The warmth of the rising Arizona sun tickled Joshua awake. He rubbed away the last remnants of sleep from his tired eyes, before worming his way out of his sleeping pack, and wordlessly falling into his morning routine. After he said grace over his humble breakfast of black coffee and gecko jerky, Joshua let out a sigh.
Life as a missionary was so far proving much less exiting than he had hoped.
He had set out from New Canaan nearly a month ago, the longest he had ever been away from home. So far, he had only come across a couple of raiders, a small caravan bound for a place called Enseeare, and a lone figure suited up in a trench coat and fedora that seemingly vanished as he drew near. Not quite the perfect candidates for conversion.
He knew, or at least hoped, that there would be dozens of new faces waiting for him in The Grand Canyon, but for now it seems like he'd just have to get used to the inherent loneliness of the open road.
After finishing his morning meal, packing up his sleeping bag and other supplies, and putting on his brand new (to him anyway) flak jacket; he was ready to hit the road.
For a while, it looked to be more of the same. Miles of desert, some collapsed pre-war billboards, and little else aside from the odd centuries old car that'd been stripped of its valuables long before him and everyone he knew came to be.
He nearly leapt from his skin at the sound of two arguing voices shouting at each other from behind a scorched gas-station. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but as he slowly crept near the reason for their spat soon became apparent.
"-d dammit Edward! This is exactly what I'm talking about! You have got to learn how to control your temper, now we have no map and no translator! We'll be lucky if we manage to make it back to the Boneyard let alone the Grand-Fucking-Canyon!"
The other voice, Edward if Joshua had to guess, fired back with just as much venom.
"Oh, so this is somehow my fault, is it? Please. Maybe if you had hired a translator worth a damn, he wouldn't have stolen our map and left us with our dicks in our hands! I mean seriously, where did you even find that idiot? Jackass couldn't even tell a Blackfoot from a Garlander, if we'd kept him there isn't a chance we'd have walked out of there alive!"
Joshua, who at this point was within spitting distance of their camp, finally got a decent look at the two men shouting their heads off at one another. The first was a taller, older man in his mid-thirties who sported a messy head of prematurely greying hair, with an overgrown 5'oclock shadow to match. He had a weariness to his eyes that betrayed his age, hidden behind cracked circular spectacles.
The other, Edward he'd supposed, was much younger; only a year or two older than himself if Joshua had to guess. He sported a clean crew cut, with green eyes that hid a piercing, calculating gaze that held none of the naiveté of youth.
Deciding to make himself known, Joshua cleared his throat before speaking plainly.
"I believe I could be of some assistance."
Immediately both men's eyes widened, and they snapped to face their new arrival. The taller, older looking one had a hand in his jacket, no doubt reaching for a gun, while the young man eyed him curiously; brass knuckles slipping from his pockets into his palms.
"Who the hell are you and what're you doing at this camp."
Joshua put his hands up before he even saw the gun, a sign he hoped signaled he meant no harm.
"Peace friends, I was just passing by when I happened to catch the last part of your argument. By some small providence, I am also a pilgrim to the Canyon. I would be more than happy to help lead the both of you there, if you would have me of course."
The taller figure gave him a raised eyebrow, clearly still suspicious of the strange man that had just admitted to eavesdropping on them. While Edward was still giving him that strange quizzical look, like he was a puzzle on the verge of being cracked.
"Really now? How very convenient. Don't tell me, you're a tribal translator too, aren't you?"
The taller man's snide remark fell on deaf ears as Joshua simply gave him a beaming smile.
"Why, yes actually. Fluent in every known dialect in both Arizona and Utah, even a couple from Colorado. Though, admittedly I haven't spoken much Hangdog in years."
The older man gave him a look of disbelief, the tenseness instantly deflating from his body as he tried to tell if the boy in front of him was pulling his leg. As the tall man's confusion grew, Edward felt his disappear as he finally put the pieces together.
"Well, I'll be damned; you're a New Canaanite, aren't you?" He asked already knowing the answer, enjoying the small look of surprise that flashed briefly onto the young man's face.
"How on earth did you know?"
Ever eager to flex his intellectual muscles, Edward explained:
"Your vest was my first hint," He pointed to Joshua's shoulder. The blocky white letters spelling SLCPD contrasting against the black Kevlar.
"Only one SLC I know of, so that helped narrow it down. Now, you could've just been a scavenger, another wastrel picking at the bones of the old world, but that piece on your hip…"
His finger shifted over to the simple leather holster strapped to his thigh, or more accurately the small, recently assembled .45 auto pistol it housed.
"Only one tribe I know that carries those bad boys, and in mint condition too!"
Edward let out a small whistle at the fine firearm, while his companion continued to eye Joshua with suspicion, though he at least put his gun away. The 10mm pistol disappearing back into his jacket.
"New Canaanite huh… Long way from home, aren't you?"
"Indeed, the farthest I've ever been. I am a missionary by trade, but admittedly this will be my first time spreading the good news to more than just bored caravan guards."
Joshua let out a small chuckle that the glasses wearing man didn't share.
"A preacher, eh? Haven't seen one of those for a while. Though, I am curious, these people we're meeting in the canyon, they already have a religion. Gods all their own. What if they hear your "Good News" and give only a simple: "No thank you." In return?"
Joshua raised an eyebrow at the odd question before a reassuring smile grew upon his youthful face.
"Then they may keep them. I've come to these lands bearing gifts and words, not a sword. You have my word on that, I promise you."
The older man tried to keep up his scrutinizing visage, but between Edward's smug grin and his own failure to actually find anything worth the scrutiny; the older man relented.
With a small sigh, the older man held out his hand to the young missionary.
"I suppose if you're going to accompany us, then introductions are in order. Bill Calhoon."
Joshua broke into a wide grin, before he composed himself and let it dwindle down to a small content smile. He grabbed hold of the outstretched hand before him and gave it his best shake.
"Joshua Graham."
As the two finished their greeting, a third hand joined the fray.
"Edward Sallow. Gotta say, I already like you much better than our last translator. Though, admittedly that isn't a high bar to clear."
Taking the young man's hand in his, Joshua let a small smirk creep into the corners of his mouth.
"I suspected as much when you called him a… What was it, a "Jackass who couldn't tell a Blackfoot from a Garlander."?"
The preacher's bone-dry quip was met by guttural laughter from Edward, and an embarrassed facepalm from Bill. He'd held out hope that their new recruit hadn't heard much of their frankly childish spat over the campfire, but clearly his hopes had been for naught.
As the group began to pack up their supplies and get a move on, and Joshua and Edward continued their back-and-forth banter, Bill felt a small smile creep up on his face almost against his will.
Up until now this operation had been nothing short of a trainwreck. A nonstop conga line of disaster after disaster, with the loss of their map putting what Bill thought was the final nail in their coffin.
Now? Now the sight before him dared the man to hope, and for the first time in nearly a month he thought that maybe, just maybe, things were starting to go their way.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
What a fool he was. But then again, they had all been fools, hadn't they?
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Pain was what roused him from his slumber. He was still burning.
A familiar sense of déjà vu overtook him as upon looking down, he found no flames. And yet the burning remained.
What he did find, however, was row after row of white as snow bandages running all the way from the tip of his toes to the crown of his skull. Only the blackened and blistered skin bordering his bold blue eyes was visible through the wall of gauze.
"You're awake, how about that…"
Joshua turned his head to look at the voice that had spoken and spent the next several seconds regretting it as pain flared through his burns and still shattered shoulder at the sudden movement.
"Easy there, you've been out cold a coupla' days now. Best to take it nice and slow. Honestly surprised you even woke up at all, with those wounds I mean."
Moving his eyes this time instead of his neck, Joshua finally got a decent look at the man speaking to him, as well as his surroundings.
He appeared to be on a soft bed, inside a rustic wooden cabin. Its lamp-lit walls and roaring fireplace gave the small house a cozy warm glow. Paintings of various landscapes and ocean scenery lined the walls, but Joshua didn't pay them any mind. His eyes were locked tight on the man before him.
Sitting just a few feet from his bedside, was a man in a plaid winter jacket, stitched up blue jeans, and a white baseball cap. The cap looked like it once had the word MARINE stitched onto it, but the letters had been torn off. Only their faded shadows remained.
He looked to be about Graham's age, late 40s-early 50s, with tanned leathery skin and dark brown locks drooping down to his shoulders. A belt of hair more resembling a caterpillar than a mustache covered his upper lip, and his amber eyes held a quiet sorrow that lay just beneath their mirth-laden exterior.
Graham opened his mouth to ask him a question, but all that left his throat was a dry, ashy cough that wracked his frame. The man immediately got up from his chair, and gently lifted a glass of water to Joshua's mouth, pushing aside the bandages and exposing his lips to the open air.
After letting the man drink, his mysterious rescuer set the glass back on the nightstand flanking Graham's bed and returned to his seat. A guilty look fell upon his face as his eyes met Joshua's once more.
"I did the best I could but… Well, I ain't a doctor. The only medical experience I got was basic first aid trainin' from way back when. I managed to set any broken bones you mighta had, but those burns… They're here to stay. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."
Shaking off his previous somber expression, the man in front of Joshua quickly attempted a small smile once more.
"Oh, but where're my manners; Kurt Ross at 'yer service."
Normally this was where Kurt offered his hand, but considering his guest's condition, he decided against it this time.
Joshua attempted speech once more, and his dry hoarse voice asked the most important question the former Legate could think of.
"Where am I?"
The man across from him raised an eyebrow at the odd question but figured that whatever had happened to the poor fella must've broken parts of his mind as well as his body.
"None other than Lost Ark Island, friend. Place used to be one of the most efficient logging sites in the world. With just a single tree giving you enough wood to build an entire fleet of warships! Place ran like clockwork until… Well, you've seen the wildlife; 'least if that hoofprint I found on your back was anything to go by. Turns out destroying their homes and food sources on mass was a good way to piss off every living thing on the island, and when they started getting violent… Suffice to say, there weren't much left after a few weeks of attacks, and instead of rebuilding and reinforcing the World Government must'a decided it wasn't worth the trouble. 'Specially when they could just build somewhere that didn't have monsters knocking down your door every other day…"
The mustached man saw the growing look of confusion and bewilderment growing in his guest's eyes, and let out a small, embarrassed cough into his fist.
"Sorry, friend I'm startin' to ramble again. Ain't had visitors in a hot minute so my social skills might need a bit of a warmup. Anyhow, after the Government gave up on 'er, nobody really had a reason to stop by Lost Ark Island anymore. The only people you'll find aside from yours truly are all down at that abandoned logging camp by the coast. Wouldn't get too friendly with them if I were you though, friend. Most of them's either poachers or pirates, sooner to stab yea in the back than to shake your hand. Still, they've got the only harbor around so unless you plan to swim, you've gotta deal with 'em sometime. If ya do, just sleep with one eye open till you're done, and you'll probably come out fine."
A comfortable pause overcame the cabin, as Joshua simply took it all in and attempted to process what exactly had been said. It took everything in him not to panic, not to shut down, not to simply scream. Instead, all that left his mouth was another quiet question.
"Do you have a map I could look at?"
Once again Kurt felt his eyebrow raise, but he decided to humor the injured man.
"Well yeah, I keep one at my desk."
He pointed over his shoulder to a small wooden table over in the far corner of the cabin, its surface coated with dust and parchment.
"Truth be told I ain't used it much in a wh-"
He was interrupted by Joshua unexpectedly bolting from his bed and striding straight to where Kurt had pointed, leaving the man sputtering in disbelief.
"Hey! Hold a minute! How on Akainu's Flaming Asshole are you walkin' so fast? Scratch that, how are you walkin' at all!?"
Joshua responded with the only explanation he knew:
"I heal quickly."
Truth be told, Joshua had never truly known just how he had gotten so resilient; but between countless wars, ambushes, and assassination attempts seemingly nothing could keep him down. Graham had even personally heard five separate profligate reports of his own "death", supposedly caused by NCR Rangers and sharpshooters, only for their hopes to be dashed when he was inevitably spotted a couple days later seemingly no worse for wear.
Seemingly being the correct word, for when he did reach the desk Joshua felt his legs wobble before giving out completely. Leaving the legate holding onto the desk for dear life as he propped himself up and over the map.
Looking at the parchment only cemented the tribal man's worst fears. Fears that had wracked his mind just as his burns had wracked his body ever since he'd spotted that great red wall an ocean away.
Joshua poured over the map, trying desperately to find anything he could recognize, anything that could explain what he was looking at, anything that made sense! And found less than nothing.
Instead, all that met him was four large oceans, each named after the cardinal directions and dotted with more islands than Joshua could care to count. The only large landmass seemingly on the entire planet was a large belt of rocky land that seemingly split the world in two from heel to crown.
Graham felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized this "Red Line" as the map called it and the gargantuan cliff he'd seen were most likely one in the same.
By the grace of God, or perhaps his antithesis, he was no longer in his world.
After nearly five minutes of staring holes into the parchment, and nearly leaving grip indents in the wood, Kurt awkwardly cleared his throat.
"So, uh, find what you were looking for?"
Joshua didn't look back at him, continuing to stare deep into the faded beige of the old map. His hollow voice the only indication that he had heard anything at all.
"In a way."
Hearing the despair in his words, Kurt stepped closer to the former warlord. He nearly put a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder, only to stop himself halfway through when he remembered the burns.
"Look, I ain't gonna pretend like I understand what you're going through right now, 'cause being honest I ain't got a clue. But whatever it is, it looks like it's hittin' ya pretty hard. Just know that if you need someone to talk to, someone to give you food and shelter, someone that'll help however they can, ya only gotta ask."
Joshua felt his eyes widen at the man's naked kindness. Being with the legion for so long, he had almost forgotten that this level of compassion was even possible. But it also made him realize that despite how horrendously, hopelessly lost he may be both physically and spiritually, he didn't have to stay that way.
"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you."
After the former legate blinked away the beginning of tears from the corners of his now misty eyes, his attention turned back to the map.
"So, where are we exactly? On the map I mean."
Kurt felt a small grin grow upon his mustached face.
"Grand Line, friend. Most dangerous place in the whole world."
A bitter chuckle wormed its way out of Joshua's throat, bringing a dry cough up with it.
"For some reason I find that hard to believe."
It was Kurt's turn to laugh now, as a much fuller chortle was belted out into the cozy cabin air.
"Well, you ain't entirely wrong! This here Island's still in the first half of the Grand Line. Now I've met folk that've been to the second half, the "New World" as they call it. You know what they call this place?"
Kurt didn't wait for his guest's response before his grin spread across the entire length of his face, like he was about to tell you the punchline of the funniest joke ever made.
"Paradise."
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After being corralled back into bed by Kurt ("I don't care how damn quickly you heal, you need your bedrest!") Joshua found little else to do other than watch the sun slowly disappear behind the Red Line or watch as Kurt tried to not make a fool of himself in the cabin's cramped kitchen.
"Alright..." The mustached man began as he wiped the remaining flour from his cheek.
"Stew just needs to simmer, should be done in around an hour, I'm about to head out to check the traps and gather up some supplies. Feel free to help yourself if I ain't back when its ready but don't strain yourself, you hear me…"
A gob smacked look passed across Kurt's face as he came to an important realization:
"I haven't even asked your name, have I?"
A guilty look soon found its way on both men's faces, and before Kurt could launch into a string of apologies for being an impolite host, Joshua spoke up.
"It's Graham, Joshua Graham."
A small smile wormed its way onto Kurt's face, and as he opened the cabin door to the towering woods above, he turned back towards his guest.
"Well, Mr. Graham, I shall return."
And with that, The Malpais Legate was alone once more.
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Kurt Ross was having one hell of a week. First, his homemade distillery had finally born fruit, and this batch managed to taste almost palatable!
Then there was his new "guest".
Honestly Kurt hadn't really known what to do with him at first, other than just desperately trying to keep him alive anyway. But now that he was awake, he'd managed to have the longest conversation he'd had in years! It almost made him want to talk about…
'Nah. Not yet at least. Feel like I just made a decent impression on the guy, no need to go and ruin it already.'
After checking the sea traps for anything, (nothing but barnacles and trash) Kurt set off into the gargantuan forest on his usual rounds. Gathering various multicolored flowers, roots, and numerous other plants as he went for his homemade paints. He'd managed to gather an impressive array of pigments and dyes, and maybe it was from making it himself, but he honestly preferred his to the ones on the market.
'Who knows, maybe one day I'll trade some of these with the pirates down at the loggin' camp.'
Kurt took pride in how self-sufficient he'd become over the years, but he'd be lying if he didn't miss some of the creature comforts of life on the grid.
He was suddenly ripped from his musings about candy and cigarettes as he crashed into a veritable wall of something firm and… soft?
Now firmly back down to earth, Kurt got an eyeful of just what he'd faceplanted into and stopped dead in his tracks.
There, laying before him, was the corpse of a giant golden-furred bull. It's eyes staring headlong into nothing, while rivers of blood oozed and pooled from five small pinpricks on the beast's stomach.
Kurt wasn't sure how long he stared at the beast's cadaver. He must've spent minutes staring with disbelief into the animal's dead eyes. But for all that time, there was only a single solitary thought bouncing around his skull, one he finally processed after another minute of disbelief: He knew who killed this bull.
"Shit."