Paul's Letter to Rome

by Interfectorem

A man of the New Canaan guard is chosen to witness and facilitate the return of the community's Prodigal Son. In one of the most uncertain and dangerous times of the community's history, Paul and the community wrestle with the question of what being a faithful servant of God looks like as the hostile world around them inches closer and closer for the Burned Legate.

32. Act 3 - Friends of the Wilderness Pt I

Act 3 - Chapter 32: Friends of the Wilderness Pt I

"There was so much we should have seen coming, but such things are impossible to see when you're so lost in the present. Time goes on, changes take place, and we go through so many changes that we return to a place where nothing looks different. The path we follow is a good one, an easy one, but a hard one at the same time, and when nothing looks different the further we go, the more we need to trust in the fact He won't change."

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Approximately 10 Months Later

Narrative Continued by Lieutenant Paul Young

It had been so long, far too long since I found myself in an oasis like this. I stepped into the cool water and looked up at the light grey cliffs around us in this part of the border region between old world Nevada and Utah. It was really hard not to marvel at the greenery in this region, and I noticed I wasn't alone in that when I remembered the faces of the men as soon as we passed the Sevier Lake and then the 21. All around us in this hidden little nook were thick bushes, tall rises, and a pool of water so blue beneath that wide open blue sky that we could forget the heat of the past several days at least for a moment.

I'd removed my pack, weapons, vest, tan longsleeve, and a glance back showed all my items were still right where I left them on a large flat rock on the edge of the water. I took one more step and felt the water now reaching my waist. It was so cold, but a refreshing sort of cold like I had spent the last week and a half leading the boys through such extreme heat. It was almost February of 79 if I remember correctly, but I thought it was so strange since heat like this was so unusual for the time of year. I'd been in this region several times over the years, but I always forget what it's like till I'm in it. I thought of the snow-capped mountains around New Canaan I'd seen less than a week ago, then the heat of the past few days that I wondered how such a change in climate was possible. Either way, the frigid water felt wonderful as my eyes followed the little rocky path up the cliff to the part where my boys sat and smiled.

Most of the men, Rhynes, Nathan, Parrish, Granger, Fleischer, Hansley, and Licus were still shirtless and drying off in the sun atop those rocks. It was always funny to see half-naked men armed with machineguns and rifles slung over their shoulders, but they all knew the area we were in, and I didn't have to say anything about Doyle's men all sitting atop the ridge above my own men, still half clothed and with their legs hanging off the rocks. Another step further into the water and I felt it reach my neck before I plunged my head under just for a second to feel it completely consume me. I can't even explain a feeling like that, but anyone reading this has done that and knows how it feels to emerge from the water so refreshed. It was like being born anew once again, the blood was becoming cold in my veins, and I suddenly craved the warmth of the sun as I sloshed out of the water towards my equipment.

I reached my things, legs still submerged, and began to put on my dry shirt when the man to my left asked from 10 yards away;

"It's a good feeling, isn't it, Paul?"

I looked at him as I finished my lower buttons. He hadn't moved beyond the ankle-deep part of the little oasis pool, probably to keep his wrappings from becoming unraveled. Still, I wondered if a dip like we'd all done would hurt him. A walk into some waters like that had to be less painful than using a damp cloth to scrub that scorched skin beneath the bandages.

"You hopping in, Graham? Water's fine, and I think I heard Nathan up there was gonna make a scorecard if you wanted to do a flip or something off the rock?"

I could tell he smiled behind the white cloth as I finished the buttons on my shirt and grabbed the vest. He glanced to me briefly, then returned his attention to where the water continued to flow past the thick bushes into the southwest. He only said;

"I'm fine for now. I cleansed myself this morning before we set out."

I remembered that, or more specifically, how painful that looked. Some of the men halted what they were doing in the middle of the camp packup to look at the flayed skin beneath the bandages when he went to scrub it with that ragged cloth.

I only replied, "Suit yourself, we will try to swing by this place again on the way back... If possible anyway." He stayed quiet, and I submerged my socks into the water before removing them and taking a seat on a part of the little shore beside him to ring them out and put them back on before starting on my boots.

I'd just begun to tie my first boot when Graham turned his head half towards me and asked in his normal way;

"How is your family, Paul?"

Everyone in the guard knew not to ask me that because everyone in town knew how my family was, more specifically, how Michelle was. Joshua had offered me great council in the past months, but I think even he knew that the question was crossing a bit of a line… That was probably exactly why he asked it in the first place.

"They're good. They're doing just fine," said I. My work on the second boot was almost done and when I looked up, I found him facing me still standing ankle-deep in the water;

"You need to talk about Michelle, Paul. I know you well enough for you to tell me what's on your mind."

I knew what he wanted me to talk about, but he was wrong, neither Michelle nor her child was on my mind. In fact, I'd gone through great pains and tremendous effort to make sure the topic in general wasn't anywhere close to "on my mind." This topic and the avoidance of it was also a huge part of the reason I had been going on missions like this so frequently.

With my boots firmly on, I continued to sit there and look out to where the steam continued on, trying not to feel those eyes on me as they continued to stare. At last, I found myself answering those eyes;

"I don't want to talk about it, Graham."

After a second of silence, he stepped forward to a dry spot on the ground beside me, and turned to take in the same view as me as he said the simple words, "You should."

At those simple words, the part of me that knew he was right was at the forefront of my mind and the part that kept those thoughts at bay or kept me focused on the task at hand was immediately disintegrated. No reason why, just the suggestion, just the command had done it.

I had done everything in my power to block out the memories of those 9 months Michelle was pregnant because they hurt so much. I had purposely made myself scarce, left their side in favor of duty that needed me, a lie. A noble lie, some would say, but a lie nonetheless as my baby girl and my wife went through a kind of horror I simply couldn't handle…

Many times I had heard and even seen my eldest daughter, my first baby girl's attempts to destroy what was growing inside her. She was to see it through. The community expected it, Dani expected it, and God expected it, but I could not blame her for how she felt. I spent so many nights praying she would one time succeed, or that the child inside her would die of some other cause, knowing my prayer was evil, then immediately praying tearful prayers for forgiveness of my wicked request. I still couldn't help it as it went on night after night after night. Sometimes the hardest things are knowing your feelings are wrong, but not being able to change them and not even wanting to.

Knowing how she had become pregnant, and how she suffered at the hands of the wilderness, I could not and still don't understand how to handle what she was going through. For 9 months, her tears were a constant sound whenever I was home, and so were the tears of my wife. Dani, I, loved Michelle so much, we didn't know how to handle the pregnancy of our first girl and how it happened to her. But we also knew full well what it was doing to her; we could hear that through the closed door to her room every night, and where Dani shed tears for the pain her girl was going through both physically and mentally, I shed tears for how I felt I failed her… How that world out there put her in this pain when I couldn't do anything to stop it.

I heard her cries, saw her stomach grow over the weeks and months, and every time I did, I'd see the face of that boy on his knees with my gun to his forehead. I'd see the fire in his eyes, feel the simultaneous defiance and regret fighting for control within them, and hear the sound of his pleas, "I'M SORRY!" I'd hear his older friend, the voice of evil, saying beneath everything else, "OWN IT! OWN IT" and hear those words once again, "I'M SORRY!" before the gunshot rang in my ears. The painful ringing subsides, and I hear the sobbing of Michelle as I stand in the doorway looking down at her on the floor beside the bed with a little stream of blood running down her dress as it pools around her. The knife sits limply in her hand dripping in blood when she sees me, and her face contorts to complete and total devastation as she begins to sob the words;

"I'm so sorry daddy."

Over and over and over again she sobs those words, entering my mind as though she was eight years old again when I think of how she used to call me daddy all the time. Seeing my little angel covered in so much blood and crying so many real tears of pain for something she didn't deserve in any way, I could not move... The only thing I can do is stand there in complete paralysis, once again unable to help her no matter how badly I want to.

The team from the clinic rushes past me into the room and carts her away as Dani cries into my shoulder and the kids look at me in fear as their sister is carted to medical on a stretcher yet again. Even when the door shuts behind them, I hear those words repeat "I'm so sorry daddy."

It's always so long after the chance or the moment that I finally have the ability to say what I wanted to the second I'd see her like that;

"It's not your fault baby girl. I love you so so much. I'll help you through it. This is my fault. I wasn't there for you. Don't cry angel…"

I would never have the chance to tell her that. I couldn't do it no matter how many times it would happen. "I'll help you through it." Another promise I couldn't keep, a lie not spoken, but a lie nonetheless. Every time, after each occasion like that, or after the tears from her or Dani were too much for me to bear, I always found myself standing in front of the Constable, "I'd like to volunteer my team and myself, Constable." No matter the task beyond the walls. I could always see the hesitation in his face to accept my offer, but then something I couldn't ever fully identify would wash over his face and he'd merely nod his head.

Such was the case for so many months after returning from that trip where I killed the one who impregnated her, but not this time. This time was different. After my last trip under two months prior, something changed. Graham had told me at a moment along the journey not too dissimilar to this, something I don't quite remember in this moment. Although I had been told it by so many other people from the Constable to Mr. Mathers, to the other LTs, and even my own lower guardsmen, it stuck that time. I spent the last three weeks of Michelle's pregnancy right there with her in the clinic with Danny on the other side. We held our daughter's hands while the doctor himself and his staff coached Michelle on breathing and delivered the baby. All I remember after it was done was barging out of the room to find the nearest trash bin in the hall outside when the swirling of various emotions inside expressed themselves in physical form. When I had finally regained control of myself, I reentered the room to see another change I didn't expect, one I again had no idea how to handle.

Laying on the bed, her legs now lowered and bottom half covered by the thick warm blanket sat my first baby girl holding a softly crying bundle in her arms. Her mom, my wife, sat on the bedside looking into the infant's face as tears streamed down her own while her expression showed a mixture of sadness, happiness, unbearable relief, fear, and undying love as she gently stroked Michelle's tangled sweaty and disheveled hair. My eyes went to Michelle and from what I saw and remembered of months previous, was something that I couldn't explain rationally. My girl's eyes were so red, staring at the infant's face like it was the only thing in the world. The sweat marked her entire face and streams of fresh tears poured endlessly down her cheekbones, but they weren't the tears of past months. Her eyes remained transfixed on the crying newborn still laying in her arms, and I could read the words on her quivering lips;

"I love you so much."

The tears continued down her face and neither she nor my wife even took notice of my return when they could see the baby's face. I watched Michelle mouth those words to the baby a few more times and the baby's crying came to a gentle halt before my eldest daughter kissed the little face a dozen times and at last shut her eyes, holding the baby tight against her chest and face. In that moment, my daughter, my angel, looked exactly like her mother did the day Michelle was born, and for the moment I had completely forgotten what happened to her to bring that infant into the world. I took a step closer, and suddenly I knew that look on her face when she was looking at the newborn: It was true love. It was a love that was not her own. It was a love I had only thought I understood before seeing the way she looked at that product of such tragedy. It was God's love.

Once more, I had no idea what to think about her miraculous change, I only wanted to see the infant's face out of awe and curiosity. With another step forward, I looked at that calm face still fast asleep in its mother's arms and all I could think of was the young raider's. For a fraction of a second, I even saw the bullet hole and the look of wide lifeless eyes on that tiny face still marked by the fluid of entering this world. I became sick once again and returned to the hallway just as urgently as last time, but still unnoticed by my wife or daughter. I hung my head over the trashcan now clean with a new liner, begging for the expulsion of what was inside as the thoughts and memories of Michelle in the recent and distant past swarmed through my head. Perhaps Dani and Michelle both truly were far stronger than I was.

How my daughter could see the child and not think of how it was conceived, not remember those times she tried to kill it, not remember the nights she cried so many tears for what happened to her, was all a complete mystery to me. Or how my wife could see the child and not join me at the trash can was a mystery as well. Perhaps Michelle did remember, perhaps they both remembered, but perhaps they both still had a part of themselves that I had lost when I killed the young raider man. Perhaps I could have had that too if I hadn't done what I did, or perhaps not, I don't know. All I know is that I could not look at the kid without seeing that face I ended personally, and my daughter was in love with it beyond any reason I could understand... The whole idea was terrifying. It was so terrifying that it scared me away yet again.

It turned out the newborn was a boy, and that didn't help with my handling of the situation. I liked the name "David," finding the name of Israel's greatest king to be a fine name for any boy, but in the days following his birth I always found myself praying that I would never get any form of indication that was the name of the young raider. Either way, my daughter's immediate love for the baby was not just a momentary thing. That love lasted the following days, and the only thing I could do was make myself scarce. I only visited Michelle, Dani, and the children in the hospital after duty, never held the baby, and always averted my gaze from the face as the flurry of perplexing and tragic memories continued to twirl around in my head. In the end, I found it increasingly hard to handle the feelings, and needless to say, I leaped at the opportunity to get away from home the second it came.

A week and a half ago, the Constable requested volunteers regarding a disturbing message he received from my missionary friend, Daniel. He and the young people he took out to the southwestern wilderness were apparently alright, but said to be in great danger. The Constable knew what I had just gone through, so he once again gave his silent nod of approval for my request to volunteer. The day before Michelle was formally released from Dr. Stepp's clinic, I had left my family again.

"You know you can find that part of you," stated Graham when I had told him everything since our last trip into the wilderness.

Mind still half stuck in recollection, I asked, "What part?"

He crouched down beside me, still looking into the thick brush where the stream disappeared, "The part that Daniella and Michelle have for the child. It isn't gone from you, just hidden."

"Finding that part is a lot easier said than done," I said, glad to have gotten so much off my chest, but not quite ready for the lesson part of interactions like these.

Joshua continued to stare off into that brush while I stole a glance at the men along the cliffs, all starting to get dressed now. "I don't doubt that, Paul. It was simultaneously easier and also much harder for Michelle, for different reasons. However, she could only do it because she has your blood in her veins."

I almost cut him off, but knew better than to do that. I'd seen Nathan do that several times to the point you think he'd learn. But I merely spoke my thoughts aloud, "Even if I didn't see his face whenever I looked at the baby, I don't know how I could love the infant, certainly not the way the others could."

Joshua instantly returned in a low tone, "That child didn't ask to be conceived in such a way, you could possibly start there. Your daughter, your wife, your children, and God, look at him that way. I can only imagine how hard that must be for you… I'm not in your shoes, but I understand sin. I have sin carved into every inch of my physical being. I tell you this not for my good, but for yours, so all I can tell you is that sin and the life you want to avoid will only begin when we look at our brothers and sisters like they aren't His children. Same goes for the child…"

He paused, letting those last words trail off as he probably realized what I realized. Joshua Graham can do and has done a lot of bad, a lot of sin. It's easy for people to think of him as a hypocrite, but even a hypocrite can speak truth. A jet addict isn't labeled a hypocrite when he says doing jet is a terrible evil idea. Graham tries to do good, but I know firsthand what his vengeance, his anger looks like. I've seen it many times since he viciously ended the life of Tom Cade without any perceptible remorse, and he must have been thinking about all of those times when he didn't look at his human brothers and sisters like they were God's children. He looked down at me, knowing what I was thinking and what I would say if the silence lasted any longer;

"… Those men, those people… I will face judgment for what I've done, but my only defense is what I will willingly concede as possible sin when I say; they've had their chance for good. If I- we, don't collect on their debt, God will… but for now: That infant hasn't chosen anything. It's up to his mother, you, and your wife to show him how well he can know God. It's up to you to show him how free he can be from the sins of his father. I don't see much better means of retribution and healing... My point is that you've done it before at the end there when the child was still inside her, so you can do it again now that it's part of this world. You can be there for the child, for your child, if you make that choice."

Another momentary silence came over us. I stole another glance up at the men on the cliffs who were now mostly dressed and gathering their packs. I met Graham's eyes once again and said, "Much easier said,"

A defense that was again shattered so simply by a few simple words, "I think you'll find the answer much easier if you spend more time at home. I'll get by out here without you watching over me."

I stood with a smile, "Let's just say I'll 'consider' it. I couldn't say no to the Constable's task though, Daniel's a friend of mine, remember?"

"Of course…" said Graham with a deep dull sarcasm that wasn't common, "… You won't have many more excuses after this."

I felt myself grin a bit more, imagining the face beneath the wrapping was just as stern as normal when he said that. I turned and took a step towards the rocks where my weapons sat. Throwing on the pack and holstering the pistol, I went to sling the .45 submachine gun over my shoulder but kept it in my hand when 30 yards away came a great rustling from the bushes.

A man probably in his early 30s emerged from the brush back first, swatting away branches as he held something on a leash that was quickly revealed. It wasn't someone we were expecting to meet out here, but the man continued to make way for the brahmin emerging from out of the thick bushes. When the beast was through, he turned away from us, stole a quick glance at the blue waters, and then looked back to the beast;

"Told you it was here, Bessie! Wow!"

He began brushing the bristles off of "Bessie's" legs before a brief glance over the menial cargo load on the brahmin's back revealed us.

"Oh, Hey fellas! You?... You friendly?-" stuttered the man as he observed us distantly.

I kept the automatic in my hands, but before either me or Graham could answer, the man looked at all our men atop the cliffs and immediately started fumbling with the revolver on his hip as "Bessie" walked towards the water of the oasis on her own;

"AH! Ambush! Don't kill me, please!" shouted the tradesman as he continued to fumble with the revolver stuck in his holster.

Before he could do anything stupid, I raised the automatic over my head and shouted back with my free hand on my holstered pistol, "Stop. We're friendly, you can relax sir."

He put a hand to his chest and heaved a loud sigh of relief as Bessie lowered her heads to drink some water from the pool scarcely 10 yards from me.

"That so?..." said the man as he still tugged at the pistol on his hip.

"I'm going to lower my weapon if you quit trying to take out that pistol, alright?"

The man stopped tugging at the handle of his weapon, and I lowered my weapon and slung it back over my shoulder. He took a few more steps towards his cargo mule and kept facing us while I made a sign towards the men on the cliffs saying all was fine. I finished brushing myself off, almost immediately forgetting about the man's presence, only hearing gentle cooing towards the beast he was evidently fond of. I looked up towards the cliffs to see the men had returned to getting themselves ready for departure. Turning my attention to Graham, I was about to ask if he was ready to set out, but he remained in place still looking towards me and the jumpy tradesman when over my shoulder came the tradesman's voice;

"Quite the place huh!? Look at that water! So Blue! Wow!"

I shouted back over my shoulder, "Yeah it is, we were just leaving, so it's all yours." Then I looked back to Graham, "What about you, ready to head out?"

Graham didn't say anything, only looking at me as I spoke, and in the short silence I heard the sound of footsteps and that voice came again, "So where ya'll from?"

I couldn't help it. I didn't want to be rude, but I did want to get a move on since it was harder to find the place we were headed when it was dark out. In the end, I turned around and found the footsteps had come to a halt right behind me. Standing less than 10 feet was the tradesman now wearing a wide bright smile and dusty road pants with a small coat bearing lots of pockets. It felt hard not to answer his question truthfully when I saw that grin and short beard smiling at me beneath a wide sunhat that was pretty common for average tradesmen traveling in the daylight. Then something occurred to me that I at first didn't think much of; I noticed he didn't have any guards or other caravan hands. This curiosity was set aside for the moment when he broke the silence saying;

"Me, I'm headed up to 89 City. Folks at Caliente didn't tell me this stretch was so spooky or I woulda hired some security! Bessie and I been dodging them '80s' boys so often since setting out me and Bessie here done got ourselves lost! Good thing though since we were getting short on water when we done found this place. What Luck!"

He raised his eyebrows up and down as he looked at me and tilted his head towards me as if to indicate that now was my turn to speak. I couldn't quite place it, but for some reason, I didn't know what to think about the happy trader when just before speaking, I remembered why me and the rest of the boys were "disguised." Or in other words: Why I was wearing a dark tan shirt instead of a guardsman's usual white.

"My crew and I are getting paid to back up some friends in Nevada."

This wasn't a lie, it was true, each guardsman did get a payout each week from the Constable's office and Nevada territory was where we were going. For whatever reason, it was after saying this that I realized how ridiculous our group's "disguises" were. Each of the men on the cliffs wore a different colored shirt from our usual white, but the vests, boots, and pretty much everything else were pretty clear signatures of the New Canaan Guard. It was only Graham himself who kept the white shirt on, but he'd drawn those circles on the shoulders for whatever reason and his jeans and cowboy boots were distinctive enough from the uniform of the usual guardsman… However, I suppose the lackluster disguises were specially tailored for men like this one because he ate it right up;

"Oh? Ok. I'd love to pay for a man or two of yours for road protection if you're up for it… Hahaha!... I kid!"

I felt the corners of my mouth widen even if I wouldn't call it a smile. I only shook my head and said, "I'm so sorry, on any other day I would, but I need all my boys."

I figured that was about it, so I went to turn but was stopped when he said, "Wait! You at least want to trade a little?"

I looked back to him and Bessie who was still drinking from the oasis pool, noting the scarcity of what he could have had to sell. Perhaps the trader traveled light on purpose, but beyond the little wooden box strapped to the top of Bessie's harness and the cloth bags hanging off her side, I couldn't imagine the man had much to sell that we didn't already have, so I said to him;

"I thank you for the offer, but I think we're fine, we were just about to set out."

Sounding almost defeated by this refusal, the trader's smile fell and he said, "Oh man, you sure? I'm sure I got something you all could use…" I went to turn back around and give the signal to rally my boys for departure when I saw his eyes drift to Graham still standing there as the trader said to my back, "… Well what about your pal there? I think I got some burn cream or something in Bessie's harness?"

I didn't think anything of this at the moment, merely saying "We're good. Thank you though," as I stepped away. I stopped beside Graham for a moment and said lowly, "Come on, let's get going."

It didn't hit me at the moment, but I knew that Graham could usually smell a coming stranger a mile off. All along the trip so far, and trips previous, Graham had a unique ability to scout ahead or depart from our group only minutes before we would encounter a stranger or group of strangers in the wilderness. Whenever our course sent us through friendly little settlements, or whenever we needed to trade goods with a friendly group of tribesmen, Graham could almost always be seen standing in some partially concealed spot some distance away until we had finished our business with the friendlies. Not this time though, and although he had been discovered amongst us by traders and the like before, "why that usually was" didn't hit me in the immediate moment.

Either way, Graham didn't say anything or respond to my suggestion in any way, he only stood in place facing the trader as I urged him to follow. Taking another few steps away, I figured Graham would be close behind. The Burned Man had a habit of following our commands or suggestions after a short moment of introspection, so that was fairly common, but I stopped in place when I reached the start of the trail up the cliffs and I noticed Graham still was not behind me. As soon as I realized this, I heard from the spot Graham had not moved, the voice of the wrapped man say demandingly;

"You should do something about that holster. It's dangerous if you can't even draw your weapon out here."

Just as I went to turn back towards Graham and the trader, I thought I counted three gunshots explode out of the calm from the oasis. All of it, the noise almost sounded like one single gunshot, and each one was only just barely distinguishable as I felt the air vibrate right past me. I heard a bullet crack off the rocks near me a millisecond later and all was calm. I froze as it happened and in the immediate silence after the calm, my eyes shot to the men atop the cliffs. Each one of my men and Doyle's were aiming their weapons at the sight I came from and their heads were turning in every direction.

I forced myself back around and saw the Brahmin called Bessie scampering into the thick brush while Graham stood in the same place as before, but now the tradesman sat against the flat rock I placed my equipment upon earlier. The man was convulsing into stillness, hands clutching two dark red spots on the middle right side of his upper torso as his head dropped towards his lap. In less than a flash, I was beside Graham again as his gun was still pointed at the tradesman lying against the rocks and I heard the patter of charging footsteps coming down from the cliffs. At last, I found my voice;

"What on earth happened!?" I asked, just as I heard the groan from the trader and watched him spit blood into the water on his left.

Graham didn't answer as the sound of my men congregating around us came to a halt. Graham stepped forward and knelt down before the man on the water's edge. I too took a step forward and saw the gun lying in the dirt less than a meter distant and maneuvered myself over towards it as Graham pushed the wide hat off the trader's head into the water.

The trader stared at his red-stained chest and a bloody smile grew on his face as the wide sunhat floated steadily towards the center of the oasis pool. Graham lowered the hammer on his pistol with his thumb and the weapon rested on the bend of his knee facing the trader. Crouching at eye level with the bloody stranger, the Burned Man almost started with a chuckle as he said;

"You know, I told Caesar that you needed to work on your marksmanship a bit more before he approves your position in the Frumantarii, Petronius."

I could feel all the faces gathered around the water's edge smile as the bloody grin on the face of the "Trader" grew even wider. After a short bloody cough, the "Tradesman" glanced up to the eyes of the Wrapped Man;

"Marksmanship's fine, that holster really was a piece of trash. Button gets stuck, hahaa-" his laugh was weak and more blood bubbled out of the two open gunshot wounds in his chest.

"What is this, five now?" asked Rhynes. I nodded. Rhynes wasn't there for two of the others but he and the rest of them had heard about the other agents of Caesar Graham had put down over the past year.

"It's been?... How long now?... Three years?..." asked Graham and the Frumantarius nodded still smiling weakly, "… About what I thought. Almost didn't recognize you with the beard and choice of attire…"

"It helps to play into the name," said the Frumantarius as he spat into the water once again.

Immediately, Granger Till asked from behind me, "What does 'Petronius' mean?"

Caesar's agent didn't answer, but Graham glanced towards Granger standing somewhere behind me, "It's pretty much a 'yokel.' More or less."

Granger and the others left that for the answer it was. It only really made sense to Graham and I since that was probably the best English word to describe the "cheery tradesman" this man was pretending to be. More blood seeped out of the open wounds, dripping down the jacket as Graham asked the dying man;

"You finished your work in Colorado I take it?..."

Again, the agent nodded, still looking down at his chest with that grin of satisfaction on his face;

"So what really brings you out here, Petronius?"

The smile grew even wider as a strand of blood fell from his mouth not heavy enough to reach his chest, "I think you know… Looking for you…"

Graham adjusted in place, and I felt myself begin to smile as well. Graham said to his most recently deceased old friend, "I see, how long you been following me?"

The agent of Caesar very painfully leaned himself back against the rock a bit more, the little movement only re-opened what little his blood clotting had done to seal the pouring gunshot wounds, "Never, just happened to find you."

The agent began to exhale in loud succession as if he was trying to laugh but couldn't from the pain. At this, the voice of my boy Parrish and Doyle's man Lockwood asked almost together;

"Is he lying?" some of the men behind chuckled to themselves, and the smile on the agent's face stopped briefly as more blood dripped down his jacket into the water. I smiled a bit wider myself and answered the boys;

"No, these guys don't lie," and Graham nodded while I thought about the other times almost this exact situation took place in the days since Tom Cade "passed away."

Graham brought the warm barrel of his pistol to the agent's chin to lift it and let us see that smile a bit better, "You know who else I might happen to run into out here?"

With his face exposed, those dead servile eyes looked only into Graham's almost like he was oblivious to the rest of us, "No names in these parts…"

He painfully coughed specks of blood onto the white cloth of Graham's face, "… And even if I did know I wouldn't tell you…"

He of course Had to say that part. Such was only duty before he could tell Graham the rest of his knowledge, "… but rest easy knowing we're still all over this wilderness though… I'm sure you know there's nowhere you can hide..."

I heard Doyle and some of the others catch their chuckles before they could get too loud. It was here that the agent finally glanced around the circle at all of us, and the smiles on our faces did wonders to assist in his own recovery for the moment, "… I'm willing to bet Lord Caesar even has agents in New Canaan by now if you happen to find your way home…"

He met eyes with me for a moment before returning his attention back to Graham, "…I'm assuming that's where these dead men are from?"

Turns out he could see through our "disguises," but that didn't seem to matter, given the condition he was in. After that, there was a moment of silence, but not even his shallow threat caused any worry. I personally knew all who'd been granted citizenship of New Canaan in the past year, and unless Caesar has started using women as agents, I've heard of the males who've been with tribes of our allies for years.

The silence went on, Bessie had long since disappeared into the brush, and the gentle rustle of the branches in the breeze and babbling of the stream was all there was to hear for a long and peaceful time. Eventually, the face of the agent became another shade paler while that smile remained and the blood in his opened chest continued to trickle. Just as the man broke eyes with Graham and began to rest his chin back down on his chest, this act was halted when a distant vulture gave its screech and Nathan said to the sky;

"Shame he couldn't finish the job," the agent's chin halted in place just before it could touch his chest, and those eyes were alert as before when Rhynes said to nobody in particular;

"Yeah, shame he got killed by… Who was that again?" The agent was awake in a heartbeat, the blood streaming down his chest became a little more steady as his eyes went around the group. They landed on someone new with every other word spoken;

"When those 80s got me?"

"So they can lie!" says the voice of Hudson and Ray in elation. The smile on the face of Petronius instantly went from dying but amused to irredeemably sinister, his furrowing eyebrows making his face so much more wicked and ugly than the idiot's friendly smile he wore not five minutes earlier;

"80s? No that's not it? Shoot, who killed him?" said I, feeling the others smile wider and even more amused while the agent's got ever eviler.

The agent must have summoned every ounce of life he had left to bark out, "Oh yeah, when those New Canaanites gunned me down?… Right before Lord Kai-zar had all their families gutted like hogs?"

"No that's not it either…" said Licus Messiah feigning sincere confusion, "… Oh shoot, who was that? It's on the tip of my tongue."

As all our men became even more amused the agent was almost fully restored by rage alone. Rhynes at last gestured towards the agent with an open friendly hand, "You can say it, man. Caesar can't hear you all the way out here."

Everyone was giggling save for Graham who still knelt before the dying man with nothing amusing in his eyes. Graham had welcomed this whole thing, he was the "Bad Guardsman" to our collective "Good Guardsman." None of us knew much about the Legion beyond the very real stories of their terror across Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and the furthest eastern parts of old world Utah, but one thing we knew for sure from Graham himself and four other encounters just like this, is that the Legion Definitely preferred the "Bad Guardsman."

When our chuckling was too much, the agent weakly started reaching for the handgun he dropped in his fall. He mustered even more of himself to shout painfully "Fuck you!" to all of us in the voice of the devil himself.

At last, his eyes landed on where his hand was reaching, but even if he could move himself ten inches closer, pry my boot off of it, raise it to Graham's head, and pull the trigger, the look in his eyes said he would love nothing more than to do just that. But alas, he was far too weak to do any of it, and his face turned even paler when he realized this. His arm fell limp, his face still bore the hatred of everything his Lord Caesar had not yet conquered, and finally, his eyes returned to those of Graham still crouched before him;

"Say my name, Petronius." Said Graham, the .45 pistol no longer in his hand.

In one last act of defiance of us and loyalty to the man who turned Joshua Graham into The Burned Man, Petronius shouted through clenched teeth, "Fuck you! You don't exist anymore! I'd rather die than say that name and fail the son of Mars in any way like you did! Fucking traitor!"

The weak glob of blood and mucus from the dying agent's mouth landed on the knee of his target, instead of the bandaged face intended.

All in a single motion, Graham wiped the mess off his knee, said, "Then justify yourself before God, not Mars," and flung himself towards the agent in a flash.

Unconsciously, I had taken a step back to pick up the fine but dusty little .357 revolver from the dirt and to avoid the blood spurt that rocketed my way when Joshua jammed his knife into the throat of the agent. I wondered briefly how it was possible for there to be so much blood and pressure in his arteries when it looked like it had all leaked out in the bullet wounds... It was a fine little weapon though. Nickel plated and birch handled. I always said if I got myself a revolver, I'd get a snubbed one since I've been thinking about the idea of a last resort close-range weapon. My .45 pistol was much more practical for the wastes, and this one was long-barreled, so I happily handed it to Granger when he asked to take a look at it. I saw the look on some of the other boys' faces and urged Granger to pass it around. The long-barreled .357 was passed from hand to hand, admired and commented on by just about everyone. Each remark about the pistol was punctuated by the heavy breaths of Graham and the sound of that knife getting forced into thick muscle again and again and again and again for nearly two minutes straight.

By the time Pat Fleischer handed me the revolver back, Graham had thrown his dull knife into the dirt beside the red and mangled body as he windedly said, "Ray, Hansley, move him away from here… I won't allow filth like him to pollute this Holy water…"

I offered the pistol over my shoulder to Granger who seemed most interested in the weapon as the others readied to move out, and many laughed when Nathan said aloud;

"Some great old friends you have, Graham."

I felt the pistol leave my grip in a moment, Don Hansley and Ray were dragging the mangled corpse away from the rock at the water's edge, and I looked at Graham whose white-wrapped body was now soaked in blood like water after a dive into the oasis pool. He put his hands on his hips to collect himself and shook his head at Nathan's words either too tired or still too lost in the previous moment to give a different response. After another moment and when the gentle laughter died off, Graham said after a long exhale;

"Let's set out."

The agent's mutilated corpse thudded to the ground some distance from the water's edge, the two men wiped their hands on their pants, and I whistled, "Doyle, you and Lockwood taking the lead?"

"Yeahsir, should be at the big fella's house around evening if we head out now."

We were already moving when I said, "Well lead the way then" and Graham followed in the rear, probably glad he got to cool himself off in some form or another at this calm little oasis