Fates of the Fateless

Ch. 2 First Impressions Matter

By some miracle you must've dozed off with the help of the wagon's consistent rocking, awoken by laughter and banter. Light now peeked through the wagon's flaps pushed apart slightly to gain access to the supplies in the back. No one seemed to be unloading at the moment but had certainly been at work recently. Thankfully without taking anything to expose your little hiding spot. Turning back to the coach you glanced out at a small gathering of tents. People, men and women chatting with cups of what you assumed was coffee by the smell the breeze brought your way.

All of them were dressed like those back in town and armed to the teeth. Practically every man that came into view had a holster with 1 or 2 guns accompanied by a big hunting knife perfect for gutting stow aways. And here you were with just a damned dull letter opener that, if you were lucky, might even cut butter. You took small comfort in the fact there were other women here, seemingly happy and untouched as they chatted smiling and well dressed.

"Gather round everyone! Gather round!" a booming baritone voice startling you enough to cause the letter opener to slip from your grip. You desperately attempted to snatch it back but it was in vain as it clattered loudly like thunder in your ears onto the wooden wagon surface below you. Your hand slaps it into stillness as you rigidly froze in fear. "Good morning! We've had quite the eventful night. Some more so than others it would seem." The man thankfully continued his little spiel completely ignorant of your own personal heart attack happening only 10 feet away.

Another man's voice replied, this one a distinctly Irish accent "Oi! Ya lot shoulda seen dem bastards, black n blue before dey even hit de ground!" he received a round of chuckles.

"I am proud of you boys", you dared another peek after finally letting out your held breath. A well-groomed dark-haired man with a matching mustache dressed in a fancy vest stood proudly as the center of attention. "Seems no matter where we go, O'Driscolls are sure to follow. Now-" he claps his hands together, "we have a ways to go before we can set up a proper camp. So go about your morning routines quickly and pack up!" At that he left center stage, approaching a young woman who smiled brightly at him in turn.

Watching everyone socialize and laugh with one another as they slowly made their way to their respective tents made them seem so... normal. It began to bring on such an alienating feeling about your place in what is anything but a normal situation.

"Gasp!" a small and delicate inhale of surprise sounded behind you. You nearly snap your neck turning towards the source. Wide eyed and frozen in place stood a young black girl, seemingly barely out of her tweens, holding a bucket she likely was returning to the wagon, gaping at you with absolute terror. A moment of stillness passed between you two, merely taking in the sight of each other before she made the first move.

"MISS GRIMSHAW! MISS GRIMSHAW!" she bolted out of sight in a second, shrieking like a banshee. "MISS GRIMSHAAAAWW!"

"Tilly!? Tilly, What's wrong girly?!"

"Tilly? Are you alright?"

"What's going on?"

A plethora of voices began to arise out of the once calm atmosphere.

"TH-THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE WAGON! THERE'S SOMEONE IN THERE!" the poor girl spoke in shuddered breaths broken and harsh. The second she uttered those words, the voices immediately dissipated to leave only your own ragged breaths and roar of blood in your ears.

Now envisioning being turned into swiss cheese by an artillery just outside of the preciously thin barrier of cotton canvas that separated you from them. Simply staring out at the spot the young girl once occupied awaiting another body to fill the emptiness. Unsure of how long this tender moment of anticipation lasted before you felt something cold and hard press to the back of your skull bringing your breathing to a halt.

"Now..." a man's voice, deep and rich and laced with no fear what so ever spoke in a low, calm tone. "How's about you kindly step outside for a moment." His bassy octaves vibrated in your ears. "Slowly..." a hot breath brushed your ear along with the soft click of his gun.

You dropped everything in your now limp grasp, shakily lifting your hands up above your head before slowly lifting yourself on numb legs prickled by pins and needles. Turning at a snail's pace toward the opening of the coach where your teary gaze met the calm and intense dark ones of the mustache man.

"Thaaat's right. Niiiice and slooow."

The barrel of death followed your every pain staking slow movement as your feet finally met the damp morning grass. In your peripheral you could make out the entirety of camp menacingly standing stock still aiming weapons of their own. Hot tears were cascading down your cheeks, the tightness in your throat suppressing your sobs almost too much to bear standing at the mercy of strangers. Dangerous strangers.

The mustache man held your gaze for another minute before it scoured the rest of you briefly. Body language ever calm and confident before the eyes like the dark barrels of guns found yours again. And to your surprise he smiled.

"Well, you look to be about as dangerous as a field mouse." He chuckled, "But looks can be deceiving..." he seemed to ponder for a moment before holstering his gun, however everyone else held their positions. "What were you doing hitching a ride with our humble little-" a second of a pause, adjusting his stance and folding his hands comfortably in front of him, "caravan?" he sighed out the last word.

"I-I'm sorry." You managed a squeaky reply before letting out an exasperated breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. "I-I just got r-real scared and-" a soft broken sob, "I-I didn't mean any harm- I just-I'm so sorry!" you somehow managed more tears despite how dehydrated and exhausted you were from crying so damn much.

"Oh, Dutch she's harmless!" a young woman's voice rang from your left, filled with concern and pity. "Just look at her! Ain't even dressed properly." You dared a peek at your one ally in the bunch, while blurry from the tears you made out the same woman you had seen before. The one this Dutch had approached after his little announcement. Tall and fair skinned, Strawberry blonde curls pinned elegantly to her head. Her pale almost nonexistent eyebrows twisted with concern and big kind brown eyes looking on with sympathy.

"Annabelle, you know we have to be careful, regardless of how pathetic she may look." That remark would've stung had you not known how crazy you probably looked. Shirt untucked and too big on you, the collar draped past your collar bone, skirt long and awkward and no shoes to protect your raw, dirty feet. Hair a rat's nest going every which way. "we ain't even sure she isn't armed."

"Well, she had this," another voice spoke up, a man's, coming from behind you. A soft thud sounded from the softened ground just to your right, looking down you spotted the letter opener almost completely engulfed by the pale yellowed feathery strands of desert grass. "But I wouldn't call it much of a weapon." His voice was familiar, uncaring and deep. A hulking mass of muscle trotted slowly into your sight. He somehow got to the wagon without you noticing. "Newspaper and some cash." The man spared you a glance before drifting back to Dutch, handing him what little you had. "That's it." He was broad, especially in the shoulders. The same ones you'd been shadowed by in the wagon. His hair was a soft looking dirty blonde parted to the right, and just long enough to lightly brush past the tips of his ears. His gaze was intense but seemingly, to your relief, uninterested in you.

"See! She's harmless!" Annabelle spoke in a 'I told you so' tone as she began to walk towards you. Dutch seemed to make a start of an attempt at stopping her, mouth ajar and arm stretched slightly before he waved his hand off turning back to his giant of a friend. Her soft hands gently tugging yours from there elevated position. The soft fabric of a handkerchief found its way to your cheeks, dabbing away any salty tears that remained. "Shhshhshh now..." she spoke in a tone like that a mother would her weeping child, "You got someplace you call home? Any family?"

"No, I don't-they're not-" alive? Born yet? Have yet to even exist? "They're gone..." Annabelle cradled your broken self in her arms coaxing you into the crook of her neck, her small fingers rubbing your back as you took a moment to practically collapse into her warm embrace. "Everything... everyone... all gone."