Along the foggy horizon appeared eleven glistening figures draped in formless, deep green cloaks, and the smallest one at point making do. Each step aligned as if set to a beat. Despite the dozen pairs of boots there was little sound besides the pitter-patter against their makeshift ponchos. The smallest, wrapped in a scavenged trash bag, sighed as the rain seeped through every tear. As time passed sighing turned to huffing, huffing to groaning. From those furthest back to the man behind point, the group shared sideways glances at the sorry display. After an hour straight the joke ran dry.

"Do you have something to say, Barkley?" the lieutenant conceded. In a few long strides she had passed Tomás and fell in line with the private.

Private Barkley glanced at his leader and retorted, "What was your--" and cleared his throat. Breathing through his nose was still just a memory, not to mention the bruises. "With your permission, ma'am."

"Granted."

"Lieutenant Gauss, I get that we're trackin'um and all, but I've been thinkin'. See, I'm from Utah, and sure as shit, we've made a pretty clear path right for Mormonland. These guys haven't just wandered yet, right? I'm thinkin' they're aim is Salt Lake City, and bettuh yet, I know howta get us there in a one day -- [I]max[/I]," Barkley announced, bold enough to smile until the pain convinced him otherwise. 

As if queued, the rain grew doubly worse. Gauss turned to the squad before looking back at Barkley and pursing her lips. They walked silently beside one another for a while before she finally nodded. 

[center] --- [/center]

By evening the landscape changed. What was flat, yellow, and barren now sprouted thick conifers and aspens. The fiery sunset blazing from the lumpy horizon ahead cast a red, blinding light against the squad.
Holding a hand in front of his eyes, Tomás jogged ahead. “Barkley,” he whispered, slowing beside the private. “You’re sure about this path, right? If you’re trying to impress the lieutenant I understand, but guessing your way through might be digging your own grave.”
“Calm down, Gellemo. I lived here for half a decade. See those mountains? You know their name?” the private asked, nodding his chin east. “That’s the Traverse Range. We call it the Traverse. Little farther and the El-Tee won’t have no choice butta thank me.”
Tomás held his hand flat against his brow. Squinting, he looked ahead onto the ebb and flow of horizon. A few miles of uphill marching might slow their pace, but he estimated another two or three hours more at most. He nearly smiled. Pirate Crew or not, he looked forward to reaching another city. As beautiful as the open, untamed land may be, for every ounce of beauty there were two of danger. Sleeping one eye open took its toll. He imagined Salt Lake just a night’s march away. When he turned back to the rest of the squad, though, the group had slowed. Tomás looked back to Barkley to find the private setting a brisk pace. Between the glaring sun, the hard miles, and the incline – which only seemed to worsen – he withdrew his excitement. Tomás rushed to the crest of the hill behind Barkley. 
Further past the hilltop hunched several figures in worn leather. Barkley had frozen, but Tomás slipped his rifle from his shoulder into his hands immediately. The others jeered him and shouted for a fight. Perhaps they saw the two men alone, assuming some unheard insult. Regardless, Tomás shouldered his weapon. Before he could fire Barkley lunged. The two men fell, tumbling down the hillside past the crouching group. Tomás saw a blur atop the hill and heard gunfire. His rifle escaped him, then a piece of his pack. 
The world stopped suddenly only after a collision. Tomás curled around the thin base of a now bent sapling, and, shaking, reached for his sidearm. Barkley somehow managed into a crouch half way down the hill. Hands raised, the private began to shake his head. Seeing the gesture gave Tomás pause. 
The pistol never left its holster and Tomás never saw the leathery figure behind him. He heard a meaty thunk then felt the cool earth against his cheek. His vision blurred and as the hilltop erupted in dozens of little flashes, his world slipped into darkness.