"Outside the tents now, ya heavy bottoms. We're moving on!" Jed's gruff command jolted the group from their fatigued daze. He insisted on pushing through so they could reach Zion by morning. Everyone's complaints were diminished by his promise of caps compensation and no more night of walking. With tired eyes and loaded backs that drag their feet, everybody ventured into the dark night, their hands on their firearms.
Alix remembered when Jed had sent the brahmin wagons back to Mojave and gave each person more weight on their backs upon noticing the steep and narrow passages they must go through to reach Zion. Nobody felt happy or excited. Some of the guards expressed their envy to the others who had been told to go back.
As the tunnel gave way to the open expanse however, her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly. She had seen cliffs in the Mojave, but nothing like this one. Glowing streaks of ochre, gold, and rust coloured the jagged, sky-high walls. The air tasted of wilderness long untouched—crisp and cool, with a faint hint of dry earth. She closed her eyes and stood still to listen, smiling when she heard rustling of dry grasses and the distant murmur of a river.
She tried to speak, but only breathless whispers escaped her lips. She had seen cliffs in the Mojave, but nothing like this one. The towering cliffs seemed to scrape the heavens, every curve of the landscape spoke of serenity and majesty. Despite feeling small, she felt somehow at home. She thought that if she could contest this to what she had seen in the Divide or Big MT, Zion was simply off the charts.
When she found herself left far behind, she turned to the rest of her group. She even found Ricky, who hadn't improved much after almost emptying up her fixer, admiring the view. Everybody forgot the sleep deprivation and body aches—it seemed like everything was worth the effort.
Time got on and Jed told some caravan guards to stand by and keep watch. Then, he called for everyone's attention. "All right, people. Been a long couple of weeks, but here we are. Zion," he spoke as he took out his cap stash. He handed out 60 caps to each person. "I know your feet hurt, I know you're tired. But I need everyone's mind on the trail ahead."
Stella, who had complained all dawn because of the road they had to take, reminded Jed, "Ain't the trail ahead worries me, Jed. Those descents we made, through that slot canyon back up there? Ain't no way we're getting back out the way we come. And then what?"
Jed, also plagued with exhaustion and the fact that his caps ran thin, let out his frustration. "Goddammit Stella, heard you the first time, and the fifteenth too!" Stella scowled and folded her arms while Jed went on, "The New Canaanites will know a way. And if they don't, we got the maps on our friend's Pip-Boy over there." He pointed his hand to Alix.
Too tired to argue, Stella looked as if she would rather walk and find a shelter than talk. Noticing this, Jed rallied, "Enough lollygagging! Get moving and keep an eye out for tribals!"
Stella drew her laser rifle and retorted, "Sorry to bother you with reality, ol' Jed." Jed only waved a hand off. "Yeah, who cares if we can't get back out the way we come, right? That ain't a problem whatsoever. What's the worst that can happen to us right here? Nothin'! Perfectly safe!"
"Mm-hm, that's right little lady. Everything will be just fine with Jed to protect ya. Quite the leader is what I am."
Alix smiled at her new friends' bickering. She understood Stella's concern but she took Jed's side—she had a working Pip-Boy, unlike the one on Ricky's wrist. Everything should be fine.
Taking a few steps forward, she noticed swift movements by the cliff's edge from afar. She stopped and narrowed her eyes, assessing what she had seen to be sure she didn't see an incoming threat. She crouched, double-checking from her scope, and saw a motion; her ears blocked off any sounds coming from her friends. She moved her sniper rifle upwards. That was when she saw a tribal with the same hair as Ulysses pointing his brush gun at the caravaneers.
"Everyone get down!" She shouted, but she warned too late. The tribals burst from their hiding spots, a storm of bullets and explosions ripping through the guards.
"Goddammit, ambush!" Jed shouted. He frantically fired his pistol while looking for a place to hide. "Cover, people! Watch yourselves!"
She crawled to a nearby sizeable rock and shot two tribals in the head. Ricky braved the bullet rain and managed to shoot some. Alix aimed at a female tribal with an anti-materiel rifle targeting Stella in the middle of the incendiaries. She almost pulled the trigger when she felt a hot metal pricking her left shoulder; a grazed bullet from a tribal on the upper left side of the cliff near her. Without a second thought, she drew her SMG, spun, and fired non-stop. The tribal fell and she went back to the other one trying to take Stella down.
To her astonishment, Ricky managed to drop another tribal with a clean shot, his shaking hands steadying in the chaos. She mildly regretted not giving him a hit of psycho. But the second she saw him felling another tribal, a bout of explosives struck him down.
"Holy hell!" Jed screamed. "Stay low, people! Stay low!"
Thick smoke engulfed her, swallowing shapes and sounds until she felt utterly alone in the chaos. She silently crawled forward with her SMG ready. Lady Luck wasn't on her side; the smoke cleared far too soon, and when she ran to take cover, she felt jabs of metal around her right leg.
Aid must've had come or the Ulysses-haired tribals had endless supply of ammo; she didn't think the storms of bullets were going to end.
"Enough of this! We're sitting ducks here!" Stella shouted, reloading her laser rifle and ducked behind a rock after rushing forward. "Here I come! I was a sheriff once, goddammit!" She leapt and kept firing, often grunting as she ignored bullets that went by her head or nicked her.
Watching Stella charge forward, fearless and defiant, Alix felt a pang of admiration—and dread. Bravado wouldn't shield her from a stray bullet. She was not willing to return to Big MT to have more major operations. Once she saw an opening, she drew her rifle, rested the muzzle on a fissure, shot a tribal in the head and another one in the torso.
A shriek. Stella dropped on her back.
"Stella!" She and Jed cried. She saw Jed running to Stella's body and shot down some tribals who were aiming at him. "No!" he shouted over blood that quickly pooled around her. He kneeled beside her body, pressing his palms on her gushing wound. "Don't you die on me, woman, you hear!?" he pleaded.
Leaving her camp, she ran to both of them when she had the chance. Jed told her to keep the pressure on the heaving Stella and he moved away to open his bag, rustling in vials of chems. He picked out two stimpaks and a Med-x, then jabbed the latter first. Jed was about to give Stella another stim injection when there was an ear-pounding bang. He became a red mist.
She ducked immediately, hurriedly finished Jed's work, and tucked herself among the rocks again.
Must be another Hécate, she thought. She cursed and promptly reloaded her rifle with .308 JSP ammo. She counted shots and shuffled around her camp for cover. After the seventh, she spun, aimed quickly with her scope, and shot the tribal's left chest—the only exposed body part she could find. She turned at full tilt and saw two more of them with some kind of throwing hatchets. One of them threw but missed and he reached for his gun, but she was faster. Her next target, however, could spring swiftly from side to side and it was hard to get a clear shot.
The female tribal hurled her hatchet. Moved by an instinct, she turned to the side and it struck her arm. Ignoring the burning sharpness and piercing heat that came after, she tossed her rifle, held her gun, and fired at the tribal that got too close for comfort.
Quietness followed swiftly. She hunkered down and scanned the area. She found nobody.
Then it hit her. She had used up every rush of adrenaline in her body. She almost dropped to the ground but held on to a nearby rock, hissing at the pain. Deep breaths—she reminded herself to do that. She was grateful that none of the projectiles went into or through her torso.
She remembered about Stella as she searched for some Stimpaks and crawled to her. Placing a finger below her nostrils, she felt that Stella had stopped breathing. She checked her pulse and couldn't find any. She touched her forehead, neck, and hands; everything was cold.
She sighed. Stimpaks peeked out of Stella's side pocket and she took them. She wormed her way to Jed's bag to try finding other chems but didn't find any. She pushed the needles to injuries which needed quicker healing, hitting her head onto the rock when it stung.
Sitting still for a while, she had gathered an extra surge of energy when she heard the flowing river. The New Canaanites, she needed to find them. Steadying herself, she dragged her stricken body towards Ricky to get the rest of her belongings, then to the wooden bridge—which she thought would kill her if she took the wrong step or lost her footing.
As if going through a tense combat and crossing the rickety bridge weren't enough of a life-threatening challenge, she saw a tribal waiting to ambush her. Clucking her tongue, she fired her SMG and growled. The recoil pained her more.
Since her fire missed, she went running and hid behind some rocks. Her hand rummaged in her bag, desperately looking for both Med-X and Psycho. Dozens of Stimpaks wouldn't help at this point. Heavens only knew how many more of these Ulysses-haired tribals had been standing by to take her down. "Hoi!" she heard someone running to her vicinity. She cursed for not having enough time to take some chems. Clenching her jaw, she gripped her gun, stood and turned.
"Whoa! Don't shoot!" The tribal ducked. She immediately stopped, given the tribal's head and ability to speak her language. Examining this male tribal carefully within seconds, she learned that he didn't have Ulysses' hair. He wore a strangely-modified baseball cap, had tattoos, and his legs weren't painted white.
She saw his bloodied club and her eyes shifted to a body hanging from the rock face. When she holstered her gun, the tribal rose to his feet. "White Legs don't leave survivors often. You're some kind of lucky, let me tell you." He smiled.
Unsure, she didn't say a word. He carefully took a step forward, hands up on his sides. "You came from outside, didn't you? From the civilized lands?" he asked. She nodded briefly. "Wow." he took another step to study her. He almost got too close to her face, and she leaned back, thinking to raise the gun at the tribal again. "Joshua will want to hear about this," he said.
Joshua? Making sure if this tribal was talking about a random Joshua or the ex-legate Joshua Graham, she asked him.
"Joshua Graham," he answered. Her lips parted. The rumours were right, and Jed's stories about him weren't just some folktale. "He leads our tribe. Thanks to him, the Dead Horses are strong, and safe from our enemies. He'll want to talk to anyone coming up from southways."
Those were the White Legs, this one's from the Dead Horses, led by Joshua Graham as Jed said—she thought. She then came to a realization. Ulysses asked White Legs to attack New Canaanites.
The friendly tribal went on, "Guess that means just you, now." He smiled once again and drew a new type of pistol she had never seen before. "Come. I can take you to him."
She frowned at his suggestion. "Do we have to see him?"
"Joshua is our leader, so he'll know everything that you should do here." She told him that she wanted to go back as soon as she could. "Then you still need to talk to him. He'll show you how. I'll take you to him, ja?"
She nodded after drawing a long breath and the tribal dashed. She lifted her arm to steady herself against the rock, but the sharp pain in her ribs forced her to drop it quickly, gasping for air. She was used to pain, but this was different. This was constant, relentless—a reminder of her vulnerability in a world that demanded strength. Suddenly the vastness of Zion didn't calm her down any more—getting lost in the unknown wilderness now would mean a death sentence.
"Come on!" The tribal called.
She fast-walked to him, hoping she didn't need to do this for long. She also hoped she wouldn't see Joshua Graham soon—she needed to think about what she should tell or how she should act in front of him. As much as she needed his help in Zion, she did not want to make him angry. Not if the stories were true; that he was indestructible.