"All of you... get yourselves warm. Stay strong, stay with me. We ain't done yet!"
Dutch van der Linde
By 1899, the age of outlaws and gunslingers was at an end.
America was becoming a land of laws...
Even the west had mostly been tamed.
A few gangs still roamed but they were being hunted down and destroyed.
-Rockstar Games presents-
Red Dead Redemption II
Chapter 1: Colter - Outlaws from the West
The blizzard howled through the mountains, a relentless force that buried the world in white. Dutch van der Linde led the group, his silhouette barely visible against the storm's fury. Beside him, Arthur Morgan trudged through the snow, his face set in grim determination.
Behind them, a figure moved with purpose-Cam Gallagher. New to the gang, his presence was still a subject of quiet speculation among the members. His past was a patchwork of half-truths, and his reasons for joining the gang remained his own.
As they approached the cabin, Dutch called out, "Arthur! Any luck?"
Arthur nodded, his breath visible in the frigid air.
"Found a place where we can get some shelter. An old mining town, abandoned. It ain't far."
Dutch's eyes narrowed, assessing the situation.
"Alright, let's move out. Cam, stick close."
Cam nodded, his boots crunching in the deep snow as he fell into step behind Dutch and Arthur. The journey was grueling, each step a battle against the biting cold.
As they neared the mining town, Dutch turned to Cam.
"You ever been this far north?"
Cam shook his head.
"No, but I've been in worse."
Dutch chuckled, a rare sound in the oppressive silence.
"That's the spirit. Just remember, out here, it's not just the law you have to worry about. It's the land itself."
The wind outside screamed through the timbers and the snow had turned the world white and silent as a grave. They rode toward the faint outline of the old mining town that Dutch swore would save them. It looked like a ghost place. Maybe it was.
Cam Gallagher barely felt his hands anymore, his fingers clenched around the reins as the storm tried to claw him off his saddle. Behind him, Abigail clutched little Jack. Uncle muttered curses at the wind. Bill, Javier, and Pearson followed in stiff silence.
Hosea was the first to dismount, revolver and lantern in hand as he approached the nearest shed. Cam stayed close, watching the old man check the place like a hawk before giving the signal.
"Bring him in here," Hosea called, his voice raspy from the cold.
Davey Callander was barely breathing when they carried him in laid across a makeshift stretcher of canvas and hope. Cam moved to help, gripping the end of the stretcher without a word. Davey was young. Too young to die like this.
Susan Grimshaw's voice cut through the snow.
"Miss Gaskill, get that fire lit-quick!"
"Miss Jones, bring in whatever blankets we have."
"Mr. Pearson, see what we've got in terms of food."
Cam stepped aside as blankets were gathered and the fire stoked. He took in the place old beams, scattered crates, dust and frost everywhere. It wasn't home. But it was something.
"Davey's dead," Abigail said, quiet.
Reverend Swanson took a deep breath beside her.
"There was... nothing more you could have done."
Someone pressed coins into Davey's eyes. The fire crackled to life beside him, but Cam felt colder than ever.
Hosea turned toward Dutch.
"What are we gonna do? We need supplies."
Dutch wiped the snow from his brow.
"Well, first of all, you're gonna stay here... and you are gonna get yourself warm."
"Now, I sent John and Micah scouting out ahead. Arthur and I-"
Dutch glanced at Cam then, catching his gaze for just a second.
"-and Cam-we're gonna ride out. See if we can find one of 'em."
Arthur frowned. Cam said nothing yet-just adjusted his gloves and nodded once.
"In this?" Arthur asked, incredulous.
"Just for a short bit," Dutch said. "I don't see what other choice we have."
The old man stepped forward then, eyes sweeping across the room like a preacher on Sunday.
"Listen... listen to me, all of you, for a moment."
"Now, we've had... well, a bad couple of days. I loved Davey... Jenny... Sean, Mac... they may be okay-we don't know."
"But we lost some folks."
"Now, if I could throw myself in the ground in their stead... I'd do it-gladly."
"But we're gonna ride out... and we are gonna find some food."
Cam watched the way the gang listened-how even the strong ones looked hollow after the days they'd just lived through.
"Everybody-we're safe now. There ain't nobody following us through a storm like this one."
"And by the time they get here... well, we're gonna be long gone."
"We've been through worse than this before."
Dutch turned toward Pearson and Grimshaw.
"Mr. Pearson, Miss Grimshaw-I need you to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days."
Another pause, then:
"Now all of you... all of you... get yourselves warm."
"Stay strong."
"Stay with me."
He looked at Arthur. Then at Cam.
"We ain't done yet. Come on, you two."
Cam pushed off the wall, grabbing his rifle and pulling his scarf tight over his face. The cold waited just outside, ready to bite.
"Let's go find John... or Micah," he muttered to Arthur with a half-smirk. "Hopefully the one that doesn't talk your ear off."
Arthur huffed under his breath.
"No such luck."
Arthur and Dutch pushed through the creaking door of the cabin, Cam Gallagher right behind them. The blizzard roared in their faces as they stepped onto the frost-hardened path outside.
Dutch muttered under his breath, pulling his collar higher.
"Well, we ain't run into them yet. So... they both must've headed down the hill."
Arthur glanced toward him, voice rough from the cold.
"Sure. Hey... I ain't had time to ask. What really went down back there on that boat?"
Dutch didn't stop walking. He just looked over his shoulder.
"We missed you, that's what happened. Come on."
Cam trailed beside Arthur, boots crunching in the snow. He glanced toward them but said nothing yet, letting the silence speak.
From the haze of white, a figure emerged-tall, steady, leading two horses. Charles Smith.
"Hey!" Charles called out. "You need horses?"
Dutch nodded gratefully.
"Oh yeah... and Mr. Smith, get yourself indoors. You need to rest that hand."
Charles winced slightly, flexing his fingers.
"I'll live."
Dutch's tone sharpened.
"Get indoors, son! I... we need you strong."
"Okay," Charles said quietly, disappearing into the fog.
Dutch turned to his companions.
"Alright. Let's head out."
Arthur tugged at his reins.
"Ain't sure what we're gonna find out here, Dutch."
Dutch squinted against the storm, his voice steady as always, though the cold was starting to take its toll.
"We have to try. Stay close, we'll do our best to stick to the trail."
Arthur muttered, annoyed by the endless snow.
"This goddamn weather."
Dutch adjusted his reins, voice low.
"Been two days or more like this now. Oh, it has to blow over soon. Bridge coming up, take it easy. Hey, move up alongside me. Can't see you back there."
Cam nudged his horse forward, his gaze flickering over the dark horizon. He didn't say anything but his expression was one of quiet determination.
Arthur glanced at him briefly.
"You holding up alright, Cam?"
Cam's voice was calm, a slight edge of coldness to it, but nothing that felt out of place.
"I'm fine. Just trying to keep my head down and ride through this storm."
The horses pushed forward through the snow, their breaths steaming in the air. Dutch took the lead, his silhouette like a phantom in the whiteout. Arthur rode to his right, and Cam to his left, close enough that their coats brushed in the wind.
For a while, no one said anything. The silence between them wasn't awkward-just heavy. Like everyone was stuck in their own thoughts, weighing what they'd lost, and what might still be out there waiting for them.
Dutch broke it first.
"You know," he said, voice raised just enough to cut through the storm, "you two remind me of each other."
Arthur looked sideways at him, skeptical.
"Oh yeah? How's that?"
Dutch turned his head just enough to smirk.
"Both got them tight jaws and sour faces. Like the whole world owes you something."
Cam gave a dry chuckle under his scarf. "And what about you? You look like you expect the world to hand you a bottle of brandy and a warm fire just for showing up."
Dutch barked a laugh. "That's leadership, son. You learn to carry yourself like the world's already yours-sometimes, it starts to believe you."
Arthur gave Cam a look, amused. "Don't encourage him."
Cam shrugged. "Just saying. The man's got confidence. Doesn't mean he's not full of shit."
Dutch let out a warm hum at that, then nodded forward toward the white.
"Still... I like that about you, Cam. You don't talk too much, but when you do... it means something."
Cam didn't answer right away. Then:
"I talk when it matters. And right now, all I care about is not freezing to death."
Arthur grunted, adjusting his gloves. "Well, if we don't find shelter soon, you'll have your chance to go quiet for good."
Dutch looked back at them briefly, then forward again.
"We'll find something. This storm can't last forever. It never does."
Cam's eyes narrowed, watching Dutch closely as they trudged on.
"You say that like you believe it."
Dutch's voice was steady. "I have to."
Arthur spoke up again, this time quieter.
"What about Sean? Mac? You think they're still alive?"
Dutch didn't answer at first. The only sound was the wind screaming through the pass. Then he muttered, "They're tough boys. If anyone could ride this out, it's them."
Cam finally spoke again, his tone more thoughtful this time. "Hope ain't the same thing as a plan."
Dutch turned to him. "And you, son? What's your plan?"
Cam looked out over the blinding snow. "Ride with you. Do what needs doing. Try not to die."
Dutch gave a nod, a satisfied look in his eye. "Then you're one of us."
Arthur didn't say anything. Just kept his eyes ahead. But Cam caught the glance-half measuring, half wary. Like Arthur was still figuring out what kind of man he really was.
Cam didn't blame him.
The wind screamed louder as they rounded a bend in the trail, snow whipping at their faces like sandpaper. Dutch raised a hand to slow the group.
"Hold up," he called out, squinting through the white.
Arthur raised his lantern, the glow barely punching through the blizzard.
"Hey," he muttered. "You see that?"
A shape emerged through the haze-tall, moving toward them with a cocky ease like the cold barely touched him. Micah Bell.
"You up ahead!" Dutch called. "Who's there?"
Micah stepped into the flickering light of the lanterns, brushing snow from his shoulders with exaggerated flair.
"Gentlemen," he drawled. "Ain't this a fine night for a stroll?"
Cam's hand drifted subtly toward the rifle slung on his back, instinct more than intent. He didn't know much about Micah yet-but he didn't like how the man smiled like everything was a game.
Dutch nodded. "Micah. You find anything?"
Micah gestured down the path with a grin. "Little homestead a ways off. Lights on. Sounded like a party, even. Could be worth checkin' out."
Arthur grunted. "Sounded like a party, huh?"
Cam raised a brow beneath his scarf. "That doesn't sound suspicious at all."
Micah glanced at him, sizing him up like a man meeting a stray dog in the road. "And who's this? Thought we left the new guy back at camp with the womenfolk."
Cam leaned slightly forward in the saddle. "Cam Gallagher. And I didn't feel like sittin' around waitin' to freeze."
Micah's grin twisted a little. "Hmph. Well, I guess everyone's got to start somewhere."
Dutch interjected, voice firm. "That's enough. Micah, you lead the way. Cam rides with me."
Micah gave a mock bow and turned his horse. "As you wish, Dutch."
They started moving again, following Micah's lead down the slope.
Arthur leaned a little closer to Cam as they rode.
"You watch him," he muttered under his breath. "Man's a snake."
Cam didn't look away from Micah's back.
"I know a predator when I see one."
Dutch rode between them, his eyes flicking from Cam to Arthur. "Now, let's not jump to conclusions. Micah found us a lead. That's what matters right now."
Micah turned his head slightly over his shoulder. "By the way... how's Davey doin'?"
Dutch's voice dropped. "He didn't make it. Nor did little Jenny."
Micah clicked his tongue. "Damn shame. Davey was a fighter. Callander boys both were. Mac and Sean?"
"Don't know yet," Dutch replied.
Micah nodded solemnly, though the smirk on his face didn't quite fade.
"Quite a business."
Dutch's jaw tightened. "Glad you're alright, though."
"Always," Micah said.
Arthur gave Cam a side glance, and Cam just shook his head slightly, like this guy? But he said nothing.
After a pause, Arthur spoke up. "Ask him if he's seen John."
Dutch called forward, "Micah! You seen John?"
Micah didn't even turn around. "Didn't see much of anything once the snow started."
"He hasn't seen him," Dutch muttered.
Arthur's breath fogged in the air. "He'll be alright. That boy's got more luck than sense."
Dutch nodded slowly. "I hope so. Mac and Sean still out there too."
The trail tightened, a narrow path skirting a steep drop. Dutch pulled his horse back slightly.
"Move up, Arthur. I'll take the rear."
Arthur nudged ahead. Cam instinctively slid forward as well, riding even with him.
Micah kept leading, humming something tuneless and smug.
Arthur muttered under his breath again. "Ain't it just our luck..."
Cam smirked faintly. "Let's hope the homestead's real, at least."
"Or at least warm," Arthur said.
Dutch brought up the rear, his voice a gravelly reassurance behind them.
"Eyes up, boys. We'll see this through."
And they rode on-three seasoned outlaws and one snake in the snow.
They crested a hill, and through the swirling snow, a faint yellow glow blinked into view-firelight, flickering through the windows of a small homestead nestled in a clearing below.
"There," Micah said, gesturing with a gloved hand. "Told you I saw something."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Looks quiet now."
Cam pulled his horse up beside Dutch, scanning the homestead with a practiced eye.
Dutch pulled up his horse on the ridge overlooking the homestead. Beside him, Arthur adjusted his rifle sling. Cam rode up behind them, eyes narrowing as he scanned the buildings.
"Smoke from the chimney. Someone's still keepin' warm."
"Exactly," Dutch replied. "Let's take it slow. Arthur-take the left flank. Cam, you're with me. We'll come in from the front. Once they're distracted, Arthur, you move in and flank. Micah you just keep watch and look out and keep cover"
Cam gave a short nod, pulling his repeater loose from the saddle holster. "Loud or quiet?"
"Start quiet," Dutch said. "If they want loud-we'll oblige."
The three men split. Cam followed Dutch down the trail, the snow crunching under their horses' hooves. As they neared the front gate of the ranch, Cam dismounted quickly, boots crunching as he crouched behind a snow-dusted fencepost.
Dutch stepped forward into the open and raised his voice.
"Hello! Anyone home?"
Nothing.
Then-a flicker in the window. Movement.
Dutch raised his voice again. "We're just looking for some shelter, friend. There's a woman with us-cold, hungry-"
Gunfire burst from the front window, splinters flying.
Dutch dropped flat. "Ambush!"
Cam didn't flinch-he dropped to one knee behind the trough and returned fire, shattering the side window with a shot from his repeater.
Cam's rifle was steady in his hands as he picked off O'Driscolls one by one, his aim true. The cold made his fingers stiff, but he didn't miss. His experience with bounty hunting made him an efficient shooter, and it showed. When the smoke cleared, Dutch gave the signal to advance.
"Let's move!" Dutch barked.
Cam surged forward with Dutch, kicking the front door wide open as Arthur burst through the side. Bullets cracked through the air-three men inside, scrambling for cover.
Cam swept left, firing clean into the first man's chest as he ducked behind the hearth. The second O'Driscoll lunged from behind a table-Cam slammed him back with a shoulder, sending the man sprawling into Arthur's path.
Arthur didn't hesitate-one shot, done.
The third man tried to bolt through the back door. Cam pivoted and dropped him with a clean shot to the spine.
Silence.
Cam exhaled hard, lowering his weapon.
Dutch looked around the wrecked room-food scattered, chairs overturned, blood already soaking into the wood. "O'Driscolls. Bastards were squattin' here."
Arthur stepped around the bodies, rifle still raised. "They had this place staked out. Micah was right, for once."
Then-from below the bed, a muffled noise.
"Wait," Cam said, stepping carefully.
He pushed the bed aside-and behind it, wedged between the wall and floorboards, was a O'Driscolls.
Arthur and Cam quickly approached and punched him straight to the face. They restrained him quickly, tying his hands tightly. His spirit was already broken, crushed by the cold and the bloodied battle.
"We've got one alive," Arthur called, dragging a beaten O'Driscoll by his arms. The man was half-conscious, blood smeared across his face from the blow Cam had delivered.
The last of the O'Driscolls was dragged around the cabin, stumbling and spitting blood, his hands tied behind his back. His face was bruised and battered from the fight, but his defiance was still clear in his eyes.
Dutch arrived shortly after, surveying the situation. His expression was grim. "What have we got here?"
Dutch stepped forward, examining the O'Driscoll, then looked at the others. "We need answers, and we need them now."
Micah cracked his neck, stepping toward the prisoner with a grin. "I'm sure we can get something outta him."
Arthur gave a quick look to Cam, who had been standing silently by the fire. He had been quiet during the shootout, but there was something about his composure that made Arthur take a second glance.
"Cam," Dutch said, his tone serious. "I want you on this. You're good at getting the truth out of people."
Cam gave a brief nod, stepping forward as Dutch turned to the O'Driscoll. The man winced as Cam approached, his breath coming in ragged gasps from the cold and the beating he'd taken.
"Where are the rest of your gang hiding?" Dutch asked, his voice calm but unyielding.
The O'Driscoll spat on the floor, the blood and dirt mixing with the grime. "You think I'm gonna tell you? You think I'm scared of you?" His voice was rough, full of bravado that was quickly fading.
Arthur crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "You ain't in a position to be making threats."
Micah crouched beside the man, his face twisted into a mocking grin. "I think it's more like you're runnin' out of options, friend."
The O'Driscoll glared at Micah, his teeth bared. "Go ahead, kill me. I ain't sayin' a damn word."
Cam stepped in, moving with a slow, deliberate pace. His presence was calm but undeniably intimidating. He crouched down in front of the man, his face unreadable.
"Maybe you should rethink that," Cam said softly, his voice low and cold. The O'Driscoll flinched but didn't respond. "We've all seen men like you. Full of pride, full of talk, right up until it all comes crashing down. You really think you're gonna die here today, and that'll be it? You'll just vanish, like some ghost?"
The O'Driscoll shifted uncomfortably, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. His jaw tightened, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
"Look, we don't need to make this harder than it is," Cam continued, his gaze steady. "You know the rest of your gang's out there, you know they're hiding. You're gonna give us what we need to get them, and you'll make it out of here. If you keep up with that tough guy act... well, we'll leave you out there in the snow."
Dutch stepped closer, his voice a low growl. "We're not wasting time with games. Answer us now."
The O'Driscoll looked from Cam to Dutch, then back to the ground, his eyes flickering with hesitation. There was a long pause, the tension thick as the fire crackled in the background.
Finally, the O'Driscoll spoke, his voice hoarse. "Fine... fine. They're holed up by the old mining camp. Southwest of here near the lake. But that's all I know. I swear."
Dutch smiled grimly, exchanging a look with Arthur and Micah. "See? Was that so hard?"
The O'Driscoll, exhausted and broken, dropped his head, defeated. His body sagged as he realized there was no escape. Cam stood up, his face still unreadable.
"Get him out of here," Dutch said, his tone firm. "We've got what we need."
After letting the O'Driscoll go, the gang was on edge, preparing to move out at dawn. The night had fallen heavy and silent, the cabin now eerily quiet after the chaos of the interrogation. Dutch had already gathered his thoughts, a plan in motion, but there was still something gnawing at the back of everyone's mind. The O'Driscoll's confession had given them a lead, but it was the silence outside that seemed to linger-too still for comfort.
It was then that a creaking sound echoed through the cabin-a noise that didn't belong. Dutch, quick to notice, motioned for the group to be silent.
"Did you hear that?" Dutch asked, his eyes narrowing.
Arthur nodded, his hand already resting on the grip of his revolver.
Cam straightened, his gaze shifting toward the stairs leading down to the cellar. The sound had come from there.
"Could be an animal, or a rat," Micah muttered, his voice filled with annoyance. "We're not exactly in a five-star hotel."
"Stay sharp," Dutch ordered. "Let's go check it out."
With quiet movements, they made their way toward the cellar door. Dutch took the lead, his revolver already in hand, and Arthur followed closely behind. Cam was just behind them, his rifle steady in his grasp, ready for whatever came next. Micah lingered at the back, muttering under his breath.
They reached the door, and Dutch motioned for them to stop. The door creaked open slowly, revealing the narrow stairs leading down into the dark, musty cellar.
"Jesus," Arthur muttered.
Dutch stepped forward, face softening. "Ma'am. You alright?"
She didn't speak-just stared at them, frozen.
Cam stepped forward, lowering his weapon. He crouched, speaking gently.
"It's alright. We're not like them. They're dead. You're safe now."
The woman looked at him, lips trembling. "They... they killed my husband. Burned him. Laughed about it."
Dutch closed his eyes a second. "You're coming with us. We got shelter nearby. A fire. Food."
Cam offered her his coat, gently helping her to her feet.
"What's your name, Miss?"
"Adler," she whispered.
"Sadie Adler. Mrs... I... he... ...he was my husband."
"I'm Cam," he said softly. "Let's get you outta here."
Arthur and Cam helped her onto Dutch's horse. She barely seemed to feel the cold anymore.
As they turned to leave, Dutch glanced back at the cabin. "We'll bury the dead later."
Cam mounted up beside Arthur, rifle back across his chest.
Arthur looked over at him. "Hell of a way to meet someone."
Cam's jaw clenched. "She's tougher than she looks."
Dutch rode ahead, leading them back into the blizzard.
"Let's get home."
And behind them, Adler Ranch sat quiet in the snow
By the time they returned to the makeshift camp, the snow had thickened to a curtain of white. The lanterns outside the cabin glowed weakly, barely piercing the blizzard.
"Hey, somebody's coming! (reloads his rifle) Looks like it's Dutch. Hey everybody, Dutch is back."
Dutch dismounted first, his voice steady but lower now.
"Pearson, Grimshaw-get a bed ready. We found someone."
Sadie didn't speak as she was helped down, her eyes blank with shock. Cam stayed close, making sure she didn't stumble as they led her inside.
The warmth of the fire hit like a slap after the cold. The gang turned toward the door as they entered-some gasped, others just stared.
"She alright?" Hosea asked.
Dutch nodded. "O'Driscolls had her. Her husband's gone. We brought her back."
Sadie's eyes flickered to the group-men and women half-buried in blankets, kid asleep, boots lined up by the fire. The air smelled of stew, firewood, and horses.
Susan Grimshaw stepped forward. "Come with me, dear. We'll get you clean and warm."
Sadie didn't resist as Susan gently guided her toward the rear of the cabin. Cam watched them go for a moment before finally exhaling and pulling off his gloves. His fingers were raw, nearly blue.
"You alright?" Arthur asked, clapping snow off his coat.
Cam nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just tired of seeing snow and blood."
Dutch looked over. "You handled yourself real fine back there, Cam. Quick, sharp. That was good work."
"Thanks," Cam said, loosening his scarf. "Didn't join up to sit around in the snow."
That got a rare chuckle out of Hosea, who poured something strong into three tin cups. "To those who don't mind pulling their weight."
He passed one to Cam, one to Arthur. Cam accepted it, his fingers warming slowly around the cup.
Pearson came over with a bowl of thick stew. "Eat. You'll freeze from the inside out otherwise."
Cam gave a tired smile. "Thanks, mate."
The storm outside seemed to claw at the very walls of the cabin, but inside, the fire crackled with a steady warmth. The men had settled into a silence, the kind that only came after long days and hard choices. For all the chaos they'd endured, there was still a routine they had to follow, a rhythm that helped them survive the cold nights.
Cam was still close to the fire, a few paces away from Arthur, Hosea, and the others. His coat hung loosely from his shoulders, wet and snow-covered, the chill from the cold air slowly melting away as his muscles loosened. His rifle rested at his side, but for now, it was quiet.
Hosea was the first to speak up after a long stretch of silence. "You're alright, you know. Dutch said you were a bit of a wild card, but that was some solid work back there. Not many folks would stand in with us after what we've been through."
Cam didn't meet his eyes right away, choosing instead to stir the stew in his bowl absentmindedly. "I've been around. Seen a lot. Just... hadn't ever been in a crew like this."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, his tone rough but curious. "What's that mean?"
Cam took a long breath. "I've worked with all kinds. People who care about their own hide and nothing else. People who will sell you out for a dime. A crew that looks out for each other like this... I don't know, it's different."
Arthur grunted. "Dutch does a good job of keeping things together. We may not agree on everything, but he's got a way of getting people to pull together. Most times."
Cam let the silence stretch out between them. The fire crackled again, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed since he had first joined the gang.
"You got a family, Cam?" Hosea asked suddenly.
Cam looked up from his stew, his eyes narrowing for a second before he looked away. "Not anymore."
Arthur glanced at him with an unreadable expression. "Sorry to hear that."
Cam shrugged it off, not wanting to dwell on the past. "It is what it is. I'm here now. That's what matters."
Arthur leaned against the wall, his boots kicked up on a nearby crate, his eyes half-closed in exhaustion. His usual gruff exterior seemed a little worn down tonight, his movements slower, his gaze distant.
"You ever get tired of all this?" Cam asked, his voice low, not expecting much of an answer but needing to ask it anyway.
Arthur didn't look up right away. He just swirled the contents of his cup, letting the warmth seep into his hands. After a long pause, he sighed
"Tired of it all?" he muttered, more to himself than to Cam. "I don't know. Been doing this so long, it's hard to imagine any other life. But yeah, sometimes I wonder if it's worth it."
Cam nodded slowly, feeling the weight of Arthur's words sink in. He didn't have the answers, not yet. But he knew that the gang had a way of making you feel like you were part of something bigger, even when the world outside was crumbling.
Dutch sat a few feet away, his sharp eyes flicking between the gang members, ever-watchful, ever-calculating. He hadn't said much since they returned from the Adler Ranch, but his presence was commanding, as always. His mind was always working, always thinking of the next move.
"You did well today," Dutch said quietly, almost like an afterthought, his gaze flicking over to Cam. "Not just with the O'Driscolls, but with the rest of it. You held yourself together. You're not like most folks we've run into."
Cam looked up, surprised at the praise. Dutch didn't hand it out freely, especially not when it came to new recruits.
"Thanks," Cam said, his voice low but steady. "Wasn't easy. But I'm still here, ain't I?"
Dutch nodded, his expression hardening slightly. "That's the spirit. You keep that up, and you'll fit right in with this family."
Cam's gaze flickered to the others in the cabin-Hosea sitting near the fire, Pearson talking quietly with Javier, Bill making his rounds. There was a certain rhythm to it all. A method in the madness.
"Do you think we'll ever find a place where we can just... stop?" Cam asked, a quiet question he hadn't quite been able to shake since joining the gang. "Where we can rest and live without running?"
Arthur didn't answer immediately. His eyes lingered on the flames, his brow furrowed as if weighing the question carefully.
"You're asking the wrong guy," Arthur said, finally. "Dutch likes to talk about the dream-freedom, the open road, all that. But truth is, I don't think any of us know what it means to really be free. We've been on the run for too long, chasing ghosts. We've made our peace with it."
Cam chewed on that for a moment, turning it over in his mind. He wasn't sure he agreed, but he also wasn't sure he didn't. All he knew was that for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe he could make it through another day.
Dutch looked at him, his eyes sharp and calculating. "The dream isn't just about finding a place. It's about sticking together. We keep moving, we keep fighting, and as long as we do, we have something that's worth holding onto."
There it was again-the rallying cry of the Van der Linde gang. A dream of something better, something just out of reach, always just around the next corner.
For a moment, the fire seemed to flicker out of focus, and Cam let the silence stretch between them. He wasn't sure what his place in this dream was, but he knew one thing for sure-he wasn't about to run from it. Not yet.
Hosea approached, his voice as steady as ever. "We need to keep our heads down tonight. Snow's coming down harder, and there's no telling who might be looking for us."
Dutch stood up, his posture shifting as he straightened. "We'll be fine. We've got each other. For now, that's enough."
Cam nodded to himself, feeling a strange sense of solidarity among these people-some of whom he'd just met, others who had already been through so much. The night was long, and the storm was far from over, but for now, there was warmth. There was a fire.
And for once, that felt like enough.
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Hello everyone, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I primarily did this to hone my writing skills because I love fanfics and I think Red Dead Redemption 2 is one of the best games ever made. Feel free to comment and offer helpful criticism so that I can improve. Hopefully, this is just one of many fanfics I will write, and if some of you enjoy it, that'll be all peace✌️.