002:
»«○»«○»«
LESS-THAN-CORDIAL-WELCOME
The morning that followed was worse than the attack itself. At least, in his opinion, that is how it felt.
The White Legs, a group of barbarous murderers that attacked their home, continue to pile up bodies before moving them away. Now, having either destroyed the town with gasoline and fire in its entirety, or having since quenched their needs for supplies – and, hopefully, bloodlust – they are no longer raiding. Regardless of the reason, three quarters of their original fighting force has gone. Dispersed back into the Wasteland.
It's this scene they look upon, hidden up high amongst the rugged mountainside that surrounds half of what used to be New Canaan. Two brothers, on their fronts, pressed up against the rock face in an attempt to stay unseen. Their faces, while different, share the same expressions. A turbulent portrait of impotent rage, terrible fear, overwhelming grief, heart aching sorrow and a secret sense of relief none of them really understand.
The first is the eldest of the two, a big fellow, dark haired and short of stature. Anthony Ryker lets out a gasp between clenched teeth and rips his gaze away, momentarily choking on his own words.
The younger brother, who is leaner and taller, but still as dark haired, Peter Ryker, turns towards his older counterpart. His gaze locks onto his brother's face hard, searching for something akin to reassurance. Something that proves that this is just some horrible nightmare - the kind that wakes their eldest brother up frequently most nights. That kind. The bad kind. Something that tells him that it's just not true - that their family and friends, fellow brothers and sisters, that they are fine. That the bodies of their family aren't lying in piles further down in the town centre
A few seconds of staring and the look Anthony gives him proves as much.
Their worst nightmares have come true.
Peter is not a weak man, but the concept of everything that has just transpired is enough to make his lower jaw tremble. "Tony," he gasps, trying hardest to hold back his sobs. Crying won't solve anything, his father used to say. Crying won't bring them back. "What do we do?" the younger brother then demands. He has yet to unclench his hands.
Anthony's expression hardens, then breaks, but he manages to get control over it again. He exhales hard through his nose, gritting through his clenched jaw. Right here, right now. He's in charge. For all the good it'll do. "We stay here."
"But-"
"Stay here!" he hisses, sliding across the weathered rock on his stomach in order to get closer to his little brother. "What good is it going to do? To go running down there and get slaughtered, to just end up with the rest of them?" his voice breaks at the last part and he looks away again. Peter won't look at him, blue eyes brimming with stubbornly unreleased tears. Anthony makes a noise akin to pain, shifting closer again so their shoulders are touching. He clasps a hand around the younger man's shoulder. It's not much, but it's enough. "Someone must have got out." he says, quietly, hushed. "They'll be hiding out just like we are."
"The... the corpses." Peter mutters. "What are they doing with them?"
Anthony's expression falters. He knows.
He's not the only New Canaanite to have come across White Leg's before. He shakes his head. "Peter..."
"They're dead, what could-"
"Peter... be quiet."
But the younger brother just shakes his head. "Tony, everyone is... oh God." They've lost many - and that was just in the firefight that erupted near the gateway to the town. Seven hundred people live in New Canaan. He wonders how many do now. "They're... they're gone."
"Not everyone." Anthony insists, looking his little brother in the face. His expression is firm, but his eyes betray a sense of fear. He knows what this is. With Peter. It's the beginnings of shell-shock. "Samuel, Adam and Johanna will be fine. They'll be ok. Daniel – he'll be fine, he was on tenth metre watch when it happened. You could get away from that."
Peter splutters in disbelief, face crumpling up. "How do you know that?"
"If they're the people we know they are, then they'll be alright. They're used to trouble - We're, used to trouble." he nods his head then. Perhaps, just perhaps, there is hope. They can only hope now and of course, place trust in the Lord. Anthony inwardly detests it. He wants to be certain, not just hopeful.
They continue to watch in silence, slowly, morning turns to afternoon and it's only when the sun is starting to fall towards the horizon that they finally deem it safe enough. Neither man could nap, nor could they move much from their positions. When Anthony stands, his limbs ache, moving across the ledge to examine the town before him anew. It's obvious that the White Legs are still there, but with far less numbers than before. Enough to make it home.
Or, what's left of it.
Anthony grimaces and turns to Peter, eyes landing on the freshly polished .45 automatic pistol pressed up against the younger man's gut. Peter had just finished his missionary training, he was supposed to be leaving in a few weeks' time. Daniel and Mordicai had been picking out tribes, Anthony knows. He hadn't even had the chance to fire it outside the walls.
"You remember how to work that?" he asks and Peter gives him a firm, curt nod. A New Canaanite is raised around firearms as much, if not more, than they are faith, but firing a gun at a bottle is far different from doing so at a tribal. A living human being. Savages, but human none the less. "Safety off, know the target." again, there is another nod and Anthony sighs. He closes his eyes for a moment. Then he looks at him, expression blank. "Let's go then."
»«○»II«○»«
Jerking awake suddenly with a scowl, Daniel rips his head up and blinks the bright light away, automatically lurching up in his chair. It wasn't, in any way, a good position to sleep in. His neck aches painfully and his arms and lower back twinge unpleasantly.
He doesn't know what had startled him and at this point, he really doesn't care. He hasn't gone jumping for his handgun, so it can't be that bad of a situation. He takes the time to breathe. Then he looks up.
Frowning across the expanse of the room, Daniel tries to make sense of his surroundings. He stops dead, however, when he sees Waking Cloud. She's standing on the other side of the woman, holding what looks vaguely like a syringe to his confused mind. Then he realises that she's holding it wrong and he can't help but relax. It's poised to inject the injured woman, but at an angle that makes him wince just thinking about it. With the afternoon sun, the midwife looks far more angelic than usual. Syringe and all.
She's looking pretty alarmed, however, like she's not sure why…
Oh. He's still scowling. That explains it. Grunting, he wipes the expression off his face.
"Did I wake you?" she whispers, looking more than a little concerned. Daniel's damn Ryker streak riles a bit with her unease, but it's nothing more than a sense of good-natured intention, so he shakes his head. More to himself than her.
He doesn't mean to come across as ungrateful, it's just how things worked in his family. Back in New Canaan, close to all forms of charity rankled, even if it did ever come out of some form of undeserved respect. They didn't mind giving; if anything, they gave too much. It was receiving they couldn't cope with. It was an odd family custom that used to send Mordecai up the bend half the time. Plain stubbornness, he had said, and now, as a thirty-year-old man, Daniel knows it was this stupid outlook on life that got them into a lot of these predicaments in the first place.
If he had been a little less suspicious of other people's good will, perhaps he could have solved more than a few issues before they could have even started.
"It's fine…" he trails off, eyeing the syringe, then the woman. She's not doing so well now and then, he realises that it was her that had startled him. Her sleep is fitful; shivering and sweating, with a grimace that proves more than just a little discomfort.
"C'mere," he grunts then, sliding off the chair and walking over. Waking Cloud knows better than to argue - not that she ever would, honestly - she's learnt a lot, but he's always the first one to do something when it comes round to it. At the end of the day, he's the one who's spent eight or so years studying medicine.
Still, he handles it way better than Matthews ever did. Perhaps it was just because he was trained as a Missionary, or because of Matthew's arrogance, but Daniel is a far better teacher. He can get his point across, showing her just how to position the syringe so it's not being held like a knife.
God forbid.
"You need to tilt your hand ever so slightly – and don't grip it; thumb on the plunger, index and middle finger on the base. Don't use your whole hand. Otherwise, you risk the chance of hurting them."
There is a trick to missionary work. Daniel knows. It's a surprise how much actual work goes into the logistics of what he does.
He's used to teaching tribals the specifics. How to make better fires, how to do this, how to do that. It's the simple stuff that doesn't take a lot of afterthought. Leading by example. Teaching a select few people medicine however is another kettle of fish. As a spiritual leader there are a million different things to organise when it comes to the tribe as a whole. Less things now, admittedly, as the Sorrows have come a long way in the past six years, but teaching another person how to heal others is even more time consuming than the latter, for completely different reasons.
Now, Daniel knows how Matthews felt. He can't just show Waking Cloud what to do and expect her to just get on with it. He cannot, and should not, under any circumstances, allow her to treat anyone without him looking over her shoulder, or at least, without his consent. She's a very intelligent woman, a talented midwife, but it takes more than just skill to heal another person. She doesn't know many of the pre-war medicines he uses, that there is a major difference between Amoxicillin and Ampicillin, that it's not the needle that helps – or, as much as it is the case in the Wasteland harms – people, but the stuff inside it.
She'll get it one day, of course, but until then, Daniel isn't going anywhere. They're stuck with him.
"How long was I asleep?" he asks after he's finished taping back the bandages and rolling the sleeve down.
She stares at him for a few moments, a soft furrow between her eyebrows. "Not for long. Three revolutions."
Daniel nods. Three hours. That's… a long time. For him at least. Waking Cloud doesn't know, at least, he doesn't think she knows. She likely only assumes what everyone else does; that Daniel Ryker does not often sleep. The reasons why he hasn't advertised. Nor is he going too. He doesn't need to burden this tribe with his own past failings, that isn't fair.
Oh look, his Ryker streak is back again.
"What will Joshua Graham do with this woman?" she asks then, suddenly and Daniel just shakes his head, breaking apart the syringe and throwing into a tray that smelled strongly of generic disinfectant, alcohol and Abraxo cleaner.
Another reason he wants to get them out of Zion. "Nothing." He assures. "It would be wrong to act without proper judgement… and it's not up to Joshua." Unintentionally, the latter part of his sentence turns out to be far more suggestive than he was expecting. Thankfully she doesn't seem to notice.
It's not that he's blaming him – people came in from the Mojave all the time and more often than not, they turn out to be threats, threats Daniel or Joshua has to deal with. No. Recently his attitude towards the former Legate had changed. Not much, but it's still a change none the less – and a pretty noticeable one at that. It's not that he's scared, or even angry, but something in his manner has shifted.
Daniel knows Joshua on a personal level, enough to be familiar on grounds that a lot of people just ignore, so any change in behaviour between them is evident. He's not the only one who's noticed; Anthony and Peter have suddenly become weary whenever the two of them are in the same vicinity.
He can't really explain it. A few years ago, Daniel would have rather disembowelled himself than question Joshua's authority, but now, he doesn't know. What was once outspoken disagreement has turned into a quiet but unmistakably heavy power struggle. So much so, that he's quite sure something is going to snap one day. It wasn't like with Anthony, with little games of one-upmanship, or the clipped, frustrated conversations he had with Mordecai in regards to missionary regimes and guardposts. Daniel is at an impasse with a living legend - but he's not stepping back, even if he is way out of his depth.
He's not going to take anyone just walking over him, big scary Malpais Legate or no. Daniel is far too stubborn for that. It's this brand of stubbornness mixed with Joshua's headstrong nature that is the ready made recipe for disagreements and, as they have since realised, outright arguments. Some of them have actually been quite vicious - which does scare Daniel, because hell, he might be stronger, far younger, but he wouldn't last a minute in a proper fight with Joshua. He's capable, he guesses, to do a fair amount of damage before going down, but he doesn't want to. Be capable, that is. Daniel doesn't want to hurt anybody, not again. Especially not Joshua. He might not agree with the former Legate's motives, but he still loves the man with the same begrudging fondness of a brother regardless and he's pretty sure that a good amount of that is returned.
Daniel does know what Joshua wants. He wants redemption. He wants to take vengeance for New Canaan. It's something the missionary understands - some part of him wants it too.
But what he can't stress enough is that, heck, it's happened before and that's what worries him. People died in New Canaan because they waged war. It was easier to pull a trigger then find an alternative way around, but in no way better. Mordecai lost fifty people trying to avenge New Jerusalem back in his day.
It's a vicious circle, one he doesn't want to drag the Sorrows into. He's dragged enough tribes into problems they can't handle as it is.
The fact that the Sorrows are simply innocent makes it even harder to swallow. Well, they can fight, he supposes - kill a Yao Gaui with nothing but a three man hunting team, but what do they know about making war? Only that Randall Clark said to avoid it whenever they could.
No. He'll move them away, then once they are out of reach, Joshua can do how he pleases with the White Legs. There's more at stake here than a clump of land. When the White Legs are gone, what happens when the Legion decides to make a move, or the NCR? More wars? He hates to admit it, but Zion is no longer the safe haven it used to be.
"Good." Waking Cloud seems reassured. "She is still very weak."
"She'll be like this for a while." Daniel gives her a sidelong glance and then he sighs. Moving back over towards his camping chair and falling against it heavily, running a hand through his hair as he does so. He gives the woman a once over from his position.
Cleaned up, she looks much better than before. The colour has returned to her face and now that he's given her a sedative, she's relaxed, not tensed up from the pain. She'll still need to be on an IV, but the hypovolemic shock wasn't as serious as it once was. She's no longer on death's door. A few bruised ribs, cuts and scrapes – the obvious injury to her leg and mild heat exhaustion was all he found. Typical wounds. Certainly nothing he hasn't seen before. Daniel doesn't know what she's been through exactly, or how many miles she had wandered before Follows-Chalk had managed to track her down, but White Legs or no, she's going to make it.
A muffled gunshot rings out over the distance, snatching his attention and he glances towards the mouth of the cave. He recalls the flash of discomfort in Follow-Chalk's eyes when he told the boy to get back to Joshua. It's not Daniel's place to say how Joshua runs the Dead Horses, but that level of unease in the boy's eyes wasn't exactly a welcome sight in either instance, mainly because he actually likes the scout, in all truthfulness. He's very well spoken for a tribal, green enough to follow your lead, but experienced so that you don't have to keep a constant watch. He reminded Daniel a lot of Samuel, actually. That sort of compassionate eagerness and general light hearted demeanour was spot on.
Daniel grimaces and forces back a bite of dissent. Now is not the time to be thinking of such things.
Walking Cloud excuses herself to see to dinner and Daniel grunts his assent, gaze still locked on the woman, mulling over recent events and in particular, his own responses to it all. If she wasn't an outsider, he'd be considerably more enthusiastic. Why, he doesn't quite know. He could have a guess; he has never liked strangers and rarely finds an excuse to go out meeting non-tribals. Even in New Canaan he was quiet and somewhat elusive. At least, he had been. Especially after the Tar Walkers.
Daniel is not going to lie - he doesn't trust her one bit. At all.
Oh, he'll help her. He'd help her because it's right, because somebody has to, because it's how he was raised and because, hell, he never took up medicine for the added benefits, but still, it's just not a good time to catch them in the slightest. He takes comfort in knowing that it won't be a situation that lasts long. She'll get better and be on with her way, hopefully. The sooner he can get back to evacuating the Sorrows the sooner he can... well... the sooner the better, in any sense. It doesn't matter what he does afterwards.
»«○»II«○»«
The town they walk into is not the town they remember.
A pair of legs lie motionless across the street, old and pre-war, the asphalt is cracked. It had rained during the night. Put most of the fires out. Not that it will do much good, though - New Canaan is gone. That thought in particular just hurts and Anthony manages to stifle the gasp. Peter isn't doing much better. They stare in mute horror as they move across, down dirt pathways that used to be familiar, the streets of their youth, their home. A few flies buzz around dead livestock and a woman's body lies nearby. They lived close to the centre of town - their eldest brother's position as an elder member of the Mormon Church had resulted in it. The building itself still stands, but neither man can force themselves to enter.
They stand there, expressions set. The rest of the town, all around them, from the church to the very back wall that lead towards the manufacturing area of town, it was a still portrait of life interrupted. It's barren, however. Empty.
Peter stares mutely straight ahead, but his shoulders are shaking. Gradually, the tremors get more and more violent until it's uncontrollable. He's crying then, and the sound jerks Anthony back into the present and he snaps his head around. The noise of his brother's sobbing is loud - loud enough to draw attention. So he faces the younger man, he's at a loss - in more ways than one - he doesn't know what to do.
"Stop it." he grunts, but Peter is lost in a confusion of grief and panic. "Peter... stop it. Stop it!"
Finally, Anthony grabs him in a gesture that is halfway between violence and comfort, holding him as the younger brother rocks back and forth. Neither of them knows how long they are stood there, but when they hear the sound of something snapping, they both turn around violently. Anthony makes to raise his pistol, but he pauses at the last minute, his jaw going slack. Peter lets out a gasping sob.
"You know, if I was a White Leg, you'd have died." a few feet away from them, identical Carolina blue eyes narrow under the rim of a newsboy cap.
"Daniel!" Peter leaps across the space to embrace him as if he were salvation itself. Stood in his father's leather jacket and a pair of hunting boots, Daniel wraps his arms around his younger brother and presses his mouth against the younger man's hair. Anthony just lets out a noise of relief, lowering his handgun properly as he approaches slowly.
"Thank the Lord." Daniel grunts, pausing for a few moments before pulling Peter away slightly, checking the younger man's face.
Anthony fixes his brother with an unreadable, but heavy look. "You saw them?" he asks. Daniel replies with a wordless nod. He saw. "You hurt?"
"A few burns... bruises... nothing significant." Daniel's brow lowers as he glances around. "You?"
"Got clipped during the fight last night. Just a scratch."
Just a scratch. Bruises. A few burns. They're both stood in dirtied, sodden clothing. Anthony's hair is caked in grime and mud, blood splatters up one side of his sleeve. Daniel has a charcoal kissed bruise on one side of his face and he's completely soaked through. Anthony sighs then, compared to his brother, he's thicker in the shoulders, but considerably less groomed. His hair is clipper cut short and he's got a scruff from a week of remaining unshaven. "Where are the others?"
Daniel gives him a long, significant look. "Water tower. We managed to get thirty or so people into hiding. It's enough. For now." then he swallows, seemingly dreading the worst. "Have you seen Adam?"
Anthony shifts, looking down. He blinks. "I thought he was with you."
"No, he was with the other two."
They both look towards their home then, but Daniel's gaze is taken towards the still-burning ruins of what was once the church. He makes a noise of pain and moves towards the house. This doesn't go unnoticed. "The church?" Anthony asks.
"From the first floor up."
The second oldest Ryker brother hesitates. His voice breaks and although he wasn't a big fan of the Bishop, he narrows his eyes in sympathy towards his brother's turned back. "Daniel..." he can't get the words out, and Daniel just shakes his head.
Jerking the door open slowly and pulling his handgun from out of his holster. He moves in slowly, checking the corners, lowering himself a little as he steps somewhat gradually, uncertain. Life in his house is at a standstill. The table is still set for dinner, candles lit, an open book tossed against the sofa. One of Daniel's boots makes the floorboards beneath him creak and there comes a noise from the cellar. The oldest brother freezes, expression firm as he moves towards it, gun pointed. But, after a moment of consideration, he shoves it into the waistband of his trousers and rips the door open.
From the root cellar, a young boy, around the age of thirteen appears. He's fair haired, but he's undoubtedly a Ryker - they look strikingly alike, even with skin that is dirty and tear-streaked.
"Adam!" Daniel practically drags him out, embracing him hard as he buries the boy's head in his coat. When he pulls him back, bending down slightly to look him in the face, the boy recoils. He's disoriented. "Hey, look at me." Daniel grimaces, his thumb tracing the angry red mark under Adam's left eye. "Where are Sam and Johanna?"
Adam shakes his head, firmly. His eyes flicker towards the kitchen and Anthony turns, he does however stop in the doorway. And his voice breaks. "I've found Sam."
Peter drops his head, shoulders shaking. Daniel just wordlessly grips hold of the youngest, fingers straining.
"We can't just leave him... the White Legs... they'll do that- they'll..."
Anthony shakes his head at Peter, gaze flickering towards Daniel. "We can't afford to waste time."
The oldest Ryker lowers his chin, starting at his brother's head. "Johanna?" his voice is clipped, older - he's too beaten up to summon up the required emotion.
Again, Adam just shakes his head.
Daniel rips his head up, starting Anthony down. "We'll have to check the water tower."
Getting to the old pre-war water treatment building is difficult - you have to cross main avenues to even get towards the more industrial area of town. Daniel grimaces as he moves about the house, shouldering the strap of his father's rifle and eyeing his brothers warily. Anthony doesn't know what to do with Samuel's body - some part of him doesn't want to go anywhere near it. Peter is no longer saying anything; he just stands there, clutching Adam. The boy hasn't spoken much either, but that is not much of a rarity.
The next few minutes are going to be very, very hard for the boy.
"We'll have to be quick about this - Peter, make sure Adam gets there..." grimacing idly at the way Peter seems almost unsure of himself, he turns towards Anthony. "You know what to do."
Anthony does, and he grips his handgun as he moves towards the front door, covering the elder brother as he braces himself and moves out into the street rapidly, checking his corners. When he gets into the street properly, he nods back at them.
Time to go.
»«○»II«○»«
"She said you were sleepin'."
Daniel snaps his head around and frowns. Anthony stands in the cave entrance way, hands in his pockets and expression unreadable. He looks road weary and regards his older brother with a sense of unease. It's only when he walks in further that Daniel realises. While he is unkempt as usual; Anthony's eyes are bloodshot.
"Anthony." Daniel greets stiffly, leaning against his knees and jerking his chin towards the spare seat tossed over towards one side. Anthony pulls it up closer. Then, he buries his head in his hands. "You've been informed?"
"What, that Mister House's highly esteemed Lieutenant, the formidable Courier Six, is currently wearing your clothes and sleeping on your gear? Yeah, I have. Unless there is anything else I should be knowin'." he says wryly, as blasé as normal. Daniel makes a noise, snapping his head towards his brother and giving him a frown.
"You're more informed than any of us."
Anthony gives him a shrug, as if it's not so much of an accomplishment. It isn't, really. He has never stayed in once place for too long. Anthony is more like his father in that way; he was out on trading routes more often than anyone. "She's from the Mojave alright. Won the Second Battle of Hoover Dam too, you know? With an army o' robots, or so I hear." He studies her from across the room, unsurprised. "I don't know how mucha' of it is true, but considering how it all came from the NCR…" he trails off, shrugging his shoulders again. "As much as I appreciate being in the loop of things, DJ, I'm curious as to why you've even bothered to involve yourself, never mind me. I thought you wanted to get out of here as soon as possible."
"I do." Daniel grunts.
"Well, I ain't much of a nurse, if that's what you're thinking."
Daniel can't help but laugh at that – Anthony really isn't, at all. He knows more than anyone. "No. Things are... taken care of at the moment, but your enthusiasm is noted." he sighs then. "It's not her I'm concerned about right now."
Anthony leans back against the chair, squinting up at his older brother. "Oh?"
"You remember that group I sent out to meet with Peter? The mothers and children, they had a group of men with them too." he grunts, and Anthony brings his head up, thinking.
"Uh, yeah. I think."
"I haven't heard from them since."
Anthony gives him a look, mouth slightly agape. He frowns then, if only a little bit. "Want me to find out what happened? Peter thought they got there ok."
"Peter led them to the Colorado River on his own; the men still have to make their way back."
"Thought this place seemed emptier." he scratches his beard, then gives a curious look over towards Daniel's own, he's grinning then. "You've got a bit of a mountain wastelander look goin' on there, you know."
Daniel snorts. "You can hardly speak for yourself."
"I am a mountain wastelander, just a religious, well-educated one." Anthony he gives his brother a long look and twigs something up pretty easily. He doesn't have Daniel or Johanna's skill for medicine, or Adam's talent when it came to machines, but he's still very intelligent... he just doesn't like to show it in public, which is interesting, really, because acting like a smartass is one of his defining talents. "You're worried and not just about the Sorrows. So, c'mon, spit it out."
"What?"
"You're looking the same way you did when you found out that Sarah Kingston was an 80'." he says idly. "Either she's done something to piss you off, or she's making you nervous."
"Don't bring that woman into this." Daniel groans. He's not sure which one he even means.
"I told you she'd come back to bite you on the ass." Anthony makes a face. "I don't know what you saw in that PMSing wraith, DJ."
Daniel gives him a glance, lip curling upwards. "That's a lovely thing to say."
"You're welcome, on account of you and your poor ass." Anthony pointedly ignores the sarcasm.
"It's after she's done healing." Daniel explains, staring down at his shoes before pinching the bridge of his nose. "What the heck am I supposed to do? She shouldn't be here, Tony."
"Course she shouldn't, but she is." Anthony frowns. Turning his head and examining her for a second time. One look at Daniel's scrunched up face and he grunts, folding his arms and letting his head fall backwards. "Look, you want options on how to get rid of her, DJ? Fine. From what I hear, the Courier is a liability and a half – enemies made out of both the big ol' NCR and the Legion, so you don't need my blessing to do what you want with the woman in my opinion." He begins to tick off his fingers, one by one. "Dump 'er back in Zion and forget this ever happened. Send her on her merry way without any form of map and her die in the wilderness, or just stop treating her and let her die of whatever the hell she's going through." He gives his brother a long, hard look.
Daniel scowls. "What the heck is wrong with you?"
Anthony gives him a grim look. "I never said any of those options were right, DJ." He leans back again, crossing one leg over the other. "But nothin' else comes to mind, if you wanna' find a way to get rid of her without getting involved." He sighs, knocking his boots together. "You know, this could be the break you and Joshua needed."
"Oh?"
"Look. She needs the maps to get outa' here, right?" Daniel nods. "If anything, then you ought' to help one another out."
Daniel grunts. "I don't see it going any other way. We need supplies; she'll need maps to get out of here. I can't give one without getting the other in return. That's not the issue – it's making sure Joshua is on board. He still wants to go all out."
"Perhaps." Anthony shrugs. "She came in with a caravan. Lot of the group died, but from what I gathered from the Dead Horses, two of them made it out and went up Eastern'."
"So she's not the only one."
"Nope."
Daniel exhales into his hands.
"Then she stays, for now."
Anthony snorts. "Just make sure she doesn't turn out to be another Kingston." He pauses then, slowly and hesitatingly, as if remembering something. His voice is grave. "Adam…"
Daniel's head snaps upwards so quickly his vision blurs. "What about Adam?" he demands.
"It's not good, Dan."
Collapsing against the back of his chair, Daniel exhales. He knew it was never going to be good. "How bad?"
Anthony just manages to sound grave. "All the stability you managed to create back up at Dead Horse Point is pretty much gone. It wasn't exactly subtle, DJ. He's more distressed then when Canaan…" Anthony divers his gaze and shakes his head. "He hasn't uttered a word – he's withdrawing. He's signing a little, but he's not engaging. Screaming a lot. Johanna can't get him to cooperate, and hell Daniel, she's not in a good condition to go fighting with him as it is. She's got the two of them to think about."
Daniel grimaces, closing his eyes momentarily for a few moments and rubbing at his eyes. "The usual diversion tactics not working?"
"Not at all."
"I'll see what I can do from here." Daniel sighs. He knows however, that it will not be a large amount. If anything. He simply can't give the support Adam needs from here, nor can he go back to provide it. He's too occupied. "But until I get to the Staircase there isn't much I can do for him." He divers his gaze. "How is Johanna?"
"Not much better. Suppose she's healthy, but it's not great. She's got Peter at least."
Daniel doesn't know what's worse. Knowing that his family is suffering, or knowing that he can't do a thing about it. He'll have to speak to Joshua about this, though he's not sure of the good it'll do.
"I'll set off tomorrow, see if I can find anything."
"Thanks." Daniel turns towards Anthony and looks him in the face, gaze locked. "Seriously, Tony. Thank you."
Anthony shrugs. There's not much to say.
»«○»II«○»«
"Daniel."
With a pent up growl, Daniel lowers the .45, and sighs in relief straight afterwards, turning to look up at the overcast sky. The rest of the survivors are a few hundred metres behind him, half hidden behind a ridge. Anthony and the rest of the remaining guardsman are the only ones exposed, dotted around a varied one hundred metre radius, rifles hesitating on the four people before them.
"Joshua." his throat hurts when he grits it out.
The smouldering ruins of New Canaan acts as a backdrop and Joshua Graham stares at it absently, something in his eyes change, his shoulders stoop.
Daniel can't look him in the face after that.
"We're too late." The Malpais Legate says to himself, or to the three Dead Horse warriors behind him. Then he turns to Daniel, crystalline blue eyes scanning his face. "White Legs?"
Daniel nods. He can't really speak. Seeing Joshua here is as terrifying as it is reassuring.
"The Prophet?" he then asks and when Daniel shakes his head, he adds, a little more tentatively. "The Bishop?" another shake of the head and Joshua looks down, gripping the shorter missionary's shoulder. Hard. "They'll be mourned."
Daniel doesn't know what to say. Or really, what to even do. So he just sort of stands there, getting soaked as the rain continues to pour down. It's letting up now, actually. Joshua isn't supposed to be out in the rain and that thought makes Daniel grimace. "Some welcome home." he grumbles. He's not quite sure why he says it and the slightly crease between Joshua's eyebrows shows he doesn't either, but the man has the grace not to say anything. Instead, he gives a curious look at the bruise on the side of Daniel's face, before examining the rest of him in one quick glance. A few seconds of pained silence later and he looks over the top of Daniel's head. He's squinting.
"Where are the rest of the survivors?"
That brings Daniel back and he shakes his head, standing upright properly. "Behind that ridge... thirty or so left, not counting the guardsmen. Altogether, us and them included, we number forty three."
Joshua exhales slowly, giving what's left of New Canaan a long glance. "Do you have a plan?" he eventually asks and Daniel opens his mouth to speak, before shutting it again soon afterwards.
There's no point in pretending.
"No, do you?"
Joshua is hesitant for a moment. "I... expected more to survive."
"They attacked before we could mount a defence." Daniel explains, why, he's not too sure. "They were on the fifteenth metre by the time we even realised, after that it was just full blown panic. I was on the tenth when the alarm went up." shaking his head, he manages to look Joshua in the face, properly. "We need to get out of here... It's safe to bet that they'll still be scouting the area for survivors."
"We should move further up the river." Joshua states, eyeing the three tribals over his shoulder.
He came here expecting a fight.
Daniel's had enough fighting for one day. His hands are still bloody from where he stabbed a White Leg on his way out. "That spot over near the outlook is defensible."
Joshua's brow rises ever so slightly, but he nods after a moment's consideration. "Do you have enough supplies to get that far?"
"We'll have to find out." Daniel sighs. He feels... not better, but more stable. He's been a walking wreck ever since he's been leading them away from the town. "I don't think they would have destroyed all the supply caches... that might be something worth looking into."
That's that, decision made, but they still stand there, awkwardly. Joshua's hand is still on his shoulder and it suddenly tightens, fingers clenching. "... I'm sorry."
"There was no way I could've got him out. He was upstairs." Daniel whispers, harshly. Fists bunching up, he shakes his head. "We... really aught..."
"... 'But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself..." Joshua recites and Daniel nods, slowly. It's familiar and it's reassuring, to hear the words. "He'll be missed, both of them, but a greater fate awaits." another squeeze and he gives the group behind them a long look. "Let's get going."
Daniel doesn't argue. When he starts walking, the others follow.
»«○»II«○»«
She can feel the dull ache of slowly healing wounds when she awakes, the impressions of tightly wrapped bandages boring into her skin, a faint cool draft brushing against her face. All of it acts as irrefutable evidence that she is, in fact, alive.
She is alive in Zion.
It's this fact that Jessica Collins mulls over, a thought she takes it in her hands and turns over to see how it could be, how it occurred. It's something she did not expect, in all truthfulness. It will take some time getting used to.
She's not even sure how she even got here, in this cave, both primitive and advanced all at once with it's campfire and tribal markings, it's emergency medical kits and faint antiseptic smell. The last thing she can lucidly recall is the moment right before the attack, after that, it's nothing but a frenzied selection of half images. Perhaps it was a hit to the head, or the bullet wounds she had previously substantiated. Perhaps she doesn't want to remember.
A few things Jess can remember, if only slightly. Small pieces of information that grasp for her attention; little details she can't ignore whenever she closes her eyes. Walking, stumbling, then crawling; her leg submerged in warm blood. Creatures staring at her from the canyon walls, likely waiting to make a meal out of her. Dead. She should be dead.
Which brings her back here, Jess supposes.
Until now, she had only seen and heard a few things. Voices ringing in the dark; some of them fast and high pitched, others deeper and slower - the occasional shout. Panicked, then suddenly cut off with a strangled cough. The images were harder to make out; sometimes there had been whorls of blues and pinks and yellows that curled in her vision.
One time, she managed to stay awake long enough to make out the bandage wrapped around her leg and the black plaid colour of the shirt she was clothed in. Not hers. That much was plainly obvious. It smells of lingering gunpowder, smoke, chemical disinfectant and something unique she can't rightly place. It's too big for her; baggy around the shoulders.
If anything, the only definite thing Jess could discern was the sensations as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Hands on her, never poking or prodding, but applying pressure, the lift of her limbs and the pads of fingers occasionally skimming against her neck. The latter only ever happened with the second pair of hands, much larger than the first, rough and firm - but professional and practiced. The first hands were lighter in comparison, hesitating sometimes and gentle the next. The first set of hands never checked her pulse. She wonders why. Aside from this, there was only the alternating states of pain and numbness.
But now she lies here, in this unfamiliar place.
Somewhere past the opening that leads into another part of the cave, there are signs of life. She can hear a shuffling movement, the faint clink of a handgun rattling against it's holster, multiple barefoot pads.
Jess had tensed up at that, wondering if anyone would return here. She's not sure if she should even be awake. Consciousness came with a sudden, violent pull.
Forcing herself up, she momentarily winces when she feels the dull pain in her middle. When she tries to stand, that pain intensified by about tenfold, but in her leg instead. A curiosity glance shows that she's in a pair of shorts and just past the hem, she can see the lining of gauze. The whole thing reminders her of waking up in Goodsprings, with the layers of perfectly positioned bandages, properly tied, well conditioned.
It's not just her leg either, there is another wrapping on her upper left arm and a few of the cuts on her hands, legs and even, her face, have been tended to with steri-strips. Jess did not expect any of this treatment, especially from a place that was supposed to be filled with tribals.
Once she gets a better sense of her surroundings, Jess moves over towards the other section of the cave slowly, the ground underneath rocking with every step.
She had one goal: to follow the noises that seeped through the opening. If someone around here had the capacity to heal her, then surely, someone around here had answers. She knew how she got here, in some sense. Someone must have found her - the fact that she had awoken in a reasonably comfortable, warm and dry place instead of the bottom of some cavern was what mystified her; kept her going.
After having gone so long without it, the bright light had hit her with full force and made her lull to an eventual halt. The images around her slowly began to form and it made her dizzy, so much so that she had to hold onto a series of crates to keep even remotely steady.
Just a few feet away, a male stood. He was frozen in place with his back to her. She couldn't make out much, the pressed fabric of a collared shirt was one observation, which was then followed by the identification of some form of the holster, which carried a handgun and the vague rectangular shape of what she'd later come to know as one of his scriptures. When he had turned swiftly, handgun raised and ready to fire, she had nearly recoiled.
Jess had expected him to fire, or perhaps to even shout, but instead what was an intense look of fear soon turned relived, then mildly nondescript. There was a tightness along his jaw, then the sudden sound of handgun being forcibly shoved back into it's holster.
For a moment, she was wondering if she was having some kind of feverish hallucination. He wasn't what she would expect in a canyon full of tribals. Or even a mercenary for that matter. Modestly dressed, well groomed, good posture. Even though Jess was often considered a force to be reckoned with, she decided close to instantly that this individual was not one to trifle. She could tell from a mile off; he was well fed, broad in the shoulders and generally looked like he could kick her around from one side of Zion to the other without much difficulty. Especially in her current state.
"You shouldn't be up." it's not much of an accusation, but more of a simple statement and it catches her off guard. She wants to ask something, to demand why she is here and who he is, but no sooner then she goes to stand her legs suddenly gives way. The space between them closed rapidly, his hand darting out and slipping against the desk, sending numerous metallic items to the cave floor with a crash.
It's here that it's evident that he's no hallucination. That he was very real; warmth and a slightly frenzied heartbeat, flesh and bone. He was solid fellow, merely standing there and taking the majority of her weight as if she was nothing. The skin pressed up against her cheek is burning and after a few seconds of awkward silence, he suddenly inhales, chest surging.
Then, without missing a beat, he starts manoeuvring her into a more comfortable position before bringing her back to where she was originally.
Once she's settled again, she decides to ask for his name. How he identifies himself will likely give her an idea of who she is dealing with. She shakes her head when he asks if she remembers him.
"Hi, I'm Daniel." his tone couldn't have sounded any flatter if he tried, she thinks. "The one who stitched you up with the feminine elegance of a thirteenth century farmer."