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DIAMONDBACK WITHOUT A RATTLE my 2024 GID Zine piece! (@zineofgid)

a fun lil western AU for my post-apocalyptic Grey Phoenix guys! contains: cowboys, betrayal, rope bondage, cleave gags, kidnapping, ransom, death mention, CSA mention. 3.1k words

the zine's leftover sale is open now! you can still get a PDF or maybe even a print copy and some merch ;) https://zineofgid.bigcartel.com/

“I don’t want any more excuses, Clark! Find them now, or I’ll replace you with Russel!”

Russel lowers his head, hiding his face with the brim of his hat just before the mayor’s office door slams open. He’s almost surprised Clark doesn’t storm out right there, but he’s always had an impressive amount of restraint. It’s why he’s the sheriff and not Russel. Clark closes the doors behind him and glances at his deputy.

“Reckon you heard every word.”

“It ain’t fair.”

“Sure it is. I can’t do my job. Better give it to the next best man.”

Russel scoffs. It’s insulting how the mayor could even think about using him to replace his best friend. But he can’t help but think about a year ago, when he would’ve been insulted for a very different reason. Russel never wanted to be the next best man. He always wanted that badge for himself, but after all they've been through together, he respects Clark too much to do something like that.

“One little group of outlaws can’t outweigh everything you’ve done for this town,” Russel reasons.

Clark sneers. “Everything I’ve done…” He shakes his head. He’s the town’s golden boy. They would riot if the Mayor got rid of him.

“The mayor says I owe more. That I oughta be thankful.”

“For what?!”

“For taking me in. Teaching me. Giving me my badge. You know. All the usual reasons.” Clark fixes his collar and motions for Russel to follow as he walks. “Go ‘round Mr. Colt’s place. See if Denny’s available. He could help us track ‘em in the desert.”

Russel nods. Mr. Colt’s second son had taken a liking to him when he first rode into town. He’s always been helpful, whether he was offering his family’s resources or his own time, skill, and company. Russel suspects he has a bit of a crush, but he can’t be sure. He’s the nicest boy around.

“I’ll gather some supplies and fetch some horses. We oughta leave before noon.” He keeps ahead with a brisk pace, his dark coat fluttering behind him.

“You alright, Clark?” Russel pauses and eyes him with concern. Sure, he’s a man of action, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he’s acting a tad distant.

Clark stops, his back still turned towards him. “I’ll be fine when this is over.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Let’s camp here for the night” Clark says, raising a hand to block his face as he squints at the sun. His posse of two halts behind him.

“Oh, thank God.” Denny nearly collapses dismounting his horse. He starts unloading his saddlebag immediately. Russel wrings the reins in his hand.

“You sure? I think we could catch them before nightfall—“ He stops when Clark shakes his head. Russel frowns. “The mayor’s not gonna be happy if they get away again.”

“They won’t. They’ll be cornered in the canyon.”

“But we’re close. We should press on, Clark—“

“Russel, please,” Denny interrupts, taking the reins from his hand. “We’ve been riding out here for four days straight. Hardly any rest. We’re tired. I’m tired. Please?”

The deputy tears his eyes away from the dust on the horizon to look down at his friend. His usual sunshine demeanor has been duller lately. Clark isn’t the only one feeling the pressure. Mr. Colt’s ranch hasn’t been targeted yet, but it’s probably only a matter of time before the gang sets fire to yet another wealthy rancher’s property. Russel knows they can’t keep going on like this. Something has to break. He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

“If you start dinner, I’ll take care of the horses,” Denny offers. Russel nods and finally dismounts, patting his dappled mare gently.

“I’ll go find firewood. Y’all stay here,” Clark adds. He grabs his pack and starts out into the wilderness.

“Be careful out there. Don’t let yourself get ambushed,” Russel calls after him. The gang can’t be far. With the jailbreaks they’ve been pulling, they must number at least half a dozen by now. They need to face them together.

“You think they’re a match for me? I’ll be fine. Keep an eye on Denny.”

“Hey!”

Russel laughs. Now to make something edible for the three of them.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“It ain’t half bad if you got enough whiskey,” Clark murmurs, poking at the beans with his spoon. Russel never claimed to be a good cook.

“And are you gonna share that whiskey?” Denny pokes Clark with his own spoon.

Clark thinks for a moment. “You know what? Might as well. Y’all are the best company I could ask for out here, and that oughta be rewarded.”

Denny nearly squeals with excitement as Clark opens his personal bottle for them. Russel grins. He’s never able to get Clark to loosen up. They both hold out their tin cups and the sheriff fills them generously.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“No, no, I ain’t singin’ with y’all—“

“Now, come on, Sheriff Clark! We need someone for the low parts! I sure as hell can’t do them, and Russel tries, but we need you!”

Russel tries to hide the grin that creeps on his face when Clark rolls his eyes. Maybe it would be easier to convince him if he had brought his fiddle. He trades in secrets, and a secret skill like musical talent is worth something.

Denny sings a few lines from a familiar melody, and the way they all start swaying together, Russel knows Clark can’t deny Denny his song.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Do you miss them?”

“Course I do. They’re my family. I write them letters every single day.”

The crickets nearly drown out their hushed voices. Denny’s already asleep by the fire burning low across from them. Russel and Clark watch the stars, not each other.

“But you ain’t going back.” Clark might as well be interrogating him.

Russel shakes his head. “Go be a hero,” his mother had said. Their little home up north just wasn’t enough. Pa tried to get him to stay, but he’s always been the ambitious type. Rebecca was still a kid when he left. He wonders what she looks like now. Maybe he could send them money for a photographer. He’ll definitely show Clark that photo so he can put faces to names. For now, Clark and Denny are the closest thing he has to family.

“And is it worth it?”

“Without a doubt,” says Russel, his calloused fingers brushing the edge of the badge Clark had given him.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Wake up, Russel.”

He blinks open his eyes slowly. It’s still dark out. The fire is barely ember and ash now, and he can just make out the silhouettes of five— no, six figures surrounding him from the edge of his vision.

He sits up, feeling for his gun, but it’s not there.

“Stay calm.” Clark stands with a masked bandit on either side of him. Russel looks around for Denny, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“What’s happening?” He manages to say, but his mouth is dry. Clark shakes his head.

“Just wanna talk, Russel. We won’t hurt you.”

We?

Russel takes another look. Clark is tense, but he doesn’t actually look distressed. He still has his gun.

“You tell me what the fuck is happening right now, or I swear to God, I’ll—“

One of the masked bandits clocks him in the jaw and Russel immediately launches himself at them. Before he can throw a punch, another bandit grabs him from behind. They pull his hair and seize his arms, wrestling him into submission. He grimaces, still jerking against their grip as he scowls at his sheriff. So much for not hurting him.

“I didn’t want this to happen,” Clark says softly, “but the mayor kept pushing. You were gonna find out eventually.”

“Find out that you’re a backstabbing liar?” Russel spats. One of the bandits holding him flicks open a switchblade, and Clark bristles.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insists. Thankfully, he motions for the bandit to put away the knife, and thankfully, they do.

“I guess now I know why they got away all those times,” retorts Russel through gritted teeth. He eyes the one with the knife. “Who are they?”

A couple of the bandits snicker. Clark pays them no mind. “We have a common goal is all.”

“Yeah? They just trying to do right by the town, is that it? By stealing cattle and burning—“

“You remember whose cattle was stole, right? Whose ranches was burned? They weren’t just the richest folk. They were there.”

Russel stops fighting. There’s one thing Clark never talks about. Seems like he’s still not ready to talk about it by the way he lowers his voice. He can’t tell him with this audience around.

“Listen to me, whatever they did, you don’t have to do this—“

“You don’t know a damn thing!”

“So tell me!” Russel yells. “You wanna talk? Tell me why you’re doing this!”

Clark stands still. The dry breeze whistles over the camp. Russel clenches his jaw.

“What did you do with Denny?” He’s lucky his voice doesn’t crack.

“He’s safe.”

Russel doesn’t believe anything anymore. Clark sighs and murmurs something to one of the bandits, who looks displeased as she makes her way around the rocky cliff overlooking the campsite. There’s a tense silence, where none of the words they need to say are spoken aloud, and instead are left to fester. Russel can’t even look at him. Clark, on the other hand, can’t tear his eyes away, that is until the bandit comes back with Denny, trussed up with rough hemp rope and gagged with his own bandana. His eyes are red and puffy, freckled cheeks damp with tears, and as soon as he sees Russel, he exclaims in concern.

“Untie him now!” Russel fights like hell against the bandits, but they hold him steadfast.

“Can’t. We need him as insurance. Don’t follow us, and we’ll send him back home safe, I promise,” Clark says like he practiced the words.

“After his daddy pays up,” adds one of the bandits, to which a handful of them chuckle. Denny struggles indignantly against the ropes and hands holding him, but can’t manage to wrench out of their grip.

“Is Mr. Colt guilty too? And the mayor?” Russel seethes. “How many people are on your list for revenge?”

He doesn’t get an answer. Something tells him Clark knows they’re innocent, but doesn’t care.

“Can we go now?” One of the bandits holding Russel shakes him roughly. “We’ve got places to be. Stagecoaches to rob.”

“No robbing stagecoaches until this whole mess is over and done,” Clark orders, frustration scorching his voice. The gang doesn’t seem happy about it, but they don’t argue. Russel has to wonder how long their risky alliance is going to last. A new pang of dread stabs him in the guts.

“Whaddyou wanna do with them?” The bandit with the knife flicks it open again and presses it to Russel’s cheek. Denny cries out, and the bandit holding him pushes him to his knees. Russel’s not so sure the gang can restrain themselves much longer. All he can do is pray Clark will continue to protect them for just a little while longer… If he still cares about them, that is.

“Put the deputy against that dead tree over there. There’s rope in his pack,” Clark commands to his gang.

“You motherfucker…”

They drag Russel backwards, all the while he’s kicking and screaming. The breath gets knocked out of his lungs as his back hits the bark, no doubt leaving a bruise. He tries to tear his arms free before they get the rope loose, to no avail. One holds him down while the other ties his wrists, crossed against each other in an X shape, not caring if they hurt him in the process. The rough hemp cuts into his skin, threatening to bloody his wrists if he fights too much. With another hank of rope, they pull it around his shoulders, pinning him against the tree. Another length goes around his ankles. They tie off the knot and stand back, out of the way of kicking distance.

“I’ll kill you!” he screams.

“Oughta shut him up too,” a bandit mutters. “Gimme your bandana,” he says to his buddy.

“Use your own!” she barks back. Clark sighs and approaches. He gets down on his knee, not too close, and dodges Russel’s attempts at headbutts. He unties the bandana around his neck. The dark blue one he always wears, faded on the edges. Clark knots it in the middle, and brings it to Russel’s lips. Russel spits at him, hitting him on the collar of his coat, just below his scorned badge.

“I don’t want to do this,” Clark tells him, before forcing the gag between his teeth. It’s clear he’s trying to be gentle, but that means nothing. He still gets Russel’s hair caught in the knot when he ties it behind his head.

“Get his things and pack ‘em up. Be ready to ride. Make sure Mr. Colt’s son is comfortable. He’s a good boy,” Clark tells his crew. Russel fumes. Denny cries out as he’s picked up and tossed over the back of his own horse.

“You’re lucky we don’t make you walk, prettyboy!” One of the bandits laughs and smacks his behind, and laughs harder when he squirms helplessly. Russel yells and jerks against his bindings, glaring at Clark, who clenches his teeth. His hand hovers above his gun, and only rests when the bandit leaves Denny alone.

“I’ll deal with that one later,” Clark assures him, as if it’s any comfort. He settles down next to Russel, leaning against the dead tree with him like they’re telling each other stories like old times. He heaves a heavy sigh as he watches his gang ransack Russel’s belongings. They throw out the sentimental things— Rebecca’s letters, Denny’s locket— and keep only the useful stuff.

“I don’t like ‘em either,” Clark murmurs. “But I need them. You’re too loyal to the law.” His voice tightens. Russel stares at the ground. He only ever tried to do the right thing. How was protecting the townsfolk bad? What had they done to Clark? He glances at him with dark eyes. Russel doesn’t often need to speak for Clark to know what he’s thinking.

“The gang that killed my family,” he started. Russel’s blood runs cold remembering what little he knows about it. Clark’s the sole survivor. He was just a teenager.

“They said my little brother was too young. So they killed him. They said my ma and my pa were too strong. So they killed them. They said I was pretty enough to keep around. And they kept me for months,” Clark whispers hoarsely. Russel bites down on his gag. His anger can’t compare to Clark’s.

“And when the mayor sent a posse round, the posse waited. They watched. They thought I couldn’t see them, but I never forgot their faces peeking through the windows when I was bent over a fucking table.” His voice is steely and his eyes are glazed over. Russel realizes Clark re-lives it every single night.

“They waited so long, the killers got away. They told the mayor they died in a shootout, and they got a reward. You know who actually killed the culprits?” Clark sneers. “This lot. Same story as me, but they saved themselves.”

Russel pulls against his ropes, urgent words muffled by the gag. Clark hooks a finger under the cloth and pulls it down to hang around Russel’s neck.

“How do I help you?” Russel pleads. Clark shakes his head.

“I don’t suppose you wanna join us.”

Russel’s heart breaks. That’s the one thing he can’t do. His eyes rake over the scene in front of him— outlaws and murderers ravaging their camp while Denny sobs. The sight of it makes his stomach churn.

“Mr. Colt and his sons are decent men. They had nothing to do with it, but there’s the terms of this pact. The gang helps me get the men who watched, I help ‘em get a nice ransom,” Clark mutters in a failed attempt to placate Russel.

“And the mayor?”

“That idiot never cared. Never listened when I said my family’s killers were still out there. Thought I was gonna stain the names of the good men who rescued me. I’d ask you to give him a bullet from me when you get back to town, but I know you won’t.”

Russel grits his teeth. “How the hell am I supposed to go back? You're gonna leave me out here to die!”

Clark’s dry laugh grates on him like sandpaper. “C’mon, Russel. We both know just how well you can survive out here. You’ll untie yourself in a couple hours and make your way back to town within a week or so. And then you’ll either tell the mayor I’m done, or you'll tell him I’m dead. You can have my badge either way.” He stands and unpins it, polishes it with his sleeve, and tosses it in the dirt. The badge Russel wanted once. His blood begins to boil.

“And how do I go back without Denny? Without you?”

Clark doesn't answer. He fixes his collar. Russel’s heart drops.

“That’s it?”

Still no reply. Not even an acknowledgement.

“Clark!” Russel starts fighting again. The ropes chafe against his skin, but it doesn’t matter. “Get back here!”

“Are the horses ready?” Clark asks a bandit. They nod and hand him the reins of Russel’s horse. He doesn’t even look back.

“Clark! You’re throwing everything away for revenge! We could’ve fixed things together! You could’ve told me! Clark!” Russel grows more and more desperate as he walks away. The bandits mount their horses. Denny looks around frantically and starts to struggle. His eyes meet Russel’s.

“I’ll find you! I promise I’ll come for you! It’ll be okay!” Russel calls out. He’s not sure if Denny believes him. Whatever happens, he needs to get him back.

The sun is beginning to rise. A cloud of dust kicks up as the gang starts to trail away with Denny in tow, but Clark lingers. He keeps his hat angled low so Russel can’t see his face. His spurs click menacingly as he paces back towards him, until he stands towering above Russel. His shadow starts to loom.

“Clark, please…” He trails off. There’s nothing else to say. He’s a stranger now.

The stranger drops a canteen and a knife at his feet.

“I hope you never see me again.” He kneels to put the bandana back in Russel’s mouth, then mounts his horse, and follows his new posse out into the desert without another word. Russel watches him disappear over the horizon as day breaks at last, and he’s finally alone. But even with nobody around, he won’t let himself cry.

#for later

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