her bandaged hand slipped and John's stomach gave a sickening lurch as she swung hard to the left, but she sought and found purchase among the stones, hauling herself up and over the edge.

Her head and shoulders popped over the side, her hair caught in the evening breeze. "C'mon," she whispered, reaching for the ropes tied around the Gatling on Thoreau's back, and then John's own hands. They hauled up the gun as quietly as they could, muffling their groans at the weapon's weight, and John leaned back over with a hissed Git! at his horse, shooing him to safety. When he rose to standing, he saw a guard to either side of them, their repeaters raised.

"Y'all volunteerin' to be dinner tonight?" The taller of the two asked, spitting a neat arc of tobacco juice from his teeth over the wall.

"Oh, so the undead get to eat, and y'all don't?" Ruby responded, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe the injustice. "Hardly seems fair, given y'all's sacrifice for them people in town."

"It is our duty," said the shorter of the two, his accent gently French-inflected, "We take turns."

"Mmhmm, oh, I'll bet," Ruby nodded, taking a slow step forward. "Tell me, how often do you have duty?" The guards traded looks, until the shorter confirmed; "three times a week, sometimes four."