oom: finish the game

[scurlock]

It's dark when they duck out of the bar and back into the New Mexico desert, the lonely stand of adobe ruins. It had been easy enough when they were back at the bar to ignore the reality of life. But now that they were here...

Tommy was dead.

"Tomorrow we'd best get some more ground towards Ol' Mexico," Doc mutters, quietly, before he drops onto a patch of earth near a wall, rifle stretched across his chest, not more than a few inches from his hand.

He doesn't sleep. The other boys do, or at least they fake it well enough.

There's no roof in the cabin and with the lack of a campfire it's pitch black save for the barest hint of the moon. It's cold. Fall, almost winter. Snow'll be coming in the high desert soon. He can see the stars dotting the sky overhead and it makes his heart ache, a little, because there's one thought running through his mind.

The sky changes from ink black to dark blue, then lightens as the sun peeks over the horizon to the east. Doc gets up to watch it, ignoring the way it nearly blinds him.

It's beautiful.

(Poetic.)

The boys are up soon after, but nobody knows what to say or do. They're not hungry. They don't want to ride out, even though they know they should be going already.

It's like they're all walking on eggshells, around each other, but all he wants to do is scream.

Chavez climbs the hill with his knife and is singing, softly, as he stares out over the desert and runs the blade along a fistfull of that long, dark hair, cutting it in jagged chunks, but Doc's not really paying attention.

Distracted, if anything, he's just staring out at the horizon, watching.

Waiting.

Comments

[young_gun_billy]

Billy stands off to the side, uncharacteristically quiet as he goes through the contents of Tom's satchel.

He pulls up a dimestore novel and stares at it a moment.

I wanna ride the trail with the kid. Billy the Kid. Prince of ... Pistoleers.

Letting the paper slip from his fingers into the dust he digs back into the bag, finding a marble jar.

How old's this fella?
Fourteen and a half.

Turning the jar over in his hand Billy twists and throws it against a rock; the glass shattering and the jar's contents flying apart.

[scurlock]

Doc barely flinches at the crack of the glass and the sound of dozens of marbles scattering across the rocks.

His throat feels tight.

Thankfully, he can pass it off as mourning.

They left him there in the dirt for the coyotes.



Eventually he moves. He has to move or he never will.

Doc finds himself sitting in the adobe cabin, breaking up sticks and layering them on the small campfire he's started. It's cold, even with the sun up.

Or maybe it's just him.

[young_gun_billy]

He feels his fingers over the fabric of the bag then tosses it aside, turning his back on it and entering the ruins where the others are waiting.

Sitting down on a broken chair he hunches over and watches the flames of the small fire lick over the dry sticks then lifts his eyes to look at the boys. At Doc.

"Spent a lot of nights in this cabin, after the Lincoln War." He speaks low, moving like he's cold. And he is. A chill down his back, palms icy.

"Tried to put another outfit together, but, it was never the same. But when you boys came back, I felt like there wasn't nothing I wouldn't do it keep a gang together, keep ridin'." Looking at them there's already an apology written across his features.

[scurlock]

"What are you saying, chivato?"

It's Chavez who speaks first, voice quiet.

Doc's not looking at Billy. He's wondering if he should have said something earlier. Though what would he have said? That he read this book back at that bar at the end of the universe that spelled it all out, minus the details?

Paradox.

He keeps his mouth shut and stares at the flames, listening. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest he thinks it might bust out of his ribs and give them all away.

[young_gun_billy]

Billy can't stop himself from swallowing before he speaks.

"You know what the Mexican Blackbird is?"

Henry answers, suddenly uncertain of something he thought he knew.

"It's a broken trail that leads to Ol'Mexico."

Billy shakes his head, hands rubbing together.

"It's a half black, half mexican whore up in Puerto De Luna."

[scurlock]

Doc lifts his head, a bit surprised at what he's hearing. But that can't be right. They're on it right now. Headed south. To freedom.

"So, y'mean...ah, you named the trail after her, right?" he asks, his voice starting to shake, just a bit.

Billy shakes his head again.

There is no trail. You've been going in circles and...

"...there is no trail, is there, Billy." Doc's glaring at him, now, but Billy's not looking back. "Is there. What...what about Old Mexico? You promised us." His voice is weak. Pleading, almost.

This is a joke. Billy's joking and he's going to laugh at all of them in a minute for falling for the ruse. It has to be a joke. There has to be a trail.

[young_gun_billy]

Billy can't find his voice.

Just sits there, rocking like he's cold.

At Doc's plea Billy looks up and gives half a head shake.

"I'd be just another gringo in Old Mexico. It's the same as being dead."

If anyone could understand, it'd be you, Doc.

[scurlock]

"What about Tommy?"

He was only fourteen and a half. And they left him...

"You son of a bitch."

I understand. Hell, I understand. Ain't nothin' more fun than ridin' out of town guns blazin'...

Doc swallows hard and narrows his eyes. "You're startin' to read what they're writin' 'bout you in the papers, aren't you." He wants to laugh. He wants to scream. He wants to hit him, hard. But he can't move. "Let me tell you," he growls out, under his breath. "Let me tell you what you really are. You rode a fifteen year old boy straight into his grave."

He straightens up a bit.

"And the rest of us, straight to Hell. Straight to Hell."

It only takes a heartbeat for him to grab the rifle and move off his feet.

Fast hands. You've gotta have fast hands or you'll get killed.

"William H. Bonney," the hammer clicks as he levels the muzzle straight at Billy's forehead. "You. Are not. A God."

[young_gun_billy]

Billy has no answers to Doc's questions.

No response to the accusations.

The rifle ratchet is loud through the tension in the room and Billy lifts his head to look at Doc looking at him down the barrel of the gun.

Plenty of people have drawn on him; friends and enemies. But not Doc. Never Doc.

Standing, Billy's eyes don't waver from Doc's. His voice is steady, his gaze intense; the rifle muzzle inches from his face.

"Why don't you pull the trigger and find out?"

[scurlock]

Part of him wants to do it. Part of him wants to pull the trigger and blow him away right there. End this damn war. End this stupid game they're playing.

But would it really change a damn thing? They'd all still hang. Garrett would still chase them down.

There was no going back.

Doc stares down the sight of the rifle at Billy, then slowly releases the hammer and lowers the weapon. There's a glint in his eyes.

I can't do this anymore.

"...I gotta get back home."

He closes his eyes. Almost guilty, he feels...why should he feel guilty? He never signed up for this. He turns and gathers his hat and then the rifle, and then moves to the doorway of the adobe ruin.

He steps outside --

BANG

-- and suddenly, nothing matters anymore.

[young_gun_billy]

He's prepared to let Doc go. Let him walk out and head home like he should have done from the beginning. Even though he'll be dead in a week.

Sooner.

"DOC!" The shot is sudden and Billy jumps from his chair rushes to the doorway to grab Doc, jerking him back into the ruins.

"They killed you. The bastard killed you." Pulling him across the floor to the corner where Chavez is at Billy's eyes are riveted on the growing red stain on Doc's front.

This isn't supposed to happen. Not to Doc.

Billy's never been desperate before. He is now; tugging on Doc's shoulder, trying to get him to his feet.

"C'mon, Doc, get up. Get up, Doc!"

[scurlock]

All he remembers is falling backwards, hitting the doorframe, hands on his shoulders and then getting dragged backwards across the dirt.

"As you can see, the bullet entered just beneath the ribcage and continued on an upward path, through the stomach and lodged next to the spinal cord..."

The professor is pointing out the drawing on the board. Doc's sitting in the front row, taking notes, trying to jot it all down. After all, a proper doctor in the territories is going to have to deal with wounded gunslingers from time to time...

"You leave him alone!" Chavez yells, and then presses his hand against Doc's stomach, the other hand on his shoulder.

He struggles to sit up, his mouth tastes like iron and salt. He wants to see it.

"Don't look at this Doc. Look up," Chavez urges, but it's all a blur to him.

[young_gun_billy]

Pushed back Billy stands, drawing his guns.

"He's a dead man!" Dave shouts out. "They're startin' to surround us, we gotta skin out!"

Peering through a crack in the fallen wall Billy can see the men moving up. Pat's men.

"PAT!" Billy fires then turns back to the others. "We gotta make a break!"

Clutching his gun Henry asks, "So who's gonna bust out first?"

These odds are no good for Dave. They need to leave and they need to leave now.

"Well, Henry William French, you never killed nobody, they ain't gonna shoot at you!"

Henry might be a dumb farmer, but he ain't that dumb. "Go to hell, they shot Tommy!"

"Somebody's gotta do it!" Dave points out

Henry isn't listening to him anymore, he's just peering out and watching the posse approach, weapons drawn, ready to take them all out.

"Jesus there must be at least ten of them out there."

Billy sees them too. He hears Doc dying in the corner and feels the weight of steel in his hands.

"Dave? It's your gang."

Dave, caught off guard, "What?"

Turning to Dave Billy repeats, "It's your gang, you lead us out. C'mon."

For all his previous attempts to claim leadership Dave's never wanted it less, "What do you mean, my gang? It's your gang! It's always been your gang!"

The steel in his hand is heavy but Billy's still quick when he lifts the gun and sights on Rudabaugh, "Don't cross me, Dave."

[scurlock]

"Get me up."

Doc cringes the words out and reaches for Chavez's arm, to haul himself to his feet. They've gotta get out of here.

You're not going to make it out of here but they can.

"You gotta go, Chavez," he whispers, before he straightens his legs underneath him and stands. It hurts like hell. His guts are on fire and his stomach is sticky, and the blood is trickling down his mouth. Everything hurts.

"Billy!"

He pulls in a deep breath, eyes locked on the Kid's.

You remember those men, Doc?

I will finish the game.

It hurts to breathe, hurts to stand, but he nods. "Let's finish the game."

That book at Milliways left the details fuzzy, but it didn't matter now. None of it mattered. Even if he had known, he still would have chosen this.

Let's finish the game.

[young_gun_billy]

Billy's attention shifts to Doc as he watches him stand. His eyes lock onto Doc's again and there's a certainty between them about what has to happen.

Bullets clip the stone around him but Billy walks straight and unflinching across the space to hand over a second pistol; eyes never leaving Doc's.

A nod is the only other thing they exchange but so much passes between them with it.

This is how it is. This is who we are. Pals.

Arming himself with a gun in each hand Billy stands beside Doc and waits for the whirlwind.

[scurlock]

I'm sorry.

Doc takes the second pistol and then nods his head, and closes his eyes.

Will. Kate.

Jack.

He doesn't hesitate another moment, just rushes out of the doorway and fires. His hands are quicker, but it's no use. The bullets rip into his chest, one, then another, and Doc feels his footing go. Dust flies from the broken adobe bricks as he falls, guns held firm in his hands.

Yen. I'm sorry.

And then there's nothing but black.

[young_gun_billy]

Billy shoves the boys out the door behind Doc.

It's not the army out there in the rocks this time, but they're still running through a hell storm.

Dave's first, then Henry, and finally Chavez.

Billy goes last, stepping out as Doc's riddled body falls.

God dammit, Doc. God damn you, Pat.

He's firing back and trying to break free but it's too late. Ducking beneath a shot overhead and leaping back into the ruins he falls to the floor, shooting at sounds and voices, hitting nothing but air and stone.

"PAT! YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU KILLED THE BOY! AND YOU KILLED DOC! YOU KNEW HIM!"

He flounders in the dirt, breathless and raging.

And helpless.

Guns stick over the walls all around him, cocked and sighted by a dozen men but Billy's eyes are solely on Pat.

On his belly Billy breathes in the dust and wonders if any of the boys made it. Doc sure didn't.