Aaannnnddd...we're back! Sorry for the delay, but I've been busy these last couple weeks taking a much needed break. I had written myself dry and I wanted to take some time to focus on Resident Evil 6, which - by the way - was fantastic. I've read a lot of negative reviews...but critics are idiots. The game is phenomenal, I really encourage those who haven't already done so to give it a chance.

A couple things on the agenda for this rant...first off...I've designed some armor for Graham, and my nephew will be drawing it out for me. It's a combination of the Courier Duster (with Legion Bull) and reinforced leather armor. If his drawing turns out like I've envisioned it, I think it will be a crowd pleaser (hopefully). Second...the chapters for THAS will all be around 3,000 words. I know you all want nice long chapters...but the storyline and dialogue in Honest Hearts doesn't exactly give me as much to work with as the main game. So I'm pushing for 3,000 words per chapter...sometimes I might have a little more, sometimes a little less...but hopefully the content of the chapters doesn't disappoint. If there's something you'd like to see me tackle or include, feel free to let me know though, as always.

I think the break has really done me good...I really like this chapter and I'm taking a few risks. Please! Let me know what you think of this one! I've poured a lot into it.

Oh! And one other thing...I was doing some recon in my attic...because it's a warzone up there...and I ran across an old script I wrote for a drama class in high school. I'm a horror buff...and Freddy vs Jason had just came out so I was super stoked about it. So the script I wrote was Freddy vs Jason vs Michael...and the title wasn't too catchy. I'm thinking of uploading it a little at a time though if I get some interest. It's finished (thought I might do some revision). If you all would like to see it, give me a shout via pm or comment...I'll make it a weekend project, upload it a little at a time. It's surprisingly long for an early venture.

And now, what you all came for!

"So tell me about that gauntlet," Six requested curiously. He and Waking Cloud were following the Virgin River, headed back to the Narrows.

Waking Cloud examined the crude weapon strapped to her wrist. "A Sorrow's yao guai fist is sacred…each Sorrow makes his own, but only after undertaking a quest of great importance for the tribe."

"How did you get yours?"

Waking Cloud smiled. "I have earned my rites many times – thanks to Daniel. The knowledge of New Canaan medicine that he has passed on to me is beyond precious. I have learned to make medicine from herbs and roots around the valley, I have served as midwife to many in my tribe...and in neighboring tribes alike."

"So your tribe is on good terms with the neighboring tribes?"

"Oh, yes. We were friendly with many tribes throughout Zion and the neighboring lands, when they would travel through. We have had dealings with the Crazy Horns, Iron Lines, Rail Nomads, and the Twin Mothers…to name a few."

"Where are these tribes now?"

"They come and go as it pleases them. Zion is home to us, but also to many precious resources. Clean water. Game. And herbs…" She paused motioning to an islet situated between their position and the narrows. "Up ahead is the Caterpillar's Mound…atop of which I often gather Xander roots, an excellent medicinal plant. I could show you, if you'd like."

Six thought back to his night with Sunny. She'd tried so desperately to get him to gather Xander roots…and…some type of flower or other. "That's okay. I've never been one for alternative medicines." After a beat he continued, "Where'd you get the paw?"

"Why…from slaying a yao guai, of course."

Six's expression must have staggered, as Waking Cloud chuckled to herself.

"You are surprised?"

"I guess I shouldn't be…but it just seems a little impossible."

Waking Cloud eyed him quietly for a long moment. "It may seem so…but you may find I am a woman of many talents."

"Of that there's no doubt…" Six grinned. "You said they were sacred?"

"Yes. The Dead Horses have their markings and their war clubs. The more distinct the markings – the more exceptional the club…the more sacred. We have our…" She struggled for a moment, "gan-ta-lets…is that what you called it?"

Six's nose crinkled in mirth. "Close enough."

"If you are interested in them…perhaps you should talk to our shaman, White Bird. He oversees the rites. I can take you to him, if it pleases you."

"I'd like that." In the distance he saw the familiar silhouette of Raul's sombrero. Six laughed to himself…still amused by the old ghoul's choice of attire. Following Raul, Six could make out two other figures – Follows-Chalk…and another, emerging from the Narrows. At first, Six assumed it to be Boone. But as they grew nearer, he stroked his bearded chin…that's something else he missed…he needed a shave. And a haircut. Six withdrew his binoculars and peered through them. The third figure was Joshua Graham. Six felt his stomach turn over. Something was wrong. Very wrong. "Fuck…"

Suddenly aware, Boone sat up. He traced his hand across his aching forehead – finding crude stitches where once a wound had been present. Why had they stitched him up? His eyes bounced across his surroundings.

"Utman lie still…" A voice told him. Boone followed the voice…his eyes still adjusting the bright day sun, he could just make out a figure on the other side of the bars of his holding cell. A woman. A White Leg. "Salt-Upon-Wounds bring utman here…to await urtiel…" The woman examined Boone's look of confusion, then clarified. "…to await judgment."

Boone grunted and struggled to stand. He pushed himself off the ground clumsily and grasped the rusted iron bars. His eyes began to adjust and he mechanically traced the outline of his cell. Several others were with him…all much too weak to be of any real assistance. Dehydration…starvation. They were barely alive. The bars were weak…given the right amount of force in the right areas…

"Utman lie still…" The woman looked worried. "You lose blood. Weak. Must rest."

Boone sneered. "What do you care? I'm just waiting to be executed anyway."

The woman observed him with a look mirroring his own confusion.

"Execution…" He repeated. He brought his index and middle fingers up to his temple and mimicked a gun firing. "Death."

The woman frowned. "Ex-a-cue-shun…maybe. But now, you live. Lay."

Boone shook his head apathetically and did as he was told. The woman turned towards the remnants of a fire…smoldering embers. Atop the embers sat an old cooking pot. Strewn across the ground were cans of cram, beans, and boxes of Salisbury steak. The woman rationed out the contents of the pot – beans and diced cram, then distributed it amongst the prisoners. Boone realized, then, why the people were still alive…

"How long have you have you been caring for the prisoners?"

"How…long?"

"Yes," Boone stroked the bridge of his nose…"Uh…how many moons?"

The woman frowned again, shoving a plate in Boone's direction. "Many, many moons."

Boone amiably accepted the plate, though he was not hungry. He sat it aside and observed the woman. "What is your name?"

She looked at him again.

"Name?...What do they call you?" Boone gave his chest a pat. "Boone."

"Boone..." She gave her own chest a pat. "Kurisu."

"Christ…you're just a kid…" Boone took a deep breath and leaned back against the bars, staring out into the midday sky. "Kurisu…why am I here? Why am I alive?"

She looked at him sympathetically. "You live…Salt-Upon-Wounds not want you dead…not yet."

Down the path, Boone could see the familiar helmet of the White Legs chief marching uphill – towards them. The woman stood…whether out of respect or fear, Boone couldn't tell. As her chief grew closer, she cast Boone one last wary glance, and he knew in the pit of his stomach his end was near.

"Scores of them…" Graham said, his voice stern. "We need to clear that bridge." He jabbed his finger into the screen of Six's pip-boy. "If they're moving now, we need to act quickly."

"And your solution is for the five of us to go in guns blazing?" Six asked hesitantly.

"Four."

"What?"

"Did you get the map?"

"Yeah," Six pulled the rolled up paper from within his duster. "One map of the Grand Staircase…"

Graham immediately scooped it up and pushed it into Waking Cloud's chest. "Take this to Daniel. It is imperative that it reaches him."

Waking Cloud shook her head. "No…I will go with you. Daniel has asked me to watch Six…"

"Look," Graham grasped her hand and pushed the map into it. "I know Daniel trusts you…and I know you look up to him. But right now, I need you to take this map to him…if we're going to start this evacuation, we need to start preparing now."

Waking Cloud stared at Graham for a long moment and finally nodded. "I will do as you ask, Joshua Graham. But I place my duties in your hands. You must make sure no harm comes to this man…it is Daniel's wish."

Graham's voice softened. "Waking Cloud…you have my word."

"Well, this is great and all, Jefe…but Six has a point. We can't take on the entire tribe by ourselves."

"I don't see any other choice…not if we're going to get your friend back," Chalk chimed in.

"If he's even still alive," Graham sighed.

Six dismissed the thought quickly. "You're assuming he's been found. You don't know Boone. He's resourceful."

"You're right, I don't know Boone…but I know the White Legs. If they've found him, we don't have long."

Six cursed under his breath. "There's simply no way we can waltz in on our own…can't you send for backup?"

"The Sorrows aren't equipped or trained for this kind of assault…the Dead Horses…" He turned to Chalk, "Go to the camp. Follow the river…stay out of sight…we won't have time to wait. But if you hurry, you might be able to sweep in for the coup de grace after we've distracted them. God willing, we'll live to meet again."

Chalk nodded and quickly scurried off.

"And what? We're just going to sneak in, find Boone, and hope they get there on time to save the day?" Six shook his head. "This is suicide. We wait for Boone…let him give us a proper briefing and we go in at sundown and wipe them out with the help of your tribe."

Graham took a deep breath…it was almost a snarl. "You're not following me. Your friend is in danger. The Sorrows are in danger. The Dead Horses the same. We end this here. We end it now!" He pushed his index finger into Six's chest. "Now you can sit here with your thumb…"

"May I speak?" Waking Cloud interrupted.

Graham turned his fiery gaze in her direction.

"If the White Legs have set up a war camp, then they will have totems erected around the tents…The white Leg warriors pray to them for strength…if they were to lose their totems on the eve of battle, they will see it as a terrible omen. They would lose their will to fight."

Graham's demeanor changed. His voice became less angry. More calculated. "Yes…we'll use their superstitions against them…"

"And how do you expect us to get into their camp unnoticed, Jefe?" Raul's voice was littered with cynicism. "It's not like we exactly blend in with them."

"No, you cannot…" Waking Cloud spoke softly. "But I can."

The group lay flat…atop a rockface that Boone would be all too familiar with. Six peered through his binoculars, watching astutely as Waking Cloud slipped between the tents, amongst the oblivious tribals. The sun had begun to set…still there was no sign of the Dead Horses.

"So far, so good…" He said quietly, more to himself than his comrades. He swept the area for any trace of Boone. "I'm not seeing him anywhere…"

"There…" Graham pointed to the ranger station. "If I were holding prisoners, I'd hold them there. My bet…that's where we find him. If we find him at all."

Six grimaced. "Do you think this is going to work?"

Graham shrugged. "Right now, it's the best option we've got."

Six swept his binoculars back to the tents. Waking Cloud had vanished…so had the totems. The brush rustled beneath them.

"Boss…" Raul took aim. "We have company…"

A long beat. Silence.

Waking Cloud emerged, totems in tow.

"Like taking the water off a fish's scales." She smiled, joining the group on top of the rockface. They waited in silence, watching the group. At first, they didn't seem to notice…but once they had, distress flooded the camp.

"Now we move in," Graham touted. He disappeared over the embankment, pushing towards the river. The others followed closely behind him. They made their way south, quietly…then doubled back, up the hill towards the ranger station. Six could just make out the pale glow of a recently extinguished fire. Graham withdrew his pistol – checked the chamber and slide – and held it at the ready. The pale glint of the moonlight reflected off its barrel. They could see the station now…the rusted gates below it swinging lazily with the breeze. The creak of metal on metal. The station was deserted…save a single body, lying in wait…in the center of the cell.

Six bolted ahead of the group, "No no no…"

Then stopped. Waiting for the rest to catch up with him.

"Boss?"

"It's not him."

"What?" Graham was upon them now. He could see the body, lying limply – breathing shallow. "Follows-Chalk…" Graham rushed to the tribal's side, lifting his head gently.

"Josh…" Chalk gasped for breath. "J-J-Joshua…please…for…for…"

"Quiet now," Joshua's voice was low and flat. "Don't speak."

Chalk's breathing was quick paced. Fast, shallow breaths. Strained. "Boo…Boone…alive…they took him…to…to…"

"Shh…we'll find him." Graham took a deep breath and laid the boy's head down. He reached into a pouch in his vest and withdrew a cylindrical object. He began to gently twist the object into the barrel of his pistol…a silencer. "Peace be with you, child." The muffled sound of pistol fire. Then silence.

Graham stood slowly, eyes never leaving the body of the tribal.

"What the hell was that?" Six's voice broke the silence. "He knew where they took Boone!"

"Yes," Graham shot back. His voice guttural and livid. "And so will one of those Godless bastards in the encampment." He stepped forward, his eyes practically burning a hole through Six's skull. He shoved a worn rifle into Cloud's chest – ARRET etched into its stock. "Anyone who comes up this hill…" his voice was level again. Waking Cloud quickly nodded. Then to Raul, "Make your way back to the northern rockface."

Graham then turned his icy gaze to Six. "You're in this tower. We take no prisoners…save the last one standing. They will deliver us to your friend." He removed the silencer on his pistol, checked the clip…then the spare clips attached to his belt.

"You can't be serious?" Six shot back. "We can't take on this entire camp…"

Graham's voice became irate. "'By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. Remember, O Lord, the children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem who said, 'Raze it, raze it, even to the foundation.' O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed. Happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us. Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth they little ones against the stones.' Do you know what it means?" He was practically growling.

"…What? No…"

"The White Legs didn't just force my people out of New Canaan…no, they butchered them. Everyone who wasn't fast enough to get away…the elderly, the ill, the children. Those who stopped to help the wounded…it made no difference to them!" Graham was struggling…trying to keep from screaming. "They can't be reasoned with! Daniel doesn't understand! You don't seem to understand! Even if we leave…they won't stop! They'll follow us to the ends of the Earth! We must fight back!" Graham was breathing heavily; he pressed his index finger and thumb over his eyes. "What it means is that those who do the work of the Lord…no matter how brutal…find happiness. They find peace. Zion belongs to God and to the people of God. It is a natural temple and a monument to His glory! When our Lord entered the temple and found it polluted by money-changers and beasts…did He ask them to leave? Did He cry? Did He retreat or walk away? No! He drove them out!" Graham clenched his fists and brought one before his chest. "It is one thing to forgive a slap across my cheek…but an insultto the Lord…an attack on the Lord's people…it requires…it demands correction." His breathing slowed…he became more calm. "Daniel and I both desire a peaceful resolution to this conflict…where we differ is that only one of us believe it's possible. Go. If you must. You don't have to be here…but I am prepared to do what is necessary to protect Zion and its people."

Six took a breath and nodded to Raul. "We're with you."

Raul returned Six's nod and disappeared over the ridge swiftly. Graham, without a word or warning, turned and trudged back down the hill towards the camp. Six quickly made his way to the top of the tower. He reached for his rifle…stopping momentarily and choosing his holorifle instead. He peered through the night vision scope. He could see the White Legs in panic, trying to pack up their camp. Unaware of Death personified striding on his black horse in the form of the Burned Man. He could see Graham now, stepping swiftly from one tent to another. He'd raise his pistol and fire with incredible speed and accuracy. The White Legs were unprepared. Unarmed. Across the river he heard the crackle of Raul's rifle. Waking Cloud watched in horror at Six's side.

Graham didn't miss a beat. His work was seamless. Mechanical. Flawless. He pushed forward; fired, dropped a clip, loaded another, fired again and again. They were flies…they were all flies, dropping around him. Six timed his shots carefully. He fired. The sound of the gun made Waking Cloud jump. The burning ball of light shot across the darkness – ripping a hole through air and man alike.

Graham reached out, grasping one of the White Legs by the neck, spun him around and used him as a shield as the others began to try to fight back.

It had all started so swiftly. Before Six was aware of what was going on. And it had ended just so. Dozens upon dozens of bodies littered the ground around them…how many had he taken out? Ten? Twelve? And Raul? …Graham? And how many had scattered into the hills? Of all there...it couldn't have been more than a few.

He turned to Waking Cloud. She gripped the rifle, eyes wide with terror. Six attempted to pull the rifle from her grasp. She held it tightly…so tightly it drained the color from her hands. Six paused, looking at the woman. He raised a hand, tenderly stroked her arm, and pulled her towards him. "Cloud…"

She swallowed, but didn't answer.

"Give me the rifle…it's over."

He pulled the rifle from her grasp…though not without difficulty. He could see she was scared. Horrified by the events that had unfolded before her. He pulled her close and held her in the dark. He could feel her trembling in his arms. Now he knew why Daniel wanted to evacuate the Sorrows. They were untainted…they did not know the art of war. And this was why she was afraid. She was strong…but she had never seen anything like this.

Or maybe it was he that was trembling? He had never seen anything like this, either.

And he finally understood. This was why Caesar had sent him here. Sent him here as punishment…or maybe, given Six's past, hoping for another miracle. This was why Caesar wanted Joshua Graham's head. This wasn't the gentle Mormon that had greeted him upon his arrival at Zion. This wasn't the man that had held the hand of Follows-Chalk as he lay suffering, waiting for death.

This was a man possessed.

This was the Malpais Legate.

This was the Burned Man.

This was the right hand of a vengeful God.

Six felt terrified…he didn't care to take a life. He'd do what was necessary to save his friend. He knew that Boone would do the same for him. It was him...This was Joshua Graham…and Six was terrified of him.

He could feel his feet dragging. His body limp. He could hear, but couldn't see, people around him. Their voices echoing off the canyon walls…or perhaps that was just the result of his injury. His vision would come to briefly…then it would fog over and fade out. Every time he blinked, he was in a different place.

"We bring man to Flag-Bearer…"

"This is not the man you were sent for," a coarse voice, sounding of grinding stones, shot back.

"This man come with caravan."

Boone struggled to open his eyes.

"Caravan…"

The voice faded out. Boone felt himself falling, crashing to the ground. He commanded himself to rise…demanded that his arms push himself up. His mind willing, but his body unable.

"…he travels with the Courier then. I suppose that shouldn't surprise me."

It was the hoarse voice again. Raspy. Deep.

Silence again, save the ringing of his ears. Then another voice…Salt-Upon-Wounds. "…kill man? Tribute to Flag-Bearer!"

Another: "Yes! Kill utman!"

"No. The Courier will come for him…and he will bring the Burned Man to our doorstep. Put him with the others."

"The Burned Man…" Salt-Upon-Wounds spat. "He kill my people at bridge. We go now…end the Dead Horses. End Sorrows."

"Soon."

"Now!"

The coarse voice sighed. "You'll go…when I tell you to."

Boone found strength. If ever slightly. He coerced his head from the ground, centimeters perhaps…he forced his eyes open. He could see Salt-Upon-Wounds. He could see the woman that had cared for him in his cell, her eyes shining with some mixture of pity and fear. And he could see a figure faintly…old world flag on his back.

And that's it for this chapter. I've hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's good to be back in the game...you can expect more regular updates now. A couple a week at least.

Someone said I needed to show a bit of Joshua's anger...well, he didn't have a reason to show his anger. Until now.

Until next time!