Chapter IV: The Van Der Linde Gang

During the ride on Arthur's horse (I had grabbed my varmint rifle and lockbox, leaving everything else behind), I felt a gradual numbness begin to overtake my senses. Here I was, abandoning what little remained of my past and associating with a gangster, agreeing to actively get involved in gang activity.

What a lovely turn.

I wasn't sure whether to appreciate or throw away my life at this point- Stuck at a sort of crossroads, if you will. The horse ride was serene, a little too much so. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, and righteously so; I had just committed a number of worldly horrors, and now conspiring to commit further atrocities.

Was this the right path? Would this lead me to any fate besides a cold death and a shallow grave? Why did I consort to such devilry so easily?

Because I LIKED it.

The intensity of which that thought came to me was both frightening and… powerful. For the first time in my life, I felt as if I had control of my surroundings, my ability to make change against the fates that wish woe unto me! All my life I felt like a passerby to everything that came; Electing to stay back and watch as events passed me by without so much as an utterance. This fear manifested in me so strongly that I had developed a major phobia to the prospect of dying unremembered and alone, unchanging to the will of my surroundings.

But no longer. I had seen the cruelty of my reality so clearly the moment my mother's eyes glazed over, the moment my father went limp in my embrace. I knew that there was no measure for the kindness or cruelty of your actions; The only thing that mattered was the measure of one's power over their surroundings.

And killing was the greatest power one could possess in a violent and deadly world like this.

"Hey, boah."

I was stirred from my malicious pondering by Arthur's rough provocation; We had arrived somewhere deep in the forest.

We came upon the trail, where I could see faint lights illuminated the spaces between the heavy forestry. A camp laid up ahead, where I assumed his ruffians and thuggard friends to be. And yet, the sounds of the camp were… odd. Merrymaking, singing…

Trot, trot, trot.

Perhaps the outlaws were celebrating a recent pillage. I held a rather cartoonish view of what they would be like, considering the bumpkin lifestyle I had lived had effectively prohibited me from learnin' more about the world.

"Be sure you give yer respects to the ladies, boah."

"Ladies?"

(Music: "Rock Salt and Nails", by Tyler Childers)

Just as we emerged over the hill, I was shocked by the view before me; Wagons were set up at the edges of the camp, with supplies, food, medicine and ammunition set up like stalls; Tents were pitched all around the center of the camp, where various people of different ages were drinking, cheering and singing in unity, swinging their cups of booze around in joyous gathering. A child ran across the camp, chasing a dog in playful fun, while a woman tended to a rough-looking man with a claw scar across his face in another tent; A Spaniard in a snazzy outfit was playing the guitar for an audience of four, who listened quietly and respectfully, occasionally sipping from their brews.

"What the fuck…"

I rarely ever occasioned upon such foul language, but this was just too surreal for me to witness. Why were there children here? Women? A PRIEST?!

It was then that I suddenly heard a low yet hearty chuckle from Arthur, who'd seemed to have heard my earlier comment. The horse cantered up to a small hitching post and dismounted (along with myself), tying the reins around the vertical part of the post, and started walking in an odd gait towards the center of the camp, passing through the fragmented groups of people hanging around the camp; I tried to pass through quietly and unseen myself, already unwilling to attract any more undue attention-

"Wha- who da hell is that?!"

My face contorted in horror as I heard a particularly-scratchy and high-pitched Irish voice muddle with the party ambience, and turned to see a ginger with a bowler hat, overalls and a blue shirt and brown trousers stumbling over towards me in deep suspicion- Clearly, he was more sober than he'd let on.

Before he could get within reaching distance, however, Arthur closed the gap and wrapped his arm around the Irishman's shoulders, causing the Irishman to stumble and nearly lose his footing.

"O-Oh! Art'ur!" The Irishman cried out drunkenly. "Good 'ta see you here, laddy! Ey- can ya not be so rough in yer embrace?"

"You too, Sean." Arthur grumbled in a less-than-amused tone. "Say, why don't ya leave the boah here to me fer right now and go do yer merrymakin'?"

"Wuh- but who is he?"

Arthur made a groan of seeming-constipation, turning the smashed Irishman towards an empty table and steering him into an unoccupied seat, patting his back.

"Don't you worry yerself about that right now, partner." He assured Sean, patting his back a bit too excessively before standing himself upright and walking back towards me. Seeing the way he carried himself, his outfit, the grim yet mischievous expression on his face, the rustic look of his demeanor…

He was a cowboy. A gritty, time-tested frontiersman, the type that I had deeply admired in the legends I was told as a child. I followed him, almost dogmatically, as he moved through an entrance flap into a tent that was larger than any of the other encampments. I followed him through, only to see he had gone through the other side of the tent; I pushed through those flaps as well, to then emerge into a conversation between Arthur and a black-vested fancy-looking older mustached man with a fancy black hat to match, and who seemed to carry a flair for the fashionable.

"Oh!" The black-vested fellow muttered in surprise. "Well then, Arthur! Who is this little fella?"

Arthur cleared his throat and sniffled once as he patted me on the back once to emphasize my presence.

"Found this boah in… a bind. Doesn't got anyone lookin' after him right now, and… well, through some unseemly circumstances, he's proven to be quite a… versatile young feller. I think he'd do well workin' with us, Dutch."

Dutch suddenly stopped the conversation, gazing at me with a curious look in his eyes as he rubbed his goatee in deep thought.

"I hear your proposition soundly, Mister Morgan… tell me, what's your name, boy?"

"...Harper, sir. Levi Harper."

Dutch nodded as if I'd said something profound, then placed one hand on my shoulder confidently; I was starting to get irritated by how comfortable these gentlemen were with laying their hands on me so freely.

"Young Levi," He started. "Tell me of your story."

…

"H-Huh?"

I stuttered for a response; How was anyone supposed to reasonably respond to that so quickly?!

"Er… I… Well…"

As I stuttered for an explanation, Dutch chuckled wholesomely- a grand and boisterous laughter that only seemed to add to his aura of staggering charisma.

"Don't let me impress myself overbearingly, son! I can see yer a bright, ambitious young fella-"

He wrapped his arm around me so casually and familiarly (despite having never met nor seen this man ever before) that it felt like I was about to be told a great tale of battle or woe. He outstretched his other hand to the stars shining in the night sky.

"-Who is reaching for the cosmos!"

"Erh… sure, I suppose…"

Dutch looked me in the eyes squarely, his own bouncing with a burning passion that were so akin to what I envisioned a 'leader of people' to be like. This man spoke like a messiah to his disciples; Like a revolutionary figure spoke to his flock, or perhaps how Alexander the Great spoke to his armies in Ancient Greece.

Being here, in this particularly intriguing ambience of a gang of outlaws serving as some weird surrogate communal family was… fascinating. Though I was still not adjusted to the change in environment (from relative isolation to overwhelming social interaction), I was made that much more comfortable by the friendly demeanor of Mister Dutch, along with my newfound battle brother, Arthur.

"Say, my young friend…" Dutch insisted. "You seem like a well-read fella, so I must ask: Do you know what keeps people bound to their place in society?"

When he said that line, a great dread came over my mind; I felt this man was going to begin talking my ear off…

Still, looking around at the festivities of the camp, seeing the diversity in people and personalities, I was enamored with it all. It felt… liberating, at the very minimum. Everything upwards only made it more appealing by the second.

Unfortunately, at that time, I was unaware of the perilous circumstances I would soon be involved in…