Psalm 147:3

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.

Penelope had the distinct feeling of being dragged on some sort of material – woven leaves, maybe? – and then floating, drifting on water that soaked into her clothing before being dragged on dry land. Her eyes opened only once or twice, to see shapeless figures milling around her, making sounds that she didn't understand. All at once, the sun disappeared, easing her eyes. They closed once more.

"We'll have to take off her shirt," she heard through the haze of pain and blood loss. The cotton slipped over her skin, catching at the dried blood and pulling at her skin until it slipped over her head. There was a wet, burning sensation at the bullet wound and the smell of alcohol, and she jerked involuntarily with a cry, her eyes flickering open.

"Hold her down, Follows-Chalk," a husky voice murmured above her. Two tanned hands reached out and gripped her freckled shoulders, pinning her to the floor. Her eyes partially opened, she watched as hands wrapped in gauze and holding tweezers hovered over her chest. When the tweezers dipped into the bullet wound, she shrieked.

"It seems that the bullet missed her ribs – it's perforated the muscle by her shoulder. The bullet hasn't fragmented, but it's in there pretty deep," the husky voice continued, unflinching from Penelope's unintentional spasms. "I don't want to remove it until we're sure that the surrounding area is stitched up as best we can. After that, it should be a simple case of pulling out the bullet and then stitching up the wound."

Penelope, now semi-awake, gritted her teeth in pain.

"I'm going to give you an anesthetic," the voice said, and it took Penelope a moment to realize it was speaking to her. "It will reduce some of the pain – not all of it, but it will make it a bit more bearable. Trouble is, it is a paralytic, and I imagine you may also fall asleep because of it. Is that alright?"

She hesitated before giving a slow nod. A bowl filled with some foul smelling liquid was lifted to her mouth. She swallowed it quickly, trying not to taste it too much, though god knows she had eaten much worse in the Wasteland.

After a moment, a sensation of haziness settled over her body. Penelope felt as though she was wrapped up in a cloud.

One of the gauze wrapped hands settled gently on her forehead; surprisingly cool, it pushed her hair away from her face. "Can you feel it working?"

She nodded, her eyes half shut.

The tweezers held open the wound as a needle, sterilized over a flame, dipped into the hole. She grunted as it pierced her and then fell silent, her teeth grit. Clearly, the anesthetic would still allow her to feel pain, though it was not as bad as it would be without it.

"I'm going to remove the bullet now," the husky voice said, the hand stroking her forehead.

The tweezers dipped in and pulled the bullet out slowly. She shrieked with pain, unable to move.

Finally, it was all over, hands were smearing something over the wound, and it was being stitched closed. She panted, her eyes focusing blearily on the world around her.

"Good job," the husky voice said, and her eyes flicked over to the source.

A man, his lean body wrapped in gauze and wearing a white shirt with a bulletproof vest over it, leaned over her, his fingers stained with her blood. All she could see of his face was two bright blue eyes, the skin around it taut and discolored in a dark and angry brown shade. He removed his hand from her forehead and lifted a bottle of water to her lips.

After she had laid her head back down, she continued looking up at him. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice still a little hoarse as her eyes threatened to close.

He paused, resting his hand on her forehead once again. "My name is Joshua Graham," he said after a moment. "Welcome to Zion."

Penelope's eyes finally closed in sleep, the sensation of the hand stroking her forehead fading.

. . .

Penelope turned over and groaned, sitting up. She held her throbbing head with her one free hand, the other being bound to her torso. A dull pain spread across her chest. She touched the wound gently, realizing that her bra and shirt were gone, her breasts only bound with gauze.

She looked down and was surprised to see a woven blanket in her lap. Lifting it up, she examined the fur underneath it – it looked like it came from a bighorner. A bottle of water sat to her right. Her mouth suddenly felt like a desert, and she picked it up to drain it.

Looking around, she realized she was in a cave, lit by torches and lanterns. Paint decorated the walls in crude drawings and figures. A hole in the ceiling of the cave let light filter through to illuminate the cave better.

"We should have given you a better welcome on your first visit to Zion, but it looks like the White Legs beat us to it."

Penelope twisted her head and lifted her eyes to the figure sitting at the table above her. The bandaged man was examining pistols, his hands moving over them in a steady and practiced motion as he removed the magazine, checked the barrel, and slid the magazine back in. His bandages were now blood-free and pristine. She lifted the blanket to cover her semi-bared chest, self-conscious of the naked skin.

"White Legs seem to be the only visitors we have these days, and I wouldn't have expected anyone from the Mojave to come looking for us." His hands paused and his bright blue eyes flicked over to where Penelope was sitting. "I don't know if you were close to the other members of your group, but you have my sympathy. I pray for the safety of all good people who come to Zion, even Gentiles, but we can't expect God to do all the work."

Penelope stared at him silently. His gauze moved as he quirked an eyebrow. "I apologize for having to remove the bullet, but the White Legs dip them in poison from time to time. I'm afraid your rather violent reaction to being shot was from the dark datura essence. You handled that surprisingly well, however."

"I guess it comes from being shot before," she replied simply. Something flickered in his eyes.

"Yes, the head wound. I had noticed that."

Penelope shook her head, clearing her hazy thoughts left over from sleep. "How do you know so much about what happened to me, anyway?"

"Other than being brought here with that wound of yours? The Dead Horses are capable scouts. Nothing passes into or out of Zion without my hearing of it."

Penelope paused, her eyes downcast as she searched for the next thing to say. "I…came here with the Happy Trails Caravan Company." When he didn't say anything, she began to speak again. "To make contact with the New Canaanites."

When he replied, his voice was quiet. "Happy Trails. I remember. They were good friends." His eyes scrutinized her. "I have bad news for your employers. New Canaan was destroyed, its citizens scatted. All because of the White Legs." His voice hardened. "And Caesar, of course."

"Caesar? How?" Penelope asked, her eyebrows rising.

"The White Legs want to join the Legion. Caesar's rite of passage is the destruction of the New Canaanites, almost assuredly because of me." He resumed examining the pistols. "The good news is that we can help you find your way back. Daniel, one of the other New Canaanites, has made many maps of the region. The bad news is that we can't help you right now. Not with everything that's going on."

Penelope touched her wound gently, eyebrows furrowed. The only noise in the cave was the clicking of the pistols.

"I'm not going to leave," she said finally, "without offering to help. What can I do?"

He searched her face with his piercing blue eyes. "You're a good neighbor to us. We all go through periods of darkness. In such times, we can turn to the Lord, but it's good to have friends." He hesitated. "However, I will ask that you heal a little more before you help us. That's not to say we don't need your help. I would be more comfortable if you were healed further before asking for your assistance."

Penelope nodded. She looked down at herself again.

"Er, Mr. Graham…"

"Please, call me Joshua," he replied.

"Where are my clothes?"

There was silence for a moment before Joshua scraped his chair back and walked over to a shelf. He picked up a small folded pile of clothes and placed it beside Penelope. "Your clothes are being washed right now, so all I can offer you is my own." Their eyes met briefly before his flicked away.

"I must apologize – I never asked your name," he stated as he stood and turned.

"It's, um, Penelope," she said. She paused. "I don't know if you know this," she began, "but Caesar is dead." Her green eyes hardened. "I saw to it personally."

The bandaged man froze mid-step. Silence filled the cave once more. He turned his head.

"I have to admit," he said softly over his shoulder, "it's hard to believe. That even after all he did to me, all he tried to do to find and erase me from this world, he went first." He shook his head, as though shaking himself from his thoughts. "No doubt this will be good for the Mojave. I can only hope that Arizona and the tribes don't suffer as the Legion falls apart around them."

"They won't," Penelope said, her voice hard. "I'll make sure the Legion has very little to go home with."

Joshua turned and scrutinized her face, her eyebrows drawn and her mouth curled in a vicious frown. "Hmm. Good." Startled, she looked up at him. "You're doing God's work, whether you believe it or not."

He started walking to the mouth of the cave, his bandaged hands pushed into his pockets.

"Eat and rest. I will send some Dead Horses to attend to you, and I will check on you tomorrow morning."

Penelope lowered her eyes and nodded, still clutching the blanket to her chest.