Couple of things. First - I had written out a short section for Randall here, but I've decided to do a short piece on him later. It was a lot of fun to write...so it'll give me a small project to work on after the 18 Karat Run series has had its course.

Another thing...I wanted to be clear that the Kurisu I'm using is not the same one in the cancelled Van Buren project. I just wanted to include a little easter egg for those who really enjoy the series. The character I'm using just uses her counterpart's namesake. I wanted to clear that up if it was causing any confusion with anyone.

Things wind down a little in this chapter...but only because it's preparing for the big stuff that's to come later. Five chapters or so left for this piece and we'll be moving back to the main storyline for a while.

I think that's about it...so without further ado...

Enjoy.

"Three Marys?" Graham laughed to himself. "Of course…the scouts have reported heavy White Leg activity there. That must be the White Leg nerve center."

Six headed towards the river. He dipped his hands in the cool water – washing to blood from them. It was early, the sun had just begun to rise in a cloud covered, gloomy sky. Rain had set in…he was so tired of rain. "Yeah. That's what I gathered too. And, from what he told me…there's a significant number of White Legs there. Hundreds maybe."

Raul frowned. "No disrespect, Jefe…" he said, looking at Graham. "But I think even you would have trouble with that many."

"If only slightly," Graham replied. Six wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

Six trekked back over to the group, standing just outside the tent. Waking Cloud joined him at his side…she had been so quiet since their onslaught that he had nearly forgotten she was there. She turned her gaze towards the tent entrance, almost afraid of what she might find – and rightly so, as Six grasped her chin and turned her eyes towards him. He shook his head once, very firmly – his eyes saying what his mouth did not. No.

Waking Cloud obeyed.

"So what's the plan, Boss?"

Six curled his lips into a ball and shrugged. "I don't think we have a choice. I'm not leaving Boone to rot away as a White Leg prisoner."

"But we can't take that camp on our own," Graham admitted. "Go back to the Narrows. Talk to Daniel…I'll ready the Dead Horses."

"Daniel's not going to listen to me," Six assured Graham. "He doesn't know me…he isn't going to care what I have to say."

Graham swallowed. "No. No, he won't…" He turned to Raul. "We're not far from the Dead Horses camp. Can you make it there?"

"Not going to happen," Six answered for Raul. "I'm not letting what happened to Chalk happen to any of my people."

"You won't have to," Waking Cloud chimed in. "The Burial Grounds are not far from here…Dancing Flame will be there with a small number of my people. The area is secluded…I don't think the White Legs have found it. I will take him there…then we will travel together to the Dead Horses' camp."

Six studied Waking Cloud quietly then turned to Raul. "Do you think you're up for it, Old Timer?"

"Oh, sure, Boss." Raul's response seemed a bit caustic. "Let's all split up. Nothing bad ever happens when we do that."

Six scowled. "Right…You go back with Graham then. I'll get the Dead Horses."

"No," Raul grinned. "I got this, Boss. Seriously." He turned to Waking Cloud. "I'll follow your lead, la belleza."

Waking Cloud smiled. "Gracias, bello."

Raul smiled, he seemed impressed.

"When you reach the Dead Horses' camp, find Two-Bears. Tell him the time has come…that we'll meet at dawn. Dagger's point."

With a nod, Raul and Waking Cloud started towards the Burial Grounds.

"Raul, wait."

Raul turned towards Six. "Yeah, Boss?"

"Be careful," Six said resolutely. "And don't make your way back across this valley without a hoard of Dead Horse warriors on your heels."

"Gee, Boss. I didn't know you cared."

"I'm serious." Six's voice was somber. "And Raul…keep her safe."

Raul nodded. "With my life, Boss."

The top of the mesa was mostly barren. In some places thick red dust – a collective of broken down rock and sediment – had gathered in pools of water, creating a paste that clung to his boots. Quite a ways to the north, Boone could see a downed plane. The design was familiar…the same kind he'd seen many times at McCarran. As Boone neared the edge of the crag, he hunkered down low. He cautiously peered over the edge – he could see two camps, not unlike the ones at the old bridge. A few dozen White Legs in each.

He crept around the cliff's edge – slowly making his way southeast. The White Legs seemed to be preparing…Boone was familiar with the practice. For the most part anyway. Weapon checks; stocking ammunition; rationing and distribution of consumables; and – for those interested anyway – more idealistic practices…prayer, dread, amongst other rituals. The White Legs seemed to favor the latter practices. Particularly those regarding strange idols spread throughout the camp. Amongst the White Legs scattered around the camp, he could see Salt-Upon-Wounds pacing throughout – no doubt making sure all was in order. A simple shot is all it would take…

Boone pulled is rifle from his back – he laid flat and took aim. Each second offered a dull thud in his chest. His breathing slowed and his hands steadied. He watched carefully as Salt-Upon-Wounds made his rounds. Checking supplies, talking to his troops – whether he was chastising them or encouraging them, he wasn't sure. Likely both…Hanlon had done the same at the First Battle of Hoover Dam.

He had been there for that battle – stationed along the mountain ridge with the rest of the First Recon outfit. Picking off Legionnaires on the Dam…and later in Boulder City.

Boone purged the thoughts from his head. He took a breath and found composure – staring down the scope, he could see Salt-Upon-Wounds addressing a number of troops. Boone leveled his sights on his would-be target. Bits of perspiration mixed with the rain that dripped down his forehead. He waited a long moment – for the wind to die down. When it did, he pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked. Nothing happened.

Of course, the tribal woman hadn't given him any ammunition. Why would she? She didn't know if she could trust him. For all she knew, he would have thanked her with a bullet. She'd freed him...she had done her part. More than he could ask for really. Maybe more than he deserved.

So he had no ammunition at all…which meant he'd have to evade the White Legs – get back to the Narrows…All without being detected. But how far had they dragged him? He remembered water…being pulled across the riverbed, along the bank.

He pulled back from the edge of the precipice and studied his surroundings. The closest river flowed only one direction from here…north to south. He peered through his scope…south of his current position was their camp. Beyond that…familiar ground. Where they had first entered Zion.

North…In the distance, he could see a radio tower. Not too far from where the plane rested above the valley floor. He recognized the tower. Something like that stands out in a place like Zion. If memory served him correctly, that tower was just north of the old bridge where the White Legs had taken up camp. Just north of where he was captured.

Boone thought on it for a long moment. If he were going to find his way back…that would be the place to start.

Crouched low, he traversed the terrain. The cliff face was high – and he ultimately ended up quite a ways from the point of his initial ascent. He began his descent towards the Virgin River – a lonesome dock and a ruined boat decorated the western shoreline. Several other destroyed vessels littered the shoreline opposite – some green geckos had made their home within them. When he had reached the valley floor, he started north – staying close to the shoreline, but electing not to travel on it. He wanted to avoid detection, and it was clear the White Legs made use of the river. So would he…albeit more subtly.

"Christ…" Daniel rested his head in his hands, lightly covering his mouth. "Unless you have any objections, Joshua, I'd like to start evacuating the Sorrows as soon as possible."

Graham sneered. "You can't be serious…"

"Very much so," Daniel replied calmly. "We'll break camp tonight, just as the sun sets. With any luck, the White Legs won't know we're gone until morning."

"Have you ever known luck to be on our side, Daniel?"

"I'd say you can count yourself lucky."

"Really?" Graham's voice was abrasive. "You'd count one lucky who has to lie down each night and fight to find sleep. And when he finds it, he relives deeds done past and mistakes unforgotten. Only to wake up in insufferable pain, having to replace bandages so that infection doesn't set it…and each time the bandages are removed, it's like he was set on fire all over again. That sounds lucky to you?"

"Not at all. But a man committing the atrocities that you did and finding his way back to God, back to the people who love him and a tribe that reveres him…to have survived what you have alone…I'd say that counts for something."

Graham scowled – though no one would know it.

"We'll leave at…"

"I heard you," Graham spat. "And what if luck isn't on our side? What if the White Legs know of our pitiable attempt to flee…and they fall on the Sorrows here like they did the New Canaanites in Ogden?"

"I'm aware of the risks, Joshua…"

"Are you? Because it doesn't seem that way. You're risking…"

"I know what I'm risking. If something goes wrong…countless Sorrows could die in the escape. More than if we outright fought them. But it's a risk I have to take. To preserve their innocence. To keep them from falling victim to the atrocities of war. With your help…with the help of your friends…I know we can do this, Joshua."

Graham didn't answer him.

"Joshua…you have to let go of this fire inside of you. You have to let go of your lust for vengeance…if you're ever going to find peace. If you're ever going to change." When Graham still didn't respond, Daniel sighed. He stretched the map out on the ground before them. "We'll go south-east, like we've discussed. Through Pine Creek Tunnel…once we're in, we'll collapse the entrance. Delaying the White Legs pursuit long enough for us to get a sufficient head start."

"Whoa, whoa…blast the tunnel? Are you serious?" Six shook his head. "That's insane. That's stupid. You don't know what's on the other side. Or even if you can get back out. You could trap yourselves in the tunnel."

Daniel's brow furrowed. He hadn't considered that…

"Even if the way were clear," Graham began. "You've said it yourself. Collapsing the tunnel would only delay their pursuit. The White Legs are relentless. They followed us from Ogden…they'll follow us from here. We cannot run away…we must take a stand."

Daniel shook his head. "Take a stand?" He repeated, almost in disbelief. "No. No. Why? For what? A piece of land? We can find somewhere else for them to live…for them to make a home of." Daniel turned his eyes towards Six, pleading. "Haven't you seen enough death?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer. When Six didn't respond, he continued. "…What Joshua wants is more than attack…he wants a slaughter."

"An extermination," Graham corrected. "Destroying the White Legs is the only way to ensure the Sorrows can remain in Zion."

"It's just a piece of land!" Daniel was getting exasperated.

"It's. Their. Home." Graham snarled.

"The Sorrows can't be pushed into this, Joshua," Daniel pushed his index finger in to Graham's chest. "You don't have the right to force them into it. You can take your Dead Horses and," He waved towards Six. "And…your new champions. Do this on your own."

"You don't seem to understand," Graham's voice hardened…if that was possible. "Many of the Sorrows are already willing to fight for this land. Persuasion won't be necessary."

"No, you're wrong. I've already explained everything to them. They know we're leaving, and they've accepted it."

"Accepting something and supporting it are two entirely different things," Joshua said flatly. "When they know the Dead Horses are fighting for them, that we're fighting for them, they'll join our cause. Their God lives here, in these caves. They believe he gave them this land. They'll die to protect it."

"And that's what you're going to do…lead them to their deaths. And even if you succeed…how are you going to wash away the blood that taints their hands? How will they live with themselves after they've gotten lost in the moment and killed someone who didn't deserve to die? Or does that even matter to you?"

"They all deserve to die." Graham growled. "You know what the White Legs did to our people. We will show no quarter to any White Leg we come across – make no mistake."

"That's murder!"

"No." Graham's normally calm voice rose, if only slightly. "That's justice."

The color from Daniel's face seemed to fade. His knees weak, he found himself searching for a place to sit. "How can you say that?" He fumbled with the leather bound book in his hands, hastily flipping through pages. "'And thinkest thou this, O man, that judgest them which do such things, and doest the same, that thou shalt escape the judgment of God?'…Joshua, open your eyes. Who are you to sentence these people?"

"I am the right hand of God. The tool of His vengeance. I shall fall like a shadow across Zion and bring death to those that would harm His people."

"Are you even hearing yourself?" He turned to Six. "Do you see now? His time with the Legion has changed him…he has no mercy to give."

Six turned his gaze away from Daniel's. He had to admit that Graham's intentions seemed less than pure. It seemed more like a quest for vengeance…less so a mission to protect Zion. But Six could understand such a quest…after all, he had tracked Benny down solely to end him. Hell…he still might.

"This is the world we live in, Daniel." Graham spoke quietly – regaining composure. "I do not enjoy killing, but when done righteously, it's a chore…just like any other."

Daniel scoffed at the thought. "This is the world we live in? This is the world we created. The world we brought to them." Daniel pointed at the cave entrance – to the tribals. "You want to call it a…a chore?" He sighed. "I guess that's what it is. I don't know what's more chilling. That'd you'd call it that or the fact that it's one you've gotten very good at."

Graham swallowed. "Practiced hands make for short work. We both know…the good Lord knows…there's much work to be done here."

"Maybe you're right…maybe there is no place left in this world for mercy." Daniel stood, hands clenched around that leather bound book. His voice stifling – fighting back sobs. "But even if it tramples me into the dust, I will never accept it." He took a few steps towards the cave entrance – stopping briefly to look Graham square in the eye. "And I will never condone it."

Then he was gone.

With a sigh, Graham turned to Six. "Thank you for your support. I realize this may be a difficult thing to comprehend, but know that we are doing His work. The work of the Lord. 'The Lord is a man of war; the Lord is His name…Your right hand, O Lord, has become glorious in power; Your right hand, O Lord, has shattered the enemy. And in the greatness of Your excellence you have overthrown those who rose against You; You sent forth Your wrath which consumed them like stubble.'"

Six raised a brow. "Whatever your reasons are…they're not my concern. I just hope we're doing the right thing."

"We are," Graham affirmed. "Whether you realize it or not, we are doing the work of God."

"That's really the least of my worries. I want to help these people…and I want to get back to the Mojave. When we're there…we'll deal with Caesar."

Graham took a breath. "You know the moment I enter the Mojave, the eyes of Caesar will be upon you. He will know of your failure. And he will seek vengeance. You say he had a captive…he will kill her."

"That's exactly why we have to take this son of a bitch out."

Graham stood, making his way across the cave that the Sorrows had bestowed upon Six and his group upon their arrival. He found himself peering up through the cracks in the cave ceiling towards the sky. Rainwater trickled down through the cracks – a slow steady drip. The water was cool on his skin. "I am not entirely convinced that killing Caesar is the right course of action."

"Excuse me?" Six stood, he couldn't quite believe his ears. "The bastard set you on fire. He's dead set on plundering the Mojave. Making slaves and corpses out of anyone who opposes him."

"Then help the NCR to drive him from the Mojave. But his death will only bring disorder and suffering to the mid-western tribes."

"They'll find their way. Caesar wasn't always around."

Graham thought back to his conversation with Raul – then further back, to his exploits in Arizona. "You didn't see Arizona before the Legion."

"Bull shit. You know what? If you're afraid of him, fucking admit it. But spare me the sympathy act. We both know there's not a bone in your body that sympathizes with the man or any of the tribes he's conquered."

"Love the sinner. Hate the sin," Graham spoke softly. "Edward was like a brother to me. Part of me wants vengeance. Part of me would like to see the man burn for what he did."

"You listen to me," Six spat, stepping towards Graham. "You wanted my help. You got it. The price is blood – Caesar's blood."

"And what of the NCR?" Graham balked. "I am a war criminal. Even if you could get me into the Mojave without alerting Caesar, the NCR will have me tried. I'll face a firing squad…or worse."

"You leave that to me."

Graham turned his gaze towards Six. "You seem confident."

"I have my reasoning," Six assured him. Graham remained silent.

"Six?" Daniel's voice echoed throughout the cave.

"You're coming with me," Six pledged. "Alive or dead."

"Six?" Again, Daniel's voice called out.

He turned his attention to the cave entrance. "Yeah?" Six answered.

"You might want to come see this," Daniel called back.

With a grunt, Six began making his way out of the cave. Graham followed closely behind him. Daniel stood on a rope bridge connecting the canyon walls to each other. He peered south through a pair of binoculars – towards the entrance to the Narrows. Six followed his gaze.

He saw the figure of a man, walking with intent. Not so much walking as he was marching. Rifle slung over his shoulder. The familiar red beret swaying with each step.

"I'll be a son of a bitch," Six laughed. He turned to Graham, "It's Boone."

And that's all for tonight. I would have posted this Friday, but it was far from complete. I mean...it was mostly written, but I gave it several revisions before I was satisfied. Hopefully the revisions were for the better and you all enjoyed this chapter.

Until next time.