Chapter 45
Return to Zion
During the time when Niner and Arcade headed up to Randall & Associates—Sandra made haste out of northern Utah as quickly as possible.
She'd never seen a horse before this past week, and certainly had no clue how to ride one—but the creature had a saddle and handles fixed onto it, and it seemed to know what to do better than she did. So, following purely memory and instinct—she tried her damnedest to guide the horse in the right directions, backtracking along the paths she and Virgil traveled before the snow and cold air slowly began to disappear around her.
Eventually—when the towering orange mountains came into view, and when the air was as clean as it was warm—Sandra rode the horse along the riversides, discovering bridges and places marked by tribals, the areas of taboo, and she tried her best to remember her way around Zion, though she hadn't been here in months, and she'd certainly never entered it from the north before.
Sunrise was on the horizon now, as she'd ridden all night long, though she didn't feel the slightest bit tired.
The black horse stopped by the river, lowering its head and drinking from it. Sandra sighed, shedding her jacket and overcoat and placing them tucked behind her on the saddle, now only wearing the sleek black vest of armor she'd once obtained from this very place.
Joshua Graham was a complicated sort; he showed protection and compassion to the tribals he'd taken under his wing, yet showed little to no mercy when an enemy would arrive on his doorstep. He'd told her of all the frumentarii he'd killed and crucified—as Caesar had evidently sent many of them here before he was assassinated—and she herself was once forced to bring him back to sanity, as he'd nearly given in to his vengeance when he stood over the broken and defeated Salt-Upon-Wounds.
Perhaps she'd just have to bring him down to earth a second time.
Because—she knew for certain that Graham wouldn't take the arrival of Caesar's greatest frumentarii kindly, and there was no way for Joshua to know of Vulpes's new allegiance. If the fox had arrived here—then Joshua would've simply presumed it was for the same reason as all the frumentarii before him, and he would've acted in accordance with that, nothing else.
"Okaaay," Sandra griped, leaning down and patting the horse's head. "You've had plenty to drink now, Long-Face. Let's move!"
The horse didn't seem to hear her, simply gulping up more river water.
Sandra groaned and tossed her head back, growing utterly impatient. She slipped off the saddle and landed on the ground, sliding her backpack off and digging everything she needed out of it—packing stimpacks into the pouch on her side, filling her jean pockets with ammunition and speed-loaders, adding her full vault 13 canteen fixed onto her belt, and checking each of her holsters, Sweet Revenge on one side and A Light Shining in Darkness on the other. Charon hung from her back like always—and she tied the horse to the nearest tree, a tiny and slender tree she hoped the creature wouldn't break.
Then—she spun around at the water's edge, glared into Zion from behind reflective lenses, and scanned over everything in sight.
She remembered where the crosses were—and to her good fortune, they were beyond the idols erected by the Sorrows and Dead Horses, on the outskirts of the areas they called home. Joshua didn't like mixing his erected idols with those of his companions, so he always posted them far from the peace-loving tribals.
Which—thankfully for her—would make it much easier to find them again, as she was already on the outskirts here and now.
"Stay, Long-Face," Sandra ordered the horse, cracking her neck and inhaling a bracing breath. "I'll be back. Hopefully."
At that, she marched off—and she continued deeper into Zion for a long while thereafter, striding with purpose and surveying every visible inch of the environment around her, every crevice in the mountains, every hillside nearby, every cliff where one could hide and every nook of a pathway spanning between the structures.
All the places she knew—the areas she remembered the tribals traveling or hiding for an ambush—seemed to be entirely still and silent now.
She really must've been on the outskirts, because there was nothing happening around here.
Sandra marched on, wading in ankle-deep water as several fish glided smoothly past her feet. She walked in between two steep mountainsides now, glancing around on all the nearest hills and cliffs on either side, and—after about twenty minutes of walking—she spotted the first cross, perched from the wet soil on the left, a decayed skeleton strung from it, long dead and gone.
Sandra grimaced at it as she wandered past, her stomach churning, pondering on Vulpes and gnawing her lip, praying he wasn't yet gone like the others.
The longer she walked, the more she dwelled on her thoughts of him; how fucking insane must he have been to come here? He knew where Graham was—she'd told him the stories of her endeavors in Utah before—so, why in the hell would he willingly walk into such a drastic and dangerous risk?
Then, as she ventured by another cross—this one with another dead frumentarius lashed to it, half-decayed, skin sunken in, eyeballs still in their sockets, glazed and yellow—it came to her, and she let out a deep, disdainful breath.
The only reason he'd pulled such an insane stunt was because she pulled one first.
It was a habit for them, a common routine for the two of them to always pull one another out of the fire—and it was also unfortunately common for them to willingly stroll into those flames.
"We've gotta stop doing this shit," she mumbled to herself. "No more…"
Her eyes wandered up the nearest overlook, a narrow dirt path winding up the mountain to the left, the path breaking a hard left and leading directly up to another small cliff that overlooked the water—and directly at the top, perched above the scene, was a third cross, and its crucified victim was still intact, not decayed, not skeletal, but fresh flesh and blood, as he'd been posted there recently, not long ago like the rest.
Sandra stared up at the overlook in grave silence—the crucified man above her shirtless and wounded, a dried gash on his side, head hanging low, a head of short black hair.
"Fuckin'a," she breathed, anger and horror suddenly clashing inside. "Joshua, goddammit…"
"Aie!" someone called from nearby.
Sandra turned her head, seeing that a group of five-or-so tribals had just arrived opposite her, a mixture of Sorrows and Dead Horses, all of them holding melee weapons and all of them looking perturbed.
"Ent yu come neit nen, ouslander!" the man at the front of the group growled at her, jutting a tomahawk in her direction. "Es land no com taboo!"
"En come ten mine ouslander," Sandra replied sternly, pointing up at the crucified Vulpes. "Ai non comm-et taboo."
"You don't believe in taboo?" another man spoke up in English, emerging from behind the first. "Blasphemer! You cannot cross to Joshua's sacred land!"
Sandra glared vacantly at them. "Watch me."
The tribals began to move to the side, blocking the narrow dirt path up to the overlook.
Sandra cocked her head, reaching for her side—but her hand froze there, hesitant, a sickening sensation festering inside.
She didn't want to kill them—in fact, she never could, as she'd spent quite a lot of time and effort helping all these people in the past. Though some were ignorant, none of them were bad, and they didn't deserve to die.
And beyond that—she knew she'd never be able to clear any of this up with Joshua if she killed any of his friends here now.
Her mind raced, glancing up at Vulpes and desperately scouring for a solution; she had no clue how long he'd been up there, or how close to death he was, and she couldn't afford to waste a second. She had to reach that peak right now—but she had to do so without killing any of the people blocking her way.
And suddenly—only one possible solution came to her, one that, interestingly enough, Vulpes had taught to her long ago.
Back before the times of the infamous Courier Six, when she and Vulpes were traveling together from Denver, the two of them taught one another many things—medicines, the Latin language, and even the art of melee fighting, which was something Sandra herself was never proficient in back in the Capital Wasteland.
Having someone like Vulpes to teach her—it helped tremendously back then, and perhaps that would tip her odds just enough.
So—she slowly lowered her hand, reached down, and collected a large stick from the water's edge, tilting her head and taking a brisk step forward.
"Move," she ordered. "Or I'll move you."
The two men in the lead traded quick glances—and the largest one lunged at her with the tomahawk raised—
He swung at her—and she moved swiftly to the side and knocked the blade back with the stick, grasping his arm and ripping him down the edge of the hill. Sandra gathered his momentum and threw him past her with all her might—sending him tumbling down into the water.
The other four tribals began backing up the hillside—and Sandra whipped around, stomping on the man's arm and swiftly collecting his tomahawk. When she faced the others again, she took a slow stride upward, marching up the hill and glaring daggers at them.
"Move," she repeated.
The second man ran at her with a spear—and Sandra clasped onto it just before it could penetrate her throat. She quickly redirected the spear, ducking and slashing the tomahawk against his shin. The man let out a yell—and she moved behind him, kicking him squarely in the back and sending him fumbling awkwardly down the hill as well.
"Runnin' up that road," Sandra murmured mindlessly as she faced the last three, spinning the tomahawk once around her hand. "Runnin' up that hill…"
The third man slashed at her with a dagger—its tip slicing across the front of her armored vest—and she grabbed his arm just after the swing, falling back with all her weight and dragging him down with her. Her foot planted into his stomach—and she rolled back with a great kick, practically launching the man down the hill behind her.
The fourth ran at her just when she sprang to her feet—and she smashed the tomahawk into his hand, making his knife go flying. The man screamed and she kicked him in the side—making him stagger off the edge of the path.
"If only I could," Sandra mumbled, blowing a strand of hair from her face and twirling the tomahawk again, tightening her grasp on it and locking eyes with the final man. "Make a deal with God…"
The man had a throwing hatchet, and he reared back to pitch it—just when Sandra shot forward at once, pinning his arm back to the rocky wall behind him. She held his arm there with her free hand, pressing the tomahawk to his throat and making him freeze in his stance.
The man's mouth fell agape in horror, and the hatchet slipped from his grasp and hit the ground.
Sandra yanked him around and shoved him down the hill—and she began backing away, inching closer to the cross while the tribals gathered at the bottom of the walkway, all of them preparing to approach her once again.
Her back hit the bottom of the cross, grazing against Vulpes's legs, and she turned, staring down the river and seeing that an even larger group of tribals had arrived now, a few of them carrying firearms—and one of them aiming directly up at the overlook, right at her and Vulpes.
"Oh—screw it."
Sandra whipped out her pistols and aimed both of them at either side, prepared to fire into both groups of tribals as she took a solid stance in front of the cross.
"Nobody—comes—near—this—cross! Back off! Everybody back the fuck off now!"
Sandra's eyes jumped from one group to the other, watching each of them vigilantly and noting their every slightest move—and just when the man down below adjusted his aim on her, she opened fire.
Earsplitting shots popped off from Joshua's and Randall's old pistols—trying her damnedest to aim only at the ground—and she blasted the ground at the feet of the group nearest her, making them all scramble away and retreat back down the path. Those down below stumbled back in a panic as well—bullets penetrating the water and popping off brief splashes—and suddenly, everyone was backing away from her now, all except for one.
One lone man emerged from the group down the pathway, and Sandra aimed the 45 directly at his skull—then stopped, staring at him, spotting his odd hat and recognizing him at once.
Follows-Chalk slowly raised his hands, unarmed, giving her a calming sort of look.
Sandra heaved several rushed breaths, still scanning over the others from a distance, then met Follows-Chalk's eyes again.
"Chalk, go get Joshua," she told him. "Get him and tell him I'm here—and take all these fuckers with you. I don't wanna have to kill anyone—but I'm taking this guy off this cross. Period."
Follows-Chalk hesitated, glimpsing at the cross, then back. "Joshua said that this man was a…"
"Joshua's wrong, and he doesn't know the whole story right now," Sandra stated. "Go get him. Go! Now!"
"Okay. Okay," Follows-Chalk agreed, lowering his hands and facing all of his comrades, speaking loudly as he addressed them all. "Neit nen warran! No kil-end outlanders! Shen Courier Six, en touka Joshua Graham!"
All of the tribals suddenly looked surprised, lowering their weapons and trading glances with each other.
Follows-Chalk walked down the path and waved them all away, ushering all of the Sorrows and Dead Horses back from where they came. The area soon became cleared of all the tribals—and Sandra holstered the handguns and grabbed the tomahawk again, eyeing the ropes around Vulpes's ankles and giving them a solid hack.
She chopped them away and tossed them aside—and then, she stepped onto the solid square foundation at the base of the cross, stepping up onto it and snapping an arm around the cross to hold steady—finding herself face to face with Vulpes, pressed closely to him, her face perfectly aligned with his, and she felt a sharp pain in her chest.
"Foxxy," she breathed, her free hand gingerly clasping his face, his skin hot to the touch. "Hey… hey, Foxxy, can you hear me?"
Vulpes showed no response, appearing to be lost to a deep, comatose slumber.
Sandra's heart ached, her visage stricken with concern. She gave his face a light pat, gently raising his head a bit and trying to level his eyes with hers best she could.
"Foxxy," she exhaled, pressing her forehead to his and fighting a wave of dread that was rising up inside. "Foxxy…! Vulpes…! Look at me… look at me… I'm here. I'm here."
Sandra stared, his eyes just before her own, giving no sign of life—but she felt his warm breaths faintly against her face.
Not gone yet.
Sandra tightened her one-armed embrace on the cross and gritted her teeth, rearing back and hacking at the ropes around his wrist. When they unraveled and fell to the ground, his arm came free—sliding over her shoulder as his weight suddenly leaned harder on her. She clung onto the cross tight as she could, switched hands, and hacked away at the other side—making the final ropes snap free and sending him falling fully into her.
The two of them fell from the cross—and Sandra landed hard on her back in the dirt, a raspy groan escaping her, Vulpes sprawled on top of her, and the wind having escaped her completely, a terrible ache in her stomach as her lungs fought to grasp at breath again.
Vulpes's head lay snugly on her collar, his breaths still cascading along her skin, most assuredly there—most assuredly still alive.
When she finally managed to inhale, she winced, as it hurt to do—but her arm snapped around him, hugging him tightly and feeling an immense sense of relief.
"You're gonna be okay now," she moaned. "I got you now… I got you now…"
The faintest shuffle of dirt caught her attention—the sound of someone walking up the path.
Sandra's heart skipped—and she quickly whipped out A Light Shining in Darkness, raising her head and outstretching her arm across the ground, now aiming at the edge of the pathway upside-down.
But, as the man strode forward, she felt anything but threatened now.
Joshua Graham stood before her, arms folded, face covered, and eyes pensive and fiery blue as they rested intently on her, giving her a long, surveying stare.
"Of all the people… to come here," he spoke in his dark, ominous voice, his glare seeming to soften just the slightest bit as he surveyed her with curiosity. "And to rescue the greatest of Caesar's frumentarii… Caesar's own assassin would be the last person I'd expect."
Sandra took in several rushed breaths, loosening her grasp on the gun, but she didn't yet holster it—still staring up at him with a determined and insistent visage.
"There's a lot you don't know right now," she told him. "And a lot… I need to tell you. Just trust me. Trust me… and let me fill you in. Okay?"
Joshua stood still, observing her intensely as his eyes began to narrow.
"I'm not inclined to oblige such a steep, daring request… or, at least, I wouldn't be. If it was from anyone else but you."