Cause and Effect

Chapter 22

aerumnous [ae̯.rumˈnoː.sus]

(adj). full of trouble

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"This ain't a good idea," Charles said softly, gripping tight to his Springfield. He was tagging along with Mac, more so for keeping the man from running a suicide run, then anything else. Mac sneered, sights of his own rifle pressed up to his face. 

"Weren't like I asked you to come along, Smith." He was crouched alongside the edge of a cliff, overlooking Thieves' Landing. His knees dug into gritty sand, and he winced, changing positions. 

"Yeah, you didn't." Charles agreed in a dry voice," but Hosea did. You're not in a good space right now, Mac." 

"He was my brother," his voice was biting. "Don't care 'bout that shit, Davey-" He swallowed, one dirty hand swiping away the blur in his eyes. "Davey deserves this." 

Charles sighed, lifting his rifle to his shoulder, and examining the outpost below them. "What're you thinking?"

Mac glanced up at him, slightly surprised he was sticking around. "I jus' want to kill Montez," he settled the rifle back on his shoulder. "Don't matter how, man's mine." 

Thieves' Landing sprawled beneath them in a hive of debauchery like Charles had never seen. The place was a small town, outfitted with the scorn of society, and ready to defend their homes with a godless bloodletting if the need arose. Mac would fall before he set foot in the streets. 

"You can't do this, Mac," Charles tried again. Mac's shoulders twitched beneath the too-big vest he had been wearing. Davey's Charles realized, and he glanced away from the twitchy shoulders. 

"Not 'bout what I want." Mac said, stubbornness settling in like a cloud over his head. "'bout what got took from me."

Taken, Charles corrected silently, and scuffed the ground beneath him. The sun was setting in the west, setting the sky alight with a fire that matched Mac's broken spirit. He glanced back at the borrowed vest, the shoulders beneath it were starting to slump, and Charles hoped the man was starting to see reason. Starting to see that this was goddamn impossible to do. Right now anyway. 

Should have known better, Mac was a Callendar boy, after all. 

Mac turned to him, heel of his worn-down boot grinding sand to dust, and eyed him. "I can go when the sun sets." 

He was just a silhouette against the fire-lit sky, and Charles had to squint to make the man's face out. Running a hand through his hair, he crouched down in front of the man. "I need you to listen," his voice was dropping low, and even in the masked darkness that hid Mac from him, he knew the man was frowning in that annoying condescending way. "You go, you step in sight of that place? You're dead, easy as that. We'll get him, but not this way." He could feel Mac pulling away, the sudden rise in desperation and he rested a hand on the man's shoulder. 

Him, Charles Smith, trying to comfort one of the Callendar boys? God, the world must be going to shit. 

"You'll get your chance Mac, hell, Montez'll probably make it easy for you, but it cannot be like this." 

He could feel the cold stare the two brothers had pierce his own hooded stare. He left his hand on the man's arm, waiting until he got some sort of assurance from him. Mac sighed, and Charles could feel the tension drain out of him. He dropped his hand. 

"You better make sure of it," he said, and Charles could hear the threat underneath his soft words. "I wanna see Montez choke on his own damn blood."

Charles just nodded, cautiously sliding the Springfield over his shoulder, and stood up. He could hear another long sigh from Mac as he pulled his rifle over his shoulder, the snick as he flicked the safety back on. They faced each other, faces obscured in the rising darkness as the sun finally slipped from view. Charles waited a few long seconds, and Mac's shoulders dropped from where he had been forcing them up the past few days.