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“Joshua,” a Dead Horse calls from the opening of Angel cave. He looks up from some fine-touch handiwork on a sidearm. The Dead Horse is one of the warriors assigned to night watch over the entrance to the camp; at this time of night, it must mean the Courier has arrived. Only one person ever navigates the passes of Zion at night by the dim amber glow of a Pip-Boy. He is two weeks later than expected, but he is always welcome.
“Come in,” Joshua calls to the Dead Horse, rising from his makeshift desk.
She hesitates, before walking toward him. He can hear the click of cowboy boots behind her, but she calls out to make Joshua halt his approach, “there’s a woman with me.”
That gives him pause. A woman? What woman would come to Zion? The next caravan to pass through is not expected for another week yet, and even with the White Legs gone it is still a dangerous enough route that very few are known to travel it alone.
In the candlelight his eyes meet the Dead Horse’s, and then the traveler’s, stopping him cold. “Cassidy.”
—
“She’s feisty. But you should hear her talk. Very different from you,” the Courier had said, smiling.
“It takes all kinds.” And didn’t both of them already reflect that? This Rose of Sharon Cassidy only expanded their scope. Joshua at one end of the scale with his clear Virgin River water, Cassidy at the other with her whiskey, and the Courier smack dab in the middle with his sweet sunset sarsaparilla.
“I’d like to bring her here,” the Courier mused. “I bet she misses caravanning. But...travel is getting too dangerous in the Mojave for small groups. Things are coming to a head.”
“Should you still be coming here?” Even as he asked, Joshua shifted closer to the Courier for warmth, the lean-to shielding them from rain. He had...grown fond of the Courier's presence in the canyon. As much as he wanted the Courier to be safe, Joshua was reluctant to see their time together pause for political matters he'd long given up.
“I'll be fine.” The Courier was always so quick to smile. “I wouldn't miss this for anything.”
—
Through the static in his fingertips, through the blood in his ears, Joshua wants to curse them both for their stupidity, wants to tear the mountains down to rubble with his bare hands, wants to throw himself down another fucking canyon. But he can’t. He has to listen to how the Courier died.
“For a week we thought he was just sneaking around in Legion territory again, wearing one of those stupid costumes. Maybe he was,” Cassidy says to Joshua’s back. He’s facing the wall of Angel cave, hands locked together hard enough to burn. He doesn’t know what stupid costumes she’s talking about. It doesn’t really matter anymore. “When we finally went looking…Rangers saw him across the lake through scopes. They put him up on a cross.”
She says nothing more and he says nothing in return. What is there to say? Joshua sees the fucking irony of his Courier crucified. It's spelled out for him in sand and blood.
He hears the click of Cassidy’s boots walking closer. If she tries to reach out to him, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself from killing her. One thought keeps circling through his head on a loop: O God. He’s not sure if it’s all he can manage for a desperate prayer, or if he’s broken down to using the Lord’s name in vain.
Either way, no one answers.
Thankfully, thankfully, Joshua hears her stop some distance behind him, a familiar clatter sounding on the table between them, followed by a thud. “I brought you his gun, and Pip Boy. They’re yours if you want them. I just need a map to get out of here—“
“How do I get out of here?…Well I’m not going to leave without offering to help.” A crooked-toothed smile, hands on his hips, acted like he could take on the world and look where that got him—
“Get out.”
“What?” Cassidy says. She heard him. She’s affronted.
“Get out,” Joshua hisses, whipping to face her with fire in his eyes and smoke in his lungs, “get out of here!”
The Dead Horse who led her in talks to Cassidy, tugs on her elbow. Neither of them understand each other, but Cassidy lets herself be guided until Joshua is alone in the silence of the cave. One woman has heard the unkillable Malpais Legate legends, the other has witnessed the slaughter of the White Legs, and though the Dead Horse may have seen Joshua spare Salt-Upon-Wounds, neither are likely to have complete faith in his violence being bridled tonight when watching the rigidity he can feel in his shoulders.
They’re right.
He turns, grasps blindly on the table until he finds the Courier’s .45, and without a target, lets loose into the cave’s dirt floor with deafening bangs until it clicks, empty, in his hand.
—
“What’s this?” The Courier had asked, turning the gun over his hands. Joshua had given it to him the night before he was supposed to leave, two visits ago, travelling back to the Mojave in the Happy Trails caravan party he had hitched a ride with. The Courier was to be gone for some time from Zion, doing important work in the Mojave, and the two of them had spent a number of their nights together during his stay, so giving him the weapon had seemed fitting in more ways than one. The question, however, was harder to answer, for the gun had not been earned in the most usual way. “It’s for you,” Joshua offered, simply.
“A .45? But I’m not a New Canaanite.”
“You’re family.” Though it was an intimate declaration in the quiet overlook of Substation Peregrine where they sat alone, it would have held true had Joshua announced it with all the Dead Horses there to bear witness.
A smile broke through on the Courier’s face then. “And family always has tribe,” he quoted.
“Remember that while you’re away. We’re always waiting for your return to the fold. And we're always here if you need us.”
—
Dawn light filters through the cave’s mouth when Joshua hears footsteps approaching, someone in shoes treading heavily to alert him of their presence. Probably Cassidy, again coming to ask for a map. Joshua has dug one up in his preparations.
“Joshua,” Daniel calls to him, slowly walking in. One of the Dead Horses must have run to the Sorrows’ territory overnight to retrieve the missionary, following Joshua’s scene.
“Daniel, it’s good you’re here,” Joshua says, carrying a box to store near the entrance. “I will be away for some time. You can look to the Dead Horses for any necessary assistance in my absence.”
“I—Away?” Daniel is rightfully suspicious. “Where are you going?”
“Caesar has taken what’s mine. I will be returning the favor. I was a fool who waited too long, and now I’ve learned.” That is as far as he will look backward. He has spent the night looking forward, and preparing for what is to come.
“This is not what the Courier would have wanted for you, Joshua,” Daniel says, and when Joshua turns to him he holds out a placating hand. “He spared Salt-Upon-Wounds.”
“Ah, yes. Perhaps I’ll let Caesar leave after exterminating the rest of the Legion, then.” It’s cruel to make Daniel play devil’s advocate for the Legion and its leader when they slaughtered his family too, but Joshua is not at a point to care. He delights in how it makes Daniel hesitate.
“…This is not what God would have wanted for you, Joshua,” Daniel stresses. “Do not say ‘I will repay evil’; wait for the Lord, and he will deliver you.”
Now it's Joshua's turn to pause, but not for long. God. And where was God to deliver his Courier safe from harm? Where was God when his Courier was strung up on the cross?
Where was God when he allowed Joshua to knock over the first stone that led to this damned collapse?
Joshua should be afraid of how quickly he's able to turn away. He only feels resolute. “What has God delivered me, Daniel?” Joshua grabs the Pip-Boy and locks it onto his wrist, sliding the Courier’s .45 into the right side of his belt. “Memories and a gun.”
—
The camp is quiet when Joshua walks out into the early sunlight. The Dead Horses are waking and beginning morning routines, but it appears they have caught on to the fate of the Courier and news has spread quickly. Some feverishly read the Bibles Joshua has annotated for the camp; others practice rituals meant to release souls from the physical world. A few watch Joshua gravely from afar, perhaps waiting for guidance. The Courier had become a staple to everyone at the camp in recent days. Joshua may grieve enough for ten men, but there are more than ten men here to grieve.
Joshua spots Cassidy at an old picnic table off to the side of the camp. She has a steaming mug of coffee in front of her — the Dead Horses had begun putting aside a small amount of coyote tobacco chew to make the Courier coffee in the early mornings. Joshua instinctively wants to take it, tell her that it's not yours, remind everyone the consequences of stealing from his Courier. But he needs her.
“Cassidy.” He sets a folded packet on the table. “I've brought a map. The trail highlighted in red leads back to the major highway.”
Her lips purse as she takes the map, but she's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I can leave in an hour.”
Joshua shakes his head before she's finished speaking. “I'm coming with you.”
She eyes him with a little suspicion and a healthy dose of stubbornness. “Why?”
“It's time Caesar learned he's not infallible. He has much to answer for.”
Now she stares at him outright. “Not to point out the obvious, but Caesar already chewed you up and spit you out. The Legion has only gotten bigger since then. What do you think you can do?”
“The Courier matters more to me than I myself ever have. As long as I live, I will not allow what has happened to him to go unpunished.” He holds out a hand to her, the one wrapped with the Courier’s Pip-Boy. “You can join me, or I can find my own way to Caesar. But he is going to die.”
Cassidy pauses a long time, but her eyes have hardened at the sight of the Pip-Boy. Joshua’s grief bares teeth, but hers swings fists. The war has finally become personal.
She gives Joshua’s hand a sharp tug, pulling herself to her feet and pumping his fist once. “Deal. I've got my own beef with him.”
Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. It had been one of the few Bible verses the Courier ever remembered; it had resonated with him.
As he and Cassidy leave the canyon, walking west, it's the one word of God Joshua brings with him.