The wild, wild West (Arthur Morgan x f!Reader)

CHAPTER 50 - Up and away

The touch that woke me up this time wasn't gentle and warm. Actually, it felt more like deaths hand itself had pried its way trough the layers of clothing on my body to settle on my neck and feel my pulse. It was freezing cold. I jerked back and groaned at the pain that shot through my body. The hand retreated and a rough voice called out to someone.

„Boss, she's alive!"

Steps crunched in the snow and stopped a few centimetres in front of my head. Icy fingers wrapped around my chin and tilted my face upwards. After a moment of silent observation, they let me go again. The tip of a boot pushed against my ribs. „Well, can ya talk girl?", another stranger asked, his voice laced with a strong mexican accent.

I forced my eyes open. Two sets of robust leather boots sat in front of me in the snow. My gaze followed them up until I could finally see both men. They were clothed in thick coats and carried guns on their backs. The one who had just spoken wore a sombrero and fingerless gloves. He seemed vaguely familiar, but I was sure that I had never met him before.

I cleared my throat and replied carelessly: „I don't wanna talk to you. Leave me alone." My voice sounded strangely weak.

He chuckled. „You don't have much choice there. The question is just... should we kill you right here or bring you to the camp? Who are you, woman?"

I stared up at him. He didn't seem trustworthy. And honestly, all I wanted to do was to close my eyes and sleep for the next days, weeks... „I'm tired.", I muttered. „Leave me be.

„You're in our territory. We don't just leave you.", the man huffed. With that, he pulled a revolver and pointed it straight at my head.

My hazy mind, sharpened from years of robbing and stealing, caught the twitch of his hand before it snapped towards his holster. My hand wrapped swiftly around the grip of my Cattleman and jerked it upwards. We found each other staring down the barrel of the weapon of the other.

„I told you to leave me be.", I hissed. My survival instincts had kicked in, suddenly I was fully awake.

Suddenly, the man broke out into hearty laughter and pushed his revolver back into the holster. „Oh, a feisty one. Good, good. I like ya." He turned towards his men. „Get her on a horse, we're takin' her to the camp."

It really felt like reliving the weeks up in the mountains before I had found the Van der Linde Gang. Loosing my horse, getting attacked by wolves, and finally getting picked up by a strange gang, although this time, it was involuntary. The distrustful glanced getting thrown my way were the same as back then. At least this time the leader wasn't an old acquaintance.

I had realized why he seemed familiar when he had introduced himself. Flaco Hernández - one of the men that the guy writing the book about Calloway had mentioned. True to the information I had gathered back then, he was still camping in the grizzlies with a group of ten men. Like the Van der Linde Gang, they had holed up in a small abandoned village. They seemed to handle the rough conditions a lot better though. They had given me a small cabin for myself, along with a blanket, some firewood and a bag of roasted meat.

I was left to tend to my wounds while night fell. I had probably lost a lot of blood, that's why my head felt so foggy. The bites on my arms and torso were shallow, thanks to the thick clothing I had worn. My legs looked quite bad though. The fabric of my riding jeans was completely torn up. It was to thin to withstand sharp teeth seeking to draw blood. I braced myself for the pain that would come and began cleaning and stitching the wounds up.

Once I was done, I collapsed on my makeshift bed, a thin layer of fabric on the hard wooden floor. My body ached, I wasn't even sure which part hurt the most. But as soon as I laid down to rest, my thoughts started racing.