Yeriel was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper and smoking a cigarette when he glanced up and saw something that made his heart race. "What the...fuck?" His eyes widened in shock, and the cigarette slipped from his mouth, falling to the floor.
Kieran, riding a horse, burst into the camp with his head in his hands. To Yeriel's horror, he noticed that Kieran's head was gruesomely missing its eyes, leaving a ghastly void where once there had been life.
"It's Kieran!" Mery-Beth screamed, her voice trembling with a mix of terror and disbelief.
Then, gunshots erupted from the dense woods surrounding the camp. Just before he dove behind cover, Yeriel spotted one of the attackers. The green bandana around the man's neck confirmed what he already knew: they were O'Driscolls.
"Holy shit," Yeriel cursed under his breath. He peered out cautiously and watched in horror as the frightened horse bucked, violently throwing Kieran's lifeless and headless body to the ground.
With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Yeriel drew his volcanic pistol and fired at a few O'Driscolls, hitting some but missing others as he retreated into the safety of the house.
"Is everyone accounted for?!" Arthur shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos as Yeriel gulped nervously and stroked his mustache in a futile attempt to calm his racing heart.
A few moments later, Arthur dashed off to find Sadie, while Yeriel continued to fire at the advancing O'Driscolls, managing to take down a few but still missing several shots in the confusion.
Eventually, the attackers retreated, disappearing back into the woods. As Yeriel cautiously emerged from the house alongside the others, he caught sight of Sadie, who was covered in blood. He had just heard that she had gone berserk, killing a few O'Driscolls and stabbing one to death in a fit of rage.
"Fucking weirdo," Yeriel muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. He approached Kieran's body, his heart heavy with the grim sight before him. "Can't say I've ever seen anything like this before."
Hosea stepped outside, his expression grim. "Are we okay?" he asked, scanning the area for any remaining threats.
"Think so," Yeriel replied with a shaky breath. Dutch approached, his gaze falling on Kieran's corpse. "Except for him," Dutch said, a somber note in his voice. "Poor kid. Mr. Swanson, could you bury the poor guy somewhere nearby, but… not too close?"
"Of course," Reverend Swanson nodded solemnly, his face etched with compassion as he prepared to give Kieran a proper farewell.
———
Two weeks have passed.
Yeriel and the gang are planning to rob a bank today—a city bank, no less. Yeriel feels a twinge of anxiety at the thought. He is accustomed to robbing small, out-of-the-way banks, and this heist seems like a considerable risk.
Yet, Yeriel has complete faith in Dutch and Hosea. If the two of them think it's a good idea, then surely it must be.
Ah, who is he kidding? Of course, it is not a good idea. It was their plan to confront the two powerful families in Rhodes, and that had ended with Sean taking a bullet to the head. He is still grieving Sean's loss, though perhaps not as deeply as Karen. She has turned to the bottle to cope.
Yeriel heads to his room in the rundown mansion and rummages through his chest. "¿Dónde carajo puse mi traje?" he mutters, frustrated.
Finally, he finds it and puts it on. The suit is a dapper ensemble for 1899: a finely tailored dark wool suit jacket with a slight sheen, its lapels sharp and defined, lending a sense of authority. Beneath, he wears a crisp, white cotton shirt with a high collar and delicate pleats running down the front, complemented by a dark silk cravat tied neatly at his throat. The trousers are tailored to fit snugly, tapering down to his ankles, with a subtle pinstripe that adds an air of sophistication. On his feet are polished leather shoes, smart and sturdy, perfect for both style and a quick getaway.
Once dressed, he makes his way outside to join the others. Soon, Arthur arrives, the last to join the group. "You got everything, Arthur?" Dutch asks, his tone a mixture of anticipation and urgency.
"Sure," Arthur replies, adjusting his own gear.
"So, we rob ourselves a bank...and within six weeks, we're living life anew in a tropical paradise, spending the rest of our days as banana farmers?" Hosea quips, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Let's get out of this godforsaken place and rob ourselves a bank!"
As they make their way to the bank, Yeriel's mind races. If they manage to pull off this heist, they could accumulate a fortune. But could he really imagine settling down? For years, he has embraced the life of an outlaw, and the thought of leaving it behind feels impossible.
They arrive and park across the street from the bank. Yeriel and John stand guard while the others head inside to execute the plan. Everything seems to go smoothly at first; Yeriel watches as they collect the cash. But then he notices a group of horsemen approaching—lawmen.
"The law has arrived!" Yeriel shouts, panic rising in his chest. "Tons of 'em!"
"Looks like trouble out here!" John adds, eyes wide with alarm.
"Mierda..." Yeriel curses under his breath, realizing he and John have no choice but to find cover as the law closes in.
"We gotta go inside," John says, urgency lacing his voice, and Yeriel nods in agreement.
They rush into the bank and shut the doors behind them. "Come out! It's over!" a Pinkerton agent shouts, his voice booming.
Yeriel steals a glance out the window just in time to see Dutch being forced out with Hosea, a gun pressed firmly against his head. "Dutch, get out here!" Agent Milton barks, his tone condescending. "Get out. Here. Now!"
"Someone must have squealed," Dutch complains bitterly.
"Should've never gone after Bronte, Dutch," John mutters, glancing at Yeriel.
"Oh," Yeriel exhales, suddenly remembering the Italian man. He had been away on a job with Uncle when all of this went down.
"Mr. Milton..." Dutch attempts to negotiate, his voice steady despite the turmoil. "Let my friend go, or folks— they're gonna get shot unnecessarily—" But he is cut off.
"Your friend?" Milton chuckles, a cruel sound. "Ha. Now why would I do that?"
"Come on, Milton..." Dutch pleads, desperation creeping into his voice.
"It's over," Agent Milton declares flatly. "No more bargains. No more deals."
"Mr. Milton. This is America. You can always cut a deal!" Dutch shouts, frustration boiling over.
Milton scoffs, shaking his head. "I've given you enough chances." He shoves Hosea forward.
Hosea stumbles toward the bank, turning back to Milton with furrowed brows, but Milton, expressionless, pulls the trigger, and Hosea falls, a hole blooming in his chest.
"Agh!" he gasps, collapsing to the ground.
"Shit..." Yeriel's heart sinks as he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling a surge of pain at the sight of Hosea's lifeless body. "No..." he mutters, gripping his volcanic pistol tightly, his resolve hardening beneath the mask.
"There's your deal, Dutch," Milton taunts.
"Hosea..." Dutch whispers, anguish etched on his face. "Hosea!" In a fit of rage, he smashes the window beside him. "Goddamn it! Kill those bastards!"
Yeriel swallows hard, adrenaline coursing through him, and begins firing at the lawmen, bullets flying as chaos erupts.
The air fills with the deafening sound of gunfire. Yeriel takes aim and fires, striking one lawman in the shoulder and another squarely in the chest. The room is a cacophony of shouts and gunshots, the smell of gunpowder thick in the air. He ducks behind a pillar for cover, heart racing as he reloads his weapon.
"Now they got Abigail!" John yells, panic rising.
They hold back the lawmen until Dutch hatches a plan. Suddenly, an explosion rocks the bank wall as Arthur blows it open to create an escape route. He rushes outside first, clearing the way.
Yeriel fires another shot at a lawman attempting to breach the entrance. "They wanna break in!" he screams, trying to be heard over the din.
"Let's go then!" Dutch shouts, rallying the group.
Everyone rushes towards the gaping hole in the wall. Just as they do, the entrance door bursts open, and a flood of lawmen charge in. A bullet whizzes past Yeriel's face, narrowly missing him. "Puta madre!" he exclaims, grabbing John and yanking him towards the hole as he sees John still shooting at the advancing lawmen.
"Boss!" Yeriel hears Bill's voice cut through the chaos.
He turns to see Bill being restrained by three lawmen. "Bill!" Yeriel shouts, about to rush back, but Dutch pulls him away.
"There's no time!" Dutch insists, urgency in his voice.
Yeriel hesitates but ultimately nods, knowing Dutch is right. They sprint toward the ladder leading to the next building, scrambling up to join the others.
"Arthur," Dutch says, panting as he approaches him. "We lost Bill."
"Killed?" Arthur questions, his voice laced with concern.
"Arrested," Dutch replies, shaking his head. "We couldn't help."
"We better go before we're next," Arthur says, glancing back toward the chaos.
"I say John and I will go ahead," Yeriel suggests, determination in his eyes.
"Okay," Dutch responds, giving Yeriel a supportive slap on the back.
"Come on, Johnny!" Yeriel motions for John, who nods and follows closely behind.
They climb onto a ledge, but before they can proceed, a door bursts open and three lawmen spill out. In a split second, Yeriel and John draw their guns.
John fires first, hitting one lawman in the neck and another in the chest. Yeriel follows suit, taking down the last one with two well-aimed shots.
"Mierda... that was a close one!" Yeriel exclaims, breathing heavily.
"Yeah..." John nods, glancing back to see the others catching up.
Yeriel presses forward, leaping onto the next rooftop, with John, Charles, Micah, Dutch, Javier, Lenny, and finally Arthur following suit. They all crouch low, keeping quiet as they scan the area.
After a few tense moments, they move across the rooftop, led by Arthur, and slip into an abandoned building. They tiptoe inside, settling into an almost empty room.
Yeriel is the last to enter, closing the door behind him, and leans against it, sliding down to the floor, feeling the weight of the situation settle in.
"The whole town's filled with cops," Dutch says angrily, pacing the small room.
"Well, how long we gonna stay here? A few hours?" Arthur snaps, frustration bubbling over.
Dutch shakes his head. "If we go back to camp, they'll get every last one of us. I know they'll be watching the roads." He pauses, a spark of inspiration lighting up his eyes. "I got it..." he spreads his arms wide. "A boat."
"What do you mean?" Arthur asks, intrigued.
"We stay here until nightfall, then we sneak down to the docks and get ourselves outta here," Dutch says, conviction in his voice.
Lenny shakes his head, but no one seems to notice. "Hey, so where do ya reckon we should head to?"
"Doesn't matter. Any place will do, kid," Dutch replies. "We leave, lie low, and come back for the rest in a couple of weeks."
"I'm guessing it's either that or... we die out there right now," Arthur says, glancing out the window, the gravity of their situation weighing heavily.
Yeriel sighs, rubbing his mustache, which has grown quite bushy over the past few weeks. John sits down next to him, a look of gratitude on his face. "Thanks for getting me," he says sincerely.
"Hm?" Yeriel raises an eyebrow, unsure of what John means.
"If you hadn't dragged me away, I might have been arrested instead of Bill. So thanks, brother," John replies, sincerity shining in his eyes.
"No problem, hermano," Yeriel nudges John's shoulder with his own. "We look out for each other."
John nods, appreciation evident in his expression.
As the sun sets, they begin to move again. They make their way down to the docks, boarding a boat under the cover of darkness. They lose Charles along the way; he volunteered to be a distraction. Yeriel hopes the man is alright.
On the boat, they sit huddled behind crates, the night air heavy with tension. In the morning, Dutch gathers everyone for a brief speech about where they are heading: Cuba.
The sun blazes on the boat, and Yeriel, feeling the heat, decides to shed his suit jacket and shirt, going half-naked in the oppressive warmth.
"So, what's the plan for Cuba?" John asks straightforwardly, his tone serious.
"Hold up for a while, then hurry back to gather the rest of the family," Dutch answers. "At least we've got some money now. Money and loyalty. With that, you can do whatever you please."
"I ain't no sailor..." Micah clears his throat, glancing up at the sky. "That cloud look like good news to you?"