Chapter 5: Blackwater Massacre Part 2

  Just as Sebastian prepared to move, another deafening volley of gunfire erupted this time, not from their side.

  Pinkertons stumbled, some crying out in pain, others dropping where they stood. The lawmen hesitated, momentarily thrown off by the sudden assault from behind.

  Sebastian ducked, eyes flicking past the chaos to spot the source. Muzzle flashes flared in the night, coming from figures taking cover along the docks. Whoever they were, they were gunning for the Pinkertons, not them.

  “The hell is this?!” John shouted over the gunfire.

  Dutch’s sharp gaze snapped toward the new arrivals, but he didn’t waste time questioning it. “I don’t know, and I don’t care! Move!”

  Taking advantage of the Pinkertons’ disarray, the gang surged forward. Javier shot down two lawmen trying to recover, while Mac, despite his injury, still let out a wild laugh as he fired into the fray.

  Sebastian sprinted beside them, feeling the heat of bullets barely missing their mark. Whoever their mysterious allies were, they had bought them precious seconds.

  “Dutch!” Micah called out, reloading as he ran. “Looks like someone else wants that money too!”

  “Then let them have it!” Dutch growled. “We’re leavin’!”

  The gang fought their way off the ferry, gunfire ringing in their ears as they rushed toward the docks, where the shadows of Blackwater loomed ahead.

  As Sebastian sprinted toward the dock, the air thick with the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder, his heart hammered in his chest. His boots pounded against the wooden planks, the sound drowned by the chaos unfolding around him. But through the haze of violence, something caught his eye—figures emerging from the darkness, silhouetted against the backdrop of Blackwater’s distant lights.

  The gang.

  They were charging forward, guns raised, eyes hard with determination. Arthur fired with practiced precision, each shot bringing down another Pinkerton who had dared to follow them. Charles stood tall, his frame cutting through the chaos, a rifle at the ready. Jenny was darting around cover, quick and deadly, while Lenny fired from behind a stack of crates. Hosea, as calm as ever, was methodical, picking off Pinkertons one by one.

  Sebastian’s breath caught. They were here to help.

  He barely had a moment to react before Dutch’s voice pierced through the gunfire. “What in the hell’s going on? Who are they?!”

  Sebastian’s heart skipped. “It’s them, Dutch!” he yelled, pointing toward the reinforcements. “Arthur and the others Hosea, Charles, Jenny, Lenny they’re coming to help us escape!”

  Dutch’s gaze snapped to the newcomers. His face, usually calm and calculating, was filled with a mix of surprise and relief. “Well, I’ll be damned…” He turned back to the group, waving his hand in a quick gesture. “Alright, we move now!”

  The gang’s firepower made a huge difference. With their assistance, the tide began to turn. Pinkertons fell back, their numbers dwindling as they struggled to regroup under the renewed assault. The gang's reinforcements pushed forward, providing cover fire, forcing the remaining Pinkertons to retreat.

  “Get to the damn horses!” Arthur shouted, his voice steady despite the chaos around him.

  Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He pushed forward, adrenaline flooding his veins, focusing on the path ahead. The gang regrouped near the dock’s edge, where their horses were waiting, impatiently pawing at the ground.

  Dutch’s voice rang out above the din. “Hurry, goddammit! Get to the horses!”

  The gang scrambled to mount, the urgency in their movements matching the explosive sounds of gunfire and the distant thudding of Pinkerton reinforcements approaching. They had to move fast before the cavalry arrived.

  As Sebastian mounted his own horse, he turned one last time, glancing back at the ferry. It was a warzone, flames licking the night sky. The wreckage of the robbery was strewn across the deck, the bodies of the fallen Pinkertons and the authorities alike littering the ground.

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  "Let’s go!” Dutch barked, snapping Sebastian back to reality.

  Sebastian kicked his horse forward, heart pounding in his chest as he joined the others in their flight from the wreckage. The Pinkertons might have been closing in, but the gang had a head start. They just had to survive long enough to make it out of Blackwater.

  As they rode hard through the darkened woods, the sound of galloping hooves drowned out everything but the distant gunfire behind them. Their escape was far from clean the Pinkertons had been relentless, and the cost was quickly becoming clear.

  A sharp, pained cry cut through the night.

  Sebastian turned his head just in time to see Jenny slump forward in her saddle, her body limp, a dark stain spreading across her back.

  “Jenny!” Lenny shouted, but it was already too late.

  Sebastian clenched his teeth, a sickening wave of fury twisting in his gut. There was no time to stop. No time to mourn. The Pinkertons weren’t going to wait for them to grieve.

  Up ahead, Davey Callander swayed in his saddle, barely holding on, his breaths ragged. He’d been hit too bad. The way he slumped against his horse made it clear he wasn’t going to last much longer.

  “Just hold on, Davey!” Dutch shouted over the pounding of hooves. “We’re almost there!”

  Mac, however, wasn’t as lucky.

  The moment they broke through the thick tree line, the camp barely visible in the distance, Mac let out a gurgled breath and collapsed from his horse, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

  Sebastian yanked on the reins, his horse rearing up as the others skidded to a stop. Arthur was off his horse in an instant, kneeling beside Mac, but one look told them everything.

  Mac Callander was dead.

  Javier cursed under his breath, slamming his fist into his saddle. Dutch, for a rare moment, looked shaken.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Micah spat. “We gotta move.”

  “Shut your damn mouth, Bell,” Arthur growled, his fists tight around the reins.

  Sebastian swallowed the anger boiling in his chest and forced himself to look away from Mac’s body. Jenny was dead. Davey was fading. Sean was missing.They’d barely escaped with their lives, and now they had to get back to camp before the Pinkertons caught up.

  “Let’s move,” Dutch finally ordered, his voice cold and hard. “Now.”

  The gang rode on, the weight of their losses pressing down on them.

  As they thundered into camp, the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. People were already moving packing up what they could, their faces drawn with worry. The gunfire in Blackwater had been loud enough that even those who hadn't been there knew something had gone terribly wrong.

  Sebastian barely heard the frantic voices around him as he swung off his horse, his muscles aching, his mind still reeling from the chaos of the escape. He didn’t stop to talk. He didn’t stop to grieve. He just moved.

  He grabbed an axe from where it rested near the woodpile and made his way to the fire. The embers glowed red-hot, flickering as he jammed the metal head deep into the coals, fanning the flames until they roared.

  The heat licked at his face, but he didn’t flinch. His hands were steady. His breathing even.

  Behind him, he could hear the others Hosea barking orders, Arthur trying to keep Dutch focused, Susan Grimshaw pushing people to move faster. But Sebastian kept his eyes on the fire, on the way the axehead darkened, turning a searing orange.

  The camp wasn’t safe anymore. They had to leave.

  And Davey…

  Sebastian clenched his jaw.

  Davey wouldn’t make it through the night, not without something to stop the bleeding. And Mac ... Mac and Jenny were already gone.

  He tightened his grip on the axe handle.

  There was no time to mourn. Only time to survive.

  Sebastian yanked the glowing axe from the fire, the metal head searing hot, radiating heat even through the chill of the night air. He turned on his heel, eyes locking onto Javier, who was hovering uncertainly over Davey’s convulsing form.

  "Javier! Hold him down!" Sebastian barked, his voice cutting through the chaotic noise of the camp. "Unless you want him bleeding out all over the damn place!"

  Javier hesitated only a second before dropping to his knees, pressing down hard on Davey’s shoulders. "Hold still, amigo," he muttered, though they both knew Davey was too far gone to hear.

  Sebastian didn't waste time. With his free hand, he pulled the shredded fabric of Davey’s coat and shirt away from the gaping wound in his side. Blood oozed thick and dark, soaking into the dirt beneath him.

  No time.

  Sebastian pressed the scorching axehead against the wound.

  Davey's body jerked violently, a hoarse, agonized scream tearing from his throat. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, making Javier gag, but Sebastian held firm, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to keep the pressure steady.

  Davey writhed, muscles spasming, his screams fading into a wet, ragged wheeze. Then, after what felt like an eternity, his body slackened.

  Sebastian pulled the axe away, tossing it aside as he checked the wound. The flesh was charred, ugly, but the bleeding had stopped. It was the best they could do.

  Javier exhaled sharply, still gripping Davey's limp shoulders. "Dios… is he—?"

  Sebastian placed two fingers against Davey's neck. His pulse was weak. Too weak.

  "He's still breathing," Sebastian muttered, though he knew it wouldn't be for long.

  Javier cursed under his breath, running a hand down his face, his fingers smearing blood.

  Sebastian pushed himself up, taking a step back, his own hands shaking from the adrenaline. He glanced around camp ,at the others still scrambling to pack, at Dutch standing near his horse, looking as though he was already thinking ten steps ahead.

  They needed to move.

  But Davey wouldn’t be riding out with them.

  Dutch’s voice cut through the chaos like a gunshot.

  "Get everything packed! We ride north ,into the Ambarino mountains! We lose the goddamn Pinkertons in the snow!"

  The camp erupted into frantic movement. Bedrolls were thrown onto wagons, supplies hastily shoved into saddlebags. The horses, sensing the urgency, snorted and pawed at the ground as they were saddled.

  Sebastian wiped his bloody hands on his coat, the smell of burned flesh still clinging to him. He shot a glance at Davey, who lay limp on the ground. Javier hovered nearby, his face grim, but he said nothing. They both knew the truth ,Davey wouldn't make it through the ride.

  "Leave the dead," Dutch ordered, his tone cold, focused. His eyes flicked to Jenny's still body. "We don't have time to bury them."

  Some of the gang hesitated, but there was no arguing. The law would be on them soon, and staying meant death.

  Sebastian tightened the straps on his saddle, his mind already shifting to the road ahead. The mountains would be brutal this time of year ,cold, steep, unforgiving. But they had no choice.

  Dutch swung onto his horse, looking over the gang. "Move!" he roared. "Before we’re all corpses!"

  As the others rushed to pack, Sebastian moved with purpose. He wasn't about to leave Jenny behind like she was nothing. She had been one of them. She deserved better.

  Ignoring Dutch’s orders, he strode over to Jenny’s body, her small frame still warm, her face frozen in a peaceful expression that didn’t match the violence of her death. He swallowed the lump in his throat and carefully lifted her into his arms.

  "Sebastian, we ain't got time—" Javier started, but Sebastian shot him a glare that shut him up.

  He carried her to one of the wagons, laying her gently among the supplies. "She gets a burial," he said, voice firm, daring anyone to challenge him.

  Dutch looked back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seemed like he might argue, but then he just nodded. "Fine. But we ride. Now."

  Sebastian mounted up, his jaw tight. He would make sure Jenny was laid to rest properly no matter what. With one last glance at the burning remains of their camp, he spurred his horse forward, following the gang into the cold, unforgiving mountains.