Living Reflections, a red dead redemption fanfic

"Living Reflections"

Author's notes: This is a short story focusing on Bonnie. If you don't like her then please feel free to click the "back" button, LOL. This story takes place after the mission "Paternal Pride" in Red Dead Redemption Undead Nightmare.

1911

As long as she kept the doors and windows boarded up, her wits about her, and her shotgun loaded, twenty-seven year old Bonnie MacFarlane was more than ready to face the undead. In spite of the horrific outbreak of grizzly monsters, the countless loss of lives, the lack of response from the rest of the United States, and the overall uncertainty of mankind, she believed in survival.

Outside on the second story deck of her home, under the starless skies, Bonnie could see who or what was crossing the bridge into town. There were individuals situated on the roof of the train station on the other side of town keeping constant watching of the other entrance. Her finger was always near the trigger, ready to be pulled at the first sight of the undead. The slow ones were easy to pick off; head shots were the key to making sure the walking dead went back to being plain dead. The ones that could run, however, proved to be troublesome, if not downright dangerous at times.

In the years past, as her brothers died off one by one, Bonnie learned how to take care of the duties around the house and the farmland. Utilizing a gun became top priority for her, especially when it involved putting down sick or dying livestock. Never wanting an animal to suffer, she was trained how to destroy an animal with one clean shot: right through the brain. Never did she imagine how vital this skill proved to be these days.

She could only imagine how John Marston destroyed what used to be her father and thankfully he didn't say a word of it in the aftermath. She told him how Drew died protecting those he loved, yet she dreaded to think of what his last coherent thoughts were. Having to endure what he probably had, what anybody had when bitten by one of those things, only to die in so much pain - only to then come back but with no conscious soul, only the thirst for human flesh... She could never wish such a horrific fate on anyone…

… except, perhaps, for Norman Deek and his gang.

Her jaw muscles tightened and her trigger finger twitched ever so slightly. She'd blocked much of the brutal memories of her time at the hands of those filthy animals. Even with the hoards of walking dead threatening to consume every last living being, Bonnie wouldn't hesitate, if she saw the rotting corpses of Norman and any of his cronies, to empty all of her bullets into their skulls until they exploded. But ever since then, and especially nowadays, she kept her anger quiet and her focus on helping her neighbors. There were so few of them left and she wouldn't allow her rage to leave her or anybody else vulnerable for attacks.

Her thoughts drifted back to John as she sat down on a rocking chair, carefully resting her gun on top of her lap. She didn't want to admit how worried sick she was about him. It didn't surprise her that he survived everything relatively unscathed. He'd proven to her many times in the past how resilient and determined he was. She'd jokingly referred to him as either a demon or a cockroach, but never the less, she truly was grateful to see him. If that reckless bounty hunter could survive the possible end of the world, then there had to be hope for all of them… somehow.

Yet she hadn't seen him since he'd cleaned out the undead in the barn. There were times when the town would fall under attack, and John would just happen to enter the scene and assist with the clearing. However she was never able to catch up to him, often too busy assisting her neighbors or protecting her home. Whenever the coast was clear, she was always too late to talk to him. The only way she knew he was even there was from talking to the surviving townsfolk. Travelers on horseback, the only means of communication between the nearest counties, would keep everyone up to date of the situations within West Elizabeth, Tall Trees, and the Great Plains. Then they'd mention how John Marston was spotted here and there, putting down the undead and setting fire to suspicious coffins in cemeteries. The latest rumor spoke of witnesses seeing him travel toward Mexico. Did the answers to this madness lie in another country?

"Whatever you're doing and wherever you're going, John," Bonnie said out loud as she rose from her seat and spotted a rather large group of undead creatures about to cross the bridge, "you'd better make it quick."

Hurrying to the edge of the deck, she leaned forward and hollered to her neighbors sitting on the rooftops of their homes and stores,"THEY'RE COMING! GET READY!"

Communication was key to the townspeople's survival. That, and staying above ground. If it was one thing they all learned early on, it was that the undead lacked the ability to climb or pull themselves up onto anything higher than a step. Ladders and properly boarded up buildings were saving graces. Bonnie could easily see John swiftly seeking higher ground and then blasting away at the undead with frightening accuracy. Then she imagined him looking like a bumbling fool scrambling to climb on top of someone's roof just in time to avoid the decaying fingers and snapping blood stained teeth, his gunfire missing their intended target by miles due to confusion. After all, he was the same person whom she and Amos found bloodied and shot outside of Fort Mercer after foolishly confronting his former brother-in-arms. A versatile man, he was capable of doing just about anything.

"Funny times does funny things to people," Bonnie muttered as she took a position behind the rail guard and took aim at the nearest walking dead. Even in the face of apocalypse, she couldn't help but think of that stupid, stupid man. "John Marston... For God's sake, don't you dare die on me!"