When the Devil Cries (Arthur Morgan X Male OC)

34. Down with the King

From Arthur's POV

O'CREAGH'S RUN

A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER

"You got everything?" Hamish asked, eyeing my bag.

I shut the leather flap closed, placin' my hands on my hips.

"Yeah. I think so. Eddie and I should be ready to go."

The veteran limped over to me and patted me on the shoulder, displaying a warm smile.

"Well then, you boys stay safe out there, you hear? Things can get pretty wild on the roads nowadays, but you already know this. I just hope your plan to get out of America works for you."

I nodded in agreement, gazing at Eddie through one of the windows as he readied the horses outside.

"Yeah, me too. Lemme tell you, it's been one hell of a journey, runnin' around with that boy, but...I know it's gonna be worth it. I just have this...feelin' in me, you know?"

Hamish followed my line of sight and peered at Eddie with an almost fatherly expression, reminiscing about the times when he was our age.

"I believe that feeling is called 'hope," he replied. "You become very familiar with it when you fight in a war. Sometimes, it's all you have. Guns are fine and dandy, sure, but what happens when you don't have one? That 'feeling' is the only thing you can hold onto, and if you're lucky...it might just save your life."

I took my attention away from the pianist for a moment and changed the subject, curious to know more about Hamish's past.

"Sounds like those were bad times," I remarked seriously. "How anyone survived that war is beyond me."

Hamish raised a brow, appearing confused. "You wasn't around back then?"

"I was," I corrected, "but I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Just a lil' boy. I hardly remember anything from back then."

The veteran let out a sigh. "Consider yourself lucky. Ain't nothin' pleasant to remember about the Civil War. Colored folk were in chains, our people was beatin' them, and of course...there was death. Everywhere you went. Sometimes, the bodies lay so thick, you coulda walked across the whole field without your boots touching mud."

I shook my head in a sympathetic manner, lookin' Hamish in the eye.

"It's a good thing those times are behind us, then."

He gave me a weary expression. "Behind the government, perhaps. But not us. There's still conflict in this country every single day. A thousand little wars ragin' on in the unseen corners of America. That's why you absolutely cannot let anything happen to you, or Mister Ryan."

Hamish paused at the mention of Eddie's name and switched to a more inquiring tone, leaning casually on his crutch.

"Say, how did you meet that man in the first place? I've spoken with Eddie a bit, and he says y'all haven't known each other for that long, but the two of you seem real close to me."

A chuckle escaped me. "I ran into him in Saint Denis. Quite literally, actually. I had just come stumblin' outta some pompous saloon and accidentally slammed right into him. It was...memorable, you could say."

Hamish returned the laugh. "Tell me, what was Eddie like back then? How'd a simple pianist end up running around with America's most wanted?"

I backtracked through all the months I'd spent with Eddie, the memories bombarding my head like the continuous flash of a camera.

"To be honest, I couldn't quite tell you. He was a kind, law-abiding citizen who had never killed a man before, and then...there was me. A rotten, ol' thief come looking to pick that city clean."