Gilded Steel
by SparklyLarry
Chapter I
The Road of Gold
Gold is where you find it.
It was a good life he had. Not a golden one, of course.
Sure, he had been living in filth and dirt for eighteen out of twenty-two years of his life. And, well, he had to eat stale bread and drink sour milk more often that was probably healthy.
Then there was his mother. Shot in the saloon by some drunk bastard. Yeah, he buried her a few years ago. Had to dig a grave outside the cemetery - coffins were too expensive and undertakers were even greedier.
Oh, right, he was shot as well. Twice. It was his left shoulder the last time. Two weeks ago, to be more specific. No medical attention, of course. Meaning no doctors, no drugs, no bandages. Only whisky and some old shirt to tie around the wound. Not that he complained.
At least, he still had his baby sister. A convict. He kind of crossed a damn desert to find her. Yeah, he was at the brink of putting a bullet through his head after two weeks of roaming the bloody shrubland on a stolen jade. Red dust and blood was probably the only thing his tongue could perceive. What else? Scorching hot in the daytime, freezing cold in the nighttime and ravenous cougars or wolves in between. He was also sharing a lousy blanket with his companion. A murder, actually. Killed a twelve-year-old girl or something like this, not that he was the one to judge. People did what they had to do to survive. He himself has killed how many now? Oh, well, who cares? He doesn't, not anymore. In short, one hell of a journey for his sister. His little sister that refused to leave before he could even suggest it. And now he is stuck in this god forsaken mining town. In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hostile natives. With 98 convicts and just a few bullets left.
So, it wasn't a bad life he had. It sucked, but that's okay.
And now he is about to lose even this shitty life of his.
"Hey, Sheriff! There is someone from Arc City waiting for ya!"
Well, destiny was a bitch with a wrenched sense of humor. It must have enjoyed the show, allowing him to escape, to drag his exhausted body through the desert, to suffer from the unhealed wound. To survive the journey and the first two weeks in the bloody town... so that authorities could bring him back to Arc City and hang. They won't even spend bullets on him.
He is an idiot. He should have grabbed his sister the second he saw her, regardless of her struggles, indignation and yells, and get outta this hellish place. They would have probably perished anyway. But Grounders' arrows and bears' claws are preferable to the noose. He should have known better. It was a shitty plan to begin with...
...
"A bullet through the heart."
"Sure. There is an arrow in the guy's chest, so it's definitely a bullet that killed him. No doubts."
What again was he thinking about when he decided to have Johnny 'Shiny Boot' Murphy as his companion? Okay, he had an excuse. He was dehydrated, hence delusional. Were he in the right state of mind, he would have taken a coyote as a companion rather than Murphy. At least, it wouldn't have been making sarcastic remarks every damn time he said something.
A deep sigh escapes Bellamy as he struggles with the desire to reach for his revolver. Don't waste bullets on idiots. This is the mantra he has been repeating for the last week. The male isn't sure he can rely on it any longer, though. Sooner or later, something is bound to snap in the thin wall that is his patience... It will snap in unison with his gun.
"Try it." It is useless to explain the concept to somebody like John. People like him must use their eyes, not ears, to understand. Without further ado, Bellamy nods at the arrow that is sticking out of the corpse. Shrugging, Murphy comes up to the man and pulls at the feathered shaft. Surprise explodes on the dusty face of his as it easily comes out of the body.
"The fuck?!" John exclaims, staring at the dead man with poorly concealed confusion.
"The wound has been widened. I say that the bastards had shot the guy then opened his chest to remove the bullet and put an arrow instead. No evidence of a gunshot. And if somebody stumbles upon the body... he will be all too ready to blame Grounders."
"Jeez, are you talking from experience? 'kay, if you ever feel like killing me, don't bother with cutting my chest later. Bullet is great! Pretty please...?" Murphy chirps, pretending to beg. This ugly 'pretty please' face makes Bellamy want to smash it.
"It's all logic. Ever heard about it?" he fires back... and misses as his companion easily brushes the sarcastic question away.
"Yup. Tastes like shit... Anything interesting there?" John's cunning eyes are digging holes in the man's bag. A week ago Bellamy would have given him a contemptuous glare for taking things from the dead like a scavenger.
Here he is now, rummaging through the dead man's belongings without a second thought. Bellamy decides that he will bury him later as a peace offer to the remnant of his conscience. As his hand explores the contents of the skin bag, he looks closer at the poor guy. The man was in his forties. Short hair, probably blonde before red dust tinged it. Amiable face. Well, as amiable as a dead man can have. A strange expression of concern froze on his face. It is usually fear or surprise that strikes the person whose heart is about to stop beating. Bellamy has seen enough corpses to know. His mother's beautiful face was distorted with panic and pain as he was covering it with earth. His first likes to give him a haughty dead look of surprise from the depth of Bellamy's memory. But this man... No. Was he just concerned about... dying? Concerned?! That sounds insane. Or was there something else, something more important than his impending death?... Bellamy quickly dismisses the distracting thoughts. Other people's business is not his concern.
"No money, no food, no blanket. The murders aren't fools. Took all they could, bastards" the male growls out, completely crestfallen. It is Murphy's turn this night to sleep with a blanket. Meaning Bellamy gets his but frost-bitten again.
"Okay. I take the boots then," John says cheerfully, tugging at the 'trophy'. Upon Bellamy's dumbfounded stare, he shrugs nonchalantly and raises a brow. "What? A guy doesn't need them anymore! I have to live up to my nickname, right?"
Blake can only shake his head. Murphy does a lot of extraordinary things he doesn't understand... and doesn't want to. While his companion admires the new boots, exclaiming something along "just the right size" and "finally not sweaty", Bellamy explores the man's pockets and hands. His fingers touch something cold on the stranger's wrist. As he pulls the sleeve up, Blake discovers a golden watch. Resentment explodes at the sight, all of a sudden Bellamy doesn't feel all that compassionate. If anything, he starts to approve the actions of the man's killers. It was people like him that condemned his sister. Rich bastards like him that were bathing in bloody gold while unfortunate people were dying mining it. Too late to stop. A hot wave of hate crashes at him, drowning Bellamy in bitter memories.
...
Arc City was a prospering settlement. The Arc River's golden waters loaded the government with money. A lot of money. Those privileged, the elite, made it clear whose gold it was, though. So, to say that the city led an extravagant life actually meant that Ladies and Gentlemen did. They had a fancy life in Arc City. Parades and feasts and masquerades. Common people had been 'invited' to the new settlement to help in the area's development. But once you move there, you can't return. It is like the bridges have been burnt. You work for the elite in Arc City. But no matter how hard you work you will never get to the top. Not a step higher than where you are. And that's at the bottom. Because the top is all occupied, there is no place for strangers. But that what it WAS like. What it IS like now is different. Gold is not infinite, and people become aware of this fact when one day they don't have enough money to throw another ball. That's when they need another source of the bloody metal. The major has found one. Mines. In the middle of the wild desert, deep in the natives' territory. It took two years to build a railway to the place and to start mining. The problem was, however, that there probably wouldn't be many fools in Arc City to move to Jaha Mines, a settlement with shabby houses, a pitiful excuse of a spring, infertile lands and tons of somebody else's gold to extract from under the hard ground. But cunning bastards found a way to settle people there. Of course, very few people knew about the plan.
It started two years ago. New laws, new taxes, new limitations... new prisons. The wave of those innovations caught Bellamy and he rode it... for some time. Strict rules required more control. And control required more people to enforce it. That's how he got a job in the sheriff's office of Arc City. That's how he witnessed all the new laws lashing out at the city. Being an enforcer of order, Bellamy's list of 'whom to seize' enlarged tenfold. It was pretty clear before. You kill or steal - you go to prison and probably get yourself hanged. Matters complicated. Even insignificant crimes sent people to jail, especially the youth. Drink in a wrong saloon, glance at a wrong lady, buy a wrong belt, milk a wrong cow. Prison, prison, prison. No fines or detentions to redeem yourself. But the most confusing part was that executions became rare events. The elite didn't need corpses. No. It needed prisons with hundreds of very alive convicts, young and strong. But people didn't pay attention to the cramped jails. Too many problems to waste time on authorities' freaks. People were oblivious. Bellamy was oblivious. Those new laws and rules, however, were his money. All in all, it was a high paid job.
Then Unity Day came. That freaking holiday that gave no unity, but a good excuse for the privileged to dress up and gobble viands. Fifteen years since the foundation of damn Arc City, fifteen years since the unification of people in damn Arc City, fifteen years since the Blakes had moved to damn Arc City and fifteen years since Bellamy had become a brother. Damn Unity Day that had been shading his sister's birthday for fifteen years. He had had enough. That time Bellamy was adamant to give Octavia a real birthday present. The young man would blame himself later for his carelessness. Fifteen minutes of joy cost Octavia her freedom.
There was this annual masquerade. All fancy dresses and mysterious masks. Complete rubbish, of course. And a cherished dream of every teenage girl. Octavia longed to attend the stupid ball. She never talked about. What's the point? It was a 'private' celebration common people couldn't join... but could watch from the other side of the fence. To be honest, even now Bellamy can't bring himself to regret his decision that day. He does blame himself. A lot. But there is no remorse. That day, almost four months ago, Bellamy wanted to prove that his sister was as good as any pampered lady. And he succeeded. This success was their downfall.
The young man spared no expense for Octavia. He bought her the best carnival gown and shoes, some perfume and rouge from the black market. Bellamy spent two hours struggling with his sister's unruly locks, trying to create a fancy coiffure. Another hour to do her makeup. By that point, he was out of money, so Bellamy had to sew up their mom's old gloves and stockings. Everything was done diligently and meticulously. When he was finished, it wasn't O that stared at him with big happy eyes. Damn, it was Lady Blake.
They were good actors. All in all, their mother used to be a singer in the city's saloon. The Blake siblings inherited her artistic skills. The guards gladly opened the gate for a teary young lady that had gotten lost in the bustle and allowed their fellow guard to escort a poor girl to her family. That was so easy that Bellamy wanted to laugh. Octavia continued to sniff quietly, but gave him a secretive smirk when nobody was looking. He then let his sister go, keeping a close eye on her. It was astonishing how easily she mingled in. Her graceful frame in the crimson dress fluttered back and forth like a butterfly. And young men... those gentlemen... couldn't take their eyes off her. Strangely, but Bellamy didn't feel a surge of anger. Instead, there was dark satisfaction blooming in his chest as he watched those fools dance with his overjoyed sister. From time to time Bellamy's ears caught flattering words addressed to 'Lady Blake' that made other girls fume with envy. His smirk was growing with every eloquent compliment. All these ladies were nothing in comparison to his litter sister. Light on her feet, Octavia danced like a playful candle's flame, sparkling everyone who laid an eye on her. Aurora taught her daughter well, she was a perfect dancer.
Bellamy can't recollect now how exactly it happened. One moment O was swirling with some peacock, the next moment she was sprawled on the floor. The commotion attracted attention, but before Bellamy could make a step towards his sister, there was a woman helping Octavia to get up to her feet. The lady was in her forties, and had a gentle face that wasn't concealed by a mask. Smiling, she led O to a bench and sat down next to her. Trying to be inconspicuous, Bellamy slyly got closer to the two. He couldn't quite recollect the woman's name, but he remembered her to be a doctor. Actually, she did help people who were one step away from the grave... That's it, if they survived the line. Once his mother had had to stand in a queue for three days to show Octavia to the doctor. All that time his little sister had been burning, hallucinating and rumbling. They'd made it just in time.
The doctor and Octavia seemed to get along as they laughed quietly, pointing at different people in the crowd. Bellamy was about to relax when he suddenly noticed a blood trail on his sister's cheek. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one to see it.
"Oh, dear, you've split your brow. Don't worry, I will..."
O's mask was off her face before she could object. The doctor stopped abruptly, frowning. Siblings paled.
"Do I know you, dear? Your face seems familiar, but I don't remember your name?" the woman mumbled in confusion.
"Who is this charming young lady?" the major's voice sounded grimmer than funeral songs in Bellamy's head. Jaha was there. His hand rested on O's shaking shoulder.
More people came to the bench, blocking the girl from his view. He could hear murmurs that were steadily turning into gasps. There was some commotion going on, but he was absolutely helpless. There was nothing Bellamy could do but wait as those golden peacocks were hovering over his little sister. It took him all his self-control to refrain from shooting everyone and rush to O's side. But Bellamy understood that his interference would only make it worse. He would be no help if arrested. No, he had to lie low. And wait. When finally the crowd started to break up, Bellamy hastily made his way to the bench. It was empty.
Next months were a blur. Insane plans. Hopeless plans. Suicidal plans. It was all about planning his sister's rescue. Bellamy managed to keep his job. He needed it to get O out of the damn city. His mind was restlessly searching for a way to save her. It was his responsibility. And his fault she was in jail. And then, two months later, pieces began to fall together, forming a vague idea of an escape plan...
The plan shattered into pieces the day Bellamy decided it was time to act. He snuck into the prison. He found it empty.
All 98 prisoners were gone.
The following month was literally a bloody one. Four lawmen were found in different parts of the city. All tortured, then shot. Several officials' houses were broken into. But nothing was stolen. The elite was panicking. And Bellamy was becoming desperate. Nobody seemed to know anything about the disappearance of 98 convicts. They just vanished. No documents. No recollections. Nothing. He tortured those who in his opinion could withhold some information, but they revealed nothing. Bellamy hated the word. Because his world was crumbling right into nothing.
It was one month and a half since the mysterious disappearance when Bellamy found a trail to follow. Ironically, it was this bloody gold again. One night during his shift the male saw the city's sheriff escorting some wagons. It was quite unusual for a sheriff himself to do something like this. So Bellamy did the only logical thing a man in his situation could do. He followed Sheriff Shumway and watched him meet Major Jaha who opened the wagons. They were brimmed with gold. Bellamy gaped at the hateful metal as it winked at him with its alluring dazzle. Everyone knew that the Arc River was bare. There was no way that much gold could be found in the river's sand. The story behind the new wealth reeked of something dirty. That reek was suspiciously similar to the stink of the whole prisoners' mystery. Too much to be a coincidence. Bellamy put a hand on his gun.
He was fed up with Jaha's games of hide-and-seek.
The morning of the next day saw Sheriff Shumway lying at the doorsteps of his office with a bullet through the head. Major Jaha wasn't far away, bathing in a ruby puddle of his own blood. While people were freaking out and feeding on rumors, Bellamy was getting himself a horse and more bullets. Shumway had been spitting his guts right after Thelonius Jaha had dropped dead in front of him. He had been even courteous enough to give Bellamy a map. So, the young man didn't want to waste a minute. There was a bloody mining settlement in the middle of a wild desert. In the Grounders' lands. A settlement of criminals, murders and rapers.
And Octavia was there. Among them. In Jaha Mines. Mining gold for the elite, so that some snobby gentleman could buy a twentieth gown for his pampered lady.
Bellamy left Arc City without a single glance back.
...
Sufficient to say that he hates gold, this absolutely useless shining thing that's the reason his family has suffered so much. When Bellamy takes the man's watch off his hand, he gives it a look of utter disgust. Any wristwatch is a luxury only the privileged can afford. But this watch is golden, for God's sake! So much more expensive, so much more despicable. Still, most people are in love with things that make their lives miserable. Bellamy has no doubts that this 'treasure' can be later exchanged for something really useful... like his life, for example. Making sure that Murphy is still preoccupied with his new 'shiny shoes', the male slips the watch into his inner pocket. People like John also hate gold, but for different reasons. For not having it.
As he continues to search the deadman, Bellamy stumbles across a sharp object under the coat. Frowning, he takes a closer look. There is a small silver star on the man's chest. The irony causes Bellamy to give a mirthless laugh. Another sheriff's corpse at his feet. As far as he knows, there aren't any other settlements in the vicinity. A small spring where they are resting now is almost a halfway point between Arc City and Jaha Mines. So, the dead sheriff must have come from Jaha Mines. Judging by the wound, the man was shot a day or two ago. Murphy and Bellamy saw three riders a few days ago. At the time the two thought that Arc men were after them, but it turns out that they had somebody else to take care of. The whole mess is confusing to say the least. Arc City has appointed someone from the elite to maintain discipline in the mining town. This someone, however, is lying before him now, with a bullet through the heart and an arrow to cover the murder. One hell of a mess.
The watch's discovery has almost discouraged Bellamy to bury the man. An idea to leave this 'golden body' to rot or feed coyotes seems very appealing. But then again, they need this place for a night, because there are no more water sources between the settlements. Well, Bellamy doesn't like the idea of alluring scavengers to their camp. So, he starts to dig with Murphy's spade the rocky ground. It takes him two hours to finish this impromptu funeral, completely exhausted.
"Hey, good work there!" Murphy's mocking praise does little good to raise his spirits. "What a pity. Arc City has just lost such a diligent undertaker."
"Bastard," Bellamy grumbles, too tired to shoot a glare at his companion. Instead, he leans back agains the dry roots that surround the spring. Water's shy purl is the most peaceful sound he has heard since the departure from Arc City almost a week ago. Desert teaches you to cherish fresh water, to love and miss it. They will refill their water-skins, of course... but water tends to get warm in a few hours, stale in a few days and barely drinkable in a week. Had anyone offered Bellamy a bottle of whisky yesterday, he would have exchanged it for a mug of cool fresh water.
The spring lulls him into sleep as his heavy eyes trace scarce threads of ragged clouds on the dusky sky. Heated ground starts to chill, but it is still warm without a blanket. Hoping to get a few hours of rest before his butt freezes to rocks, Bellamy turns away from his babbling companion and succumbs to tiredness. Cold starts to disturb his dreamless slumber later at night. At last, when he can barely feel his toes does Bellamy stand up. Murphy is happily snoring into the moth-eaten but woolen blanket. Swallowing his envy and refraining from killing for the precious piece of cloth, the male walks up to the horses and gets between their bodies. He then rests his head on the saddle and spends the rest of the night napping upright. Damn Grounders. Bellamy would have kindled the fire long ago if not for the fear of waking up to an arrow in the chest. They crossed the border of natives' territory the day before yesterday. The companions have not dared start fire after the sunset since then. No need to beacon angry natives. Plus, the one without a blanket hardly gets any sleep anyway, so he kind of remains vigilant through out the night, keeping both of them relatively safe.
...
That's how their journey goes, either frying or freezing their butts in turns. As to the horses, Murphy's bloody bay looks a bit better than Bellamy's dappled mare. John took his stallion as a trophy after killing some Grounder. Blake was in a hurry and stole the first horse he saw in Arc's stable. It will be a miracle if his jade makes it to Jaha Mines. Nasty thoughts nag Bellamy at the back of his mind, but he refuses to pay them attention. Deep inside he suspects that it's a one-way trip. Still, the male pushes his fears away. There is a sister he has to save, no place for distractions like the feeling of hopelessness.
They have been traveling for two weeks now. Landscape hasn't changed drastically over the time, but haughty mountains have emerged on the horizon. Otherwise, it is still red dust and ugly sagebrushes everywhere. And no water, obviously. Bellamy's mare trails after the bloody bay, its head down. The damn animal will collapse any minute now from fatigue. His grip on the bridle tightens as anxiety creeps into the mind like a pit viper. That's despair howling in his head as Bellamy starts to whisper into the grey ear to hold on. He even promises his mare to mercifully shoot it after they get to the bloody mines...
"Ya've got a talkative new girlfriend, Blake. A bit too lousy for my taste, though." It's been one hour without hearing Murphy's infuriating sarcastic voice. Too good to last longer. The worst thing about John is that he can say any nonsense with a straight face, making you believe the bullshit.
"Just ignore him, Beauty. You're the best," Bellamy adds louder, padding his horse's neck with kindness and pity. The poor thing will be probably dead in a day or two. Maybe sooner. He just prays it can last a bit longer to bring him to his sister.
"Seriously?" John makes an abrupt remark. "Beauty? Like Beauty Blake? Oh my bootness. Too much sweetness, can't bare it. You are killing me, man. You realize that you've named your marefriend Beauty, right?"
"Says John 'Shiny Boot' Murphy," he fires back, annoyed at the companion. Again. Bellamy doesn't care a damn about this jade's name! He said the first thing that came to mind! What's the big deal?
"You don't wanna know the history behind my nickname," John mutters in a grave voice, and Bellamy can't tell whether he's being serious or just being... Murphy. "Oh, shit. I am stuck in the desert with a guy who has named his horse Beauty! Somebody shoot me!"
As if on cue, an arrow grazes the man's arm. "Okay. I take it back!" he shouts placidly, though it doesn't stop the rain of arrows from assaulting the two.
"Your fucking mouth will get us killed one day," Bellamy remarks dryly, but his blood runs cold. This one day happens today. Actually, it is happening right now. He's as good as dead. "Come on, damn you! Go!". Suddenly, Beauty jerks and gives a neigh of pure agony as a black-feathered arrow pierces its croup. But before Bellamy decides what to do know that his jade is wounded, the mare furiously shakes its head and gallops off, forcing the rider to press his body against the horse's neck. The bridle is swinging under its muzzle, and Bellamy doesn't dare reach for it. One wrong move and his head will be smashed by Beauty's hooves. He is literally grasping for the dear life there, his legs aching from exhaustion and hands tightly clasping the mare's neck despite the callosities and scratches. No sounds reach male's ears but his mad heartbeat and a furious wind that's mercilessly lashing his burnt face
...
It seems like hours have passed. This constant jolting and ache make it impossible to focus on time. His life is all that matters. All of a sudden, his horse comes to a stop. It takes Bellamy a few seconds to come to his senses as everything continues to gallop around him. Just like a hangover, only worse.
"You look just like a good little heap of dung, man," surprisingly, Murphy's high-spirited comment cheers him up a bit. His companion hasn't abandoned or shot him yet, meaning Bellamy doesn't look like a goner and is still lively enough. That's good news. "Oh, looks like are we having some fun here! Hey, Blake! Collect your shit and join the party!" John's intonation takes to a new level of sarcasm, the one that really alerts Bellamy. There are certain notes of viciousness in THIS voice. Slowly, the male raises his head.
Two. Two guys. Two armed guys are standing several feet away from them, observing the travelers with narrowed eyes. But what really catches Bellamy's attention is a cracked wooden sign behind the strangers. Jaha Mines.
He did it. Now that the world ceased to spin around him, Bellamy can see shabby buildings in a mile or so from them. A shroud of red dust is covering the godforsaken town so that it's barely visible from afar. Octavia is there. He is so close... All other thoughts abandon his mind. Unconsciously, Bellamy makes a step forward.
"Don't move!" the lanky boy bawls out, pointing his gun at Blake... whose mind is already out there in Jaha Mines. He doesn't stop. He does not even hear the threats...
And then black spots shade his vision as pain explodes in the left shoulder. Reality quickly knocks into his consciousness, and it's all havoc. Murphy curses loudly and reaches for his knife while Bellamy ducks to avoid another bullet. He shoots blindly at the two and manages to get behind Beauty. The horse isn't the best kind of shield, but it should give him a moment or two to come up with a plan. John, who has already run out of bullets, follows the suit, hiding behind his bloody bay. The skirmish would have scared the animals were they absolutely spent after the Grounders' attack. There is no energy left in them to panic, so they are just standing between two opposing groups, indifferent to the whistling bullets. Bellamy quickly gets his gun ready for another shoot. There're only two bullets left. That's just enough... Steading his breath, Blake tries to guess the attackers' location. He will get only one chance to kill after they shoot his horse-shield. So, Bellamy crouches behind Beauty, expecting the poor thing to drop dead and expose him to the shooters any second now.
Seconds turn to minutes, but nothing disturbs the tense silence. Nobody fires or moves. It's possible that they have very few bullets left, too. Not enough to shoot at both the men and the horses that screen them.
"Ha-ha! Good job, guys! What we gonna do now? How about sunbathing?" Murphy jeers at the two from his relatively safe place behind the stallion. This stupid situation is what's generally called a deadlock. The boys have no reply. Actually, neither has Bellamy. What NOW? Not only is it stupid, but it's plain ridiculous! Two parties can't kill each other, because there are HORSES in the way. Looks like Bellamy's dappled jade has saved him twice that day.
"Listen there!" One of the attackers finally decides to address them."We are not in a hurry here and can wait till your buddy bleeds to death! My brother says you don't have a gun. Guess what happens when your armed friend can't cover ya any more!" the annoying boy rumbles out in a self-confident taunting voice. Bellamy grits his teeth in silent rage. He has no time for these idiots! Octavia is out there! Real obstacles Blake considers with a cool head and overcomes without complains. But an insignificant hindrance like those two is infuriating. "But we can play fair. So here's the deal! Drop your weapons so that we can see them and get away from the horses. We'll just take them and let you be!"
Askance, Bellamy notices his fretting companion. Murphy is clearly muttering some profane words under the breath as he glares daggers at the strangers from above the saddle. Unlike him, though, Blake doesn't fret. He's too pissed off to worry. So much time has been wasted on these morons, but it's finally all clear now. A dark chuckle escapes Bellamy as everything sinks in. How could he be THAT dense not to see it earlier?
"Are you done?" he asks flatly, not in the least daunted by the boy's words. Bellamy has had enough. "Now YOU drop the weapons and get outta of my sight," his even commanding voice obviously puzzles the two. They don't get it. Not yet. So, Bellamy gives them a hint as he cocks the hammer. It clicks loudly. "I won't repeat it again. You better listen carefully. Drop the damn revolvers, turn around and go away like good boys, otherwise I'll shoot the horses down, and you'll either return to the bloody town to die or head to the desert afoot to die. You are also welcome to shoot me down after I kill the horses, 'cause I am bleeding to death anyway. To be frank, I don't care a damn what you are going to do afterwards," Bellamy states briskly, ignoring his wide-eyed companion. A heavy silence befalls. He can almost hear the gears at work in the morons' heads.
"You're bluffing!" at last, the other boy comes up with a retort. Despite the cockiness, uncertainty is clear in his cracking voice. For God's sake... The kids must be fourteen or fifteen years old. "What's about your companion?!"
"Is it time yet?!" Murphy seems to grasp the general idea. His dirk is slowly drawing circles on the stallion's neck, giving the boys a clear view of the moving blade. "I give you the horse and you let me go? Nice try, buddies. Nahh, I'm dying either way, so-o-o-o I'd rather spit into your well before," he chirps in. "Shall I go to hell, I'm taking my little dear Reddy with me!" John adds dramatically. Upon catching Bellamy's blank stare, his partner cries in defense. "What?! He's got a cute name too, ya know?!"
"No-no! I know you are bluffing!" the lanky boy shouts out, vainly struggling to keep despair out of his ostentatiously bold voice. "You won't shoot at your own horses! It's madness!"
"Yup!" Murphy doesn't even bother to argue. The attackers obviously start to lose their composure, but stubborn kids haven't cracked yet. But Bellamy's patience has. Rolling his eyes at the boys' obstinacy, he pulls the trigger.
Beauty doesn't neigh as a bullet goes through her grey-and-white head, granting her a painless death and peace. Bellamy gives his silent thanks to the dappled mare that saved his life and took him to his sister despite its sufferings. The horse may have been old and weak, but it was doing its job well till the very end. The best gratitude he could offer Beauty was this bullet. SHE deserved it.
The boys gape at him in utter disbelief as Bellamy nonchalantly aims at the lanky one. All in all, he IS serious. "You're waisting my time, kid. Make up your shitty mind! Either we all die or we all get a chance to live."
"But we will die any way," the shorter boy mumbles bitterly, his revolver pointed down. All the cockiness and confidence have evaporated like the morning dew under Bellamy's scorching gaze. "It's just like you said. If we venture to cross the desert on foot we'll die. If we return to the town..." he gulps nervously. "They will hang us. We die any way."
Bellamy considers it. He has figured that the two were either banished or persecuted. It was time to act now that they have cracked. "What's your name, kid?" he asks casually, startling both of them.
"Mel," the boy... who turns out to be a girl, actually... responds quietly. Bellamy takes in her appearance more closely and suppresses a gasp. There is nothing gentle or feminine left in the girl's look. Sullen cheeks are all covered with dirt and dry blood, her hair is worse than a condor's nestle. That's what mining has done to a girl. That's what Arc City is doing to all of them. Unconsciously, he clenches his fists in rage as images of Octavia invade his mind. What have they done to his sister?
"Don't answer him, sis! He is just manipulating you to save himself!" her brother hisses vehemently, giving Bellamy a guarded look. The male counters it with an appraising gaze of his own. The bastard shot at him. But he was protecting his own sister. That's something Blake understands and respects.
"I am not manipulating you, kid," Bellamy shrugs while cocking the hammer once again. The boy flinches as this time the revolver is pointed at Mel. He really doesn't want to do it. But he will if that's what it takes to find O. "You are the one who started this mess. It's up to you now. Just be quick about it."
The lanky boy is obviously fighting an internal battle, his hand clenching and unclenching the revolver. Before he can decide, though, the girl eagerly drops the gun and raises her hands.
"Mel!" the boy shouts in horror, watching his sister with wide anguished eyes. "Don't-..."
"Please, Sterling, just give it up..." she shakes her head ruefully, a small smile of hopelessness pulls at her dry cracked lips. "We were doomed from the very beginning, brother. Nothing can change that. Let's just go away. Maybe we can survive... Either you or I will get hurt unless we back off".
The boy, Sterling, looks conflicted and frustrated. All his previous self-confidence was just a facade. He is not an intimidating attacker, has never been one. Just a scared kid that tries to survive and protect his sibling. Bellamy's revolver and Mel's pleading finally break through the last wall of bravery, and Sterling flings away his gun. Murphy, being a sneaky bastard, hovers over the weapons before Bellamy can even blink.
"Hah. Guess what, Blake!" John suddenly stands up with guns in both hands and points them at his companion. A mad grin mars his lips. "Puff!" He pulls the trigger.
Bellamy doesn't even flinch, just rolls his eyes at Murphy's childish behavior. As if Blake hasn't figured it out yet.
"Hey! You're no fun," John whines and throws revolvers into his saddle-bag. "Three guns and not a fucking bullet. No fair!"
"Why can't you return to Jaha Mines?" Bellamy ignores his companion's whimpers and focuses on the siblings. They exchange a dark look. Unlike the girl, her brother regards Blake with understandable caution and distrust. Bellamy can't blame him.
"We... we tried to steal horses." It's Mel, of course, who replies in a small voice.
"That's it?" Blake arches a brow, unsatisfied. The girl doesn't dare to meet his searching eyes.
"We failed," she adds meekly.
"No way!" Murphy gasps dramatically, holding his hand over the heart in shock. Sighing, Bellamy pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down. He is no mood for John's teasing. His nerves are already strained, ready to burst. "Are you some lunatic horse-lovers or something? Actually, Blake here is a horse-lover himself! He even had a marefriend, but..." Murphy wipes away an imaginary tear. "Shit happens, so he kinda shot her."
"We just want to get away from this hell!" Sterling bursts out, his fists trembling. "It's mining, then starving or fighting Grounders, and mining again! I hate it here! I-"
"So what?" Bellamy interrupts, causing the boy to stop with his mouth open in confusion. "Suppose you've got the horses. What next?" Sterling stares at him in surprise, his brows knit down. Looks like it's the first time he approaches plans for the future. Obviously, the boy has non. Actually, Bellamy isn't all that sure about the future himself. He decided to take one step at a time. Find Octavia first, ponder over the future later. One thing he knows for sure, though. No way in hell are they returning to Arc City. "You think Arc City will welcome you back? Let you take the train and leave the city? Or continue your old life like nothing happened? I tell you what happens. You either take to the road or beg on the streets for the rest of your life. That's it, unless the authorities decide to drag your beaten ass back here to the mines, where everyone hates you for leaving."
"But what can we do now?" Mel whispers in defeat, clasping at the arms as if trying to shield herself from the harsh world. "They already hate us... Everybody hates everyone in this town. There is too much work and too little food and fuel! It was bearable at least when we had the Sheriff. He maintained order and helped us, asking for more free hours and supplies from the city. But then he left, and it became a living hell there. We turn on each other, fight over guns and food and..." she lapses into silence then, red cheeks giving away her embarrassment.
"Horses," Bellamy finishes for her and gets a small affirmative nod.
"There are only three horses in Jaha Mines. To pull the wagons," Sterling explains hesitantly. "We have all agreed to... publicly guard them. Horses are precious. They make our work a bit easier... and they are the only way out of here. So... If you attempt to steal a horse and fail, you're a goner. They'll rip us to pieces."
Bellamy rubs his bristled chin as he gives everything a careful thought. He shot his own horse down, and Murphy will shoot HIM down if he attempts to take... Reddy. Another fucking deadlock. "What about the railway? Arc City has to transport their gold somehow."
"There IS the railway," Sterling nods, but his grim tone promises nothing good. "They send a locomotive with only one carriage and an armed escort of fifteen. They give us coal and sometimes other useful stuff, command us to load up the carriage with gold and leave. We are short on guns and bullets here. There is just barely enough to fight off Grounders. They won't give us a chance to attack them. But what's worse, they use telegraph. If something goes wrong, they inform Arc City. We are locked up like animals in a cage. Hungry animals."
"Tell me one more thing." Blake sucks in a sharp breath, secretly terrified of possible answers. He didn't want to ask at first... All in all, ignorance is bliss. But then again, Bellamy can't predict what awaits him in Jaha Mines. It may be better if he knows where to look for O... giving she's okay. "Do you know Octavia?"
"Who?" the boy frowns in confusion. Bellamy's heart sinks, but Mel suddenly perks up, turning her smeared face to him.
"Like Octavia Blake?" she inquires, and he gives her a curt nod, too worried to utter a word. "Yeah... She's a seamstress. Mended my shirt once or twice." For the first time Mel looks at him with some sort of curiosity instead of fear and uncertainty. "Why?" But then her eyes widen and she shifts a surprised look at Murphy. "Wait! Did you call him Blake?"
"Yup. Bellamy Fucking Blake, ladies and gentlemen! Now put two and two together!" John confirms in a lively voice. Maybe Bellamy should just shoot the idiot while he has a chance...
"Murphy?" he calls quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
"Ouch. That hurts, man," John grumbles, but does refrain from making further remarks. Meanwhile, Bellamy comes up to the saddle bags in takes the siblings' revolvers. "Hey!" He ignores the companion's indignant cry and returns guns to their owners.
"Here. I say you'll last till morning. If you're lucky." Bellamy then turns away and walks up to dead Beauty. That is it, the end of his journey. Everything is still pretty crappy, but he'll come up with something. He always does.
Wordlessly, Blake picks up his belongings from the saddle. As he tugs at the bag, a shiny item falls out of it. A silver star playfully winks at him from the sand. He blinks. A crazy idea pops into his mind. What's even crazier, he seriously starts to consider it. It's worth a shot...
"If I were you, though, I would return to Jaha Mines," Bellamy says in a dismissive manner as he straightens up, his back to the siblings. "Things are about to change," he declares quietly, but loud enough for them to catch his words. Just as the male starts to go away, Sterling cries out to him.
"Change? How can you tell, Blake?!"
Bellamy stops... smirking. Just as he expected. They are so predictable. Slowly, the male turns to the siblings. A silver star is proudly sparkling on his chest. He flashes them an indulging knowing grin. Let's see how it works out.
"It's Sheriff Blake, kid."
...
Technically, there may be a way to survive this encounter with this official. Convicts did believe his crappy tale of a guard who volunteered to become a sheriff in bloody Jaha Mines and protect his little sister. There is a chance that Arc City will buy a retroverted bullshit. In fact, Bellamy quickly realized that prisoners were desperate in the hell they'd created. They needed a leader, their leader. Not a ruler from Arc City. As far as Blake could guess, the former sheriff, Sheriff Griffin, was from the elite, but he tried to consider the convicts' needs and left the town to negotiate with the authorities. Well, Bellamy knows now how the good guy has ended. Shot by his own kind, that's the price of being on the wrong side when you're privileged.
Anyway, Blake easily grasped the opportunity. Thanks to Sterling's, but mostly Mel's, explanations, he took it that convicts were generally fond of strict but just Sheriff Griffin. So, in order to gain some trust, Bellamy showed everyone the former sheriff's golden watch. Most of them eagerly believed that he'd volunteered and that Griffin himself had entrusted Bellamy with sheriff's job in Jaha mines while he'd stayed in Jaha City to plead for better treatment. Not everyone was that gullible, though. Some people voiced that Blake could be a mere bandit that had murdered Griffin and stolen his watch. They were pretty close to the truth, actually. Bellamy decided to play it cool, saying that they were welcome to think whatever the hell they wanted, but Griffin and he were their only hope to get out of the hell called Jaha Mines. That bluff actually worked. Thanks God, Blake hadn't killed Murphy during their travel, because the bastard had proved to be useful after all. While Bellamy was giving his impressive speech to the crowd, John sneaked into the sheriff's office and played with the only telegraph in the town, cutting off communication with the city (in case somebody wanted to verify Blake's story).
Everything was running smoothly afterwards. Bellamy kind of liked his new job. But what's more important, he was with Octavia. His sister made it clear the very first evening that she wouldn't abandon other convicts. They were all in the same freaking boat and needed each other to escape all together. Bellamy didn't argue back then, because he needed more trust to successfully steal horses and supplies for the journey. Meaning he had to wait and play his role. And did he play it well. The new sheriff quickly gathered a crew of guys Octavia trusted and put an end to slackers and thefts. O explained him that they had a plan to complete. Unless they mined a certain amount of gold in a two-month period, Arc City would send them very few supplies and fuel. While convicts had a modest herd of cows, water and some arable lands at their disposal, they were absolutely dependent on coal and guns. So, Bellamy organized mining shifts for the males, so that everyone worked at mines for the same amount of time. He was adamantly against girls doing mining, giving them other essential jobs like farming, cooking or sewing. O was the first one to object, of course, yelling at him that she hated the whole 'seamstress-thing' and would rather do some real job. The sheriff wouldn't bulge, though. Finally, they agreed on allowing skilled females to participate in patrols and be part of defensive groups against Grounders.
Everything was going so very well. Too well. Infuriatingly well. In fact, Bellamy should have been frightened, not excited, about the success. Because nothing good ever lasts long in Blakes' life. According to Octavia, the next carriage isn't due for another three weeks or so. Crap, Bellamy counted on this time to come up with a plan to survive the visit from Arc City or to leave the town. This early arrival is unexpected, to say the least.
His gun ready, Sheriff Blake stands up from the table in his shabby office. He hates the town, but his office is okay. In these two weeks it became the safest and the coziest resemblance of home he's ever had. But as Bellamy knows, nothing good lasts long. Casting a farewell look at his little dingy room with one jail and a desk, he walks out of the office. His second awaits him at the porch, and a deep burrow between his serious eyes grants no optimistic ideas to Blake. Not bothering to stop, he addresses the quite man while heading to the main square.
"Fill me in, Miller."
"Yes, sir." Nathan is a model officer: respectful, reliable, trustworthy and punctual. But of all these good traits what Bellamy appreciates the most is briefness. "A mechanic has arrived, sir."
"Just a mechanic?" the sheriff repeats slowly, wary of the answer. Can it be really that good? Just a mechanic, no authorities, no guards... no one to arrest the impostor?! No, no way. It can't be. There is something else. Nothing goes smoothly in Blakes' life. Despite the shield of pessimism that Bellamy has built over the course of his life, a shy gleam of hope made it inside, both irritating and exciting the male.
"Yes, sir," the officer confirms, and for a brief moment Bellamy is overflowed with relief, with a one-second sense of freedom and security. And then Miller unintentionally burns his joy to the ground as he continues in a nonchalant voice. "Just a mechanic and some person that requires the sheriff's present, sir." Bellamy's heart doesn't sink at the words. No. It collapses to the very bottom of disappointment and gets buried under the silt of frustration.
Blake gives his second a curt nod and dismisses him. He needs a few seconds to collect his shit and come up with another shitty plan to save his shitty existence in this shitty place. Damn the cheeky destiny and his miserable life! Bellamy is so engrossed in the dark thoughts that walks right into someone... someone with quite a lexicon. Blake stares dumbly at a swearing girl in ragged pants as she glares daggers at him.
"Use your fucking eyes, will ya?" she growls in exasperation, blowing a dark lock out of her dusty tanned face. The star's shine on Bellamy's chest must have finally caught her eyes, because the girl abruptly shuts her mouth before more profane words can escape it. "Oh crap. Sorry, Sheriff. Raven Reyes at your service. So, where is the damn telegraph I have to fix?"
"My office. Over there," Blake waves his hand absentmindedly in the wrong direction, not really concerned about the freaking mechanic. His mind is set on finding another person from Arc City. Maybe, if Bellamy just shoots him, nobody will make a fuss...
"Great," the mechanic nods and gives him an appraising look. Confusion leaves a faint trail on her face, but she just shakes her head. "By the way, Sheriff, there is someone in the stable waiting for ya," Reyes drawls and... winks at him? This time it is Bellamy's face that frowns in confusion. The hell?!
The frown doesn't leave his forehead as he walks up to the stable. Usually, there are two armed boys to guard it, but miners have taken the horses earlier this morning to pull loaded wagons, so the place is deserted. All of a sudden, the revolver at his side and a knife in his boot appear to be so very appealing... Just one neat blow, just one accurate shot... and no immediate problems. Before he enters, Bellamy gives a careful look around. No witnesses. No passers-by. No one. Good.
Resting his hand on the revolver and taking a deep breath, Sheriff Blake walks in.
Well, Destiny is a bitch with a wrenched sense of humour. That Bellamy has never doubted. But what he wasn't ready for is its creativity. Destiny's shrilly laughter is almost resonating in his ears as the sheriff stares at the person in front of him.
For a moment, Bellamy is too flabbergasted to be repulsed by a blue satin gown, or varnished shoes with golden buckles, or an extravagant hat with a big fluffy feather.
It's later, when the girl... no, the lady... turns to meet his disbelieving eyes with her confused ones, that Bellamy's gape turns into a glare.
Destiny has just introduced him to a golden princess.
A/N: Okay, it's a hiatus and I need to live through it! Fanart and fanfiction are great, but I am running out of stories to read. That sucks, I desperately need new stories! So, that's how I find myself writing a fic. The idea's been brewing for some time now. I've always wanted to create an AU story, and the Wild West AU seems to be fresh in The 100 fandom. Guys, I am not a historian, so, please, just take it into account that I only use common-known facts about the period. It's fanfiction, not a historical novel xD It is also another universe, not the US or our Earth. Don't bother looking for Arc City or Jaha Mines on the map))
The first chapter is more like a prologue, real fun starts in the next one. It is a Bellarke story with all this infamous 'from hate to love' stuff (because I LOVE them fighting and arguing)), but there are also a few other pairings in the story, both cannon and not.
I suppose that the story will have four, maybe five, long chapters, but we will see. I'm not even sure if you like the idea, but leave me a word if you feel like it ;)
P.S. not beta-proofed. My mistakes. My responsibility. x)