Cause and Effect

Chapter 12

apanthropinization [æpænˌθɹəʊpɪnaɪˈzeɪʃən]

(n). the resignation of human concerns; withdrawal from the world and it's problems

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Hosea didn't ride solo much now, choosing to ride with either one of the other gang members or to just stay back and reminisce on days past. It was nice, he thought grudgingly, riding solo, no snapping arguments, no babysitting. Just him and his bike roaring through the desert. 

He was making his way down to Armadillo, a long drive from where they had set up. 

A quick stop at Tumbleweed to fuel up, and he was off over the isolated roads. He was nervous, anxious for Arthur, knew they were about to sink deeper in the shit show that they had created for themselves. It wasn't the first time that a gang member had been picked up by a rival gang, wasn't even the first time Arthur himself had been picked up by a rival gang. But Hosea was getting sick of it happening. 

Should of gotten out of this life years ago, like Bessie wanted, bless her soul. But damn him, he couldn't just stay away. Had to come back, again, and again, and again. One of these days, he'd come back and stay there, six feet in the ground, type of permanent. 

He hoped Dutch wasn't going to do anything idiotic. He knew the man acted on whims more than actual well-thought-out actions, knew he wanted good for everyone, but more than often his own hubris inflamed ill-intent best left buried. 

Of all the stories and classics Hosea had ever read, he decided that the best analogy for Dutch was Icarus. 

Like Icarus, Dutch would always try to fly closer and closer to his dreams, and every damn time, he'd catch aflame, falling and falling to his demise. 

It was a bitter truth, and not one the man was too fond of hearing. 

I am trying to help us, Hosea, trying to find us the promised land. He would say, eyes blazing with age old light of the self-appointed savior. People cannot prosper under this government, but we can create an oasis, a utopia that people will flock to, away from the oppressive rule.

He wanted that, had it for a few years, they both had. And then they had both lost it, just like that. 

The years spent with his ranch were some of the best he had ever had. He had done barely any crime during those years, choosing to partially retire instead and just house the gang members and offer his ranch services as a cover to clean dirty money. It had been perfect, and he had felt such peace doing it too. 

And now it was gone, claimed by the United States Government, under investigation in the Van der Linde cases. Whatever, Hosea knew all his memories with Bessie, dancing with her under a sky with an impossible number of stars, cooking together, hands around her waist while he gently swayed her back and forth, reading together, a comfortable silence, they were all tarnished and gone now, gone with the house. 

He almost felt bad for what he was doing now, almost felt bad for the number of times he had dragged a man down on his luck into this life. But really, he tried to rationalize it, this life was fated for them anyway, written in their stars. Maybe it was better they ended up with them than battling it out on their own. 

Still, he felt bad, as he spotted Armadillo up ahead, for trying to drag people into the spectacular mess that they had created. 

But this was Arthur, and Arthur was his boy, and he would do anything for him. 

//--//--//

Dutch settled himself beside his bike, raising glasses to his eyes. Thieves' Landing was an impressive hot spot of prostitutes, drug addicts, and gang members. He whistled softly, scanning around the dilapidated buildings.