The chains were meant to be off by now. At least, that’s what they had thought. Now, three days into working the fields, doubt spread like wildfire. It had been four years since they had all been together, since that last bank job. Some had gone and cleaned up their act… others simply reverted back to what they had always known, but the same chain kept them all together.
The field itself was unforgiving, offering little to no shade from the overbearing sun as it seared into their bare backs. Even though the women were given just enough fabric to hide their shame, it offered little protection. Though the land here was fertile, just over the crest of the hills that surrounded Mr. Olson’s plantation was desert that stretched out west while in the east the fields seemed to go on forever. Heading south, one would just find the ocean, that is after making it through the many budding towns that would eventually be in the way. Directly north was the only town in miles, Ragchapel. A small religious community with little in ways of transportation but plentiful in terms of resources. It was that bank that ended up being the nail in the coffin for the Michaels’ Gang.
Ragchapel Bank, 1856
“There’s only two bodies, sir,” A young man quakes as the short but stern Mister Zachariah Olson stares daggers at him.
“Who, son?” The forced smile sent shivers down the terrified man’s back.
“L-looks like Mr. Obediah M-Michaels sir….”
“And?”
“A…and Mrs. Olson…”
Mr. Olson took a long drag out of his Figuardo cigar before flicking it to the ground, his face not shifting an inch. “Who shot her?”
“We don’t know, sir… Six of ‘em got away. We… we did get one of ‘em, sir!” The young man points towards the bank.
“Let ‘er go…” Mr. Olson’s brow furrows, “Follow her…. Follow her and find the rest of them. Get your boys rounded up. I don’t care how long it takes, you get them back here.”
Olson Plantation, 1858
“Do you know how dangerous it is for me to be out here?” The Pinkerton sat across from Mr. Olson, arms crossed.
“Oh, I’m well aware of the dangers around these parts, Mr. Penn, but this is of upmost importance.” Mr. Olson stood with his back to the federal employee and stared out across the plantation, “You know as well as I do that soon there will be war but until then I need you to make me a promise.”
“Now, Mister Ol-“
“I have funded you a great deal, Mr. Penn,” Olson turned to face the inferior man, “And if you don’t want that money to dry up faster than the Scarlet River…. you’ll make sure the government stays far away from Ragchapel and the Olson Plantation… now won’t you?”
“I-“
“Will not take no for an answer,” Olson opened his desk drawer and began polishing the pearl handle of his revolver, “Unless you continue to insist… mister..” He feigned to think a moment, “Penn was it? Yeah… he came around once… but I never quite saw him again…”
“I… I think we can come to an arrangement,” Penn stuttered as three armed men came into the room to stand behind him.
“Good…” Mr. Olson slid the revolver back into the drawer and moved in front of Penn, towering over the seated man. “Now you get on out of here, sir. Lest I continue to forget who you are and order a trespasser be shot.”
Present Time, Olson Plantation, 1860
Zachariah gazed out on the chained group of eight, a smile spreading across his face. Oh what fun he would have with this lot. Even the other slaves kept a wide birth around the Michaels’ gang. With a flourish, Mr. Olson unfurled the whip that laid in his hand. It was time to pay them a visit.
Hosted and narrated by:
Clay Wolf (TrueParanormal)
Started 11/13/21.
Scenes played: 1
License: Community License
18+
