Second part of Lupe's story! Lupe, Eddie, Kit, Roach and Vernon are all my friend's characters SleepyKaru on tumblr.

Lupe returns to camp to deliver talk to Roach but now's not the time to discuss ill omens...

Big hearty nod to rdr2 for the art style here, which has been SO fun to play with <3

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Roach’s gang wasn’t camped far from town. The steeple of the boarded up church could be seen from the main cooking fire. Tents were pitched close to the bases of sprawling manzanita in full leaf to obscure them from predators above. Roach, Vernon and Oskar, the oldest critters in the gang, had moved their gear into the remains of a burnt out old house. The adobe walls were blackened from the fire that had claimed the roof and demolished the south wall, but Roach had been resourceful and had dragged fallen branches and bunched bundles of grass together to make a makeshift roof. It was better than nothing in any case.

Lupe rode into the camp off the main road, whistling an entry signal to one of the other mice on guard duty. He hitched his quail, Luna, alongside the other quailsteeds and made his way towards the dilapidated building to find Roach.

Roach was a middle aged mouse with chestnut fur and a blazed white face. He was combing out the whisker patch of fur on his muzzle into the short mustache he typically wore as he squinted into a cracked mirror. His torn ear flicked towards Lupe in the doorless entryway.

“That was a fast trip.” he set down the comb and turned to face the young buck. “Hope you were thorough.”

Lupe shook his head. “The burglary fell through, the place… turned out not to be what I expected.” he took off his hat and walked over. He didn’t want to insinuate Carmen had outright lied to him, that might put her in someone’s crosshairs. He didn’t want it to come to that. “Whatever riches they may have had I think dried up. That husband is dead. I called off the break in.”

Roach narrowed his eyes. “You do know we’re running on empty out here.” he said seriously. “I told you to raid the place and now you’re telling me you didn’t because of what? A gut feeling?” he crossed his arms, disappointment radiated from him.

“Told you he was just another soft kid you’d need to feed.” Vernon growled from the shadows. Lupe turned to see the enormous rat groan and rise to his feet. He was at least three times his rat brother Dan’s size, with a mutilated burn scar across the right side of his face nearly sealing one eye closed. He towered over Lupe and gave him a menacing sneer. “He’s a lazy greaser if ever there was one, all talk and no metal.”
“That’s enough, Vernon.” Roach said sharply. “Why don’t you and Collins go and rustle up some food for tonight, since you are so keen to prove your own worth.”

The sneer fell away from Vernon’s face but he didn’t argue with the stern mouse and exited the building.

Lupe set his jaw, he had taken a lot of Vernon’s hate since he joined, but rising to his insults only made the huge rat more persistent, he would weaponize the outburst against him in a heartbeat; Lupe the sensitive, Lupe the crybaby, Lupe the child. He ground his teeth. He had tried to distance himself from that rabble of young greenhorns since he had joined and he was damned if he would should the older folk that he was backsliding to their level of incompetence.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Roach stood up and dusted his hands. “I got no need for a bleeding conscience here, Lupe.” he spoke gravely. “I have enough trouble on my hands keeping those boys alive and our tails outta the fire. If a prime target arises you damn well need to take it!”

Lupe sighed and nodded. He needed to tell Roach about the red cord and the painted symbol on the rocks but now wasn’t the time. He couldn’t show he had been spooked by a piece of string and an act of vandalism. “I understand.” he said simply.

“You best prove that you do.” Roach said severely. “Don’t let scuttle get around camp that you're a lazy dead-weight. You know they’ll want to run you out, and I’ll have no part in fighting for you to stay if you can’t pull your weight. Now, go make yourself useful.” he waved him out of the building.

Lupe’s legs felt like lead as he walked back into the bright light. He crammed his hat on his head and ignored the stares from a few of the other critters gathered around the main fire. No doubt they had heard everything through the open doorway, he wasn’t keen on getting into it with them.

He headed back to his quail and removed her saddle and tack, used a smooth feather brush to straighten out her ruffled feathers, then got her fed and watered before he headed back to his single tent off to the side of the burnt out house.

Inside the canvas flap, away from prying eyes, he removed his hat and punched into the bowl angrily. Nothing was going as planned today. Roach had been so proud when he had told him about the lead he had received from Carmen. Three days he had scouted Carmen, making sure she wasn’t a narc for the local law. Making sure she wasn’t a liability. How had he gotten it so wrong? Now Roach was angry with him, Kit was frustrated with him too but that was a lesser problem. The biggest worry was that sigil on the rock, and he couldn’t tell anyone about it. He unclenched his fist and looked at the sharp white scar across his palm. He had thought that was all over and done with, that he had escaped El Jefe and that terrifying blood cult for good...

—-

Lupe had been younger, a runaway boy in his late teens trying to stay alive in the hostile desert. It had been easy enough to fall in with the crew of critters he spotted picking through the remains of a decimated wagon train for goods. The wagon train had been attacked by coyotes and all the settlers and their quail had been killed or run off by the massive predators leaving their whole livelihoods behind them.

It had been a bonanza, money, food, clothes, tools, furniture, jewelry, anything they could have needed to keep them going for months.

Surprisingly, they hadn’t run him off their catch when they spotted him, they invited him to their fire to share in the spoils. Lupe had been relieved. And, with a full belly and new friends, he had ridden on with them after they had had their fill of looting the caravan. He would never trust so easily again.

–

Lupe closed his fist tightly as he shut his eyes tight and remembered the night it had all come crashing down:

–

After nearly a month of riding with the gang, who called themselves Los Santos, they had arrived at a shallow canyon near the edge of a steep forested hill. There they had taken to ground, literally, entering a network of deep tunnels in the hillside dug by the gang leader, a great red-toothed gopher named Martín Guererro, but they all called him El Jefe.

Lupe had never spent much time underground, but fell in with the rest as they started a three day venture into the near total darkness of the labyrinth. Occasionally a hanging lantern flickered weakly at the crossroads of two or more tunnels, but otherwise the crew was in the hands of whoever carried the light at the head of the crowd, and did their best to move along with as little tail treading and bickering as possible.

Lupe never could have predicted the great cavern that they all spilled into. A massive cave of rock with great pillars of stone where stalagmites and stalactites met. Flickering torchlight around the cave had given scale to its great size, and in the middle of it, a massive pile of bones the size of a barn.

Lupe and the critters he had met from the wagon train had been jostled to the front of the crowd, pushed right to the very foot of the bone pile. The size of the pile and the stench in the cave made Lupe’s pelt bristle. Many of the bones in the pile were full skeletons and several still showed scraps of clothing or dry, withered skin with tufts of fur. Once or twice, he thought he had seen some with their arms and legs tied. The crowd was a gibbering mess of voices. Some wailing, some singing. There was a horrible cacophony of drumming that thrummed through the cave.

Lupe hadn’t been sure how much more of the frightening chaos he could take when the voices all rose into shrieks and applause; atop the bone pile, El Jefe emerged. His great blunt head nodded to the crowd below as he trod across the bones, crushing skulls beneath his heavy boots. He spread his arms wide, revealing a flowing shawl that appeared to mimic the wings of a bird of prey. The crowd settled into a jittery quiet.

Lupe scarcely remembered the specifics of what El Jefe said, his heart had been in his throat and the blood pounded so loud in his ears that he mostly recalled flinching when the crowd shouted in approval.

“And so, I welcome my new acolytes.” El Jefe’s deep, bass voice hissed around his enormous red teeth. “My new followers. Tonight we welcome you into the flock, into my aerie, the most recent life of Aguilandro. Bear my mark, and be blessed with a most glorious future, and we will shape the land of the remembered into a glorious paradise for all who died forgotten by the lesser gods.”

Lupe had tried to back up but the crowd behind him, his friends, suddenly wrapped their arms around him, holding him fast, he looked down the line, half a dozen other critters were restrained in a similar fashion. Some were fighting, others had faces slack with fear. Two had their arms out as if receiving a gift. Lupe didn’t know what to do, this was all a bunch of terrifying nonsense, and it was getting scarier by the moment the more he realized how much the crowd believed it. He startled seeing a gaunt, shabby looking Jumper appear at the base of the bone pile. He had never seen a kangaroo rat before. This one was a buck, tall and lean. His fur was painted in reds and blacks and he walked down the front row wielding a wickedly sharp stone knife. He would pause at a newcomer, raise the knife and the crowd would cheer. Lupe watched him get closer and closer, he appeared to be cutting the left hand of the newcomers with a knife. Lupe was trying to figure out what he would do when the Jumper reached him, maybe he could fight him off, try to flee around the crowd, but before he could plan an escape route he heard a screech and a wail from the mouse before him.

“MONSTRUO!” The sandy-furred buck screamed at the Jumper and wrestled to break free from his captors. “Liar!” he shouted. “Let me go!” he thrashed.

The Jumper narrowed steely eyes and turned his head up the bone pile towards El Jefe, who shook his head in disappointment.

“Not everyone is worthy of Aguilandro, Red Touch, but their deaths still serve a great purpose for the flock.” El Jefe looked away and folded his hands.

The Jumper, Red Touch, nodded and turned back to the sandy-furred buck. There was a violent slash and a shriek that cut off with a gurgle. The sandy mouse went slack in his captors’ arms, bleeding freely from a gash in his throat. The crowd roared in disgust and the sandy buck’s body was thrown onto the bone pile. Red Touch turned and walked purposefully down the line until he reached Lupe, he towered over him as he cleaned the blade on a white cloth from his pocket and peered down at him through hooded eyes.

“Are you ready to serve El Jefe, the final reincarnation of the great Aguilandro, rodent god of eagles, master of birds, bane of crows and slayer of sky wolves?” Red Touch held out his knife.

Lupe wanted to throw up, he was so scared he didn’t think he could speak without screaming. He thought of the sandy-furred buck bleeding out onto the bones. He could feel his friends, no, his captor’s fingers digging into his clothes, holding him fast. He nodded mutely to Red Touch who seized his left hand and sliced the double crossed sigil into his palm, then moved along.

Lupe felt the grip of his shoulders disappear and he clutched his bleeding hand close. His black fur was bristled in fear as he watched the last two rodents, a rat and a ground squirrel, also receive their marks.

“Good job.” a voice in his ear made him jump as he saw his former friend, Marco, who had been restraining him. The gray buck grinned toothily at him. “I know you could be one of us in the end. Come now, its time to finish the night strong.” he steered him back into the crowd and Lupe found himself pushed along back into the earthen tunnels of darkness. After a lot of blind walking they were outside under an unbelievably bright full moon. To Lupe, it shone like the sun after so long underground.

Lupe kept looking around for a chance to break free and run but he was too securely surrounded. The throng spilled into the entrance of a shallow canyon and stopped short. Lupe tried to see through the crowd but all he could make out was a spiny looking yucca plant with its large white blossoms clearly visible on long stalks high off the ground.

The crowd made no sound now, the silence was unnerving. After several minutes the crowd parted and Lupe was able to see a procession coming out of the tunnels. Red Touch led the way, carrying the body of the sandy-furred buck. El Jefe was behind him, a few other critters followed behind carrying what looked like drums.

Red Touch walked past the crowd towards the yucca plant and Lupe leaned out of the crowd to watch as the Jumper reached two stake driven deep into the ground and tied up the buck’s wrists with lengths of red cord and stretched the body to the second stake until it hung of the ground in a slack T pose.

“Now we wait.” Marco hissed into Lupe’s ear and made him jump.

Wait for what? He had thought in terror, not sure this place could get anymore twisted.

They waited in silence for over an hour. The dawn was starting to pinken the sky around the canyon. Lupe’s cut hand stung and ached and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand on his shaking legs in this crowd of mad beasts but he suddenly heard a low and slow drum beat, mimicking the sound of a resting heart. The beat continued and Lupe saw that El Jefe was holding a large gourd drum and Red Touch was on a smaller drum. Both mimicked the heartbeat and started to increase the tempo. They played until it was a wild unstopping beat and then Lupe heard the rustle of wings as the yucca blossoms trembled and a white and gray bird, no bigger than a dove, with a sinister black mask of feathers flew out of the top of the plant and landed on a large rock nearby. The drumming ceased, the bird pipped and looked down at the sandy-furred buck’s body hanging on the red cords. The bird fluttered down and wrenched at the body with its beak, snapping the red cords. It pulled the body loose and flew back to the yucca plant.

“Aguilandro,” Marco hissed with an excitement that made Lupe feel ill. “Turns songbirds into eagles, turns eagles into servants. In the great After, we will command the skies.”

Lupe watched the gray and white bird land on the yucca plant and without warning, impale the mouse’s body on the sharp end of the leaf and start to tear it asunder.

Lupe blacked out.

He woke up underground again, in the dark. He was sick to his stomach. His hand was painful and sticky with dried blood. He couldn’t remember how he did it, but he fled the earthen chamber and ran through the black tunnels for what felt like hours, slamming into walls and sharply curved corridors until he smelled fresh air. He bolted out into the light. He heard voices shouting behind him. An alarm call went up. Lupe found a covey of hitched quail and stole the first one he could reach. He snapped the reins and rode the bird faster than he had ever in his life. He could hear the voices behind him, he only heard his name once, mostly he heard ‘traitor.’

Lupe rode out of the canyon, into the desert and all the way to the river before his quail started flagging. He knew he was still in danger, he forced the quail to run on, it started to falter and he kicked it and spurred it to keep going, too scared to allow it to slow.

He reached the riverbank as the quail stumbled and fell, fully spent. Lupe scrambled out of the saddle and continued to run on foot, leaving it behind. He heard shouting and calls from his pursuers and crashed onto the edge of a sandy embankment and landed heavily on his injured hand, puffing raggedly for air.

“Where’s the fire, son?” a gruff voice asked and Lupe jumped to his feet to see a chestnut-furred mouse with a white blazed face arching a bushy brow at him. The old buck was standing on the riverbank with a fishing pole in the sand. Not far from him was a huge and formidable looking rat, who turned and sneered at him with a heavily scarred face.

Lupe stumbled towards them, wild eyed and bloody, he was sure he looked crazy as he pointed behind him.

“I’m being followed!” he panted, doubling up and clutching the stitch in his side.

“Who’s followin’ you?” The older buck had walked over and glared up at the bank. “What’re you runnin’ from?”

“Oh leave it, Roach.” The rat scowled and started to reel in a fish. “Probably rob you blind in your sleep, look at him.”

“Stuff it, Vernon.” Roach barked. “He’s just a kid.” he walked over to the quail and chukar hitched nearby. “How many?” he asked Lupe.

“I don’t know.” Lupe was still fighting to catch his breath. “But they’ll kill me. They’ll kill you, we have to go!” he tried to explain.

“That’ll be the day.” Roach grunted and drew a long rifle from his saddle. “Vernon! Mount up! We’ve got company.”

“What!” Vernon looked over. “This is the first fish I’ve landed all day! And you want me to–”
“Yes!” snapped Roach. “Now get on that rise and blast whatever fool shows their face!”

Vernon snapped the pole over his knee and threw the halves into the river. The huge rat stomped past Lupe, giving him a murderous look as he drew a rifle taller than both mice and started up the bank.

“Can you shoot?” Roach walked up to Lupe carrying two rifles.

“What? Sí, –Yes… yes sir.” Lupe tried to think straight. He caught the gun Roach tossed him and followed the two older bucks up the rise.

Lupe didn’t expect them to win the fight so quickly. Both older critters were excellent marksmen, and their sighted rifles picked off the Los Santos riders almost as quickly as they showed up over the rise.
After nearly a dozen had been slain, Roach climbed up a short pine tree and peered through a brass spyglass.

“That’s the last of ‘em.” He called down. “No more comin’.” He climbed back down.

“Thank you.” Lupe reached out to give Roach back his gun.

“What sorta trouble did you get yourself into?” Roach took the rifle back and slung both over his shoulder.

“I…” Lupe suddenly felt exhausted. “I was escaping…” he shook his head, trying to pick the right words for the horrors he had witnessed. “They were some sort of cult, killing folk, feeding them to birds.” he looked down at his bloody hand. “I don’t know what happened…”

“Roach.” Vernon grumbled. “We don’t need another pup.” the rat lashed his long bald tail.
“Vernon, why don’t you go check their pockets.” Roach jerked his head towards the direction they had short the Los Santos riders. The rat muttered under his breath and rode off.

“Pay him no mind.” Roach folded his arms. “I make the rules around here. Earned myself a bit of a reputation pulling kids like you outta the jaws of death. He don’t like it but that don’t matter to me. You have a place to go?”

Lupe shook his head.

“Well, you’re welcome to ride with us, could always use another gunman in the gang.”

Lupe bristled and remembered Marco. They had been happy and care-free, openly welcomed into the group. The group that he had witnessed do terrible things just hours ago. He shook his head again.

“Many thanks to you, Mr. Roach, but I can’t.” he took a wary step back, but Roach only shrugged.

“Suit yourself, son. What’s your name?”

“Lupe, Lupe de la Cruz.” he went to offer his hand but it was covered in blood and pulled it away.

“Well, see you around, Lupe.” Roach tipped his hat to him and unslung the rifle from his shoulder and handed it back to him. “Better keep ahold of this, in case you get any more unwanted company.”

“Thank you.” Lupe said gratefully. He watched the older buck climb back into the saddle and ride after the rat, Vernon.

–

Lupe stretched out on his back in his tent and looked at the scar on his hand. Of course he had come back to Roach a month or so later, with his head on straight and with no guns at his back. He had been welcomed in and been running with him for nearly three years now. He didn’t want to leave. He had no where else to go.

He sighed out in irritation and left the tent. If Roach needed money, he’d get it for him.