Chapter 25: War in the Wilderness

*WARNING: This chapter is very graphic*

A Little Over Two Weeks Later – Mid March 2278

"There it is, LT. See it over there?" Rhynes said to me, pointing towards a barely perceptible column of smoke rising in the distance.

"It's definitely more visible from here," said I.

Across the open desert, past the shrub and rock-covered landscape, and past the small rise in the hill beneath the blistering sun was that column. I pulled up my binoculars, switched them to the highest zoom level, and saw the distance to the start of that rise was about 930 meters away.

Looking to my left, all the new men lay prone in the sand like me, all of them holding their semi-auto .308 rifles out at the valley like they were supposed to, save for Donald Hansley whose rifle was aimed more at the ground in front of him than out at the valley.

"Rifle up," said I, and Mr. Hansley immediately corrected. Mr. Savitt looked at me after a brief survey of our left and gave me a thumbs up as he lowered his frame even further into the dirt.

I think the focus problem in Hansley today started with what we saw the day before. Mr. Albright's Caravan to 89 City set out the morning after Michelle officially left for Zion in the far south. The whole trip took a week and one day just to get to 89 City, and just as the Constable had said before departure, Mr. Albright already had new arrangements for security set up with 89 City before our arrival. Because of that, the new boys and I had ourselves a nice few days in 89 City as something of a getaway. Such a thing was permitted, provided we keep the Constable updated with my radio, and so long as it gives the new men some added experience. It never hurt to give the men some experience in other friendly settlements of the wilderness, and the Governor of 89 City was a particular friend of New Canaan.

So, Chance Rhynes, Oscar Savitt, Logan Barnett, and all the new men minus Graham spent a few good days in and around 89 City after an uneventful trip. I wasn't the only one surprised at the fact we didn't come across any kind of hostility along the way, even when we had all the goods that Mr. Albright's caravans were carrying. Not even something as simple as a drugged-up raider trying to hold us all up by his lonesome.

I remembered setting out, telling the new men as well as Rhynes and Savitt to be ready for anything. It wasn't uncommon in the slightest for a caravan from New Canaan or elsewhere to be attacked at least a few times on a trip lasting more than a couple of days outside our home's jurisdiction. Still, that's what happened, and although all of Mr. Albright's caravan hands were armed as well, the 8 of us guardsmen joining the caravan weren't the Most intimidating thing in the world. Granger Till and the former tribal, Licus weren't the only two nervous but eager to encounter something in the wilderness, the feeling was shared even by my veteran guardsmen. Either way, nothing happened on the trip to 89 City and not a whole lot happened in the large town that could show the new men what the wilderness is like.

There was a moment the day before our departure from 89 City that was somewhat exciting. At one point in the early morning, a gang of mercs commissioned by the governor returned to deliver the collection of scalps they obtained while they were out fighting the 80s. The little celebration the governor threw together to honor the gang's triumphant return was abruptly ended the second the governor's aid arrived with the bag of money. The gang immediately divided up their pay, left the celebratory breakfast, made a mess of the community bath house, got drunk in the local saloons, and then started harassing a lot of businesses across town. The governor and Sheriff Elias asked if we could help the lawmen restore some order and we obliged. Once all the women and little girls were boarded up in a general store, and once we had a large enough posse, the gang agreed to leave without further incident. As the gang left in the sights of our guns, they were shouting drunkenly about how they'd return with more scalps, and the tall albino one was saying something about war and how all mutated creatures need to be cataloged in his sketchbook before he "consents to their existence." In the end, there wasn't much that happened on this entire trip thus far. Although the day-to-day kept me from worrying excessively about my daughter, it wasn't until we set off back to New Canaan that the wilderness started to reveal itself.

One last look to my veterans and the new boys, and I stood up. With SMG in hand, I gave the motion to proceed through the clear open. As we crossed through the shrubbery and rocks, we kept low and moved at a simple walk, only having to remind my new men a few times what to look for in their sectors as we advanced. It was clear, and although we had no real reason to expect an ambush of any sort, crazier things had happened, and we certainly didn't know what was causing that column of smoke we were walking towards.

The new men were still making me proud, but even my veterans were becoming a little complacent in the days before we left 89 City. However, the wilderness snapped all of us back into reality almost immediately.

Personally, I think I was most proud of Granger Till. The ex-construction foreman was quick to learn, built for the part from decades of hard work, and although I could tell he was nervous about leaving the walls, I think it was his maturity and seriousness that made him a great learner if not a bit slower on the march. That wasn't to say that the other new boys were immature, or bad learners, but Granger had a way about him that was easy to admire amongst older guys like me and Rhynes.

I think the other new man that stuck out to me the most was Licus Messiah. Although it may not be too relevant to mention, I learned on this trip that Licus Messiah was actually a name he gave himself. I might have mentioned it earlier, but the young man was a former tribal who converted a couple years ago when his former tribe was visited by our missionaries. He was done with his studies to become an accepted member of New Canaan and was so enthusiastic about the Gospel that he took a page right out of the Old Testament in honor of the New. He adopted the name Licus in reference to Luke and the surname Messiah in honor of the Lord he now served. Overall, he was an enthusiastic one, ready to learn anything, and eager to go above and beyond in his new position. I think a large part of that came from gratitude to the guard for rescuing him from less fulfilling work in the North Fields.

Although the other two were fairly similar, Pat Fleischer seemed to find his place in the guard a bit more than Don Hansley. I already illuminated some of the reasons Pat was willing to join the guard, but between his experience on mission and knowing what happened to his father just before Christmas was what drove him to face the wilderness head on.

In the end, I didn't have to worry about any of them, they were all getting along just fine and got through training and adaptation without hiccup. Don however was probably the one struggling the most at the start. I knew a large part of his motive came from his parents telling him to do something more with his life, so his heart wasn't in it at the start for that reason. His parents were good people, but he was a bit sheltered. He wasn't content with his job after a not-Too-great first mission and figured he'd give the guard a shot. Like I said though, all of them were doing fine, but Don seemed the most troubled about the wastes, and I think part of that was because of what happened since we set off back towards home.

Unlike on the trip to 89 City, the trip back home started with a few incidents right off the bat. Less than 10 miles outside of 89 City, we came across a group of screaming people just after noon off the caravan road. We approached, since the group appeared to be a mix of wasters or tribals pacing to and fro in a sun tattered parking lot for a building that was now dust. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with them directly since they were moving around, but upon closer inspection, they were all naked, and they wouldn't stop screaming. There were men and women in the group of 12, all were covered in dirt from head to toe, and with eyes almost red. For a brief moment we thought they were a wandering pack of irradiated feral ghouls, but they didn't charge us like those humanoids with radiation-rotted brains. Instead, as we approached, their screaming only intensified. Some fell to the ground and started sobbing hysterically. Some began throwing rocks at us, screaming so loud and so intensely that their voices gave out. All this despite the lowering of our weapons and the gentle questions of how we can help them. Once we were close enough Rhynes even reached down and placed a hand on the shoulder of a woman in fetal position and sobbing. As soon as he asked if she needed water, and as soon as his hand touched her shoulder, she sprung up and began flailing her arms at him till he had to retreat, thus prompting her to do so as well.

We simply didn't know what to make of this whole thing, and they would not let us help them. The sobbing and screaming from this group of people became too much, and I gave the order for each man to leave them a bottle of water as we started north again.

The new men were shaken by that, and in all honesty, so were we veterans. I don't know if the group had accidentally drugged themselves from desert flowers, if they indulged in a stash of chems, if they were driven crazy by a recent attack, or if the sun had done that to their minds. It wasn't the first time we veterans of the wilderness saw someone driven crazy by the sun, so we left the assumption at that and went on our way. A few miles later, we told another caravan on the road about it, and refilled our supply of water before going about our way.

There were other minor incidents, people we interacted with on the road, and even when we entered the territory of our allies in the Nephi Tribe, we knew we weren't safe because we were also on the border of the Levanoan raiders. We ended up passing through the old world town of Nephi and talked with the Nephi people in order to get some more supplies and they were kind enough to give us a warning about the recent skirmishes they had with Levanoan raiders. We weren't with the Nephi for more than an hour and some change, but not more than another few miles on the trail we had an encounter with the raiders.

It wasn't much, but the new boys got their baptism by fire. Our group was shot at. As we approached some shacks we thought abandoned, we came under fire. The new men performed excellently, dropping to the ground at the sound of the first shot, even if their action came from fear. A few more shots landed close and they were clearly coming from the brick and metal shacks up ahead. The only issue I had with the new men was that Granger yelled "Should we fire too!?" even as Rhynes, Savitt, Barnett, and I were already firing. They eventually figured it out by aiming at the flashes or little clouds of smoke in the windows, and I would tell them afterward that it is general policy to fire back at whatever is firing at you until they stop. In the end, the raiders in the shacks quit firing not long after we opened up and we saw four figures run out the backs and disappear in the wastes. Investigation showed that we didn't kill anyone, and none of us were injured on our end, so we considered it a good day. That attack alone said what my explanations couldn't in Mr. Fleischer's question from earlier that trip, "Why exactly is watch so important at night?" Even though we had been making fireless camps at night, it wasn't really clear to them why someone still had to keep watch until that night after the short battle when they remembered those four who fired on us were still out there.

The boys handled their first time under fire well, and along the road that next morning led me to tell them more specifics about how the wilderness works. You never quite get used to being shot at, but it becomes a little easier when you think of your opponent, or your likely opponent. Being shot at is less scary when you think that the first shots in your direction are most likely going to come from a raider and his band of friends who psyched themselves up for their robbery on drugs or alcohol so much that they aren't sure if they're aiming at you, or the ten other "Yous" that they see. It was also helpful, at least for the veterans, to remind them that you typically won't be around for the shots that get you, so you might as well not worry about that. It was best to leave the eagerness for heaven jokes we did with Duncan on the Totem job for another day.

Again there were more incidents on our trip back. I'll leave every waster or caravan we encountered on the road for another time. I also won't go into all the little settlements around a watering hole we passed, all the little camps set up off the road, and stuff like that. However, it was the day before the one I started this with when another notable incident happened to give the boys their experience.

Along the road, we passed a caravan headed to 89 City that wasn't in good condition. We saw the dirty and bloodied people hobbling along going slower than a crawl. They stopped on our approach and raised their guns. They kept them up even as we slung our weapons and raised our hands. I wondered why they kept their guns on us even when we were in shouting distance, but I think our appearance said why. Despite still wearing the black cargo pants, vests, caps, and white shirts of the New Canaan guard, we had been on the ground and in the dust so many times in the past few days that our uniforms were unrecognizable.

Upon approach, the caravan held their fire, and we told the head who we were. We asked them where they were from and they said they were from Hanksville in the east. They finished up business in New Canaan a few days ago and were headed to 89 City to hit the next stop on their circuit when they were attacked earlier in the morning. The group we were looking at was two Brahmin loaded with crates and two wagons. Eight traders stood and were looking at us covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, while both carts had two injured men and women in each. I asked how we could help, and the man said he'd pay us for stimpacks if we had any. I would have given them freely, but we were low on water and offered them in exchange. The head trader accepted, and as the men filled up the canteens from the spicket on one of their cargo barrels, we got to talking a little more.

The trader at the head of this battered caravan advised us to avoid going north for a while since the group that attacked them was still in the area. I asked who attacked them and he said he had no idea, and even though he couldn't give me an estimate as to their number, he did say that there were 5 other pack animals and 32 men and women in his caravan before the raid, and now there were 12 if you included the injured. He told me not to even try when I asked what direction the raiders went, but he did answer Southwest. I told him the tribals of Nephi were only about a day and a half journey if he kept along the road and told my men to come along as we headed west.

The new as well as the veteran guardsmen asked where we were going when I took them off the road going west. All I told them was that we were going to scout out who attacked the caravan. Rhynes, Savitt, and Barnett knew I wouldn't take them on a suicidal rescue mission, but I enlightened the silent new men when I told them we could at least radio New Canaan about who it was and inform the Elders about the situation. What they would do, whether they'd send a stronger group of guardsmen, send an emissary to negotiate, or put up travel restrictions for the area was unknown. Either way, we proceeded west into the desert and I had no real reason to even believe we'd run into the raiders. About three hours later, however, we did run into them.

Just before stepping over the crest of a little rock formation, my eyes took in the sight for only a second before I dropped, immediately followed by the rest of the men. Just north of the old ruins of Goshen, out in the open was a long train of people crossing the sands. It could have been another caravan, but caravans tended to stick to the old roads, so once we were concealed and once I stole another peek, I pulled up the binoculars. With the edge of the Utah Lake shores only a couple miles beyond, I studied the train indicated as 740 meters away by the state-of-the-art lenses.

At the head were over a dozen men with spears, followed by another 12 or so men carrying all manner of long rifles. There was one bigger man with an exposed torso who wore an elaborate bighorn skull mask and held a large machinegun in his hands. Immediately behind the big one were two men holding chains that connected the rest of the party to them. Tailing at the rear were a total of eight women, all completely naked in the blistering heat. The faint sounds of screaming and wailing came to us as the party continued along and I lowered my optics.

"What is it?" asked Rhynes, seeing Savitt, Barnett, and all the new boys looking at me expectingly.

"I think it's the survivors of the caravan raid…" I paused, stole one more look with the binoculars, "… I'm assuming the men were killed."

"Let me take a look," said Rhynes. I passed the binoculars to him, and he took a long look before he said, "… No way to tell for sure. Don't really want to ask them either."

He handed them back and just as I was going to take another look to see where they might be headed, Mr. Hansley asked, "Can I see too?"

I didn't think much about it, but all I said in return was "I don't think you want to see."

"I would, sir." Said the young man in a voice that made me turn. I wasn't sure what to make of his insistence, but I saw the faces of the new men who were content with my word alone, and then the serious face of Mr. Hansley. If it will give him more insight, I didn't see the harm.

I handed the optics to him, and he took a long look as I realized I hadn't zoomed in enough to try and discern what tribe they were. Searching my memory, the warriors looked like they could have been Levanoans since we were still in the northernmost part of their border territories. My thoughts about this ended for the moment when Mr. Hansley said with the binoculars still at his eyes;

"What are they going to do to them?"

I saw the way he gripped the optics and the way his teeth were clenched as I asked him, "Do you really want to know?"

Still looking at the warriors and their new slaves, he said, "Yes." And I looked to the veteran boys. All of their faces said I might as well give him what he wants and that reality sucks.

After a moment, Mr. Hansley glanced away from the binoculars to me for a second before I told him. "They'll probably get eaten after the warriors have had their way with them-"

I was going to say that the male survivors of the caravan were probably already eaten but I decided to stop when I saw the looks on all the new men's faces. No longer were they curious about what I had seen and what Mr. Hansley was seeing. Now they were all wearing faces that said what Mr. Hansley asked as he gripped the optics even tighter;

"We should do something. We can't just let that happen?"

He lowered the binoculars and turned to me as all four of the new men looked to each face of the veterans. I told him the cold hard truth. The truth that broke my heart every day I thought of incidents like this I'd seen. The truth that made the job so hard;

"There's nothing we can do for them."

There were simply too many of them and too few of us. New Canaanites out in the wilderness had to pick and choose our battles, the battles we knew we could win if we ever wanted to get back home or even succeed in helping those who fell victim to the wilderness. Rhynes, Barnett, and Savitt answered all the new men's questions in the moments after I said what I did. In the meanwhile, I got on the radio, and called it in for the Constable's radioman, unfortunately knowing that whatever posse the Constable could get together would likely only catch up to the Levanoan raiders in time to find the charred bones of those women. After this moment, the demeanor of the new men changed. It wasn't very noticeable in Granger, Licus, and Fleischer, but Mr. Hansley was evidently very disturbed by the sight and knowledge of what tribes of the wilderness like this did. It seemed the men were much less enthusiastic about the little gun battle from earlier, and that night around the camp was far more silent.

After the Levanoan slave column, we decided to head northwest around the west shore of the Utah lake and a bit west till we knew we were far outside of their territory. A little extra exploration would help take the minds off of that grim reminder of what the Wilderness contains… Or so I thought.

Sometime a little before noon the next day, we were a few more miles west of the lake when a brief survey with my optics showed a party headed towards us a few miles off. We didn't know who it was and didn't want to ask, so I took the group out further before showing how to conceal in the landscape. We weren't pursued, and I never learned who the group was, but after seeing the group was far to our south and out of our advance, we stood. It was in this momentary stretching period and while I looked over our maps that Rhynes caught sight of something that brings me to where I started talking about this expedition.

We neared the black smoke and that collection of rocks in the distance out of duty to investigate. We reached that rise in the hill, began up it, over the rocks and sliding sand, and the terrain leveled out for another few miles. In the middle of that plain, there were no more obstructions. The source of that black smoke was right there.

It was a campfire. A nice little campfire in the middle of a crumbled parking lot at the front of an ancient red rocket refueling station. I pulled up the binoculars once again and just before they reached my eyes, the large group around the campfire scattered in every direction at the crackle of gunfire. One crackle turned into two, then three, then the sound of gunfire became one constant sound as the scene around the old service station turned into a giant mess of sparks hitting the vehicles the group was hiding behind;

"What's happening?" asked Rhynes and Savitt at the same time, the rest of the men squinting to try and see what was happening through the distance and haze.

The gunshots were evident to the boys of something terrible happening and they could see the little frames of distant people moving to and fro but they wanted specifics I couldn't give, so I stayed silent. Through the lenses I watched the people using the vehicles for cover returning fire at the enemy in the southwest. They were all scrambling around too fast for me to make out any details, so I looked back to the campfire. Turning the zoom all the way up and seeing the first victims of the fight in their attire, my attention went back to the broader picture at a short pause in the gunfire. That short pause showed over a dozen warriors swarm out of the brush, and another dozen run out from behind the vehicles. Tomahawks, spears, and rocks were hurled between both charging groups before they met and the gunfire resumed.

"What's happening?" asked Rhynes again, as well as everyone else.

I told them simply, "Two tribes battling it out. Don't know for sure who they are though. We'll wait for the fight to die down." My answer didn't give them what they wanted, and so they resumed peering into the distance, trying to make out more to little avail.

I lowered the binoculars and began to listen as we waited, and the next moments were spent speculating about who was fighting who. When the fight did die down, I know the new men wanted the defeated ones who occupied the gas station to be the Levanoans, but I knew that the group we saw yesterday was somewhere in the south by now. As the situation died down even more, the force from the southwest was spreading out around the place. The occasional gunshot rang out for someone in or around the service station, and I mostly spent the time studying my map to make sense of what I saw. This was somewhat unnecessary because we would very soon get a close-up of what happened.

After a few moments, my attention returned to the situation around the gas station when the very faint sounds of another woman screaming came to us in the winds intermixed with laughter. All of the attackers from the southwest were gathered around something by one of the gas pumps, and before I could study the situation further, I realized what I was seeing and lowered the binoculars.

I denied the request to see what was happening this time when they asked about the sound of the screaming, knowing the new men would soon understand personally what was causing it. How I knew this, I didn't know until that scream stopped several minutes later, a single gunshot rang out, and silence reigned for 10 more seconds before another roar of gunfire came this time from the north.

I raised the optics at this, saw the victors of the battle all fleeing back to the southwest, and watched as this new force came from the north in pursuit. Although the whole thing was again moving too fast to observe from the binoculars, the dots swarming down from the north and dots fleeing southwest would make a bit more sense very shortly.

We all watched as the victors of the fight fled and the force from the north continued on. I stole a look back north in the direction of the responders and saw the outline of the Great Salt Lake before I stood myself up and said, "Let's go check it out."

Both groups were long gone by the time we made the 800-meter trek to the site of the attack on the gas station, and the scene I saw from the ridge did not do any justice to what really happened. I ordered the men to fan out as we reached the edge of the asphalt that merged with the wasteland sands almost seamlessly. I stole a glance to the north once again, and told Barnett, "You keep watch that way, let us know if anyone else is coming." Logan Barnett nodded and leaned himself up against the corner of the red rocket station building facing north. I turned to the new men, seeing they had stopped in their tracks and were looking more worried than they had at any other point on the trip, seemingly waiting for some kind of order. I realized just how dangerous and frightening this place was in their eyes after what happened. Putting on my best assuring smile, and adopting my finest tone of confidence, I calmly gave them the order they wanted;

"Let's get some water for the stretch back, these fellas should have plenty."

The new men nodded, then began looking in every direction as Mr. Rhynes and Savitt joined me forward.

We all fanned out, taking in the scene around the gas station, and what a scene it was. The smell of gunpowder still lingered in the hazy air, and through the wrecked cars of the parking lot, I counted five dead men and women whose present state shouldn't have put a smile on my face if it wasn't for what happened last September.

I looked over the corpses riddled with bullet holes, still leaking blood onto the ancient pavement that steamed in the heat. Looking over at the sight of the melee brawl just under the furthest part of the station's long awning was another mess of corpses. Granger and Fleischer were hesitantly picking through the pockets of one of those who fell to the forces of the north while the other two were keeping watch. I never got a good look at the ones from the southwest, so I awaited the questions from the new men until my attention went to Mr. Rhynes. The man stood beside the fire where two other bodies fell in the opening shots and shouted toward me as I stood between two wrecked cars;

"If I had to guess I'd say it's White Legs. What say you, Paul?"

They were indeed. I looked toward the new men who were now staring towards the rest of us. They appeared to stop in the middle of refilling their canteens when Rhynes spoke up, so I told them;

"Keep checking them, boys. We can take any food and supplies they got…" The new men got right back to it, and I looked to Savitt, "… Savitt, go help them out. We can't stay here all day."

Mr. Savitt nodded and trotted towards the new men as I stepped up to Rhynes' side to join him in studying the dead. Looking down at the two corpses by the dying fire pit amidst the cars, I caught a glimpse of some kind of meat simmering on a metal trey beside the fire, but my attention was more focused on the corpses. I looked over the dead as Rhynes spoke his thoughts aloud;

"We're definitely in White Leg territory. Great Salt Lake aint too far and suppose that explains the rapid response from their friends up north…"

I studied the two corpses. One was a man, one was a woman, both laid there with several bloody holes in their bodies staining the thin tan woven clothing in lots of red. Their hair was both long and brown and shining with sweat before their deaths, and their clothing didn't cover much more than their genitals and upper chests. Along their arms were leather straps and belts wound around each appendage, and both wore thick belts around their waists with water gourds and several leather pouches for their ammo or supplies. Ammo was unlikely because both of them clenched tomahawks in their death grips, but these bleeding cretins certainly didn't need their water anymore. The corpses of these two, and the others between the cars looked like many of the desert wasteland tribal raiders, but how we knew they were White Legs was simple.

Every corpse I'd seen since reaching the site of the battle had their naked legs painted or dusted white, and these two were no different. From what we knew about the raider tribe, they were from the western shores of the Great Salt Lake where the sand was exceptionally white, and the symbol was adopted. The two before us also had their faces and ears painted white, but experience told me that some of them would go above and beyond in the expression of their awful allegiance.

After a moment, Rhynes knelt down and began to detach the gourd on the woman's belt as he said;

"I'll bet you're glad about this, Paul. It's never a bad day when you see the White Legs get what they keep asking for."

"Not glad," said I, as I handed him my own canteen at his gesture. "… Just have a strange feeling this was God's plan for those who took out Salazar, Evan, and all those boys."

He stood with the gourd in hand, taking a sip as he emptied the rest into his canteen and said, "I miss those boys. I'll bet it was Diego Marquez who asked God himself for this little favor."

This made me smile, and I told Rhynes, "Him or Roy Sutton… They're all a lot closer to Him up there in Heaven now than us down here."

Mr. Rhynes gave a little chuckle, then asked with a motion towards the southwest as he returned my canteen, "Who you think took them out?"

"No idea, doubt the boys or even Savitt over there are sure."

"You'd know," said Rhynes as he stood and nudged me with a smile.

I didn't know if that was true even though I had my assumption, but said "Let's see how they're getting along," with a smile as we turned towards Savitt and the new men.

Savitt and Licus were kneeling before and doing something to someone in the mass of corpses where the melee took place while the rest were coming towards Rhynes and I at a quick pace. Just as I was going to ask what Savitt was doing, he shouted over to me;

"Hey LT! We got a wounded one!" Barnett glanced back from his spot against the wall, and Rhynes and I proceeded towards Savitt when we saw the rest of the men had halted their approach to gather around something beside the closest gas pump.

As we neared Savitt and the wounded warrior, I stopped by the other three when I caught the face of Mr. Hansley at sight of what was by the pump. I thought back to what I saw happening around the pump in the binoculars less than 20 minutes ago just as Mr. Hansley said with a face of horror;

"What in God's name happened to her!?"

Followed by Granger, "I've never seen anything like this! Who would do such a thing?"

All the men were trying their best to look away but couldn't from horror, still choking on the horrendous smell. There it was, the reason all those attackers from the southwest were gathered around this particular pump in the wake of their victory over this White Leg warband:

Bound to the gas pump with a pair of chains was a woman warrior of the White Legs. Her legs were spread wide on the crumbling asphalt, painted white with streaks of her own blood all over, her hair disheveled and pulled out in clumps, while the white painted face was frozen in a look of abject horror. The look on her face was hard enough to glance at, let alone study; the cause of that expression was explained by the red cap sized dot above her right eye. Her head sat in a mess of bone fragments and brains while the lake of blood around it seeped into the crevices of the pump's concrete foundation. What little clothing she wore before she ended up like this was in tatters around her naked body, but her exposed chest was covered in so much blood from the wide gash in her neck that she might as well have been wearing a thin red shirt… But I think the worst thing was what was between her legs. The broken bottles littering the pavement around her legs and how bloody the area around her most vulnerable body part was indicated a raping of the most horrible variety. Not only that, but the open visceral mess between her legs was giving off a nearly imperceptible whitish smoke as the smell of phosphorus poked the nostrils beneath the overwhelming smell of blood and voided bowels. This final detail of the phosphorene smell and smoke emanating from her mutilated groin was a mystery until my peripherals caught the empty casing of an emergency flare sitting on the ground right in front of my left boot.

Granger Till and Mr. Hansley both threw up after taking in the sight for too long, and I felt as though the new men, and even myself might have teared up or cursed humanity as a whole if they weren't so stricken by the site. I think the only thing preventing me from complete destruction at such a scene was how I might have still been kept somewhat in check by the vague feeling of justice hovering in my mind…

What happened to that woman, White Leg raider or not, wasn't justice. It was pure evil, and I'm ashamed to have felt as though it was anything otherwise. Although the wilderness and memories of what this tribe's raiders did to my men only a few months prior asked for a certain kind of mindset that I felt I could only repent about later. This mindset stuck with me, even as I departed from the ghastly remnants of that White Leg as I told the still horror-stricken new guardsmen beside me;

"You told me you wanted to see."

The new men stayed put, and Mr. Rhynes followed me as we jogged over to Mr. Savitt and Licus kneeling over the wounded raider amongst those corpses from the melee. The man was being held down by Licus, struggling in the new guardsman's grip looking simultaneously panicked and full of rage. The raider thrashed about muttering painfully as if unable to shout for some reason while Savitt was still laying out the possible items from his first aid pouch he could use as Rhynes and I knelt down;

"What's his problem?" asked Rhynes as I put my hands on the raider's legs to keep him steady.

Mr. Savitt pulled up a stimpack syringe saying almost non-chalantly, "I'm hesitant to give him one of these. Doesn't seem like he even wants to get fixed up."

The wounded raider freed his left hand from the grip of Licus and reached for a holstered handgun on the hip of a White Leg's corpse before Rhynes caught it and helped Licus secure him.

"You thinking the same, Paul?" asked Rhynes, motioning with his head towards the frenzied patient.

Our little patient certainly wasn't a White Leg, he was evidently one of the ones from the southwest who attacked the gas station. The guy wore tan cargo pants that looked like they were worn by someone every day for the past several hundred years. His boots were of a similar description, and he was otherwise shirtless save for the chest protector from a decrepit suit of pre-war combat armor. His arms were covered in bandage tatters with several freyed leather belts that kept the wrappings in place, and his bald head and face were painted streaks of red. He was dirty beyond belief and blood from himself or the corpses around him dotted every article of clothing he wore. He was snarling and angry, glaring at us with only one eye visible behind a set of broken reflective shades.

"You and your friends 80s?" I asked the patient.

He settled down a little, but I think this was mostly from fatigue, rather than my question. Suddenly he twisted his torso with another violent jerk before being subdued once more. That motion, however, revealed very briefly exactly how he was injured. There was a giant open gash in his lower back, probably from a tomahawk or axe that was so deep it explained the pool of blood he was resting in.

"Should I give'm a prick?" asked Savitt, holding the syringe up.

Rhynes turned the man over once again and studied the wound. It was so deep and so red it looked like he was in the middle of getting skinned alive before we showed up. I took this in, watched more blood bubble from the deep cavern in his back, studied the exposed part of his spine in the midst of so much gore, and watched more blood pour onto the hot asphalt before Rhynes answered Savitt with exactly what I was thinking;

"Doubt it'd do much good for a wound that deep. Him layin here is probably the only thing keeping the rest of the blood in."

"What should we do?" asked Savitt, followed by Licus violently nodding his head in curiosity.

The man was calming down, probably from fatigue, but also probably from blood loss. His eyes remained open, staring at our faces through his busted shades one at a time as he calmed down. Without breaking eye contact from the 80s raider, I said;

"Nothing to do…" I paused, glanced to the north, then to the southwest, "White Legs will be back this way soon to loot their dead. Doubt they'd do this guy many favors if he's still kicking."

Savitt and Rhynes knew what was next, and I met eyes with the wounded 80s warrior again as I shouted for the rest of the new guardsmen, "Granger! Boys! Get over here, would you?"

Almost immediately I heard the footsteps leave the site of the gang rape victim and come to a stop around me. Rhynes, Savitt, and Licus caught the others up on the situation and I continued to meet the eyes of the warrior. He was struggling to stay conscious as well as aggressive before I asked him directly;

"You speak English?"

The man's sneer grew worse as the low voices behind me quieted. All at once the man still in the grip of Licus and Rhynes thrashed again, staring at Savitt as he said,

"Fix me or No!? Fuckos!"

"I Thought they spoke English," said Rhynes, followed by Savitt, "Sorta. Parrish says some bands do, some don't."

"You with the 80s, right?" I asked,

The raider struggled in the grip again before saying painfully and defiantly through clenched teeth, "80s Kings! Runs and I gather'on'a highway! Fuckin kill! Fuck you! Gimme flower, run'a wreck, or fuckin bullet!"

"That's a 'sorta' alright," said I, glancing to Savitt then Rhynes. All stayed quietly wondering what to make of the apparent gibberish the raider was saying. He definitely seemed like a raider of the 80s with the words "80s Kings…" but it sounded like he was more focused on the pain if the words "Gimme flower run'a wreck or fuckin bullet!" meant what I assumed.

"His friends came down on this place pretty fast," said Rhynes, apparently finding some other indication of this patient's affiliation since the words didn't prove much.

I thought about this and speculated aloud, "They ran from it pretty fast too."

The patient must not have liked this because he thrashed about again, this time weaker as he said, "Kill'em all! 80s run'n'gun don't take shit! Kill a Sand Leg punk bitch!"

We all stared at him as he convulsed painfully for a moment and then rested again. Rhynes said idly, "Probably scouting this place. 80s definitely love their little gas station forts down south… still love fighting White Legs too from the looks of things."

"Clean a blade on a Sand Dog neck. Don't hand nothin but a-…" says the 80s raider, trailing off into silence, and seemingly unable to finish his... explanation? Threat?

The painted raider's eyes were still open but his head was on the ground as his chest rose and fell. It appeared as though he was too focused on not dying to threaten us or the White Legs/Sand Dogs further. After a moment, Savitt said for everyone present, "It'll take him a while to bleed out, White Legs could come back soon."

With no response from the wounded raider, I thought about this. I knew the White Legs from the north wouldn't be back from their pursuit for a while since the sun was setting and the White Legs could run for days even if the 80s warbands were usually quicker. Still, as horrible as both the 80s and White Legs were, and even though this man might survive for several more minutes or hours, it wasn't impossible for another group from the White Legs camp in the north to send a group out this way. Strange as it may seem, we had an obligation to even men like this. Since we had our supplies and needed to leave before anyone else would stumble upon the scene or us, it was here we had another obligation, an obligation to God.

"Nothing left to do but the merciful thing," said I. Rhynes and Savitt silently nodded while Licus and the other new guardsmen looked at me vacantly.

We could tell that the new men didn't feel the 80s man deserved any kind of "merciful thing" and us veterans felt that way too. Recalling the sight of that mutilated White Leg woman beside the gas pump, and looking at this wounded man who certainly would have joined in the act if he wasn't nearly killed in the attack, I found it hard to begin this "merciful thing" at first. Then I thought of Graham, and although we would offer the wounded killer far more mercy than he would have given us or anyone else, we knew the right thing to do could be just as satisfying as the wrong thing, if done the right way.

I dropped from my crouch down to both knees at the legs of the wounded 80s and Rhynes and Savitt dropped to both knees likewise. The new men did so as well without order, probably out of a feeling that they should follow the lead, and all of us knelt before the wounded raider. I looked briefly over towards Barnett still keeping eyes on the north, and then back down at the raider to ask him;

"Would you like to repent of your sins?"

The raider kept staring at the now pink sunsetting sky. He only acknowledged the question again with the words "Gimme flower. run'a wreck. or fuckin bullet!"

I took that as a "no" and glanced to the men, "Would you all be so kind as to pray for this man? He doesn't appear capable of understanding or answering the question."

Immediately Savitt and Rhynes began praying softly, followed by the rest of the new guardsmen after a moment. I looked around the circle, seeing Savitt and Rhynes praying for the soul and righteous justice for this wicked and unrepentant man. Facing Licus across from me, I could see him doing likewise, and probably serving as a stand-in for what the others were doing when I saw his eyes were squinted as if to only give the impression they were shut. The raider hadn't moved, seemingly trying his best to ignore us around him and only refraining from swearing, thrashing, or taking out his rage due to the blood still seeping into the ground he lay upon.

The prayers continued, and I unscrewed the cap on my second and nearly empty canteen. After a short sip for the heat of this sunset, I recited the simple words, "It is in this water that I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit" as I poured the remnants upon the 80s warrior. One stream down the length of his body, and another one across his chest. His eyes hadn't moved despite a splash of water landing on his busted sunglasses, but he did mutter a few more swear words through those clenched teeth before I screwed the cap back on. Standing to my feet, I took a step forward and fell to one knee over his chest. I shut my eyes, and I don't know how he took this change of position beyond another few more curses as the prayers continued and I started my own;

"Lord, we ask You to forgive this man of the sins he has committed against You and Your creation. We pray that You have mercy on him in death as he was ignorant of in life. We leave his soul to Your perfect judgment and bring him before You in the name of mercy…" the swearing below me grew slightly louder before I concluded, "… Please forgive us of this act if we do in fact commit sin by doing so. We love you, Lord, and we trust in Your will. It's in Your Son's name we pray, amen."

Rhynes and Savitt continued praying, the voices of the new men had ceased, and I drew the pistol from my hip. The man carried his bitterness and rage to the very end.

If you ask why the prayers were customary, it was because of that face beneath me when I was going to give him exactly what he asked for. "Gimme flower. run'a wreck. or fuckin bullet!" We had no idea what he meant by the first two things, but we could figure what he meant by a bullet. It was a mercy killing. He and men of the wastes like him didn't deserve mercy for what they did throughout their whole lives, but neither did we if all sin is the same in the eyes of God. In the end, we could offer men like him mercy of our own sort in their final moments anyway. These kinds of men lived in ignorance, an ignorance that made them wreak havoc on the world around them. They simply didn't know better, but ignorance, especially when it's willful, is not an excuse. All we can do is pray for men like this and give what their life's course asks us for when they come asking. The baptism is an act of grace, an act of mercy, an act of forgiveness, while justice, punishment, redemption, and even love are given at the same time the bullet explodes out the top of the skull.