Chapter Two: Colter, Again
Hosea Matthews was officially too old for the cold.
The escape after Blackwater had been bad for all of them, and this mining town that Arthur had found may have once offered decent shelter. But time had cracked the walls and foundations. Wind slipped between the boards, settling deep within Hosea's bones.
One of his son's was injured. John had come back half frozen with long scratches across his face. His first son, Arthur, was out hunting with Charles. The camp was running out of food, and their need was growing desperate.
The wind whipped past the walls, and with it, a voice. At first, it was so quiet he ignored it, but then the noise grew louder and louder.
"Mr. Van der Linde! Mr. Matthews!"
The desperate voice brought Hosea to his feet and out the door. Through the swirling snow, two horses appeared. One he recognized as Arthur's new horse, with two dead deer on its back. The other was Taima, Charles' horse, and on it the source of all the shouting. Another figure sat in front of Charles, slumped against the arm Charles had wrapped around his chest.
Arthur, Hosea realized.
"Arthur!" he shouted, drawing the attention of a few others around the camp. He ran to meet them as Charles pulled Taima to a stop, dreading what he would find. "What happened?"
"I'm not sure," Charles said. "He was fine while we were hunting. He shot those deer. Then he collapsed while we were riding back."
"Arthur, can you hear me?" Hosea asked as Charles dismounted and Javier ran up to help. They carefully slid Arthur out of the saddle and into their arms. Hosea directed them to the main cabin, just as the door was flung open by a worried Dutch.
"What happened!" he demanded, before he processed the sight before him. "Arthur?"
"Let's get him inside, quickly!" Hosea said as Dutch yelled for Miss Grimshaw and Reverend Swanson. They carried Arthur into the cabin and laid him out on the bed. Hosea immediately began checking Arthur's pulse and breathing, the former which was a little fast but would not have normally been alarming if it weren't for Arthur's unexplained unconsciousness, and the latter way too shallow for comfort.
Dutch hovered right at his shoulder. "What's wrong with him, Hosea?"
"I don't know." Hosea continued his inspection, which revealed nothing. He noticed Arthur's coat was caked in snow on one side as he began to peel it away. Checking Arthur for injuries and finding none just left him more worried than relieved. What was wrong with his boy?
"What's wrong?" Dutch asked again.
"He's not injured, I don't think. I don't know, Dutch."
Then, Miss Grimshaw was pushing him aside, and Hosea was forced to stand on the side with Dutch and only watch.
"He has to be OK, Hosea," Dutch shook beside him, and not from the cold. "He's going to be OK. It's Arthur."
First Blackwater, and the deaths that occurred because of that damned ferry. Then John, now Arthur. Hosea wasn't sure he could handle this.
Charles and Javier slipped away to take care of the horses and deliver the deer to Mr. Pearson. Soon after, Miss Grimshaw and Reverend Swanson finished their examination and declared that they weren't entirely sure of the cause of Arthur's collapse. He wasn't injured, but there could be a number of reasons. Exhaustion, lack of food, the cold. For now, the most important thing would be to keep him warm. Finally, Dutch left to reassure the others that everything would be fine, though for both him and Hosea, that wouldn't be true until Arthur woke up.
Hosea sat next to Arthur's bed and grasped Arthur's hand in one of his own, the other running through Arthur's dark blond hair.
"You have to wake up," he whispered, tucking the blankets around his son.
Over the next few hours, several members of the Van der Linde gang checked in, but Arthur had not stirred. Charles lingered a little longer than most, and Micah did not appear at all.
One moment, Arthur was breathing slowly on the bed, then his eyes opened with a slight gasp. He blinked at the ceiling, his brow wrinkled in confusion.
"Arthur, can you hear me?" Hosea said, sliding closer to the bed, curling his fingers around Arthur's slack hand. Arthur's hand squeezed back in a slow, but desperate grip. His breathing quickly changed from slow to rapid. His glassy eyes were locked on the ceiling.
"Arthur, can you look at me?"
But Arthur continued his blank stare. "Hosea?" he gasped.
"You're alright, Arthur. You are going to be OK," he said.
"… what are you doing here?" Arthur muttered, finally shifting his eyes to squint at Hosea.
"Taking care of you, of course. You can't scare us like that!" He tried to mask his worry with a light, scolding tone, but Arthur's confused stare made it rather difficult.
"I… I don't understand…"
"It's OK, son, I'm right here," he reassured, though he was beginning to panic himself. "Arthur? Try to stay awake!" he said, even as Arthur's eyes began to slip shut again.
Hosea was about to call for someone, but Arthur seemed to relax. He breathed deep and sighed, falling deep into actual sleep. For the first time in hours, Hosea felt himself relax a little, too.
Dutch returned to the cabin soon after, bringing Hosea some stew that Mr. Pearson had prepared. He sat with Hosea while he ate. Miss Grimshaw slipped in again, placing a hand over Arthur's forehead. She was satisfied with his temperature and offered to relieve Hosea from his vigil, but Hosea wasn't ready to go just yet.
Not yet.
He remembered the mountain, dying on the cliff side in the glow of sunrise. He barely remembered a stag, then a voice he hadn't heard since that disaster of a bank robbery in Saint Denis.
He thought he had imagined it, a last dying hope to see Hosea again, but then he woke up to the sound of wind, an inescapable cold pushing past the blankets covering his body, and a warm hand loosely holding his own.
"…where…" was all he managed to get out, but it was enough. The hand tightened around his own.
"Arthur? Can you hear me?"
He froze. It was Hosea's voice again. But it couldn't be!
He turned his head towards the voice, and saw Hosea sitting beside him, concerned eyes brightening upon seeing Arthur.
"Where am I?"
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Hosea's smile disappeared immediately. "Colter, that mining town you found. In the Grizzlies, remember?"
Why was he in the mountains again?
Hosea was wearing the large coat that he had worn many months ago, his voice going hoarse from the cold. Why would Hosea look like that if they were dead? And why would they be in the Grizzlies of all places?
"Arthur?" another voice asked. A voice that brought all the feelings of anger and betrayal crashing back on Arthur. Dutch!
"Why… why are we here, what happened…" his voice slurred, sounded terrible to his own ear.
"Arthur, son, don't you remember?" Dutch asked frantically. "We had to escape Blackwater."
"Arthur, you were hunting with Charles, you fell off your horse."
Could he actually be back in Colter? It seemed unlikely. More likely, this was Hell. A Hell where he would have to relive everything that happened again.
What had happened after they arrived at Colter, anyway? He and Dutch had gone to Sadie's house, he went hunting with Charles. And John…
"John!" he said, sitting up too quickly and causing black spots to appear in his vision.
"John is fine, it's alright." Hosea was pushing him back on the bed. "You and Javier found him."
So he had gone looking for John before hunting with Charles. His memories of their first few days in the mountains had blurred together. But he didn't remember this. "What happened?" he asked.
He chose to focus on Hosea's concerned face, rather than Dutch who stood in the corner. He couldn't look at Dutch yet, not after Dutch walked away from him, their family, and everything else. Whether he was in the past or in Hell, he wasn't ready to face Dutch.
"You fell off your horse," Hosea said gently. "Do you feel alright?"
"I'm a little dizzy," he replied honestly, the spots still hanging in his vision despite laying back down.
"Arthur, when was the last time you ate?" Hosea asked.
"I… I'm not sure."
"OK, that might be the problem." Hosea turned to Dutch. "Grab him some of Pearson's stew, will you?"
"Yes, yes of course," Dutch said, still a little flustered from everything that had happened. He looked like he wanted to say something, but left for the door.
Hosea helped him sit up, an action that made Arthur feel weak and helpless. Mary-Beth entered with some stew, and Arthur noted with a bit of sadness that Dutch hadn't returned himself. Not surprise, but still sad. Had Dutch always been that distant?
After he finished the stew, he felt better. Hosea seemed more relaxed as well.
"Now, you try to rest some more. I want you in bed for at least a few hours before you try to get up." Arthur laid back into the pillows, closing his eyes. But he wasn't tired, not enough to block the questions spiraling in his mind. Could he possibly be back in the past? And if he was, and not in some afterlife torture, could he change what had happened? Fulfill his dying wish?
He heard Hosea get up from beside his bed and move to the next room. A quick scan of the now empty room later, and he was diving into his satchel. It was his old one, not the larger one that Mr. Pearson had made for him. But his journal was there, and Arthur needed to write and remember.
He flipped through his pages on Blackwater, finding the first few entries from Colter. But then he turned the page, and again, and again. He couldn't believe it!
Every page was still filled, and with it every interesting person he met, locations of game and plants, and most importantly, everything the gang had done until the horrible end.
He had it all.
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