Chapter 12: Whether You Like it or Not

So, it had happened. The first blood had been spilled over the defense of our community's returned prodigal. I know not whether the event was justified in the eyes of our creator, but it had finally started and there was no going back. All we could do was go forth, repent when we knew it was necessary, and consider what we could have done differently when the moment was far behind. At the time however, all the justification, contemplation, and regret had to wait as the body takes over.

I didn't know in the immediate moment who fired the first shot whether it was on our side or theirs, but I learned a short time after. When the adrenaline starts pumping as the tensity of a situation rises, and when it shoots off like a rocket at the first discharge of a gun, memory can't be considered reliable. All I remember is seeing Tom Cade drop in place, seeing my men and theirs scatter in every direction, and feeling my finger holding the trigger of my Thompson submachinegun as the recoil pressed the wood of the stock into my shoulder again and again and again until the click. I could barely see anything beyond the dust and debris flying up from so many bullets or hear anything through the clatter of so many guns popping off as the milliseconds turned into seconds to last a lifetime. My mind was elsewhere, not able to think about anything in particular, just a completely blank slate with fragments of memory that catch up after the body reacts to the moment. My senses began to return when the gunfire slowed down to one last pop off to my right and my consciousness returned to find myself lying behind a small TV in a little junk pile just off the trail to the shack. With my .45 pistol trained on something in the settling dust, locked back, and in need of reloading, I dropped the magazine and stuffed in another one from my belt noticing my shaking hands and one other empty magazine amongst the disturbed dirt speckled by many .45 casings. At last, the echoes of screams returned to silence in my mind and a voice brought me back completely;

"Everyone alright?" That voice was my own, and I calmed my trembling hand and thumb in an instant to release the slide on my pistol. The dust cleared even more, and I raised my weapon with a steady arm as a voice to my left returned with a gasp "good here." I lowered the weapon, not even understanding the image before me when other voices spoke up from the same direction, all saying "good here" between heaving breaths.

I took in more of the scene before me, seeing it even more clearly as three more voices returned with the same winded words, "good here" off to my right. Just then, each of the men in our scout emerged from some bit of scrap or pile of debris around the cliffside shack. I stood to my feet, picking up the submachine gun I had dropped in the fight, and took a step forward forgetting to be thankful that everyone in our team was alright when I finally registered the scene around the shack.

Sprawled out before us were the bodies of eight other men, some lying on their backs, some slumped over a junk pile, one only a few feet from the door to the shack, and another leaning up against the wall in a motionless state. It was over, and all was calm as the cold wind caressed my face as if to reassure me that I was alright. Then the heaving breaths from the men to my left and right were steadily calmed as well and the matter's conclusion was whispered to me. Just then, the sound of a terrible groan interrupted the calm, and the body in the grey coat struggled back towards the shack, prompting even more presence of mind to return.

Without even being ordered, I saw Hudson, Lockwood, Nathan, and Ramos begin approaching the dead men while Doyle and I stepped up to the intact but wounded Tom Cade who crawled a few inches further towards the shack door. Doyle loudly and windedly said, "Glad you're still kickin…" and I saw Hudson and Lockwood already putting the dead closest to them in rows. On my right, I caught a glimpse of Nathan gently shaking Ramos back from what I assumed was the shock of his first combat, whispering something assuring to the young man while I could only see the other young man, Mr. Schmitt still hanging back in my peripherals. I was about to see if Duncan was alright, but my attention was turned back to Doyle and the wounded Cade after the terrible groan the latter made upon Doyle turning him over.

"Where you hit?" asked Doyle in a tone both gentle and demanding. I reached Doyle's side, looking down at the injured, seeing Cade shift back a little further on his elbow before spitting a long stream of blood from his mouth to the ground and shouting weakly in a voice full of pain;

"What th- Where the Hell it look like?... Can barely.. breathe." unable to gesture to the large wet blood stain just below his left collar bone. Hudson and Lockwood were already kneeling and praying before the three bodies they'd laid in a row, then my eyes went to Nathan who had collected Ramos enough for the two of them to begin setting the killed on their side in a row. Doyle knelt down beside Cade who protested weakly at first before succumbing to some treatment and I heard the footsteps of Duncan stop a few feet behind me. I again intended to turn and check up on Duncan when my eyes landed on the body of "Bent" leaning against the wall of the shack motionless with several bullet holes in his abdomen and chest. The body of Bent sat almost calm or at peace, his blood spattered all over the wall behind him, and amidst an already almost completely dried pool of blood in the sands around him. My attention turned when Cade looked to all of us and said in a winded voice with his face covered in sweat, dirt, and speckled with blood,

"How're yall just fine!?-" He stopped, spit the blood from his mouth again, and was going to say something else when his eyes landed on his friend leaning on the wall just out of arms reach. He interrupted Doyle's work with a violent turn towards the body of his friend and spat another long stream of blood at the corpse shouting; "Stupid motherf*cker. Why the Hell you do that!? IdioaaaAAHHHHH-" his curse turned to a shout of pain from the surge made by his action and he collapsed his back into the dust while Doyle took the moment to proceed with his sterilizing of the wound. There I remembered something I heard in the fight but couldn't register in the moment. My mind rang with the voice of Bent buried beneath the gunshots of two minutes prior "F***ing kill'em! Strip'em and we'll get the reward later!"

There was the answer. It was Bent who fired the first shot, doing so with a mind to take what we had, and report back to the Legion or the Maesers with the exact information we feared. Cade, however, seemed to have a different mind before the battle started if the animosity towards the lifeless body of his partner was any indication. But perhaps his venom came more from the fact that he and his band lost and was in need of something to blame.

Doyle continued treating Cade who appeared to be fading in and out of consciousness, Lockwood and Hudson were still praying over the dead, Nathan and Ramos were now doing likewise, and seeing the man's accouterments near the blood stains he crawled from, I picked up the dusty black wide-brimmed hat and long-barreled revolver from the dirt. Examining the weapon, I answered the injured man's angry mutterings toward his killed partner;

"Don't be angry at your partner, he got what he asked us for…" I didn't notice what Cade said in response, just noticing the fine dusty weapon was a .44 caliber in pretty decent condition despite being dropped into the dust after only getting off two shots. Unloading the bullets into my hand and placing the weapon in the front of my belt, I said to the wounded Cade, "Fine weapon here, I'm going to hold onto it for a while if you don't mind, at least until Doyle and I can trust you with it…" Then, brushing some of the dust off the hat, I met eyes with the man adding, "You can have your hat back if you want though…"

After another weak spit of blood into his own lap, the man said, "F*ck it… and you too." His head fell, Doyle pricked a site next to Cade's wound with a stimpack full of it's miracle syrum, and not wanting to hold onto or waste a nice hat, I turned to the young man wearing an expressionless face behind me and placed it on his head with the words, "Looks good. You alright Mr. Schmitt?"

The young man's face went from expressionless to slight concern while the hat remained on his head without protest, and he said, "got winged in the shoulder. Not bad though." It was there I noticed his hand resting on his right shoulder and saw the dried blood between his fingers. Seeing this, I removed his hand, seeing he was indeed clipped in that spot, but the wound seemed to have clotted already, and after a brief test of his arm's motion I asked him to move the body of Bent beside the ones next to Nathan and Ramos. Nathan and Ramos were done with their prayer over the dead and Nathan agreed to help Duncan while also telling me that Ramos too was winged.

Ramos and I approached each other, and seeing him hobble towards me, I helped him over to the shack wall to a spot a short distance from Cade and Doyle. Beginning to treat the young man of my detachment, I was relieved to find that he too was just barely hit, but he was clipped in the hip which was why he was limping. A few millimeters aimed better and Ramos would have had a broken pelvis which could have proven fatal out here. Mr. Ramos knew this, but the "good side" was hard to focus on when he was missing a clump of skin and the side of his pants were growing redder. Between the fact he was hit, and this was Ramos' first scout trip, and his first time ever firing his weapon in legitimate defense, he was understandably shaken by the whole ordeal. Ramos was alright enough though, making certain to mention Nathan's support after the fight, causing me to remember how I saw Nathan assuring the kid immediately after the dust settled. Nathan, for all his faults, was truly like a big brother to many of the younger guardsmen in my detachment and the barracks back home.

I had a silent pride for the boys in my detachment, and Doyle's as I injected the boy with a portion of a stimpack, Ramos was at rest, and Nathan was leading in prayer before the body of Cade's killed friend "Bent" with the young Mr. Schmitt silently beside him. I sat with the my injured boy, and just watched as Nathan mouthed the words beside Duncan, asking God for forgiveness of their deed, and requesting mercy for the ones we'd sent to stand before Him in judgment.

A short time passed allowing the calm of the previous excitement to take over a little more while Cade and Ramos could only wait for the medications to repair their injuries. After a few minutes, Hudson and Lockwood were stacking the weapons and supplies of the killed before eventually being joined by Nathan and Duncan in the same effort. Upon removing the stimpack from Ramos's hip, the boy's eyes were still shut, and I told him to just rest for a while longer as I figured out what was next.

I stood myself up and placed myself on the other side of Cade while Doyle crouched before him, watching the outlaw's condition slowly improve while the color in the injured's face returned. Doyle stayed silent all the while, and the post-battle work continued behind us before I asked Doyle,

"Wanna head back now?"

Still staring at the outlaw, Doyle answered me, "Just a minute. I want to see what else my 'friend' here has to say about events in the east."

About 5 Hours Later

Although it was only a few minutes to 6pm, the sky was completely dark. The sun had completely set a half hour before, but that was usual for the time of year. However, our party hadn't moved from Rock Shack. We spent the time while Cade and Ramos recovered stacking the arms, cataloging the gear, and rearming and reequipping with the supplies of those who no longer had any more need of them.

Once Cade was present enough to speak, Doyle and I did indeed grill him for information and whether intentional or not, it wasn't the events in the east that captured our immediate attention. Instead, what struck our attention was when he revealed that he had another 10 men out in the wastes who were scheduled to return to their outpost at Rock Shack between an hour or six hours. He couldn't or wouldn't say for certain, but the feeling remained; it was best to stay put. Moving in the day was dangerous after doing what we had done, and it would have been easy for anyone to track down the ones who massacred the other half of their gang and absconded with their leader. And so, we decided to dig in and wait for Cade's men to return. About an hour after the battle, we had already set out the mines in a cache used by Cade's men, and created something of a bottleneck for the incoming party in order to promote a more peaceful resolution of our differences. Once we were all set up and knew our positions within the shack, we were almost about to begin burying the dead, but our hour was up and we were under the impression that the rest of the gang would be along any minute, so that had to wait, or the responsibility passed on.

After much deliberation, we knew we couldn't release Cade once his men arrived, so now we were waiting to confront the rest of Cade's gang and hopefully be able to negotiate our safe departure, or at least be in a fortified enough position to withstand an assault. God had clearly blessed us earlier without our suffering a single loss in combat, but the chances of Him offering such a thing twice in one day were not exactly high.

As we settled into our positions the hour turned into two hours, then three, then four, and finally we were looking at a separate worry. Herbein's men were about 5 hours away, or 4 if they hurried, when Doyle said they were on their way. The outlaws still hadn't showed up, and every 15 minutes that passed would bring more griping about how "we should have left immediately." Yet still we were stuck because the last thing we wanted at any point of the afternoon was to run into the rest of the gang on the way out. At the five-hour mark, the present and most pressing fear was that Herbein's scouts and the rest of the gang would meet on the only path into the mountainside hideaway and that confrontation would most likely be bloody. To make matters worse, the signal of Doyle's radio couldn't penetrate the mountains around us, so all we could do was wait and blindly hope in Herbein's arrival while praying that the remainder of Cade's gang would allow us to depart.

I looked out the small window, past the bodies set in rows steadily giving off more of their smell even as the heat of the sun gradually gave way to the cold of night. I peered past the piles of junk and scrap, seeing the thick dry bushes rustling slightly in the wind, and focusing on the narrow trail around the edge of the mountainside. Still nothing.

Turning back to the interior of this decrepit outlaw hideaway, I could see the place was sparse in furniture save for a table with eight chairs around it. Scattered all around the quaint interior were sleeping bags, for all of Cade's men, probably even left by previous gangs of raiders or smugglers who frequented the place. The sleeping bags and bed rolls made for nice cushions for the knees of my men peering out the windows, and my eyes were diverted to Doyle and Cade when Doyle lighted an oil lamp for writing. Cade sat before Doyle with his hands bound behind his back as he leaned against the lone support beam beside the table and I was going to warn Doyle about the light made by the lamp, but he was done writing a moment later, and the world outside remained lifeless.

I sat in my corner, just past me sat Lockwood, his knees on the cushion of a rolled up sleeping bag as he stared out his window, short carbine ready. Past Lockwood and on both sides of the closed doorway was Duncan and Nathan, while manning the last window sat both Hudson, and Ramos who'd recovered enough to be engaged in whispered conversation with the men beside him. Ramos had grown excited to talk about his first fight in that youthful way after fully recovering from his injury, but the lad was still wise enough to keep his volume decreased as the sky got darker. The scene was quiet, and the low conversation amongst the men continued on to different topics as the hours passed, occasionally punctuated by someone saying what we'd already known for a while: "We should have left earlier."

Five minutes to 6pm, and I heard Cade ask once again from his place against the beam "Seriously, how or why weren't any of you killed?"

Throughout the afternoon, we tried explaining how his men weren't even ready for conflict and were rather unfocused or distracted before the sudden escalation, but ultimately our answers weren't enough to satisfy the man. The answers were even more unsatisfactory for him when they ultimately boiled down to "Jesus." By this time, Doyle no longer entertained the captured man, and so he answered the question this time with that one-word name… At least Cade was speaking quietly now. We had to enforce the level of his volume throughout the afternoon, but he eventually grew to learn that his captors were pretty pleasant and even friendly provided he did what we said. Cade went on whispering about this and that, while Doyle ignored, or wrote up some more of his scouting report in the moonlight coming in from the cracks in the ceiling. I turned away, once again seeing nothing coming down the path to the shack.

The focus of my hearing returned to my immediate vicinity when I couldn't hear the anticipated footsteps of outlaws just in time to hear that Ramos, Hudson, and Nathan's low conversation had turned to the idea of "girls." I knew, or rather, my wife knew some of the girls back in town that Ramos and Hudson fancied, while Nathan said for them to just go for it. I tuned out again, hearing Doyle once again reaffirm what we learned from Cade; His men didn't know anything. Apparently, all they knew was that Cade and Bent wanted to ask New Canaan about a mark. It became clear that Cade and Bent were the only ones who knew who exactly they were after since it was explained that their Legion contact through the Maesers implied extreme importance in keeping the target's status or name in the heads of very few.

We decided to believe Cade. What little we knew about the Legion, through Joshua, time, and the odd experience with their patrols in the far eastern territories, Edward or "Caesar" may not believe his former second was dead, but he'd make certain his nation of monsters and slavers believed he was.

Still, my thoughts went on, and I began to think about whether or not we would have to kill the rest of Cade's gang, but it still didn't feel like we had to, provided how we could begin negotiations from a strong position or fortified shack. The rest of Cade's gang may not know why their bosses were trying to get in touch with New Canaan, but there was a good chance they might not take the death of their comrades lightly, especially if they outnumbered us.

Even as the hours passed, neither Doyle or I knew for sure what we would say to the gang exactly to prevent bullets from flying, or how to explain why we were taking Cade with us. Telling the rest of the gang that "Cade knew our secret" was an explanation that might have said all it needed to if some of them were suspicious about their bosses. And so, we were stumped. Neither me nor Doyle still could figure out what we would say, but I think we both silently knew that no amount of planning or excuses would work, and so I personally shook the planning out of my head with a blind faith in how: what needs to be said shall be said, and the spirit will take care of the rest.

For now, however, I felt it best to distract myself. It wasn't long before my attempts to avoid planning were assisted by a question sent at Lockwood beside me. The voice of Nathan said to him, with the exact context lost on me;

"… So why did you get married, Lockwood?"

Catching the eyes of Ramos and Hudson firmly planted on Lockwood, I motioned for the two across the room to resume their watch when Lockwood replied with his eyes still focused on the distant trail,

"Sex."

The young men on the other side of the room snickered, and I believe Mr. Schmitt did as well as he stood in his place by the door, rifle up, and still with the wide-brimmed hat of Cade on his head.

Ramos asked Lockwood if that was the only reason, and Lockwood said that it wasn't the only, although it was in his words "about 90% of it." The single young men at their stations appeared to completely understand the plain reason behind Lockwood's recent marriage, and part of me did too when memories of my single days returned briefly. Hudson asked his friend in Doyle's detachment if his reason or the "amount of that reason" he's described in previous talks was entirely Biblical. Still with his eyes forward, Lockwood explained his view. Even pulling a verse out of his head he'd evidently memorized;

"… Now to the unmarried and the widows I say: it is good for them to stay unmarried, as I do. But if they cannot control themselves, they should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with passion. 1 Corinthians 7:8-9…" After a moment, a smile grew across Lockwood's face as he continued his stare into the night, "… and I was burning with a Lot of passion…"

Lockwood elaborated further, explaining that his urges were too much, and the men on the other side of the room appeared to solemnly understand the difficulty. Suddenly feeling some new enthusiasm about the topic, Lockwood added, "… Isn't the Bible just awesome? Because of that, I now have a duty to have sex with my wife on an almost constant basis…"

I wasn't sure I agreed with that, and felt it was a good time to rather loudly clear my throat as a suggestion that the young newlywed perhaps think a little deeper before suggesting marriage on that basis alone to his impressionable young comrades. Lockwood heard my wordless interjection and turned briefly to me, "Don't believe me, Lt. Young?..." He saw my face, as well as the gesture I made, and turned back to the window as he quoted once more something he apparently took it upon himself to memorize;

"… Do not deprive one another, except perhaps by agreement for a limited time, that you may devote yourselves to prayer, but then come together again, so that Satan may not tempt you because of your lack of control. 1 Corinthians 7:5… You know what that and the verses before it means?"

I couldn't help the smile creeping across my face, but still I said, "Don't do it" as the young men on the opposite end were once again ignoring their duty to stare at Lockwood.

"It means the only time my wife and I Shouldn't be having sex 'depriving one another' is when we're talking to Jesus. After that, it's right back to it because If we don't, it's only a matter of time before Satan intervenes."

The young men were chuckling, and although his statement wasn't "necessarily" wrong, I asked the young scout with memories of my own excitement immediately post marriage;

"But what's God's purpose for the intimate act in the first place?..." He hung his head and silence ensued as its own answer before I added, "And how's that going? I promise you won't be so smug and witty about the act when you deal with the horror of a pregnant wife and the resulting little monsters. I'm also very curious what your parents in the Mormon sect think of your outlook on sex?"

Lockwood said after a quiet moment, "That's why I'm enjoying it now, LT. As for the parents though, there's a reason I haven't followed my parents into that sect of the community…"

The quiet laughter had died down on the other end of the room, and I spoke his reason with a smile I couldn't conceal, "Sex?"

And the man confirmed, "Sex."

It was true. A great many of the young men in the community opted for a more protestant or non-Mormon interpretation of the faith for the sole reason of sex without the requirement of producing a child each time. I could scarcely blame them, for I was one of them myself. Finding it much more ideal for a man and wife to keep one another satisfied as opposed to the legalistic faith that required the almost constant pregnancy of the women.

After another moment, the amusement of the talk was all gone, and I looked at the path along the cliff. Still nothing.

Turning down to my watch, I saw in the glow that it was almost six minutes past 6. Just then I heard the voices behind me, adjusted the grip on my submachine gun, and heard Cade and Doyle were completely lost in their own talk, oblivious to the chat with the young men. I tuned in to hear Cade ask directly what he had tried to allude to several times that afternoon;

"… So what's going to happen to me in New Canaan? Ya'll kept dodging that question earlier. You got a prison there or something?"

Doyle looked up from his seat by the table with a sigh, noticing me glancing back and our eyes met for a moment before he said, "Care to enlighten him, Paul?"

The outlaw adjusted his reclined head from the support beam, shifting his eyes towards me as I said with one eye out the window and one at him, "You'll be put in a cell for a while, probably a week or two depending on your behavior. You act well, you'll get some freedom, perhaps even the chance to work in the fields on the north end. Do well enough out there, take to heart what your handlers tell you, and they might even let you serve one of the families, shops, or trades in town… It'll be up to them to decide when or if your chains come off while the length of your restriction to certain parts of the town will be determined by the Elders-"

He interrupted me, lifting his head further off the beams as he asked, "- wait. Work in the fields? Serve families in town? You all enslave people?"

Doyle gave the man a light but firm kick from his chair and I said, "It's not slavery. If anything it's servitude..." Seeing no change in his demeanor, I felt a bit of disgust in this, saying, "... You tried to extort us. You and your men fired upon us with intent to kill. You've been relatively cooperative thus far, so we sometimes give people like you the chance to become something good for society and the world as a whole. The chains in the field are only till we know you won't be a danger to the community. You and the ones like you back home gotta prove we can trust you since we frankly hadn't got a lot of it for you after what you and your friends tried to do this afternoon."

Cade leaned his head back against the beam with a shrug, "Call it whatever you want. Sounds like slavery to me though."

I wasn't sure arguing would really change his demeanor or attitude anyway, but I decided to tell him what I'd seen, "You call it whatever You want. I've seen men worse than you finish out their sentences and decide to stay. Some have even become adopted sons of the families that took them in…"

Hudson interjected in the brief pause, "I think Mikelay in Lt. Canady's detachment was a former raider a few years back. Guy stuck around after his sentence…"

Ramos said to Hudson but not really anyone in particular, "No kidding? I like him. Figured he just had a few screws loose though…"

I didn't really know Mikelay beyond the name or a few Guard Bible Studies, but I found that nice, especially since the idle talk seemingly proved my point. Either way, I couldn't think about the man in Canady's detachment for long since only a second or two passed before our captive said without a single care in his voice;

"So you brainwash them too?" The man said this with a yawn as he made himself even more comfortable against the beam he was bound to.

I couldn't say I was surprised by the impertinent remarks. He wasn't the first one to have his life saved and his wounds cleaned by the guard only to begin insulting us. There were men more theologically equipped than me to explain why we do what we do, and I didn't know if an explanation of our process from the book of Philemon would have any impact at the time or later. In the end, I decided not to silence him, or motion for Doyle to do it, instead telling him what I knew regardless of his loathsome attitude.

"A change of heart is a wonderful thing when it happens. Although it's true, not everyone who's wronged the community has one. Some are exiled, and some even turn traitor to New Canaan and the people who'd been nothing but good to them throughout their captivity. Ultimately those who end up in the shoes you'll be in decide their own fate. So it's up to you whether or not you die a happy old man who embraced the community, leave for the wastes again, or die in a pool of blood out in the fields because you couldn't let your bitterness go.. Like I said, the chains only stay on as long as you choose to wear them, but don't expect to lie your way out of it when you get there. We know what you know, and we have a pretty good idea about your character. You will be watched very closely, and the chains might stay on longer than you expect."

The man was quiet, and whether my words impacted him or not was irrelevant. I was done. I had no hope for him when the moment of silence ended, and all he said was "Well alright then" in that insincere and careless way. But perhaps the explanation of his fate produced something later that he wouldn't show at this time. Either way, none of us were allowed to ponder anything else after Nathan interjected from the doorway;

"You're going about this all wrong, LT. Guys like him 'may or may not' get another treatment…"

I knew what he was going to do, but even when I mouthed "Don't lie Nathan," I knew he would remain faithful to my order in his own Unique way.

The loudmouth young man of my detachment locked eyes with Cade, "… Now I haven't met Everyone who ends up in a cell, but that 'may or may not' be because they were tortured to death…"

I don't know if suggesting the possibility or even false probability of the absurd is considered lying, but that was not my place, and neither me nor any of the other guardsmen in the room would say anything for fear of spoiling it as Nathan went on;

"… Paul's right, if you're pleasant and compliant, and if you see the light, you will get to work and maybe get assigned to a family. You also 'may or may not' get sent to 'The Rack' where they'll stretch you till your limbs break off…"

Perhaps I shouldn't have been, but part of me was proud that all my guards at the windows remained silent instead of bursting out into hysterical laughter.

"… I've never seen it happen, but perhaps there's a reason for that? Maybe those who refuse our kindness are ripped apart and their ashes thrown into the Great Salt Lake as part of the patrols that go that way once a month? I've never seen it happen, but just because I personally hadn't seen something like that happen doesn't mean it doesn't. Still, it's probably best to enter your captivity with an open mind and willingness to play ball."

Cade wasn't persuaded about the existence of "The Rack" but the rambling of Nathan was still amusing nonetheless for all present. Although I think the message was still accepted by Cade: Whatever happens to him in New Canaan will be of his own choosing.

Before either Cade, Doyle, Me, Nathan, or anyone else could say another word, Lockwood said, in a hushed and urgent tone, "Looks like they're here."

Our eyes immediately went to the outside, and Lockwood was right. All of us held our guns at the ready and the distant footsteps of a whole party came to my hearing as my eyes took in the shuffling silhouettes creeping along the narrow face of the cliffside trail. They clearly weren't expecting anything out of the usual, and proved that they were't Herbein's men as evidenced by the flashlights going to and fro as well as the sound of their indistinct chatter. Glancing to my left and seeing all my men were ready at their stations, I could tell the distant party began to grow wary of the gang hideout's silence in the darkness as the first man stepped off the trail. As soon as I became aware of this, I looked back to Doyle whose eyes met mine and told me what we had already internally agreed upon: There was nothing for me to say, but there was plenty for Cade to say.

Shifting over to the captive bound to the beam, he appeared to expect me to place a gag in his mouth but was surprised when I maneuvered behind him and cut his bonds with the whispered words;

"You're going to answer them when they call, but just know…" I showed him my .45, and at the same time, Doyle slowly cocked his pistol to mitigate sound as I continued, "… You say the wrong thing, you say anything to cause harm to any of my men, and you will die first. What that wrong thing is I'll leave to your judgement."

The eyes of Cade appeared to ask if I would instead place a gag in his mouth. No. Whatever happened next would be entirely up to him. After the fact, my men and I considered it to be a chance to prevent bloodshed, a chance at redemption where he evidently failed earlier this afternoon.

Moving Cade to the window I occupied, my men were all three feet inside their windows, concealed by the darkness of the room, weapons up, and aiming at the moonlit outside where those silhouettes were coming to a halt. When I looked past Cade to see that the rest of his gang were all off the trail, standing in something of a gaggle on the path straight to the shack. Their flashlights were turned off one by one after focusing on the mine warning signs we made, and the men stood motionless, having apparently come to the realization that something was off. Doyle whispered from behind;

"You got this, Paul?"

I glanced over, seeing Doyle take his place beside Duncan next to Lockwood's window. Placing my gun firmly against the head of Cade, I answered him, "Should be asking our friend here."

After a short moment, the cold breeze outside picked up once again, its echo creating an ever so faint whistle through the cracks in the metal walls of our strongpoint when a gruff voice from outside came to us.

"Hello!?..." Everyone, including Cade, was dead silent. A few more silent seconds passed when once again the same voice spoke, "Cade!?... Bent!? Yall here!?"

Cade turned his head to me, and asked in an almost normal level tone, "What you want me to say?"

The gang must have heard him speak, even if the distance obstructed the specific words because I immediately and rapidly said to Cade,

"Tell them you're here. You're captive of New Canaan. They got seven guns on them, and they're surrounded by mines."

The first part wasn't necessary because immediately, the light of several flashlights came faintly through the windows, exposing the person of Cade standing completely exposed with the light reflecting off his dusty face.

The voice outside asked "Boss!? That you!?"

"Yeah, it's me, Slick…" I could see the light from outside hadn't penetrated deep enough into the structure to expose my men distantly occupying their windows. Cade went on as instructed just before his man "Slick" could say anything else;

"… I met with New Canaan. They got me in here as their captive. You and the boys are in the sights of seven men, and don't stray from the path because they got that mined."

Immediately, Slick and the other nine in his crew raised their weapons towards the shack, if the clatter of weapons being unslung was any indication.

I pressed my pistol further into his temple and placed my hand on the grip of my slung smg before gently peering through the fluttering curtain at the outside. Though the gang's guns were up, so was the hand of "Slick" who appeared in control of their side.

The message had sunk in, the weapons on both sides were ready, and a second later, Slick said, "That so, Boss?... You alright!? Where's the others?"

Cade went to turn his head to me, as he was going to ask what he should say, but the barrel of my gun prevented that and I answered him in a whisper, "It's up to you."

Cade spoke to the flashlight outside after a moment, "… Yeah, I'm alright. I'm in good hands even if I'd rather be elsewhere… As for the boys, they're all dead. You can see'em out front."

The flashlights left the windows for several seconds, clearly realizing the seven still forms set on the ground in rows before the windows were the bodies of their friends. After this was taken in, the flashlights went back up to the windows, and the rustle of more raised weapons was heard. Apparently taken rather hard after seeing the damage, the voice of Slick pierced the darkness in a much harsher tone than before;

"Talk New Canaanites! Why you have our boss in there!..." We all stayed quiet, and my eyes went to Doyle whose face was faintly illuminated by the light from outside coming in from a line of bullet holes in the shack wall. Slick spoke again; "Who's in charge in there!?... You either start talking or we start shooting! Boss or no!"

Cade turned his head to me despite the pressure from my gun, "You should probably say something. They'll hit me first, but yall are next."

Looking back outside, I saw the first rank of that gaggle was laying prone, their second was crouching, and, and the rest were standing, all with their weapons up. The bullet holes in the shack wall told me this whole plan of staying put was pretty foolish, even despite the few sandbags we placed around the window portholes. I think Slick's men knew they were going to get shot up from the bottleneck they were in, but we were certainly going to get perforated as well. There was simply no way the men I cared about were all going to walk away if I didn't take charge somehow. Just as Slick began to lower his raised hand to the barrel of his rifle, I shouted;

"We just want to leave peacefully, and we're taking Cade with us!"

All my men remained laser-focused on the jumble of silhouettes pointing their flashlights and large-looking weapons at our bastion.

The man outside shouted back after a second as he returned his hand to the air, "Can't do that. We got yall outnumbered and we sorta like our boss…"

Cade, now squinting at the bright light still focused on his exposed person made an almost audibly sarcastic "aww" sound, and Slick continued;

"… Why you takin him anyway!? Cade and Bent said they just wanted to talk to you all!"

I was glad to hear confirmation that neither Cade nor Bent told their men exactly why they wanted to speak to men of New Canaan. At the same time, I really wished he didn't ask that question. Whatever I said in honesty would have given away too much, and even if I lied, it would probably only be a matter of time before they got to talking amongst themselves… Or discovered the reason through other means. Perhaps a journal on the body of Bent, or perhaps they'd remember something spoken by the campfire when the fog of adrenaline subsided from the moment. Also, and as crazy as it sounds, I still didn't want to lie. Perhaps in the moment it was less about a duty to faith that made it so hard for me to intentionally lie, but more from a part of me that knew I wasn't good at it. Whenever I had, I've always been caught, or the person I lied to could see right through. Either way, I knew the honest truth would only lead to the destruction and death of myself or many of my brothers, even if we managed to win this night. On the other hand, I had already thought about what I should do for too long, so the time for lying was passed.

Just as I was about to say something vague or indescript like: "We can't tell you that", rescue came from where I least expected;

"You can blame Bent for that, Slick…" Just as I realized it was Cade speaking out of turn, I realized what he said was true, and he said, "… Bent opened fire on these men when I found out…"

My heart stopped, I forgot to press the gun to his head hard enough, and I began to pull the trigger as the words, "Bent and I were wanted in New Canaan for some shit we did last time we were there…"

I released the trigger, Cade's brains remained inside his skull, and I thanked God as he concluded, "… Bent thought we could take them, and so did I… but… Here we are."

For a moment I thought I could hear everyone on our side give an audible sigh of relief, but it wasn't over. The silence outside was deafening, and the light stayed on the windows as Cade shouted in addition;

"… Bent started something he couldn't finish, and provided I don't resist, my new friends here promised they'd let me serve the original charge and not count what happened here."

There was some murmuring outside, and my heart thudded a bit harder as I thought of the words spoken earlier that afternoon "So where does that leave us..." The murmuring died, and the voice of Slick said;

"Thought you and Bent never been there?..." Cade was about to say something in defense of himself and consequently, us as well. However, Slick apparently paid no mind to that uttered fact as he went right along, "... Ain't unlike Bent…" then spoke almost politely, "... We still got'em outnumbered though. Want us to save you Boss?"

I adjusted the grip on my Thompson once more and Cade replied with a laugh, "I'll be out in a few days, boys. You open fire and I'm the first to die."

The murmuring began again, this time a bit louder, and although it was too distant to clearly make out, I thought I'd heard phrases like "But what about…?" likely alluding to their friends we killed. Although the conclusion of this ordeal was in appearance of ending peacefully, the weapons on our side remained up, and there remained something I couldn't hear that was still in the air.

Cade saw this struggle and knew that if he didn't get killed by my bullet, it was almost a certainty that one of theirs would if the firing began. I saw a bead of sweat beginning to fall down his face and as the murmuring continued, Cade shouted out, "I'm just gonna work off my sentence and be back… It's best not to start a war with New Canaan…"

Almost desperately he said to something he could clearly see building amongst his men, "Just go, Slick… I'll see ya'll at the Maeser's camp in a few days."

Immediately, Slick shouted back, "The boys and I kinda don't want to let this go… They killed some of our friends, and I wouldn't worry too much about a war if there ain't any witnesses left…"

"Please Slick! Hold fire! If I'm not killed in the crossfire, they'll kill me!" Shouted Cade, now in a completely desperate tone.

One more brief moment of contemplation passed on their sides while the grips tightened around the weapons on our side. At last, the voice of Slick called from outside, "Sorry boss, Maesers pay for New Canaan heads too. This whole thing looks like a win-win, so try and keep your head down."

I took the pistol off of Cade's head, pulled up my smg, and just before me or any of my men could fire at the gang or wipe the sweat pouring down all our faces, a voice beyond the gaggle of outlaws called for everyone in the vicinity of Rock Shack to hear;

"Halt! Don't Fire! You're surrounded!"

Cade ducked under the window, I focused my Thompson on the mass, and the flashlights began to turn to the voice behind them when it called again;

"Don't move one inch!"

The beam of the lights froze in place, and Doyle heaved a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat of his face on his shoulder and releasing the words, "And the Lord sent them Herbein."

With mines on their flanks, our guns to their front, and Herbein's guns to their rear, any hostility would mean their immediate death. We were saved, and Herbein shouted again;

"Raise your weapons above your heads, slowly, and with no sudden movements!"

The group complied, and the weapons of my men stayed on the mass of outlaws. I raised Cade back up to his feet beneath the window, and just then, Herbein called towards us;

"Lt. Doyle!? Lt. Young!? Ya'll in there!?"

With their weapons still hovering above their heads, the gang was frozen in place as Doyle opened the door to the shack, wordlessly leading the men, myself included out into the scrap heap shouting back,

"Yeah, it's us! We're coming out! Glad to see you Herbein!"

I exited into the cold night following the men, our weapons still trained on the outlaws, and Herbein said to us, "See if you can't get yourselves over on our side! The boys and I will keep'em calm!..."

After that, Lt. Herbein ordered the completely surrounded gang of ten to place their weapons on the ground, and move to the shack. We moved around the gangers as we traded places with them who complied with every demand in silence. We decided not to bind them, instead, each of us picked up their weapons as we passed the place they stood, and then I took over the scene. Once all the outlaws were on their knees in front of the shack beside their dead, and all the weapons were slung over our shoulders, I told the beaten gang that we would keep our word. We would be leaving peacefully with their leader, and would only be taking their weapons to ensure our safety. Although it would have been better to destroy the weapons of these outlaws or throw them into the waters of the reservoir below the hideaway, the weapons weren't part of the original deal, so we decided it would be alright for them to retrieve them from the site of that first totem. Doyle gave warning that if we found them following us, unarmed or not, they would be fired upon. I told the outlaws to bury their dead, and it was best to retrieve their weapons in the morning, and they seemed to accept the terms before we finally turned around and embraced our saviors of the night.

The boys and I heartily shook the hands of Herbein and the five men he brought along, and although Doyle and I's men were still loaded down with an additional three rifles each, the assistance from Herbein's men was more than appreciated. The greetings were brief, and the 13 in our crew and one prisoner departed back along the narrow path along the cliff face away from Rock Shack.

Stepping off the trail and back onto the ancient path going west, we moved as quick as we could, the men at the rear occasionally turning back to hear if we were being followed. We all stayed quiet as we moved, but the path out of the mountains was all downhill, so it went by much quicker than the trek up that morning. Our attention focused more on not tripping in the black wilderness, and keeping upright under the load of more equipment than when we started. Around an hour and a half later, and after almost missing it in the darkness, the boys up front had led us off the trail to the sight of the first totem we came upon. Although it was only a little after 8, the day was exhausting, and was taking its toll despite making much better time on the way back than the way up.

True to our word, the boys at the rear made a perimeter while we piled the weapons of the 10 outlaws in a patch of dry brush that would make it hard to find at any point before the break of dawn. We'd kept the weapons of the eight we killed to ourselves and some of us took the moment as a break. I bound the outlaw to the burnt totem, and the man stared out at the faint light beyond the rolling cliffs and hills to the northwest. The younger men of our detachments chatted amongst themselves, telling the boys under Herbein all about their heroic exploits before the rescue while Doyle and I talked with Lt. Herbein himself. In this short break, we had the moment to thank him once again, and it was here he told us that they would have been there earlier, but they encountered the outlaws coming in from the south. Herbein and his scouts had to follow very slowly and at a distance, keeping to the brush until the setting sun allowed them to shorten the gap a little more. He said he followed them along the narrow cliff to Rock Shack very slowly, unsure if they kept a rear guard, and had to wait until all his men had gotten into position before he could intervene in any way. Being too far to clearly hear what was being said, it wasn't until he was sure that we were the ones the gang was talking to that he decided to speak up. Just in time too.

Doyle was telling Herbein about all that happened on our side, how our attempt to initially observe was prevented by Cade and Bent's welcoming invitation, why we waited till night, etc. It was near the end of Doyle's explanation to Herbein when I left to approach the man bound to the long burnt totem. I could see the captive's eyes transfixed on the dim light beyond the cliffs and heard the sound of my men picking up their packs readying to depart again when I stood beside the man. I only had one real question on my mind, one that had been recurring to me frequently along the hike down the mountain. He glanced at me when he realized my arrival and I asked without any true surprise on his part;

"Why did you decide to lie to Slick earlier?"

I immediately realized the question was rather silly based on my threat to shoot him before the talk with his men, but Cade only said "Sorry?" in response.

I elaborated, "When you said 'Bent opened fire on these men when I found out…' then you lied about you being wanted in New Canaan instead of giving us away."

His face remained unchanged and then he responded with what was expected, but with an added something else, "Because you had a gun to my head, remember?..." He paused, then perhaps what I was getting at sunk in because he said, "I know y'all won't let me out in a few days either because of what I know…"

I asked, "So why did you tell them that?"

That grin grew subtly across his face and then he said, "When I'm not back with the Maeser's in a few day, the boys will move on. Perhaps take up new work in a different part of the wilderness or even with a different tribe…"

He was holding back, and he felt my gaze on the side of his head when he added, "That leaves a bigger share of the reward for Mr. Graham's location to me… Once I finally escape or get free from town..."

My blood froze at this, and I was about to strike that grin off his face and leave him a bloody dying mess for his men to find in the morning when something told me not to. Despite what we did for him, and how we saved him when he was dying and when his men showed up, he still intended to get a reward for jeopardizing my family and community's safety. Part of me believed this was just the talk of a man who still wanted to cling to the impression of control over his situation, so the stock of my weapon refrained from the face of this man even as he added;

"… Plus, the servitude deal y'all talked about doesn't sound half bad, and I could use a vacation from the wild wasteland." I decided not to tell him what I would later tell his handlers and the Constable about his case, and instead told him "Well alright then" as I released his binds from the totem.

The men were lining up to move out, and I began to push him to our place in the center of the line when he said, "One more thing though…"

My only response was the stock of my weapon pushing him further along, and he said anyway, "… Whether you like it or not, I'm not going to be the only one sent looking for Graham, and New Canaan won't be able to silence everyone who joins the hunt." One more rifle butt to the center of his back, and the man went quiet as Doyle and Herbein led the trot further down the mountain and closer to those lights in the northwest.