Chapter 31: A Change of Heart is a Beautiful Thing

Narrative Continued by Nathan Porter

The sun was almost gone, and the town sat dark beyond the plain when the lights around the temple came on. The rest of the boys sat on the rocks or took the moment to bend their legs when John set out towards the gates. Near the bush entanglement behind me, I could hear Duncan pull the entire hide off the desert rat he killed earlier that afternoon in one short tear.

"Anyone want some of this?" asked the kid.

No one answered, some like Herbein and Clay were already eating the last scraps of their rations we'd gotten off the bodies of raiders. I planned on doing the same, not that I had anything against rat. I've had Duncan's rat before, but I really didn't want to wait for him to make a fire and cook it. Paul and Doyle stood along the top of the ridge looking out at the town and I unslung my pack to get that last can of meat and beans as I heard the sound of the lighter getting flicked on behind me. By the time I turned around, Duncan's fire was already going strong, and Ramos inched himself closer while I removed the can of crap I intended to eat. The rat was beginning to smell wonderful almost as soon as I took a seat on the ground. There I placed my can in the embers of the little flame to at least find some enjoyment from it.

A few seconds passed and I looked across the fire, seeing the faintly illuminated faces of Duncan and Ramos hovering above the little flame and above the skewered rat resting just above the flame. Ramos had done just as I did with his own can of 200 year old garbage and nobody talked for what felt like a long while. The only sound to hear was the gently blowing wind of night and the rustle of the others' footsteps as they took advantage of this moment of rest.

Understandably, everything that happened over the past days of running once again put us all in a solemn mood. I found it hard to think of much other than what happened around that raider fort and what Paul did. I had never seen Paul display such anger and despair at the same time, although I could totally understand. I just don't think I was alone when I thought it all was useless to talk about, the proof of that came from the solitary guardsmen roving around in the quiet darkness and even in the mood around the flame. However, since that morning at the raider fort, I also found myself thinking a lot about the two faces across the flame, and with our home so close, I felt somewhat desperate to return to at least Some amount of normal before we had to face the Constable and our friends and families.

Looking into the solemn face of Ramos and then the… Ok? But quiet?... face of Duncan, I knew it was only me who could get that ball I mentioned above rolling in some form or another;

"How much did you end up getting for those scalps in 89 City?"

He and I had talked a bit about his scalping along the way home, but… I don't remember where exactly we landed regarding that. The whole thing, the whole trip, and everything that happened on the trip was something that seemed to simply "happen" and not much more. The eyes of the young Duncan met me from across the flame and he answered as casually as I suppose he normally would;

"25 caps for 9 scalps put me at 225… idiot Governor stiffed me."

Ramos' ears perked up and I asked, "Why you say that? It more than covered your ammo expense for that rifle of yours."

"Yeah, but not much more…" said the young Duncan in a low tone before poking a hole in the smoking rat with his knife to ensure the gutless insides cooked good enough, "… He said he would have paid the 40 cap bounty on 80s if he 'didn't see us come up from the south.' I don't know who told him that, but I think he and that aid of his are just afraid to pay fair for honest work."

Duncan sat himself back down, Ramos continued to stare at the flames, but the face of Ramos sat a bit more at ease now. I pulled my can from the flame with my gloved hand before starting to open it. The heat from the inside of the can was very visible in the flame when it merged with the chill night. I looked up to Duncan's face and answered him;

"Just be thankful for what you got, Duncan. Governor Trias is a good guy, so don't blame him either. I caught word that they're extra cautious these days since some scalpers out there are turning in more than just 80s and raider scalps. Heck, if you didn't come in with Paul or the rest of us, Trias or Sheriff Elias might have had you hanged instead of paying you for unverified scalps."

Ramos removed his can from the flame as well, opened it, and began to let it cool as I started to indulge. The face of Ramos returned to solemnity while his can cooled, and Duncan removed a salt shaker from his pack. Duncan began shaking the valued salt over the roasting rat as he said to me;

"What kind of verification he need to prove 80s versus raiders?"

I couldn't help snorting in laughter. I caught it, but Duncan looked up from his work with a faint smile as if to ask what was so funny, "I don't know Duncan, ha. But I certainly wouldn't encourage that kind of thing if I did know."

Duncan's smile disappeared in a flash, Ramos grinned for the first time since he learned his hidden love, Sarah Parsons was killed, and Duncan replied as if he didn't want to show that my remark had gotten to him just a bit;

"Fine, don't tell me. I can figure that out on my own next time I'm around 89 City."

I chuckled to myself, and Duncan appeared to warm up a bit as the seconds passed and that faint smile remained on the face of my other young pal, Ramos.

"Who're you trying to be out there anyway?" I asked Duncan half jokingly;

"I'm sorry?" Duncan asked with another vague outline of a smile.

I too wasn't entirely sure what I meant by the question, but it came out of my mouth as soon as a random memory popped into mind. As the calm and dreary introspection continued in the hearts beyond the light of the fire, it felt so good seeing the two youngest men of the guard smile after all we'd been through in such a short time. Looking at those faces on the other side of the flame, I indulged the youngest;

"It's just, when I saw what you were doing immediately after the last fight, Especially after seeing that wide hat of yours, I seriously thought you were trying to be that 'Gloveplatoon' guy. After my initial shock of course hahaha…"

I couldn't stop myself from chuckling at that memory now a few day in hindsight. Duncan's face was just confused, but the smile on the face of Ramos was a bit wider now and that felt good.

"Who?" asked Duncan shortly.

"You never heard the stories about 'Paul of Gloveplatoon'? I find that hard to believe since you lived so long out there before coming to New Canaan. I know you've heard of him, Ramos!"

"I'm sorry, I can't say I have. Who on earth is that?" asked Duncan, and Ramos sat there nodding to himself, eyes still fixed on the flame, but so much brighter now.

I eyeballed Ramos and flicked them toward Duncan, "You know the stories, you tell'em Ramos."

Ramos adjusted in his place on the ground, sat himself a bit more upright, and swallowed the rest of the food in his mouth. Ramos looked to Duncan and Ramos started, shaking his head all the while;

"Every now and then, especially when Nathan and I were younger, traders would come in from all over, maybe once a week at the high point. But for a while, traders would come from everywhere you can imagine, each one telling a new story about a guy named 'Paul' or 'Paul of Gloveplatoon'…"

Ramos paused, and Duncan turned to me with a questioning look for me to answer, "Don't ask. I don't know if 'Gloveplatoon' is the name of the settlement he's from, if it's a nickname, or what, nobody does haha. Anyway, go on, Ramos."

Ramos returned to Duncan, "… Anyway, each story around that guy was crazier than the last, and again, these stories came from traders from all over the wastes, so I guess the man had a teleporter or something…"

"What made the stories so crazy?" asked Duncan sternly, but now more intrigued than I think even he thought he'd be.

Ramos went on in his best "gruff wasteland trader" voice and I recalled each story mentioned fondly, "You fellas hear Paul cleared every golden gecko on the radiation plains south of Twin Falls? Yeahsir without taking any radiation damage AND without a Gieger counter..." Still in that low impression, Ramos continued, "… The Parkslander tribe says Paul's the guy who killed all the raiders at Castle Valley using only frag mines. It took him a while, but he did it! Waiting for the raiders to step on them was taking too long, so he ended up storming the camp tossing frag mines at the raiders like those old 'frisbee' things haha! Just imagine a guy running through a fortified raider camp holding a stack of mines in one hand and tossing them at raiders with the other hand like it's nothing-"

Ramos' impression fell apart as he spoke. He was chuckling to himself too much and I just had to interject when all those stories I remembered were too much to keep inside;

"- Remember the time he slew every single deathclaw in the Tabernacle Hill Cave network using just a BB gun!-"

Ramos leapt at that, just barely keeping his laughter from becoming too loud in the world beyond the flame; "- didn't they say he bought over 3 thousand BBs for that?-"

"Yeah, nobody knows how he could have taken down the matriarch with a million BBs, let alone all her children too with only 3 thousand!-" I said, I too barely keeping my tone from becoming too loud when Ramos laughed out;

"- Remember that one where they said he ran all the way from New Vegas to New Reno backward!-"

Just then, Duncan finally leaped in, saving us from becoming too joyful in the solemn world beyond the light of the fire; "- Ok, so what did this have to do with my hat or my scalping?"

Ramos and I collected ourselves in just a moment, but the smiles remained on our faces, and even a bit on Duncan's when I answered, "When I saw that, I just thought of the one where they say Paul went from Boneyard on the coast in NCR territory to Circle Junction in Legion territory without spending any caps and without taking any damage."

"Ok?" said Duncan, waiting for a bit more.

Ramos added with a smirk, "They said he made that run in nothing but his underwear, shoes, and a wide fancy hat. The lack of clothes was so that any scrape, bruise, stab wound, or gunshot would show on his skin. The shoes so his feet wouldn't get burned in the sand, and the wide hat to keep his face and shoulders from taking any sun damage-"

"- I heard he wore the hat because they say it was such a suave one it got him better prices when he sold the scalps along the way?" I said.

Ramos shook his head with a smile, "Either or, it was a crazy story regardless…" then turned back to Duncan, "…Anyway, that's why he was scalping. He couldn't spend a cap in that story, but he could trade raider scalps for goods along the way as needed."

A moment of silence hovered between the three of us as Duncan finally removed his rat from the fire. Sitting on his thin cooking pan, he looked about ready to bite into it the second it was cool enough. When it was, and he was ready to dig in, he glanced up to the both of us, and carved off two slices from the thick back of the little beast. He tossed one to each of us;

"Here…" The both of us nodded our thank you to Duncan, and after a moment, the young man switched his eyes between both of us, "… Guy sounded like quite the role model."

Ramos snickered at that, and the two of us ate our bit of rat with the last of our canned dinner before I took a glance around the area, still seeing all the others quiet in the darkness or staring out at the lights of New Canaan. At last, I stood myself up from the company of the boys and said to Duncan;

"You don't hear new stories about that guy in recent years any more, but wherever he went, his stories are still making us laugh around these parts… Hard to forget a guy as amusing and legendary as that…" I paused, looked over at my LT, Doyle, and all the others on the cliffs or still stuck in the darkness of the past few days, and said, "… In the meantime, we still have our own Paul to worry about. I'm going to see what's what, so you boys sit tight."

I departed the company of the young men who both bid me farewell without a word, and I looked out at the lights of New Canaan beyond the darkness of the short desert plain. I stepped up to Carl, Hudson, and Ray along one part of the overlook, just barely hearing the murmuring between Doyle and my LT before I tuned in to the conversation beside me.

Hudson was right, the market still was pretty busy even though the sun was barely a glimmer above the west. The lights across town and the market outside were still turning on although the majority were already bright. All the while, the refugee village down the south road was shining almost all the time by so many campfires.

"I'll bet we're going to have to wait till things die down in the market before Constable will let us back in… at least Graham might have to wait." Said Carl.

Ray said, "This hidden little overlook is a good a place as any… Where is he by the way?"

The four of us looked around and I saw Duncan and Ramos still talking lowly by the fire if not as jovial as before. Graham wasn't beside Duncan and Ramos, by Clyto, Herbein, Paul or Doyle. He wasn't in the shady brush either. After just a few seconds, we found him. Standing by himself at a different point along the overlook, Joshua stood staring out at that town and that illuminated cross towering above all the other structures as those tiny glimmers of sunlight were about to finally disappear for the night.

Upon finding him, we all returned to our lookout over the town as even more lights came on in the market. Eventually, the sun had completely disappeared and just as the last glimmers of that light went to bed, we saw the tiny shape of a man coming towards us from across the plain just as the clouds gave way to a bit of moonlight. There was no point in checking who it was. It was John, coming back to tell us we could come in… The thought of the Constable or the Elders or what have you denying our reentry never crossed our minds until that shape was about a hundred yards out. I don't know if the others ever considered that, but perhaps they were thinking that if anyone would be banned reentry, it would be Graham for breaking his rule about not leaving town.

I'd thought of that too along the trek back home, but nobody ever said what we would do if that was the case. Graham barely spoke anything other than short sentences on the entire journey or in general, but I knew that I wasn't the only one who wouldn't have wanted anyone else leading a trip like this one than him… I wasn't sure why I felt that way, but I felt I'd probably be pretty pissed if he wasn't permitted entry. It was pointless to think about what "could be" when we would learn what "is" as soon as John scaled the rocks.

The small light of Duncan's fire was the only light a mile in any direction by the time John stepped up to Paul and Doyle. My heart thumped as John talked with Paul, and I again wasn't quite sure why. Duncan snuffed his fire, and the lights of the market and New Canaan itself sat alone in a sea of blackness around the open wastes when the voice of Paul sounded from the dark.

"All of you, get your kits on. We aren't going home just yet…"

I was pretty homesick by this point, but I did as instructed without any protest just like the others. Grabbing my submachine gun off the rock I set it upon, we all congregated around Paul who too was ready to go in a flash. Graham took his place beside Paul, and my lieutenant nudged the man at his other side;

"Care to fill'em in, John?"

John adjusted the strap on his pack, putting the drummed submachine gun on his shoulder, saying in no more than an inside voice;

"Constable needs us to track someone down before he'll permit our return…"

He paused, just to look at the dark faces around him when Hudson asked plainly; "Who we looking for?"

John resumed, "I think most everyone in this outfit has met Tom Cade before…" I could see Herbein, both of his men, Doyle, and pretty much everyone other than Carl, Ray, and Graham nod their heads. The latter two nodded only out of recalling mention of the man we brought in around about 5 months previously.

"… Constable doesn't seem to think he had a change of heart so we're going to ask him about it."

Without anything else, Duncan was told to take the lead with Graham, and the rest of us were ready to set out. John and Paul spoke with Duncan and Graham at the head, and after a few seconds we walked into the night. All I knew was that we were headed towards that flat grey, rubble-filled expanse north of our home and I thought about something Paul said to that bandit leader while we waited for the rest of his men to show up outside Rock Shack. For whatever reason, that memory hit me almost clear as day as I remembered that night in the shot-up shack;

"A change of heart is a wonderful thing when it happens. Although it's true, not everyone who's wronged the community has one…"

The march began silently, it ended silently, and I thought of that brief night with the outlaw Tom Cade. My thoughts went on and it appeared as though the return to normalcy, the return to those smiles I saw around Duncan's fire, were going to have to be put on hold for just a bit longer. Knowing that our friendly Constable wouldn't be having us track Cade down if he didn't have a change of heart, I knew right then and there that we would have to get just a little bit dirtier before we were allowed to wash our hands of this terrible journey.

Late Afternoon the Next Day

In less than 8 hours, we had spent a while wandering into the north ruins, slept a few hours, and resumed our trek into the ruins of SLC with the assistance of the light of day. It was much easier to track in the daytime, and apparently, we had coordinates to go off of this time. The sun rose steadily higher and the day went on while the ruins sat eerily quiet for what they usually were.

The ruins were truly a very chaotic place under normal circumstances. A person exploring the flat and broken ruins of Salt Lake City could encounter anything from friendly scaver groups to isolated homesteads to raiders and cannibals to every other kind of creature mutated or otherwise in the wastes. We slept in the basement of a partially ruined house for a few hours after finally entering the ruins proper during that first night, and when we emerged into the morning light, the ruins continued to sit lifeless to our surprise.

We set out slowly at first looking for signs of life in the mostly rubble heaps part of downtown. Hudson and Duncan had Geiger counters as part of their scout packs, so we steered around the irradiated stretches of ground while we exited the rubble plains back into the outskirts of the city where structures were crumbled but still standing. Still, there was nothing, even as the minutes turned into hours and the slow march turned steadier. It was almost as if everything in the city was avoiding us.

Since leaving that basement, passing through the rubble plains, and entering the vast expanse of neighborhoods, the sound of gunfire in the distance was an almost constant addition to the ambiance. Experience in the ruins told us it was anything from scaver groups battling it out to scavers and raiders, rubble dwellers and critters, to anything else. At one point, Doyle mentioned a time when his team encountered a group of crazed military robots at an army checkpoint near the neighborhood we were passing through and although this kept us vigilant, the chances of those robots being junked and the checkpoint demolished by scavers was very high in the years since.

As the sporadic crackle of gunfire ensued in the distance, we were nearing the coordinates after almost three straight hours of walking through one identical neighborhood after another. Just past noon and as the sun was just beginning to lower into the west, I saw the first sign of life. It was a family of golden geckos crossing the road in the distance. I didn't know where they were going, but we never slowed our pace, merely just getting our weapons ready. One of the baby geckos saw us approaching as it crossed the street, opened its mouth wide, and outstretched its hands as it began to charge Paul now at the head of the group. Paul didn't stop, just keeping his hand on the pistol at his hip until one of the larger geckos immediately saw what its child was going to do and lurched out of the little formation. The large gecko seized the aggressive baby's head in its mouth gently and the little body squirmed in protest. The adult paused to look at us for a moment with the baby still hanging from its mouth, then suddenly dashed for the bushes with the rest of its family who'd already continued on into the wash. It was almost like the adult knew what we would do to the baby if it didn't scoop it away fast enough.

Within the next hour or two we saw a couple other creatures, mostly scorpions skittering around a distant remnant of an office complex. It was also around that time that I saw a great rad-bear or "Yao Guai" as wasters refer to them. I never did learn why wasters called them that when I figured "Bear" or "Rad-bear" seemed an adequate enough means of description. Anyway, I saw that thing walking through the middle of a dead end road that ended in a circle of houses… I'm pretty sure that sort of thing is called a "cull'desack."

Anyway, it was probably 15 minutes after seeing that Rad-Bear when Paul passed down the line, "Looks like we're coming up on it now."

Doyle and Herbein immediately jogged forward to join Paul's flanks while the rest of us looked up ahead in the distance. Perhaps a hundred yards away was what appeared to be a single-story hardware store on the corner of a street that no longer really existed thanks to the sun and time. It was a little hard to make out much more than the sandbags on the roof of the structure from where I was in the moment, but on the opposite corner of the ancient intersection was a tall billboard still towering despite the years and fading of the picture. The sign was at one point probably dark red with a black silhouetted soldier on it apparently driving his bayonetted rifle into something. That something was just a large black and red eye. The bold black text across the top appeared to read, "Beware Communist Spies!" and on the bottom of the billboard was an old-world phone number I could barely make out even if I had a communist neighbor to rat out and the line still worked.

We stepped closer, maybe 50 yards before reaching the decayed parking lot of the old hardware store when Paul passed down the line, "If he tries to run, shoot him down."

All of us took that as the cue to fan out and we approached the building in one staggered line across the whole street, closing in on the last bit of distance to cover. The place looked dead in all honesty. The windows were boarded up with plywood, and although there were crates, bus benches, workbenches, trash, debris, car husks, and lots of other junk up against the walls or scattered throughout the lot, it didn't look like anyone had used this place in weeks… Except for that empty two-handled cart out front.

"Perhaps he took off days ago. Perhaps we won't get to return home tonight if we gotta figure out where he went."

This was what I thought before I was immediately proven wrong.

Maybe 30 yards from the cart, the door to the shop itself creaked open and a man emerged back first since he apparently had a heavy stack of something in both hands. We slowed our advance, the character was totally oblivious to our arrival as he emerged out the doors, turned away from us, and took the few short steps toward the cart out front. All I could make out of the man was a heavy brown jacket, a ratty blue baseball cap, and some khaki colored pants. The man reached the cart, heaved the stack of items onto the edge of the thing, and we continued forward while he put both arms on his hips, apparently winded from the heavy load.

Just then, he perked his head up, whipped to face us, and a clear look of astonishment was seen on the man's face beneath the brim of the cap. He took a step back, feeling the cart obstruct his retreat, and his hand went to his hip before his gaze went rapidly in every other direction at the realization he didn't have his weapon on his person. The man appeared to squint at us for a moment and then stood himself up right when we were less than 20 yards from him and Cade said to us;

"Oh, hey. Hey guys. You startled me. Almost didn't recognize you as New Canaan's guards with all that dirt…"

15 yards away and the sound of a dozen weapons rustling echoed in the breeze as Cade shifted two slow steps towards the door.

"… Did Mr. and Mrs. Langenbach send you? They're too kind. I was going to send them a letter when-"

He turned his head briefly towards a glimmering little object atop a wooden crate beside the door and Paul's voice on my right interrupted him;

"No, the Constable sent us."

"That so? Well, you can tell him I'm-"

We all raised our weapons without order and Cade's foot hovered in place as Paul barked out, "If you take one more step, you're going to be shot."

He froze, and Paul, Herbein, and Doyle closed the rest of the short distance in the blink of an eye. Cade began to scream out, "What are you doing!? I didn't do anything!-" but then he was brought to the ground by the three men and he struggled violently in their grips as Paul shouted;

"Nate, get your bat at the ready! You too Hudson!"

Without even thinking about it, I drew the nightstick from my belt and took my place beside Hudson over Cade's frantic legs while the rest of us closed around him and the cart in a close circle. All the while, the man struggled helplessly but angrily in the grip of Paul, Doyle, and Herbein as my Lieutenant screamed into his face;

"Why are you out here!?"

Cade kicked and moved and shouted back, "The Elders approved! I'm allowed to be out here!"

Paul shouted in return, "I don't care! Why are you out here!?"

Cade's attempts at struggle became limp and resigned, spitting back still enraged, "I'm meeting a friend! What does it matter! Elders themselves said I could!"

"A friend you used to run with?" shouted Doyle, pinning down Cade's right arm.

A moment passed and Cade's eyes scanned all of the faces encircling him. "… No," he said after two seconds which was two seconds too long for an answer.

Paul's eyes met mine, "Nate, go for it."

Without even thinking about it, I did go for it. I brought the nightstick down on Cade's right leg in an instant. Immediately, the bone of Cade's shin shattered and the man howled terribly. The worst part I think, was the fact that I could feel it. I could feel the bone of his shin turn to dust trapped inside a case of skin and muscle, even as I brought it down again. Then again. Then again. In four blows I battered his shin, then shin again, then ankle, then foot.

"They were just letters to my gang! I've been absent so long!" Screamed the man as blood trickled out his open mouth. One look into his opened maw showed he'd bitten his tongue in the agony of my blows as I stood up, ready to do it again if my LT told me to.

"You've been sending letters too? I didn't know about this," said Paul calmly, "… How long has this been going on? What have you been writing about?"

Cade looked at the faces nearest him, not angry anymore, just bloody and full of pain. His eyes went all around the circle of men who'd treated him so well in his captivity as he fought back the pain in his legs and mouth. He looked ready to do the rest of this honestly if it meant his legs wouldn't get any more crippled, then his eyes landed on Graham. Cade's eyes grew wide at this, seeing Graham standing directly over himself between his two restrained legs. The man laid there silently, propped up by Paul, Herbein, and Doyle, unable to answer any of the questions as he looked up at the Burned Man towering over his helpless condition. After a moment, Graham slowly moved his boot towards Cade's shattered right shin, and rested it gently on it causing the man to wince. Cade appeared to plead with his eyes alone for the Burned Man to not add any more pressure, the little pressure on his shin alone was already too much.

Cade's gaze remained locked on that of the Burned Man, and squatting behind the man's back between Cade and the getaway cart, Paul spoke into Cade's ear for all to hear.

"You said the Elders approved your little vacation?..."

Cade nodded, still staring at Joshua, "… I'm not surprised, they're pretty trusting. Probably forgot all about what the Constable and I told them about you… But do you remember what You told us about you?..."

Cade remained silent and after a moment, Paul reminded Cade of a talk he had with him the night we got away from the rest of his crew;

"You told me to my face, 'That leaves a bigger share of the reward for Mr. Graham's location to me… Once I finally escape or get free from town...' Could it be that this is what your vacation away from the Langenbachs' was about? What your little cart here is all about?"

At last, Cade, still looking up at Joshua, said to Paul, "You're right…" he spat some blood from his mouth onto his lap, never breaking his gaze from Graham, "… I did tell you I'd make my escape, but there's a caveat, I swear! Please believe me! I've changed!"

"And in what way have you changed?" asked Paul like he was lecturing a new guardsman.

Cade hesitated, and the boot of Graham on the shin added another micrometer of pressure, "For starters, I don't have anymore leverage over you guys. Everyone out there knows Graham is alive, it's only Caesar knows Graham is alive and in these parts-"

"Because of you, right!?..." screamed Paul.

Cade spat blood as he shrieked, "NO!- Er, Yes but it's not like that!"

"Yes? No? What is it like!?" demanded Herbein.

"What were the letters about? You telling your friends about our friend her" asked Paul with fire in his eyes, gesturing toward the silent Burned Man.

Cade sputtered out frantically, eyes darting every direction, "The letters were for them to pass on to the Maesers! Mostly-"

I felt the eyes of myself and many others grow wide at this confirmation. I personally had never seen someone dig their own grave before, but I admired the honesty. Perhaps men really could change in some ways. Just then, Doyle's eyes went to Herbein and Paul as he asked;

"I wonder what our friend who was working for the Maesers, one of Caesar's open auxiliaries in the east, could want from their inside man and former mercenary captain sent in search of Graham?"

"I'm not sure, Doyle…" replied Herbein sarcastically, "… Perhaps he just had those letters forwarded to someone else."

The pain in Cade's leg and mouth subsided enough for him to spit angrily, "You want it straight!? FINE! Yeah! I was having my letters forwarded to Caesar! So yes! Caesar knows his Legate is alive and walking around Utah, but SO WHAT!? Everyone out there already knows he survived or heard stories of him walking the wastes after his 'Fall' off the Grand Canyon-"

Paul looked up at Hudson, "Hudson, go for it."

Just as I had done to the leg of the mercenary Tom Cade, so Hudson had done to the other. Blow after blow was delivered and the man's words morphed into cries of agony as his other leg was rendered useless. All the while Graham stood in place, lording over the Judas, and the sweat of my palms did little to break my grip on my nightstick.

Several moments passed as Cade's cries weakened and he was kept awake by slaps from the men holding his arms and upper half upright.

"So where's your friend, Cade?"

The man huffed and puffed and the rest of us remained dead silent as tears of pain rolled down his cheeks and more blood seeped from his mouth to his chest.

"… He left… yesterday…"

"To go get your buddies?" asked Paul calmly.

"… No… Not yet…" Cade spat onto his lap, "… To tell them where to meet me… At the next safehouse…"

"Shame you can't meet them now…" Said Doyle, "I assume that's what the cart's for?..." Cade nodded painfully, "… Looks like we found you just in time then…"

A moment of silence began, the winds died down and the sun was hotter than ever as it continued sinking into the west from so high above. In the silence, Paul removed himself from behind Cade and took his place next to Graham. Doyle and Herbein dragged Cade to lean him against the wooden cart and released his arms to join the circle around him. As Paul stood looking down at Cade beside Graham and myself, we all watched the man slowly restore his breathing until Paul asked him;

"So why did you do it?..."

We waited, the man fighting for consciousness out of a fighter's instinct. His arms fell limp and he cocked his chin up slightly, breaking the stream of blood connecting his chin to his chest as he said;

"…Do what?..."

Paul and the other LTs exchanged a small chuckle before my LT said;

"Why, tell Caesar about our brother here?"

Cade spat again onto his chest, barely able to look up as he said, "… I told him he was alive. I had proof. I'd been commissioned to do it, and so I did. I'd seen him near New Canaan, never In New Canaan... You're welcome for that by the way... Still, my word was my proof, not like all the other words you hear out there…"

For the briefest moment, I felt pretty bad about my role in this whole thing. He was right in a sense, hearing wasters in the market talk of Graham, the man joining us on this whole trip, was happening the night we set out in search of Michelle's attackers. A small fact that was lost in the urgency and pace of the trip as we sought our retribution. Now whether it was him and his letters over the months that told the wasteland about his survival, or if stories of the Grand Canyon evolved into common sightings of him, I don't know. What we do know is that Cade told Caesar he had proof, and his word meant something to the dictator of those lands in the far south and east.

Clearly resigned to his pain and what he'd done, Cade went on weakly as he continued to slow his breathing and collect himself;

"… I told him he visited and then left. I lied. Caesar ain't coming for you all, but he'll definitely be coming for him…"

At the last word, Cade made a weak gesture with his head up to the man towering above him. All of us stood in place as another moment of silence consumed the world around our bubble. I didn't know what to think. There was something fighting inside myself to keep another something out of mind, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what that was, even now come to think of it. Finally, the burned and wrapped man staring down at Cade broke the silence;

"It's the same thing. Him coming for me is coming for everyone."

The broken and weakened body before us merely shook his head and let another long stream of thick blood fall from his mouth,

"Not sure I buy that."

But he didn't even think of that. I personally was more inclined to believe the man beside my LT who'd known who Caesar was for decades. However, that didn't seem to matter when we all studied the condition of Cade once more and my LT said;

"You never answered my question, Cade… You never answered Why you ran away, why you reached out to Caesar in the first place."

Cade looked up, a bit more collected now as he said, "You said it yourself. Or rather, 'I' said it. There was money in it-"

"And you said you changed?" said Paul, the fire in his eyes back to a roaring inferno.

"I did…" said Cade windedly, "… I truly liked, still like Jesus. You all treated me pretty great over the months. Far better than I expected, honestly… But I could never live with the Langenbach's forever, or do menial work in an isolated town forever. Had to get a jumpstart on my future somehow, and the only thing I was left with was a lottery ticket I could still cash before it went void… Figure New Canaan wouldn't mind if they were one runaway son short one day…" He glanced up at Graham, "… No offense…"

In this moment, I suddenly found myself thinking about the Bible. In particular, the parts about Judas. Why did Judas betray Jesus Christ? Money. Simple as that. Still a fairly decent disciple from what I imagine, really did like Jesus. But the key word there was "Like" and not "Love." The son of God knew where He was going to be headed and Judas probably thought he'd get a head start on his life After the work at the Cross. I don't know how much of a life 30 silver pieces could get someone in the days of Christ, but I also didn't know how much Cade was going to be paid for sending his proof of Graham's survival to Caesar. Suppose none of that really matters when the result's the same.

Silence continued its reign after Cade was done speaking until he continued to seek his role in the grand plan through justification.

"… This is your own fault you know…" Everyone remained dead silent, staring with blank faces at the Judas with useless legs, "… You people really think men can change wholeheartedly after just a few months of Bible study and kindness?..." Still, nobody said a word, even as Cade's words perplexingly seemed to make my own inner rage cool. At last, he added with another bloody stream onto his own abdomen, "…I mean look at him, you think he's changed?"

The chin went up towards the wrapped man before him. A brief glance past Paul showed Graham was the only one with the fire still burning in those eyes between the wrappings. The rest of us knew what was next, but only one of us on our side had a part to play in this historic cycle;

"No, most men can't change entirely. Neither you can, nor I. But what we can change is where we steer those things that drive us…"

Cade glanced up, mouth bloody, and face covered in dirt and dried tears as he met the eyes between the wrappings,

"… It's you who has ruined me. They will hunt me now. The Frumantarii and Caesar won't find any reason to come and harm my home if I'm not there, but they may still, and it was you who made whatever's next happen. I really liked my home, but I suppose this was all inevitable…"

Graham paused to reach for something in the slim pack on his back. After a second, he took a step forward, standing almost on top of the man as he extended a small sack over the head of Cade. Graham slowly started to turn the sack as he began;

"… You did it for the money? Well, here…" the sack turned and the contents began to drop out of it at a slow pace in the form of shining coins over the head of Cade who couldn't look up. Cade embraced the coins falling onto his head and the man didn't look up or count the NC coins, bottlecaps, and even gold Legion pieces that rained over him into the dirt.

"… Here you go, here's all the money you could ever need this side of Heaven."

Cade and everyone else stayed silent as the bag was overturned and then shaken out over his head. Graham ensured the bag of mixed currency was completely empty and when the last stubborn coin fell out, Cade looked up to the face of Graham with something on his lips. That something couldn't be said because his pained eyes grew wide when instead of seeing Graham's eyes, Cade saw the pistol leveled to his forehead.

That look of surprise was frozen on Cade's face as his head slammed into the edge of the cart at the first shot. At the second shot, his right eye was gone, and the contents of the cart were streaked in so much more red. By the fourth shot, Cade's head could not be recognized as that of a human's, and by the last shot, there were three new bleeding holes in his chest that had painted the surrounding dirt the same color as the back of the cart.

Laying there, surrounded in blood and shining coins, the nearly headless body of Cade sat frozen in the parking lot of that hardware store in the northern ruins of SLC. As the last of the smoke trickled out of the barrel of Graham's .45 pistol, he pulled up a fresh magazine from a pouch on his vest, and I think I was the only one who noticed that it wasn't Graham's .45 pistol, it was Michelle's. With nothing left to say, all eyes went to Graham as he turned to face us. He released the slide on the pistol and placed it behind his back as the one on his hip hung free of use. After a moment, he turned towards the setting sun and then back to us before saying simply what we were all thinking;

"Let's head back."

The Constable's request had been accomplished, perhaps not the way he may have imagined, but accomplished nonetheless. Cade was dealt with and wasn't worth wasting any more thoughts on when what he'd done would be enough to think about. We'd been gone from the home we so loved for more than a week now, and we were ready to go back. In less than ten seconds after Graham holstered the pistol, we were already walking south with plenty on our minds to consume the silence. A brief glance to the rear before leaving the site of Cade's execution showed me it was only Duncan who I thought I saw pocket one of the coins around Cade's corpse as we began our march home…

I didn't think much of that, but Duncan's been acting pretty strange this whole trip… Then again, we all were in more ways than one, so who was I to judge.

Narrative Continued By Constable Obadiah Hanshaw

…

When the gates creaked open that next night revealing my sons, it was a shock to see that each and every one of them that left in the night a week and a half previously were standing there in the entryway. Paul immediately stepped forward and every part of me wanted to shout at them, tell them how they should never have done that, how they'd deserted their posts, but all of their faces were filled with something I hadn't ever seen in them before. Silence as my mouth hung open and Paul stepped forward till at last he was in front of me and I had no control over it as I threw my arms around my son and he told me how sorry he was on behalf of all of them. All the faces behind him standing distantly out of earshot nodded solemnly at me as I felt my son nearing 40 leave my shoulder wet. I had never seen him cry openly since he was a boy, but I told him like the father I knew I was to him;

"It's alright son, I understand."

One by one, the dust-covered men behind him stepped away, all the younger faces slowly heading left towards the barracks, and all the older heading right towards their homes on that side of town. Watching each one silently depart, I scanned the group one more time and it occurred to me that I didn't see Mr. Graham. For the briefest moment, I wondered if he was harmed or even killed out there in the wilderness, but the thought soon disappeared from my mind when I moved Paul away from me, keeping both arms on his shoulders to tell him;

"Let's go visit your family. Michelle's been needing her dad lately."

My son nodded and collected himself as we both departed side by side to the town square and clinic of Dr. Stepp. The footsteps of my other sons trailed off in different directions and down different streets. I would learn only a little later that Mr. Graham was actually fine. For the time being, Graham was camping at a hidden little spot some distance away from the market overlooking New Canaan, and there he would remain until one of the men could ask my permission for his entrance or not. His close exile from our walls was voluntary now, but not needed as I had no idea what had happened out there in the group's immediate return. However, an idea of what happened, a confirmation of what I could speculate showed itself when I followed close behind Paul into the room where his daughter and family sat.

The poor girl, her mother, and even her siblings grew tears in their eyes when they saw their dad step through the doors covered in so much dust and blood with a submachine gun slung over his shoulder. When Paul stood before the bed where his daughter sat, he froze in place, not knowing what to say as he glanced at his person, probably realizing how he truly looked for the first time in days. After a moment, Dani stood herself up, Paul glanced at her, and then back to Michelle before reaching into a pocket on his vest. The sand fell to the ground around his feet in the clean room when the Velcro gave its distinct sound. He removed a dull but faintly shiny little object from the pocket and it hung from a small chain as he extended it in his hand towards Michelle. After a moment, Michelle's eyes were still going from the object to her dad's face and the tears began to stream down her cheeks like they hadn't before when he at last croaked out;

"I got your locket back, Michelle… I'm sorry I had to leave for a while."

Immediately, Dani embraced him and he broke down like I'd never seen before in the arms of his wife. Dani cried into his shoulder, and Hannah and Joseph ran to comfort their sister on the bed, and that was all I could handle for the moment as I saw myself out to leave my son alone with his family.

My son, my sons were back, and they'd done things out there that I knew they never wanted to have to do, but they did it so well. They did what was needed in this time where the Elders, my bosses, were too busy talking. They did it with the help of someone who couldn't come back that night, but someone who understood the world out there.

I could only wonder how Paul would take the news of his daughter's pregnancy and what the future out there would entail as I walked back to my own wife and child. I think this was the moment I was about to return to the community and people I so loved, even though I had never physically left.

A/N: Although it may have been a bit of a detour, that conversation at the beginning was a tribute to someone some of my readers may know. That would of course be Paul of Mitten Squad (Get it? Paul of Gloveplatoon? Get it?). Mitten Squad is a channel on Youtube that was run by a hilarious guy named Paul who completed videogames doing insane and fun challenges. He had so many videos where he would do playthroughs of the Fallout games like "Can you beat Fallout New Vegas with only a Guitar Hero controller," "Can you beat Fallout 3 using only frag mines?", etc, and each one is so funny. I was a fan of his since his first Fallout videos came out years ago, the days immediately after I was discharged from the Marines. Anyway, I heard a few weeks ago that Paul had passed away recently, and the news hit me a bit harder than I thought it would. Knowing that me and so many others like me will never get another silly video from him is truly heartbreaking if you'd been a fan as long as I had. Anyway, since he had such a unique impact on a difficult time in my life, I felt compelled to do what I could to memorialize him in my fic. Rest easy, Paul.