THERE’s US.

Dark clouds covered the sky, turning the world below grey and gloomy. However, that didn’t stop John though as he completed the daily ranch work Abigail put him to. He took the cows out to the open field for the morning, cleaned up the barn, made sure the horses had food and went to MacFarland’s Ranch to buy some supplies for the animals. John always loved visiting Bonnie as well, the woman was doing phenomenal for running the ranch on her own now.

By the time he returned to Beecher’s Hope, the sky was already turning darker- indicating that the sun was setting. A small smile graced John’s face, he really hadn’t seen Abi during the day so being able to return to her.. was a nice feeling. Opening the door to the ranch house; he gently closed it, also taking off his hat and setting it on a dresser of sorts. He quietly made his way to the kitchen, guessing right as Abigail was cooking dinner. John crept up to her and quickly grabbed her by her sides. Abigail jumped and turned abruptly, holding up the spoon she was cooking with as a weapon. Once she recognized her husband though, she let out a huff. “John Marston, you are a child.” The woman, half-annoyed as she returned to stirring the stew on the stove. “Yes darling, but you married this man-child.”

“That I did, and I regret it to this day,” she responded.

Wrapping his arms once more around Abigail, he set his chin on her shoulder. “Oh you don’t mean that, you love this coot.”

A soft chuckle and a small glance, “I do..”

Before they could connect their lips in a kiss, Jack came running into the kitchen- panting wildly and pointing behind him. “P- Pa.. Ma!!”

“What is it boy?” John pulled away from Abigail and padded closer to his son who was still trying to catch his breath.

“Something’s wrong.. something’s wrong with- with Uncle!” He shouted finally, pointing behind him again. “What’s that old man up to this time?” John asked, irritation lacing through his tone as he followed Jack out to the front yard. Indeed Uncle was on the ground on all fours, making a sort of snarling noise. “Get up, you drunken waste of a man, what’s wrong with you?” John demanded as he stood at the bottom of the porch stairs, Jack and Abigail behind him near the doorway.

However, as John watched Uncle rise to his feet, something was.. horribly different about him. He was a sickening pale white, his eyes glowed green and his mouth was twisted into a snarl- showing the grimy teeth. “What the..” John murmured, not fully preparing himself as Uncle suddenly lunged himself at the gunslinger. Growls and loud snarls sounded from the old man, and John grunted as he pushed him back. Jack and Abigail crying out in alarm, staying farther back.

“What the hell is the matter with you, Uncle?!” John demanded as he looked back at his family briefly, not receiving an answer as Uncle lunged himself at John again. This time, the rancher threw a punch, wincing as he felt his fist connect with the other older man’s nose. Uncle stumbled back and onto the ground, still growling and snarling however. John quickly went inside to grab his lasso, returning to Uncle and hogtying him as he writhed against the ground wildly. “Okay.. okay that should hold him.. shit, what the hell—“ He muttered, looking to Jack and Abigail, deciding what to do on the spot.

“You two, go inside and do not come out at all. Don’t answer to no one, and leave him..” he gestured to Uncle, “outside.”

“Where you going?” Abigail demanded in fear as John went inside to grab his things. “I’m going to find out what’s happening, because I don’t think it’s just Uncle. Just do what I say, you understand? And Jack, take care of your mother.”

“Yes sir..”

John nodded, before quickly getting onto his horse and galloping away to Blackwater. On the way there, everything was.. quiet and unnerving and once the man entered town, his suspicions were confirmed. The town itself was deathly quiet and there wasn’t a soul to be seen. Trotting through the streets, he found no one. Something definitely was wrong, he went north instead. Was it the same in the rest of the counties?

Strawberry, Valentine, Emerald Ranch..

Everything was so.. dead. More and more, John became worried about what was going on. Suddenly a name came to mind, Arthur. And then another idea, last week- when Jack told him about the book he was reading. How the undead would rise if people didn’t respect the Aztec goddess of the dead. That was only fiction though, nothing more.. nothing less, right? As John continued to ride, he found himself heading towards Arthur’s grave. Sure, he hadn’t visited it in so long but that was because he tried not thinking of his old life and gang. And he just had to debunk his theory and see his friend’s undisturbed grave.

Galloping up the slight slopes of the Ambarino mountains, he came upon Arthur’s grave. Still as beautiful as when he first paid his respects. John breathed a sigh of relief, so his theory was indeed wrong. No walking dead to be found, good. He could now search for a plausible reason as to what was going on. Before he could turn away however, he heard a noise. A shift, in the grass, near the grave. John turned to face the headstone, nothing moved. Foolishly, he got off his horse and moved closer to the burial site, not having to worry too much about light as the full moon shown through the clouds of the night sky.

John stared, but nothing else sounded from the small area. Chalking it up to hearing things, John turned away and again- he heard a distinct crunching noise. Whipping around, he blinked open his eyes wider and wider as he watched the ground tear apart as hands tore through the dirt and grass. He backed away steadily as he watched Arthur Morgan rise from his grave.

Horrified, he was about to get on his horse and ride away- that is, if Arthur hadn’t given the most ear piercing screech he’d heard that caused him to cover his ears. John grunted as he was suddenly tackled to the ground and practically pinned down. Looking up at his old dead friend, he struggled to escape the tight grasp. Arthur was always stronger than him.. when he was alive and now, when he was dead.

“Arthur, Arthur, it’s me, John! John Marston!! Come on, Arthur!! Your name is Arthur Morgan! Please, you knew me! We’re brothers.” John frantically ranted, trying to keep his breathing in control. Arthur stared down at him, growling and drifting closer, before lunging at John’s neck- causing John to scream and expect his flesh to be torn about but all that came was a.. laughing noise. And as Arthur pulled away, a grin graced the lips of the old gunslinger- at least, a sort of grin. And he was laughing!

“W- What..?” The rancher looked up in confusion, breathing heavily from fear still and watched as this undead Arthur was still.. chuckling and looking down at him through a single, dull, yellow eye. “Wait.. wait, can you understand me?” Arthur nodded, stopping his laughter and getting off John. The man got to his feet and snorted, still wary, “Good to see you too, foul demon of the night.” Arthur shook his head, “And I’m not just saying that because you’re a walking corpse.. now.. however the hell that’s possible...” The rancher looked at his friend again, who was inspecting his hands and body before turning around and looking back at his grave- padding towards it and kneeling. Suddenly, Arthur let out a angry snarl, turning to John. As if he was asking, “What the hell happened?!”

“I don’t know! Same thing that you are is what Uncle is, could be a fever or something.. I haven’t been able to find a single soul—“ John suddenly stopped, there were people however that he knew that could possibly have the answer. Nigel, Seth and Abraham. “Come on, the sooner we figure out what’s going on, the sooner we get you back to bed.” He got up onto his horse and offered a hand to Arthur. Who reluctantly took hold and hoisted himself onto the horse’s behind.

The blood moon. It came every year and with it, came the strange flowers that glowed, produced a type of serum and smelled really bad. The survivors knew what happened to the killers when this time came around as well. They all covered their ears when the killers let out horrifying screeches that echoed all throughout the realms, like The Entity took joy in everyone hearing the pain and suffering.

The Trapper had it worst, the first time of course, when he was chained and was forced to submit to the blight. Every time after that.. he was still forced to relive the pain and panic The Entity bestowed upon him. He knew why though, he was gifted such power after the transformation. He would thank his lord in the end..

Now though, in his own realm, all alone; he fell to his knees, choking on his breath and writhing from the feeling of something crawling inside his throat. The Trapper gripped the grass and dirt in a deathly, iron grasp as the blight started to flow from his mouth and leak from the orifices of his mask. He never took it off in this time either as it melded against his face entirely during this time. The pain was bearable for now but as he lay there- the searing, white hot pain started to burn in his shoulder and upper back.

The hooks embedded in his skin grew larger, the blight liquid flowing from the fresh wounds posed as his blood. It wasn’t over though.. Evan screamed out a gurgle-like scream, one that meant misuse of his voice, as the bones of his spine grew and broke as they started to extrude from his skin. It was the only scream he would release. The new bones grew large and pointed from his back, more blight spitting out from his skin and turning it a sickish gray color. Speaking of the blight, it glowed within his veins and was seen through his skin, it felt like liquid fire was coursing through him.