Aaliyah's Redemption: Bound by Fate ***DISCONTINUED, READ DESCRIPTION***

Chapter IV

March 13, 1899

Snowstorm. The word didn't quite do justice to what they were riding through. Arthur's vision was barely more than a few feet ahead, the thick curtain of white blinding as snowflakes pelted against his skin. The wind howled, tearing through the mountainside like a beast set loose, its cold claws cutting through to his bones. He clenched his jaw, hunched over Taima, Charles's sturdy mare, as they pushed forward through the West Grizzlies. The storm had only worsened since they'd set out from the wreckage of Blackwater.

In Front of him, Dutch called out over the wind, his voice gruff and urgent. "Arthur! What's the word?"

Arthur pulled Taima to a stop as he squinted towards the gang stopping in front. The snow bit into his face, stinging his eyes, but he could just make out Dutch's silhouette, his broad figure standing out even against the swirling storm. He drove close with another gang member huddled next to him, barely visible through the whiteout.

"We found a place," Arthur called back, his voice muffled by the snow-laden air. "An old mining town up ahead. Looks abandoned."

Dutch nodded, more to himself than to Arthur, his face hard but relieved. "Lead the way, Arthur. We need to get Davey inside before it's too late."

Arthur turned around, urging Taima forward, her hooves sinking deep into the snow with each step. The mare snorted, her breath coming in visible puffs, but she pressed on, strong and reliable. As they trudged up the mountain path, Arthur kept his eyes peeled, knowing that any misstep in this weather could cost them.

Behind him, he could hear Dutch shouting instructions to the rest of the gang, keeping them moving, but it was clear their pace was slow.. The horses were struggling in the deep snow, and so were the men. Davey was already in bad shape—his groans and sharp gasps from Abigail as she clutched at him were a constant reminder of how close to death he was. They needed shelter, and fast.

After what felt like hours, the faint outline of the mining town came into view. Colter, a place Arthur had only heard about in passing—a skeleton of a once-bustling settlement, now abandoned to the snow and time. The cabins looked like they had been swallowed by the blizzard, half-buried under thick layers of snow, but they were still standing.

"Here!" Arthur called, signalling to Dutch. "This is it!"

Dutch wasted no time. "Get Davey inside!" he barked, pulling the horses up and dismounting in a fluid motion. He was already moving toward Abigail, helping her out of the wagon as they struggled to get Davey down. Arthur was quick to join them, sliding off Taima and trudging over through the knee-deep snow. His fingers were numb as he gripped Davey's arm, helping Dutch lift the man and carry him into one one of the cabins.

The door creaked open, and a wave of frigid air followed them inside. The cabin was small, dark, and the air was stale, but it was dry and blocked the worst of the wind. They laid Davey down by the hearth, his breath shallow, his skin pale.

Abigail knelt beside him, her voice shaky. "He's gone, Dutch," she whispered.

For a moment, the cabin was deathly quiet. Arthur looked away, his jaw clenching as grief gnawed at him. Davey had been one of them—one of the gang. Another soul lost to the brutal life they lived.

Dutch, always composed even in the face of death. "We'll give him a proper burial once the storm clears," he said, his voice heavy with finality. "For now, we need to keep moving."

Arthur nodded silently, feeling the cold seep deeper into his bones. There was no time for mourning. Not now.

Dutch straightened, his eyes scanning the room. "Arthur," he said, turning towards him. "We need to find John and Micah. They went on ahead, and I'm not leaving anyone out there to die in this storm."

Arthur nodded again, glancing toward Charlies, who had been quietly securing the other horses. The man walked over, his broad shoulders hunched against the cold, and handed Dutch and Arthur their reins. "The horses are ready."

Without another word, Dutch and Arthur mounted up, heading back out into the storm. The wind howled louder than before, and the visibility  was almost zero, but they pushed on. They couldn't leave John or Micah out here—not in this godforsaken storm.

After what felt like an eternity of riding, a figure appeared in the swirling snow ahead of them. It was Micah, pushing his horse towards them, his coat dusted with snow, his face haggard but alive.

"Micah!" Dutch called out, reining his horse to a stop. "You find anything?"

Micah grinned, though there was no warmth in it. "Saw a homestead up ahead," he said, his breath coming out in ragged puffs. "Looks like someone's home. Might be worth checkin' out—could have some supplies."

Arthur exchanged a glance with Dutch, who gave a quick nod. "Let's head that way," Dutch said. "We could use the supplies."

They followed Micah to the homestead, the outline of the building coming into view through the storm. Dutch dismounted, walking up to the door with the confidence of a man who had done this a hundred times. He knocked firmly, calling out to whoever might be inside. But as Micah walked over to Arthur's side, his eyes narrowed, spotting something in front of the house.

"There's a dead body on the wagon," Micah muttered.

Arthur's hand instinctively went to his gun as Dutch's voice rang out, calling for them to get ready. Before they knew it, bullets were flying. The men inside the house opened fire, and chaos erupted. Arthur returned fire, the sharp crack of his revolver cutting through the storm. One by one, the men fell, their blood staining the snow beneath them.

When the smoke cleared, Dutch and Arthur moved inside the house. It was a mess—broken furniture, overturned chairs, and a lingering stench of death. The men had clearly been here before them, but it didn't matter. Arthur and Dutch took what they could—food, ammunition, anything useful. It was survival now, and they weren't going to be picky.

"Check the barn, Arthur," Dutch said, nodding toward the structure nearby. "See if there's anything useful in there."

Arthur nodded, making his way over to the barn. He opened the door cautiously, stepping inside, only to be met with a sudden blow as a man leapt down from the rafters, tackling him to the ground. They grabbed in the straw, fists flying until Arthur managed to pin the man down, his hand around the stanger's throat.

Dutch rounded the corner, his revolver drawn but grinning. "You got this, Arthur?" he asked with a chuckle.

Arthur grunted, tightening his grip on the man's throat. "Yeah, I got it."

The man, gasping for breath, blurted out everything—where the O'Driscolls were holed up, their plans for a train robbery, and more. Arthur listened, his expression dark. Once the man had outlived his usefulness, Arthur strangled him to death, his grip never wavering.

With that done, Arthur turned his attention to the two horses inside the barn. One was a bay paint stallion, already saddled, while the other, a black mare, was wild and on edge. Arthur spoke softly, calming the stallion first before moving to the mare. She resisted, snorting and rearing but eventually, Arthur managed to halter her, though it wasn't easy. She fought him every step of the way, but he didn't back down.

By the time Arthur led the two horses back outside, the homestead had gone up in flames. Dutch, Micah, and a woman—Sadie Adler, as she introduced herself—stood nearby, watching the fire consume what was left of her home.

Arthur tied the stallion to Taima's saddle, and they rode off into the snowstorm, leaving the burning homestead behind them. Sadie Adler sat behind Dutch, her face blank with shock. Everyone had their breaking point and this storm would test them all.

The storm swallowed them as they rode on, five horses and four riders against the blizzard, with no choice but to keep moving.