Birds of a Feather II

Pearson

There had been a time when life was good, when the money flowed easily, the food came in bountiful and their company was without conflict. Simon once thoroughly enjoyed all the traveling they managed, the new towns they landed in and the people they met.

Simon hated to admit it, but he just wasn't cut out for this lifestyle anymore. And the words Dutch used to keep them hopeful meant nothing when gang members kept leaving or dying out of nowhere. Things had changed.

Still, he owed Dutch. He'd been rescued from the jaws of multiple loan sharks, over gambles he hadn't the money to pay off at the time. To thank Dutch for his involvement, he'd been serving as a cook for over ten years in the Van der Linde gang. Had he returned the favor by now?

Simon would have to make a decision sooner rather than later if he wanted to remain in his same position, as every day they seemed to be getting attacked from all sides. The O'Driscolls caught up with them at Shady Belle, Milton and his men in Saint Denis, and then Lakay. Beaver Hollow seemed safe enough, but for how long?

It wasn't that Simon had never been in fights. He'd been in plenty. After the time he'd spent in the Navy, he'd of course learned a thing or two. Admittedly, the months he'd spent in combat were shorter serving than most assumed, but it'd been enough.

He'd never been much for gunfights to start with. Don't get him wrong. Put a knife in his hand and he could dole out some damage like nobody's business. But what he liked the most about serving in the Navy had nothing to do with the combat.

The truth of the matter was, Simon didn't like the chaos. He preferred the discipline of performing the same tasks in an orderly manner. He liked small chores that could be completed within the day. It left him with a sense of accomplishment at the end of the night. But the fighting? These days, he'd rather be left out of it.

When the bullets started flying from every which way at Beaver Hollow, Simon chose not to pick up a gun. He wasn't about to turn into a target and get himself killed. The same as when Milton ambushed them in Lakay, Simon unashamedly took cover with the women.

This time, he ended up behind his food wagon while bullets struck over his head, cracking the wood frame and shredding the fabric of the canopy. The meat he'd been cutting up was suddenly riddled with metal, making it inedible.

When Simon thought the attack had ceased, Javier announced another group on their way in. Simon's stomach dropped, growing ill as the bitter taste of his chewing tobacco from this morning soured his mouth. Next to him, Abigail crouched, Jack in her arms, his face tucked into her neck for comfort. She was breathing heavily as she'd just come running from somewhere else.

"Momma," Jack whimpered, "I'm scared."

Abigail squeezed him tight, a shine in her eyes as she caught Simon staring. Her cheeks were still tear-stained from crying over Hosea's death. There was panic in those eyes, but she glanced past Simon and it changed to something fiercer.

"We ain't dyin' here," she said with sudden determination.

Abigail stood, abandoning the safety of cover. She lifted Jack into her arms, turned, and started up the hill behind them, fleeing as the others in camp focused their attention on the next set of agents riding in.

Simon watched her a brief second, saw her slow as she struggled with carrying Jack up the hill. She had to set him on his feet and pull him along. It would take them ages to get away.

Simon wouldn't call himself a quick decision-maker, but in this case, the situation made one out of him. His feet were moving before he understood what he was doing. He reached the two of them and scooped Jack up.