A/N: Here it is, the first chapter of "Welcome To Tombstone". I'm very proud of this, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. None of this is pre-planned and was all written on the fly. That's why it will always keep you guessing, because honestly, it kept me guessing while I was writing it.
Pay close attention to details and enjoy the ride! Don't forget to leave a review for me!
Lots of love.
Chapter 1: The Devil's Company
"Ya ready?", he spoke in a voice that only became raspier with every cigarette. His horse shifted nervously beneath him, as if it sensed exactly what it was taking him to. He had to admit that he was nervous, as he always was. Over twenty years of living on the run, taking what he needed, and leaving no loose ends untied; Still, it made him nervous.
His men stayed quiet, a couple smoking cigarettes, and a couple more not wanting to say a word. They feared him, as much as the common city folk did, fearing his explosive nature and spontaneous trigger finger.
"What exactly is yer plan, Dixon?", the youngest member of the group, Zed, spoke up from the back. He was merely fifteen years old, a baby compared to the hardened soldiers Daryl tended to run with, but he was ruthless in his ways. He was loyal. He was the second in command, if anything happened to their leader. He didn't turn to the kid, only pointed forward.
"Mart…Zed…You'll take the side there. I don't want no mouths to feed. Tie up who you can, kill any that struggle. I'll take the front, me and Jarvis…"
"And we'll do yer dirty work for ya, right? When's the cut gon' be straight, man?", a man, Shane, rang out. Daryl gritted his teeth. The past few months, Shane had been a pain in his ass. The man did nothing but bitch and moan about things that Daryl considered set in stone. He was the leader. He made the tough calls. The group followed, got their money, and went on. They got to have their fun with the women, shoot their guns every now and then, and they stayed out of his way.
"Not today…", Daryl said simply, and Shane rolled his eyes, with a scoff, "Yer either in, or yer out."
With that, he kicked the sides of his horse, and trotted down the hill. The townsfolk never saw them coming. They almost welcomed them, as they made their way down Main Street. Each man broke off, filing to their respective locations, to carry out their jobs. Daryl led his horse to a small corral, smiling and tipping his hat politely at a local lady walking by.
"Excuse me, miss…", he called to her, stepping down from his horse, as Jarvis, his current right-hand man followed suit, "Do you mind helpin' me with somethin'?"
The lady narrowed her eyes at him, but smiled. Daryl returned the smile, raising his head a bit to look down at her from under his low-lying hat. Internally, he took a deep breath, and decided that it was time…time to act.
He attacked, grabbing the woman into his arms. She shrieked, struggling to move away from him. Her hands came up to his hair, knocking his hat from his head, before his own hand reached down, unsheathing his knife. He quickly brought the knife to her throat, and pressed, "Shh, now. There's no reason for you to die bloody…relax…"
Her sobs drowned out much of what he was saying, as Jarvis picked up his hat, dusted it off, and placed it back atop his head. Jarvis then pulled the bandana from around his neck, covering his mouth and nose with an evil smirk. Daryl almost winced at how ready the man was to possibly kill this entire town. Maybe, in his age, Daryl was growing soft. He shook his head, going through the motions he had been through a million times, it seemed.
"Please…I have money. Just let me go…", the woman sobbed, bringing Daryl back to her. He looked down at her tear stained face for a few seconds, before he shushed her again. Instead of shushing, she began sobbing louder. He rolled his eyes and signaled for Jarvis to open the door. The bank was the largest building in town. Usually, they weren't robbers. They were terrorists, scaring and pillaging, taking whatever they found along the way. This bank, however, was part of that list. There was a point to be made here, in a building that was wallpapered with photos of Daryl and his men. They were above the law. No matter what Grimes said, or did, they were above him, and his cavalry.
Jarvis took a deep breath, and shoved through the doors of the bank, revolver drawn. Daryl looked around, dragging his hostage with him, as Jarvis began screaming orders to the men and women.
"Alright!", Jarvis yelled excitedly, "Let's have a party! Nah-ah-ah, lil' miss. Stop yer movin'…"
Daryl turned his attention to a woman behind the counter, who was now holding her hands in front of her in protest to Jarvis. Apparently, she had been creeping to the back. Where was Shane? He turned his attention around the room, catching a glimpse of Zed, with his woman, and Mart with his.
"What's yer name, sweetheart?", he whispered into the ear of his victim. Her eyes squeezed shut in fear again, and she began sobbing. In frustration, Daryl pressed the knife a little further into her skin, "Yer NAME!"
"Mary! My name…My name is Mary!", she cried out, and he loosened his grip a bit.
"How many of y'all know Mary, here?", he called out to the hostages behind the counter. All of them raised their hands, and he smiled in satisfaction, "Good…good. Jarvis…"
Jarvis nodded, throwing a bag to one of the gray haired men behind the counter. He tapped his gun along the top of the wood slab in front of him, and pointed to the ground safe, "Chop, chop!"
The man turned, shakily, and began turning the knob on the safe, as another man spoke up. His chest was puffed out, and he spoke with authority.
"You'll never get away with this, Tombstone. Have you seen the bounty on your head?", he spoke to Daryl directly. Jarvis' face turned into a menacing smirk, and he turned to a poster on the wall. Daryl smiled, his oddly white teeth sparkling in the dim light of the sun that peeked through the window.
"What? This?", he asked, tearing down one of the posters. He held it up, and smirked, "Tombstone Daryl Dixon and the Devil's Company! Well, now…That's got a nice little ring to it. The Devil's…Company…"
"Devil's Company…", Jarvis repeated, raising an eyebrow in return. Daryl turned the poster to Jarvis, still smiling, "$5000! Woo-wee…That's a lot of dough for a sorry sumbitch's head…"
"Ain't it though?", Daryl mused. He kicked the back of his hostage's legs, bringing her to her knees, and then shoved her back against a wall, roughly. He pointed to her with his knife, and smiled, "Just sit pretty…'kay?"
With a terrified nod, she complied, placing her hands in her lap, as she stared at the tip of his knife. Turning back to the old man, he stepped forward, and the man continued his threats.
"Sheriff Grimes will have yer head on a stick, Dixon! He's out and about…If he catches wind…"
"Sheriff Rick…Grimes?", Daryl asked in a mocking tone, he smirked to Jarvis, and stepped even closer to the man, "Tell him somethin' for me…"
"Wha…?", the man started before Daryl's elbow smashed into his nose, shattering the bones. Blood splattered the counter below, and the man sunk down the wall groaning in pain.
"Now, then! Let's all just sit tight! Nobody has to die…", Jarvis started, before noticing that the woman he had threatened before, was now running through the back door. He pulled his gun up, and fired, shooting her in the back of the head. That was the beginning of the end. Daryl stopped moving, staring at the woman as she fell to the ground, her blood painting the wall in front of her a grisly red. He closed his eyes for a second, taking a breath through his nose to calm the annoyance that was threatening to kill Jarvis where he stood.
"God DAMMIT JARVIS!", he screamed, opening his eyes. They were on fire. The gunshot would have attracted half the damn town. Not to mention the fact that now there was a dead bitch lying in the corral out back, "You had one job. Yer here to watch my back, collect my money…Who the fuck gave you a gun?!"
"You did, boss…", Jarvis spoke up to the rhetorical question. Daryl brought his hand across Jarvis' face, startling him a bit with the slap.
"Just…g-get the god damn money and let's go. I let you have a little fun and you fuck us…You FUCK EVERYTHING UP!", he screamed, spit flying in all directions, spraying Jarvis' face. Jarvis took a deep breath, watching Daryl's knife as he swung it around in the air with every word. The fear was ever present that today was the day he fucked up, and would be the next of Daryl's group to go down for a mistake. It was the way of the Devil's Company. You're either in, or you're out. If you're out, you're pushing up daisies.
"Man, I-I'm sorry. I…I really am. I just…she was just. She was goin' out the door…for the street. What if she got that Sheriff over here with his posse. You prepared for that?", Jarvis pleaded to Daryl, causing Daryl to close his eyes in frustration. No, he wasn't ready for it. This wasn't the plan. They came in. They raised a little Hell. They tormented a few folk, and the stories were retold after they were gone. It wasn't commonplace for anyone to die, unless they didn't cooperate. By all technical purposes, Jarvis was in the right with his decision.
"It was a broad…", Daryl explained, sheathing his knife. He turned to the group of people, to check them for runners. A few seemed to be moving for weapons, "QUIT MOVIN'! GET UP AGAINST THE WALL! DO IT!"
He pulled his weapon, eliciting screams from the women, as his infamous Colt revolver scanned the room. He pulled the hammer back, and pointed at each person, individually. It was the point that they had all heard of. It was the moment in the stories where things went south. Tombstone Dixon was seeing red.
"Where's Shane?", Daryl asked Jarvis, looking over his shoulder at the younger man. Jarvis peered around, and shrugged.
"I'll go out back and see 'bout that…", he answered. Daryl motioned for him to get moving, and pressed his gun toward the man behind the counter who was still stuffing money into the bag Jarvis had handed him.
"Empty it! Hurry up!", he screamed. His patience was waning and his tolerance level was zero as the man continued stuffing, a little faster. Once finished, the bag was tossed up onto the counter, "Zed…bag…"
Zed complied, running as fast as he could to grab the bag of cash. His hands fumbled, tying the bag shut. Daryl sighed, turning in a circle to check all of the hostages as Jarvis returned. His hands were covered in blood, and his face held a story that Daryl wasn't sure he wanted to hear.
"Shane's gone, man…", Jarvis whispered, fear spread across his face at how Daryl would react to the news, "He…He shot Randall…Kid just died on me…"
"Shit…", Daryl hissed, bringing his gun up to his forehead in frustration. He rubbed it across his brow, and began to think over his options. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. This wasn't the way things worked. Shane was a dead man. It was only a matter of time before they crossed paths again. Now they were two men short, and in a load of trouble. A shout from outside complicated things, even more. Daryl turned, staring through the dirty window as a group of at least twenty men arrived, "SHIT! Jarvis! Go! Out the door, now! C'mon princess…"
Daryl reached down; grabbing the hostage he had brought in, and began dragging her through the tellers booths, out to the back of the bank. Hopefully, their horses were still where they left them. He felt Zed hot on his feet, the moneybag weighing him down. Smart plan Dixon, letting the kid carry the cash.
"You're surrounded, Dixon!", a familiar voice sounded, sending chills down Daryl's spine.
"Go…Get outside…", he murmured to Zed, as the boy stopped and glanced between his eyes for signs that he needed help. Zed hesitated, furrowing his brow at the answer.
"But, he'll kill you, sir…", Zed whispered. Daryl grabbed his shirt, balling it in his fist, and shoved him through the door.
"Go!", he yelled, keeping eye contact with the kid until Jarvis took him away. Daryl turned, pulling his revolver with a shaky hand. He opened the chamber, and then flicked it shut, satisfied. He brought himself out into the open, placing the gun against Mary's head.
"Well…", the Sheriff mused, smirking. His own hand was laid upon his Colt revolver, still resting in its holster, "If it ain't 'Tombstone Dixon' himself…"
"And yer Rick Grimes, I presume. Little scrawny for the threats you hand out, there…"
"Speak for yerself.", the Sheriff scoffed, removing his hat. He handed it to a woman, causing Daryl to flinch and his gun to falter against Mary's head, "Easy, now…I ain't here to hurt you, Dixon…"
"Oh yeah?", Daryl asked in a shaky voice, before clearing his throat. Sure. You couldn't go by stories, but this man's reputation spoke for itself. He was either ruthless, or he was a pussy…and had a big gun. Either way, he made Daryl nervous, "That why you issued my head on a plate, round here?"
"I didn't issue anythin'. State wants you gone…finished. They want you to hang for what you've done. I can't say I'd mind that at all, but I have a proposition for you."
Daryl narrowed his eyes, his head tilting to the side a bit in confusion. The sheriff was bargaining with him? He shifted to his other foot, prepared to listen. Blood splattered the Sheriff and the woman beside him, as one of his men fell to the ground, light peering through a bullet hole in his forehead. Shit. Daryl acted quickly, shoving Mary forward and jumping behind a counter, as the Sheriff drew his gun, and reacted on the shooter.
"Now…C'mon Sheriff! You know that ain't how it works with us!", he heard Jarvis call out, the street oddly quiet for them to be 'surrounded', "You shoulda gathered better shooters…"
Daryl closed his eyes again, bringing the top of his revolver to his forehead. Jarvis and the boys had killed every last man in the street. They had taken out Rick's entire posse in one swoop. While he was thankful, it only raised the bounty on their heads. He slowly inched to the wall behind the counter, making his way to the door.
"Now…you step out here, real slow. You get on yer horse and you go back to yer wife. Nobody else has to die…", Jarvis continued as Daryl stood and ran through the door. He plastered himself to the back of the building, where he was able to take in the absolute carnage around him. Men lay all around, shot in various parts of their bodies. Many of them were kids, no older than sixteen. He sighed, and peeked around the side of the building, where Jarvis stood, atop a water tower, his rifle in his hands, "You okay, boss?!"
Daryl simply whistled, guiding Jarvis' attention to him. His younger partner smiled, and returned his eye to the homemade scope attached to the top of his rifle.
"Dixon! I wanted to work somethin' out! I wanted to let you go! This is what you do for freedom?", Rick called out, now walking into the streets with his hands pressed to the back of his head.
"My boys don't go by the same rules as yours, Sheriff! They're loyal! I can't help how they are!", Daryl returned, walking along the side of the building to reach his horse. Jarvis' smile radiated to his own. They had succeeded after all. Tonight…they would dine like kings, "I'd do what the man with the gun says, if I was you!"
Zed and Mart appeared, then. They were on horseback, and were guiding the remaining two horses with them carefully. Daryl grabbed the reigns of his giant black horse, and hoisted himself up, signaling with a whistle for Jarvis to do the same. The younger man climbed down, watching Daryl's pistol as it honed in on Rick's head, and ran across the street to mount his horse.
"Get on yer knees, Sheriff…", Daryl said softly, looking him straight in the eyes. The Sheriff gave a glare that sent chills down Daryl's spine, and he tilted his head in confusion again.
"You missed one…"
The attack was so fast that Daryl couldn't react. He kicked his horse's side, retreating as the rifle sounded, ricocheting off a rock in front of him.
"Jarvis! Find the sumbitch!", he yelled, as another shot was fired. The roar of their horses' feet was deafening, but the tree line grew closer with every clicking footstep. Daryl's heart began to slow, and his confidence level began to rise, because they were getting away with this. He had Rick Grimes scared and on his knees…and he was getting away with it.
"Sir…", a small whisper sounded from behind him. He turned slowly, furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of blood dripping from Zeds mouth, "Sir?.."
"No…NO!", Daryl screamed out, stopping his horse cold. Zed fell heavily from his own horse, smashing into the ground like a ragdoll. He had been shot in the back, and was as good as dead. Daryl knew, the second he climbed down from the horse, that the kid, barely fifteen years old, was dead. He ran to him, turning him over, as Jarvis stared on in confusion.
"Boss…We don't got time for…"
"Shut the fuck up! He's just a kid…He's just a…We ain't leavin' him here…", Daryl demanded, as he pushed the boy's hair from his face. His hands were quickly covered in blood that smeared as he moved. He grabbed the edges of Zed's shirt, ripping it open to see the wound. It was clean, straight through, from a rifle, "God dammit…Kid…heyheyhey…listen…shhh. Listen…"
Zed's sobs and growls of pain drowned the rifle shots that were still being fired in their direction, as Daryl attempted to comfort him.
"I thought we…I…I thought we g-g-got 'em.", Zed groaned, choking a bit on the blood that continued pouring from his lips. Daryl closed his eyes tightly, patting his younger friend on the chest.
"We did. D'ya see all them bodies, boy? You did that. We won…All that money…We're gonna get you back on yer feet and yer gon' be just fine…", he cooed. Jarvis continued to stare, as if his leader had lost his mind somehow. This was a new one. Daryl Dixon comforting a dying member? Death was nothing new. Why was this happening? He looked out over the horizon, noticing that the Sheriff was back on his horse, and was coming on quick.
"Boss."
"Shut up Jarvis…", Daryl whispered back at him, as Zed took his hand, "Yer gon' be okay…Kid? KID?!"
The boy's pupils dilated completely before Daryl's own eyes. He stared straight ahead, burning holes in Daryl's skull with his lifeless and bloody stare. Daryl reached a hand up, brushing his eyes closed, before removing his holster from his waist. He stood, his hands covered in blood, and silently walked back toward the horses. No sooner had he stood, than a final shot rang out, and a white-hot pain shot through his body.
He didn't cry out. He simply fell to his knees, staring into Jarvis' eyes.
"BOSS!", he heard Jarvis scream out, muffled by the roar of shock flooding his ears. He watched as Jarvis attempted to leave his horse, but was quickly stopped by Mart's hand, and a conversation. After a few heated moments, Jarvis turned to Daryl once more, with teary eyes, and kicked his horse, headed for the woods.
It was better that way. He was as good as dead, and they would be too, if they stayed. Although, Jarvis' loyalty to Mart, and not his leader, was disconcerting. All the thoughts ran though Daryl's mind, and then left him, as his face smashed against the dirt, and he lost consciousness.
