CHAPTER FOUR
The Diamondback Way

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THE FALSE WIDOWS' PEACE AND QUIET evanescences from between their fingertips in the span of a few days, the tranquil life out on the open plains they had been building promptly swept out from underneath them. A new tension has drawn taut around their necks and guilt hangs over them like a thundercloud ready to burst, their wrongdoings echoed in the silence where Brandy should be thriving. They've been resigned to their little camp since the robbery, only ever straying from their tents to pick herbs or hunt small game so that they're spared from the jaws of their own hunger.

   After all, with the capture of Brandy weighing down heavily on their minds, it's been hard to get anything done. It's at times like this when they find themselves yearning for that little nuisance and all her annoyances. The morale around camp is at an all time low as everyone grows sick with nerves, chasing any leads that so much as hint at her whereabouts only to be met with dozens of dead-ends.

   Although everyone's struggling after the run-in, the consequences seem to be hitting Dakota the hardest. She hasn't calmed down from her hysterics since the robbery, up all day and night worrying after poor Brandy. Her nails have practically been bitten down to the cuticle and her under eyes have formed purple craters from how little rest she's been allowing herself, resigning herself to guard duty so that she can get consumed by her destructive thoughts.

They all offer her comfort where they can, even if they know it's not enough. It's not like she'll listen to them when they plead with her to rest — that, however, has always been the case with Dakota Castillo. The rest of them have come to terms with that by now.

As the Southern weather begins to boil, it becomes clear to the False Widows that sun hasn't paused to mourn Brandy's capture. It beats down on the gang mercilessly, the rays scorching and their skin blistering beneath the heat as they potter around in the midst of chores that wouldn't complete themselves. Even the breeze that brushes on past is warm to the touch and rustles the dry grass with a fleeting brutality, patches of the russet land cracking from the crescendoing drought that sweeps through Scarlett Meadows.

  If there's one thing Winona won't miss when she leaves the Lemoyne, hopefully for good, it's the unbearable heat.

She fiddles with the top buttons of her shirt to give herself more room to breathe in the muggy weather, her sleeves rolled up to the elbow and her hat discarded on her unmade cot. It's stifling no matter where she cowers, the overcast shadows serving her little solace. Sunlight dapples the worn ivory canvas of Winona's tent, shining through to illuminate the emerald grass and the mismatched furniture crammed inside.

   Despite all the trinkets that she's gathered in her time as an outlaw, there's only a single picture to crown the boxes that make up her bedside; a sepia portrait of all the girls taken by one of their associates several years ago. The photograph has been weathered by time and yet they all stay captured in a stagnant youth, some of the girls having been buried since it was taken.

Her hair looks neater in it, her smile brighter. There aren't as many holes in her clothes and eye can detect a twinkle of something she hasn't felt in years within her irises. She's less freckled, her skin still pale and her muscles undefined from when she'd lived as a trophy wife in the confines of an asphyxiating manor house. It feels odd to see herself in such a light after being different for so long.

   And even though it pains her, Winona can't help glancing over to the faded face squished next to her own; one belonging to lanky girl who's grinning ear to ear, an arm slung lovingly around her shoulder. Winona laments that the monochrome picture doesn't showcase the lost girl's raggedy blonde hair, nor the gleam of her brindled eyes. She stares down at the familiar face until nausea buds in her gut and she has to lay the picture face down on the crate. It hurts to think that she'll never see that same beauty depicted in colour again, her fingertips forever deprived of those endearing callouses and grinning lips. The pain turns to agony when Winona realises that she's finally begun to outgrow her.

A bitter laugh titters from her mouth when she catches herself thinking those thoughts all over again. No, she wouldn't let that grief distract her — she doesn't see any point in dwelling on the past. Her sorrow ebbs as hastily as it had flourished, the stinging tears that were building behind her eyes having faded entirely.

  Time doesn't stop to consider the ghosts of her past. Why should she have to?

Winona turns to peer at her reflection, her mirror teetering against a makeshift table in the draping confines of her tent. Her fingertips toy with the fraying ends of her hair as she begins to weave it back into a raggedy plait, marvelling at how long it's grown since she last strayed into the Saint Denis barber shop. Her fingers continue to trace a path until they've paved their way onto skin, dancing over the freckled bridge of her nose and over the bloody split in her cupids bow. She reaches down to pick at a patched up hole on the collar of her shirt, golden rings glinting in the dim shadow of her closed over tent.

She had been weaned on the belief that vanity was a virtue, that she would be frowned upon for having one hair out of place. She was expected to uphold her class by attending fancy parties and suffocating in a tight noose of pearls; that was to be her role in society. Her mother would always scold her for staying out in the sun for an errant hour longer than she should've — claimed that it made her look common, as if she'd been working in the dirt all day. She preached parasols and face powder that itched, preening her daughter into shape until she was more of an immaculate caricature than a real, tangible girl.

If only her mother could see her now; skin dimpled by freckles and sun damage, clothes streaked with ruddy dust and her complexion bronzed from hours beneath the sun. Why, she would faint from atop her ivory tower at the very sight. The imagery makes Winona breathe another little snort through her nose, teeth bared in a wolfish grin as she turns to push the canvas tent flaps aside.

The camp is quiet. Her sisters are flocked around the dormant campfire, the air too humid for them to get any real work done, instead using their free time to sharpen knives and clean guns whilst the afternoon grows weary. The setting sun doesn't bring them the same solace that it should — instead of signifying another hard day's work coming to a close, it only serves as a screaming reminder that they've let another day flit past with no sign of Brandy.

  Usually, they'd band together in the evenings to talk and play music until the starry night transcended into another dewy morning, but over the past few days, they haven't been able to find the spirit inside themselves to do anything of the sort. They choose to sit in resigned silence with nothing much to say to one another — Clementine's harmonica plays not one note, Jolene's singing voice grows hoarse and Winona's fiddle sits gathering dust in its leather case.

"Ladies," she greets. They each mumble back with their own lackadaisical responses.

She perches upon a nearby stool, leaning forward to rest her elbows upon her knees and slump into the seat. Her hand lazily knocks her stalker hat from atop her head, landing with a thump somewhere behind her. She flicks a match to life on the sharp edge of her spur and lights up a cigarette, relaxing under the welcome relief of the first drag.

The tranquility only lasts for another minute or two. Her peace is shot dead when Bonnie whistles to garner their attention, arms folded and fingers drumming restlessly on the aureate grooves of her corset. She glances over all her sisters before settling on Winona, her face lost to a faraway stare as she thinks hard. She clicks her heavily ringed fingers.

"Winona, c'mere."

The outlaw in question heaves a sigh, sacrificing her cigarette to Clementine's waiting hand and slowly rising to her feet. Her bones crackle from the movement and she spurs into action before her exhaustion can drag her back down to the earth, her body aching all over.

   When Winona makes a beeline to join her boss in the main tent, Dakota is hot on her heels, muttering in an unintelligible mixture of English and Spanish that the girls have become  more than accustomed to over the years. She's been holding onto every grain of hope that could be doled, insisting that she's there to hear about any plan or lead regarding Brandy's whereabouts. They know better than to challenge her on the matter.

  Winona holds open the tent flap for Dakota to duck inside, her lips quirking into the ghost of a smile. She flourishes her arm.

"Age before beauty."

"Cierra el pico." Dakota points an accusatory finger. "We have one year between us."

  Winona shrugs and just takes that as her queue to step inside, immediately being hit by the overpowering smell of tobacco interlaced with a heady perfume. A chipped bottle of overly expensive whisky has been discarded on a leather trunk and Bonnie's raven eyes are glazed with the faintest trace of inebriation.

  Bonnie paces back and forth with her hands clasped behind her back, the sharp heels on her boots slicing into the grass with every stride she takes. Her pacing grinds to a halt, her floaty skirts tangling up around her ankles as she purses her lips, mulling over whatever it is that she has to say.

"Any new leads?" Winona asks, thumbing over the grooves of her belt buckle anxiously.

  Bonnie nods. The women before her perk up considerably, yet her expression remains grave. Her ruby lips twist up as her forehead creases in thought, eyes downcast to focus on the annotations she's scribbled all over a tatty map of Lemoyne. The beauty mark on her cheekbone twitches with every agitated expression she dons. There's something bothering her that Winona can't put her finger on yet and that makes her silence all the more perturbing.

  "I've located the camp," Bonnie says coolly.

   Dakota perks up at this. "¡Órale! Let's go!" Her head whips frantically between the other two. "What are we waiting for?"

Bonnie shakes her head. Something dark twitches across her passive expression, a flicker of frustration electrifying her stygian glare. She crumples up a yellowed piece of paper in her palm and tosses it over her shoulder to join a growing pile, hands coming down to twist in the pitch black folds of her skirt.

    "We can't just go in guns-a-blazing and expect to leave without holes between our eyes," Bonnie says a little harshly. "It won't be that easy. No... I know this gang."

   Winona tilts her head. "How?"

   Her expression hardens. "It's complicated."

   She wants to retaliate with something snarky but tries her hardest to hold in any criticisms until later. She has to keep an open mind. The last thing she wants is to push Bonnie over the edge when she's already dangling on the precipice.

    "Can you tell us what gang it is, at least?" Winona ventures. "Just so we know what we're getting ourselves into this time 'round."

   "'Course I can." Bonnie spins around on her heel, a reflective air overtaking her. "You ever heard of the Van der Linde gang, ladies?"

Dakota's face scrunches. "Who?"

"Oh, you'd know them if you crossed them." She barks a laugh. "They were once righteous, thieving from the rich to give to the poor before they fell from grace. They used to keep to the West, so I can only imagine what's drawn them so far South."

   "Same thing as us, most likely," Winona mutters.

   Bonnie ignores her, palms splaying across the tabletop. "Well, their ideals have shifted considerably, I can tell you that much. They're only out to save their own skin nowadays. I heard that they kicked up a fuss in Valentine a few weeks ago, a good long while after we'd passed through. Apparently the town's in pieces now." Her stare grows distant. "I thought that they was better than that, and I don't like being wrong about things."

Dakota and Winona share an uneasy side glance. Their leader has been known to get a little caught up in the throes of her plans, particularly if someone in the gang hangs in the balance. Dakota's bony elbow jabs her in the ribs and she yelps in pain, garnering Bonnie's attention. She smooths out the chips in her stoic expression with a cover-up cough.

"So, if we can't do this the easy way, what would you have us do?" Winona wonders.

Bonnie grins. "I'm glad you asked, friend. We'll ride in as a distraction, send someone to go and get Brandy from wherever they have her tethered like a dog. We can try our luck with negotiating, see if any of that generosity still lives inside them." That smile of hers grows unsettling. "Be reasonable. If they've got a problem with talkin' this whole mess out, then I've got no qualms with shootin' old friends."

Dakota nods. "When are we going to get her?" Her voice sounds desperate, even when she attempts to cover it up and appear casual.

Bonnie rests a tender hand on her shoulder. "Soon, honey. We just need to get ourselves prepared for this. Anything could happen in that camp. We need to be ready for whatever they may throw at us."

She lets go of Dakota to turn back around, looming over the makeshift table with a newfound air of severity. Her manicured fingertip lands near the bottom of the map, directing their attention toward a patch of land on the shores of Flat Iron Lake that she's circled in ruby red ink.

Winona folds her arms across her chest, listening halfheartedly as Bonnie witters on about the stratagem she has in mind. She looks down at the paper with narrowed eyes, teeth ground together so that she doesn't say anything she'll regret later. The whole thing feels off and she can't help but push Brandy to the back of her mind, a thousand more worries accumulating like smog in her mind. 

She has a bad feeling about all this.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

bonnie 🤝 dutch
coming up with vague plans that have a 5% chance of success

this chapter hasn't really been proofread but i'll edit it eventually (maybe), so pls just ignore any silly mistakes that i've made lol

make sure to leave comments, i'd love to hear ur thoughts 🥳 i thrive off feedback and love all ur comments so much <33