NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY: RDR2

48. THE FINAL GOAL

"And yet she knows obstruction is in vain:

We will not be put off the final goal

We have it hidden in us to attain,

Not though we have to seize earth by the pole

And, tired of aimless circling in one place,

Steer straight off after something into space."

—Robert Frost

Shit. Shit!

I stood with wide eyes staring at the men before me. Joe, with his malicious grin still plastered across his face, raised his eyebrows as my bullet hit the ground beside him.

"That was stupid." He said, turning his gun on me. Another shot rang out before he could pull his trigger, from behind me this time. 

"This is Agent Ross from the Pinkerton Detective Agency, put your guns down!" a voice cried, underlined by the sound of hooves thundering through the trees. Had they followed me back here?

We scattered, diving behind cover on our respective sides of the camp, still divided even in combat. I ducked behind the chuckwagon, tight grip on Arthur's revolver.

"I told you, Dutch! She's led them right to us!" Micah called over the gunfire. I looked around for Arthur and John, too concerned for their wellbeing to care much for where Dutch settled on that argument.

John spotted me by the wagon and made an effort to move towards me, clutching at his shoulder. I couldn't believe he was here, alive. Abigail would be overjoyed. He crawled alongside me, backing himself up against the wheel of the wagon.

"That was...the worst shot... I've ever seen." He grunted, aiming through the spokes and taking out a few of the incoming Pinkertons.

"Never mind my aim! How are you alive?" I gasped, taking in his battered figure.

"Well, it ain't no thanks to Dutch. That's for sure." He said,  pain clear in his voice. I noticed how his hands were covered in wet blood, how his injured shoulder sagged much lower than the other. He had been shot.

"Did...did he shoot you?"

"No, no. Left me for dead, though." he replied, firing off a few more rounds.

I took my que, poking my head around the side of the wagon and pulling the trigger at a few of the hiding Pinkerton's. Aiming far better than I had moments ago when blind with rage, managing to bring down a handful of them.

Micah and the others, including Dutch, ran into the trees. I shook my head as I watched Dutch go, leaving his two 'Son's' to fight alone. Leader turned lapdog, father turned abandon, there was nothing left of the Dutch they knew. There was nothing left of the Dutch I'd met all that time ago in the mud of Horseshoe Overlook, the man who had held such command over the others. Who had promised no one would swing, who had wanted to protect those that relied on him. The man shrinking into the trees now was not the same man at all.

"Into the caves!" John screamed, and I finally caught a glimpse of Arthur as he backed off towards the entrance, waving us over.

I checked for a gap, watching as the last Pinkerton within reach fell from his saddle with a resounding thud, and then ran for it. Arthur kept his gun aimed past my head as I sprinted, John close behind me. The entrance of the cave seemed to open wider and wider as I booked it.