Chapter Text
“Slow down, Anna!” Tom yelled. Anna paused from her place on the trail and looked back at her husband, struggling up the steep incline behind her. It was the first day of Spring, and the two of them had finally made the trip to Mount Hagen National Park to hike the summit.
She stopped walking to wait for Tom to catch up, swinging her gaze away from the footpath to take in the view of the valley before them. Through the weak sunlight, she could clearly see the ridge of the mountain range on the other side of the valley. The visitor center below, where they’d departed hours before, seemed tiny from this altitude. She pulled out her cell phone and was snapping some pictures of the mountains when Tom caught up to her.
“I wish you wouldn’t go so far ahead of me,” he complained.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were in such terrible shape,” Anna replied with a smile and a jab at his ribs. She shrugged off her hiking pack, pulling an energy bar from one of the exterior pockets and handing it to him. “Here, have a snack, you’ll feel better.”
Tom took the pack and the bar gratefully. He plopped down on the edge of the trail and tore open the wrapper. “It’s crazy that I have perfect reception up here,” Anna commented, swiping through her photos and pausing on a cute one of the two of them at the trailhead.
“Well, it makes sense,” Tom replied through a mouthful of energy bar. “At this altitude, you basically have a line of sight to a dozen cell towers.” Anna made a face at his matter-of-fact response.
“I’m going to keep going to the summit,” Anna said, stowing her cellphone in the pocket of her parka. When Tom opened his mouth to protest, she cut in. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep in your view, I won’t go too far ahead. I just really want to get to the top. We’ve been planning this trip for months.”
Tom chewed thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. “Ok, but please be careful, Anna. How many hikers did we read had died on this mountain? Like 150 since the park was established? It’s dangerous.”
Anna bent and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll be careful, I promise,” she said, setting off up the trail.
As she walked, Anna thought about what Tom had said. It’s true, in the visitor center, there had been a plaque, a rather large plaque, detailing the dozens of hikers that had perished on the mountain since the park had been established in the early 1900s. Most of them had died in the spring, which they were in now, and a disturbing number had never been recovered.
Anna looked down at her feet, placing them carefully on the snow-covered trail, and glancing over at the steep drop to her left. Yeah, a fall like that would definitely kill you.
Anna walked alone for about half an hour, ascending the steep trail at a good pace. She was so immersed in her thoughts of those insane hikers who had dared climb this mountain one hundred years ago without modern hiking gear, that it was a few minutes before she noticed she’d veered off the trail.
She paused to get her bearings, looking around for a trail marker. At this altitude, there were no trees for the park rangers to affix the small tin medallions that marked the trail. Instead, they were pounded into the sheer rock face and frequently covered by snow. Anna and Tom had lost the trail a few times on this trip already, but she wasn’t worried. Cursing her inattention under her breath, Anna turned and looked back at her footprints in the snow. She’d just retrace her steps until she found a marker.
Anna was about to head back the way she’d come when several odd shapes on the rock face caught her eye. She turned. It was in shadow, but there was definitely something carved in the rocks. Something manmade.
As she approached, she could make out wide, sweeping shapes of an enormous rock carving, roughly ten feet across. The largest shape appeared to be a Zeppelin of some kind, and the triangle below it looked suspiciously like the spire of the Empire State Building. She walked right up to the carving, pulled off her glove and ran a hand along it. It was beautiful.
Anna was about to pull out her cell phone to document the carvings for Tom when a rushing sound filled her ears. The noise rose quickly in volume until she had to clap her hands over her ears to block it out. That didn’t work, and it seemed like the sound was coming from inside her head. She dropped to her knees when her vision started to go white, yelling incoherently for her husband.
The last thought she had before losing consciousness was that no one knew where she was.
When Anna regained consciousness, all she could see was sky. She was lying on her back, next to the rock carving. She checked the time on her phone; a few hours had passed. She was freezing. The rock carving was above her, and the steep angle made it seem to loom ominously.
Tom must be frantic with worry. Anna stood up, brushed herself off, and looked around, scanning the snowy ground for the footprints that would help her retrace her steps. Except there were no footprints. Weird, but maybe the wind and drifting snow had covered them over. Not ideal, but she was confident she could find her way back to the trail on her own and meet up with Tom.
Anna had only taken a few steps when a searing migraine set in. She kneaded her knuckles against her forehead, wondering vaguely whether she’d fallen and hit her head. If that was the case, she might be concussed, and wandering around the side of a mountain was a bad idea. Ok, new plan, straight back to the trailhead. She pulled out her cell phone to text Tom so he wouldn’t worry, but it read “NO SERVICE.” Weird.
Anna started her descent of the mountain, but it was slow going. The snow appeared deeper than she remembered, and she struggled to make progress. She couldn’t find a single trail marker anywhere, but fortunately, the path was clear enough to follow. It was getting dark, and she pulled out a small flashlight from her pocket to light her steps. Occasionally, she called out for Tom, though she knew it was unlikely he would hear her. He was probably back at the trailhead by now, alerting the park rangers that yet another hiker had gotten lost on the mountain, Anna thought.
Finally, Anna saw the warm glow of lights in the distance, most likely the visitor center. The Ewing Basin visitor center had been converted from an old mining outpost that had been abandoned over 100 years ago. It had hot showers, a small canteen, and a staff of park rangers. Anna headed for it, trudging through the knee-deep snow, stowing her flashlight and using the warm glow ahead as a guide.
It was completely dark now, and Anna was within hailing distance of the center when a voice called out to her. “You there — stop!” Anna froze, unsure. The tone of the voice was deadly serious and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. A man materialized in the darkness. He was wearing a thick leather duster and cowboy hat, and carrying an old-timey oil lantern.
“Oh, thank god!” Anna exclaimed, relief flooding her body at the sight of the park ranger. “Please, help me. I got off the trail, and I think I hit my head. I lost track of my husband, Tom. Has he been here? Did he make it off the mountain?”
The man drew closer and, once he realized Anna was alone, his face broke into a sneer. “On your own, then, are ya? Well, you’ve come to the wrong place, Missy.”
The man pulled a gun from a holster at his hip and pointed it at Anna. It was dark, but there was no mistaking the metallic shine of the barrel reflecting the weak light of the lantern. Anna stared at it, dumbfounded and rooted in place as he approached her. At the last minute, her flight drive kicked in, and she tried to dart away, but the snow hindered her movement. The man grabbed her, pushing her down face-first. She could feel the sharp bite of pain as her hands were tightly bound.
At first, Anna was so incredulous at his behaviour that she didn’t immediately react, but as he flipped her onto her back and began dragging her by her hood towards the center, her adrenaline kicked into action.
“Help!!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, writhing madly against her restraints. It’s useless, the rope was tied too tightly, and she was miles away from anyone who could help her.
“Hey, Partner! I don’t think the lady wants to go with you.”
Out of the corner of her limited range of vision, Anna could see another man approaching in the darkness. This one was similarly dressed, but with a red bandana obscuring part of his face.
Her kidnapper didn’t hesitate to draw his weapon on the man, but he was too slow. The blast of the gunshot was deafening, and the grip on her hood slackened as her captor slumped into the snow.
Now Anna was really, truly panicking, but through the haze of fear, questions popped into her mind. Why are these people dressed so weirdly? Why are they shooting each other? She continued to struggle to free herself from the rope around her wrists and ankles, but they were secured well.
The strange man approached and leaned over Anna, but didn’t untie her.
“Miss, Miss! It’s going to be ok. My name is John Marston, and I mean you no harm. You’re safe. Now I’m going to untie you, but you have to promise not to run — okay?” Anna nodded, and the strange man produced a hunting knife from his belt. He leaned over her and cut the rope binding her wrists and legs, extending a hand to help her into a standing position.
As soon as Anna was upright, she spun away from him, trying to break free and run. The man grabbed her arm and pulled her back in. She struggled, but he held on, seizing her other arm and forcing her to face him.
“Calm down, listen! I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a bad man, but I ain’t them, and if you take off in this snow you’re either going to run into more of them or freeze to death.” Anna stopped struggling for an instant, and he took the opportunity to pull her in close, pinning her to his chest. She could feel her heart thumping against his ribcage, fluttering like a frightened bird. The man kept talking in her ear.
“I have a camp nearby. There are a lot of us, women and children, too. We’ll keep you safe until you figure out what you want to do.”
The man gripped both of Anna’s arms and pulled her away from his chest to look her in the eye, and this was the first time she noticed the wounds on his face. Deep claw marks were etched into his right cheek, as if from an animal attack, fresh and crudely stitched. Anna was so shocked by them that she said nothing, and he took her silence as consent to lead her away from her dead captor.
John led Anna only a dozen paces before a horse loomed in the darkness, a massive gelding with a flaxen mane. His chocolate hindquarters were covered in a light dusting of snow, which had started to fall during the skirmish.
“This is Old Boy, he’ll be real gentle with you.” John helped Anna onto his horse and took the reins to lead on foot. She noticed his grip on the reins was tight. She’d have to see this camp, wherever it was.
Anna and John walked through the snowy landscape for what seemed like hours. The weather had picked up, and Anna wasn’t sure how he could see where they were going through the swirling white. She hoped these people — hikers, she supposed, strangely as they were dressed, were well equipped for this type of weather. Camping in heavy snowfall was no joke. She was relieved when actual buildings loomed through the darkness.
John called out as they approached. The door of the closest building swung open and expelled a series of women. At least John wasn’t lying about that. A grey-haired woman wrapped in a thick, ratty fur coat approached first, “How’d you make out, John?”
“Not much luck, Miss Grimshaw. There’s O’Driscolls holed up a ways south. I found this lady here outside their camp, about to get the wrong end of one of ‘em. Would you warm her up and give her a drink of something?”
“Another one?” Miss Grimshaw grumbled as she helped Anna off John’s horse and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “Come on, dear, we’ll put you with Mrs. Adler.”
The matriarch led Anna away through the throng of people that had congregated. Anna turned back to look back at John, who was still standing by Old Boy, and was met by the gaze of at least a dozen strangers. They weren’t exactly friendly-looking, and they were all wearing the same early-20th-century-style clothing.
What was this place?
Miss Grimshaw led Anna into a cabin where another woman, presumably Mrs. Adler, was huddled in front of the fire and did not acknowledge her presence. Miss Grimshaw left, returning a short while later with a wooden bowl filled with a steaming liquid. “We’re a little low on supplies right now, dear, but this broth will warm you right up.” Anna sipped slowly at the salty fluid, looking around the cabin and taking in her sparse surroundings.
The only sources of light seemed to be fires or oil lamps. The horses, the guns - maybe this was some kind of dramatic re-enactment? Anna knew this area had a rich history of gunslingers and outlaws. Was it possible she’d stumbled upon an elaborate live-action role-playing game? It didn’t add up.
For one thing, the ages of the people she’d seen varied dramatically. Larpers tended to be in their mid-twenties, but Anna saw faces in the group ranging from 50 down to a young boy. They were also elaborately well-provisioned for role-players. She’d larped a few times in her early twenties, but most of those experiences consisted of batting cardboard swords around in a local park.
Second, there’s no doubt about it, Anna saw John shoot that man. She saw him die. That part had looked disturbingly real. She tried to catch Mrs. Adler’s eye, but the sandy-haired woman stared vacantly into the fire, apparently unaware of Anna’s presence. Instead, Anna turned her back to the woman and pulled out her cell phone. Still no service. Anna turned it off to preserve the battery, tucking it into an interior pocket of her parka.
It wasn’t long before Miss Grimshaw returned again, beckoning Anna towards the door. “Dutch would like to see you.” The grey-haired woman led Anna to another building, this one larger and less shabby than the one she’d just left.
Miss Grimshaw showed Anna into the cabin. Inside, a tall man with jet-black hair and a goatee was leaning, one arm on the mantel of a huge fireplace, staring contemplatively into the flames. He looked up when Anna approached, and his weathered face broke into a warm smile. He introduced himself as Dutch van der Linde.
“So,” Dutch began, gesturing to one of the two chairs in front of the fireplace while taking the other for himself, opposite Anna. “Mr. Marston tells me he found you wandering out in the snow, at the mercy of the O’Driscoll gang. What were you doing out there?”
Anna was about to blurt out the entire story of the hike, her husband, and the confusion at the rock carving when Dutch shifted in his chair. His black coat fell slightly open, revealing a very real-looking revolver that glinted ominously in the firelight. She bit back her words, shifting gears quickly.
“I was separated from my group. We were travelling, and I lost them.” Basically the truth.
“That sounds terrible, my dear.” Dutch leaned forward, taking Anna’s chilled hand in his. There was a huge ring on one of his fingers. “Were you set upon by the O’Driscoll gang? Not an ounce of morality in that outfit. Poor Mrs. Adler and her husband met a similar fate. Nasty business.”
“Yes,” Anna replied numbly, rolling with the lie he’d conveniently offered up. “I don’t know what happened to them. I just ran.”
Dutch leaned back in his chair, appearing to consider this version of events. “And judging by your outfit, you were some kind of…acting troop?” He gestured to Anna’s modern hiking coat and pants, which were, thankfully, demure shades of navy and khaki, not the bright neon colours she’d been eying at REI.
“Yes, I’m an actor,” Anna parroted back. “We were preparing for a play set in the future, which is why I’m dressed like this.”
“Well, my dear, it sounds like you’ve had a string of rotten luck. You’re welcome to stay with us until you can get back with your people. We’re moving camp tomorrow, further south. You should be able to get word to them.” He stood and moved towards the door, indicating that the meeting was over.
As Anna is about to leave, Dutch reached out, catching her forearm with his large hand and blocking her exit through the open door. “One more thing,” he peered closely at Anna’s face. “What’s your name?”
Anna looked determinedly up at the man, staring directly into his steely eyes.
“Anna, Anna Dunn.”
“Well, Miss Dunn, welcome to the Van der Linde gang. May your stay with us be short.”
“Actually, it’s Mrs.” That part Anna refused to lie about.