To Cross a Wasteland

by Phillip D Granath

  If there was a single form of recognized currency in town, it had to be the water chit. It started as the City Council’s idea. A way to pay for community projects and distribute water rations. Then when Councilmen Murphy had struck out on his own, so to speak, taking control of the water tower with him, he kept the chits in place. Of course, he did, Coal smiled and shook his head. If he had stopped accepting them, the town would have rioted, and if they had done so early, they probably could have stopped him then. The chits themselves were simple enough, 1 cm square bath tiles. Each decorated by a small blue drop of paint and a 6-digit number, most referred to them as “Tears,” and at any time a tear could be cashed in for 1 liter of pure water at the tower. Money itself was more than symbolic now, it was literally life.

  Coal rode on, leaving the Hub behind him. He continued down Main Street USA for a few more blocks. Main ended at the base of the water tower. The aging blue behemoth and its even older pump was just a starless column in the night sky. It had been the town’s saving grace and then when it fell under Murphy’s control, the lever with which he turned the world. Across the street from the tower was the seat of Murphy’s power. What had been a strip mall was now a sprawling “Night Club.” Where the former councilman entertained himself, his men and anyone with trade or chits. Even from here Coal could see the light from the place spill into the street and hear voices and occasional shouting.

  He had trouble admitting it, even to himself sometimes, but town always felt wrong to him. Out in the desert, out in that waste, he was in his element. To Coal town started to feel like a prison after even a few days’ time. It was here between the crumbling walls that Coal felt nervous, where danger could work its way in close, armed with a knife and a friendly smile.

  Years before the world fell apart Coal had spent more time in the desert then he cared to admit. He simply had nowhere else to go. An unemployed cowhand, a drunken half-breed, an out of work cattle rustler, many times Coal found himself camped underneath a desert sky. The thought made him laugh now, he had been ashamed of it back then. Now those very skills he had been forced to hone had made him a very wealthy man. To fight, to shoot, to ride, how to find game and in general how to make do.

  Coal picked up the pace and his horses easily covered the last 3 blocks to the ranch. As it came into view, he could see movement at the gates and men stepping out into the night with lit torches. At one point it had been a car dealership, a pretty nice one. The dealership building itself was Coal’s house, a twin story oddly shaped structure of mostly glass and concrete in an ultra-modern design. The ranch held holding tanks for curing, a dozen solar dehydrators, holding pens for his pack animals and housing for the 20 odd families that called the ranch home. All surrounded by a 15 ft. high, almost ½ mile long wall of sheet metal topped with razor wire.

  As Coal reined in his horses before the gates, a crowd of his people gathered. Standing in the middle, a slightly stooped Asian man was given a respectful area of space. Coal dismounted and the Asian man stepped forward to greet him.

  “Welcome home Sir,” he said.

  “Thank you, Charles,” Coal replied handing the reins off to a ranch hand and his rifle to another.

  “Was it a good hunt?” the Foreman asked.

  “Good enough, got a muley and couple of coyotes,” Coal said nodding to the pack mule.

  “Superb!” Charles replied.

  “Also closed out a bounty. Mind the heads in the sack, I’ll drop them off at the city council tomorrow,” Coal said.

  Charles frowned, “Sir, haven’t they asked you, repeatedly, to stop bringing heads back?”

  Coal grinned. “Seems wrong for them to pay for a killing and then not even have to see the blood they have caused. Like they are somehow above it because it’s my hands that are dirty and not theirs. I like to think I’m helping to keep them honest. Making them think twice when they put a name to paper and kill a man. Also, the looks on their smug faces when they see a severed head is fucking priceless!”

  Coal laughed, but Charles just nodded, “I can imagine.”

  The two men walked back inside the ranch, the horses and the rest of the congregation followed. The doors were pushed shut and sealed behind them. At any given time of day or night, a dozen men with machetes manned the walls. As word spread of his return more of Coal’s people came out of the darkness, many of them women, some still carrying young children. Within the hour the horses would be unloaded, moved back into the coral, wiped down, given fresh cut grass and watered. Before first light, all of the game would be cleaned, butchered and on its way to becoming tradable goods. The best cuts of the deer would be offered for trade in the Hub, the rest would be cured for trade or added to the ranch’s stores. The pair of coyotes would be sliced into thin strips, soaked in brine and then turned into jerky.

  Charles was the mastermind behind the finely tuned process, all Coal did was supply the meat. Like any good Foreman, the little Asian with his oddly British accent delved into a lengthy report of the goings on while Coal had been away. The little man rattled out bushels of wild grass collected this week. Estimated weights and time frames of meat still in the curing process. The estimated pounds of meat needed to cover the ranch’s overhead this month. Coal paid almost no attention, he trusted Charles completely in these matters and paid him enough chits a month not to have to worry about it.

  As the pair crossed the compound and neared his house, it slowly began to light up. In an obscene spectacle of wealth, hundreds of candles were now being lit and lined the windows on each floor. Coal couldn’t help but grin, what was the point of being loaded if you couldn’t show it off, even in the apocalypse. Charles continued his report until Coal finally cut him off.

  “Goodnight Charles,” Coal said without looking at his Foreman.

  “Yes. Good night to you Sir,” Charles replied and turned away expecting the dismissal.

  Coal pushed through the glass double doors and onto the marble floors.

  “Daddy’s home!” he yelled.

  On cue, his 4 wives walked down the stairs from the second floor in unison. The first a tall, slim blond. The second a short haired Latina. The third was a feisty little Asian. The last a dark-skinned Nubian cradling a bottle of tequila, all wore heels and evening dresses.

  Coal smiled, maybe being back in town wasn’t all bad.

  To the West of town, Kyle was picking his way through the maze of rotting cars that choked I-8. He had never entered town from this direction before. Why would he? The only thing East of town was the Indian Nation, and that was certain death for everyone. Well everyone not named Coal it seemed. He shook his head still in disbelief. He should have kept his mouth shut if he had he would have been home by now. Instead, he was picking his way through this dark maze. As he moved further in among the maze of wrecked cars, he began to think of it more as a death trap.

  Kyle had secured the useless shotgun to the side of his pack as soon as the light started to fade. No point in keeping up the charade if no one could see it. His magnum was once again riding in his belt, and he now carried his small crowbar in hand. Against the night sky, he could just make out the darker shadows of taller buildings up ahead. He had about a block to go before he would be on the street. He was sliding between a high boxed cargo truck and an SUV when a cloud blotted out the moonlight and the whole world went completely black. That’s when they struck.

  The first dropped down directly in front of him with only the sound of his landing to warn the Scavenger. Kyle struck out into the darkness out of reflex with the pry bar and managed to bat away a knife thrust he hadn’t even suspected was coming. The pry bar banged against the side of the box truck smashing his attacker’s hand in the process. A high pitched curse followed, and Kyle reversed his swing and struck out at the sound. His weapon struck with a wet smacking sound and the clatter of teeth. His first attacker was down and…crying?

  A metallic clang reverberated through Kyle’s back. He spun and found a second attack
er holding a machete, the first blow had struck the shotgun’s barrel and turned the blade. Kyle couldn’t get his pry bar around in time, as the shadow pulled back the blade for a second swing. So he kicked out aiming for a level where a knee should be. He hit a groin instead and the attacker folded, dropping his weapon with a clang and a whimper. Movement up ahead of him had the desperate Scavenger spinning back around again.

  The clouds had parted just enough to see the world in shades of blue again. Five feet in front of Kyle a figure crouched near his still crying first attacker. A glint of moonlight on steel showed he had a blade in his hand. Kyle was done. He pulled the magnum from his waist and leveled it at the crouched figure. His attacker paused for a moment and then stepped over the crying man. Watching the way, he moved struck Kyle as odd, it was too fluid, too natural. The man was much too short…oh holy shit, he thought, they were just a bunch of kids!

  A second pint-sized attacker appeared on the top of the SUV, a golf club held like a baseball bat in her hand. She hissed. “Cut him Slim, he ain’t got no bullets!”

  The sound of movement again behind him, the kid he had downed or perhaps a new one was trying to box him in. He aimed directly at the kid in front of him. “Move little man!” he shouted in his best big boy voice. The kid froze trying to decide if Kyle was bluffing or not.

  The little girl had already decided. “Slim, you pussy!” she said and pulled back her 9 Iron to take a swing at Kyle’s head.

  Kyle spun to point the magnum up at her, not sure if he could get her before she swung or if he would even pull the trigger if he did. His arm caught on the SUV’s mirror jabbing him in the forearm, and the decision was made for him, the magnum went off. The shot was deafening, the sound reverberating in between the cars. It was followed by a hissing sound as the shot ricocheted into the darkness. The flash was accompanied by an orange gout of flame; Kyle was blind, but he was moving. He ran forward nearly falling over his first attacker who was still sobbing and trying to crawl away. He used the sides of the vehicles to guide him as he stumbled forward. His hearing came back before his sight, he could hear cursing and multiple sets of feet running in several directions. As he broke free of the last of the traffic jam, he started to be able to make out the darkened shapes of the buildings around him.

  Behind him, the group of street kids had recovered as well. A litany of curses followed him from the darkness. These varied from threats comments about his mother, and rather entertaining suggestion of physically impossible feats he should attempt on himself.

  Kyle didn’t stop running or even slow down to respond he simply yelled back over his shoulder, “Stay in school!”

  A few blocks later Kyle crossed Main Street USA. He had actually come out closer to the Clinic than he had expected. Had it been daylight he would have already been able to see the red crosses painted with arrows on the street. Another one of Anna’s ideas, he had painted most of them himself. He ran now, still not completely convinced he wasn’t being followed. The pill bottles rattling in his pack as he ran. Up ahead a single fire barrel burned, above it against a white background was a huge red cross. He was home.

  A half dozen figures crowded around the barrel talking and laughing in quiet voices. Kyle slowed to a walk, giving himself a chance to catch his breath and giving the guards fair warning that he was approaching. They heard his steps, and all conversation stopped, they spread out a bit, and Kyle could see that each carried a weapon. Mostly steel pipes and lengths of rebar, but a few had knives as well. As Kyle began to enter the circle of light one of the men shouted.

  “That’s far enough, state your business stranger!”

  Kyle didn’t recognize the voice. “Just out for a midnight stroll, now I’m headed home for a shower and a warm bed.”

  Silence from most of the men, but one chuckled, drawing inquisitive looks from the others in the darkness. The man stepped forward, and Kyle recognized Dante, a white-haired black man whose frame was still intimidating though he was well past 50. Dante handled security for the clinic after dark. He had shown up about 2 years ago carrying a very sick little girl, his Granddaughter. She had died three days later, but Dante had never left.

  “Welcome home Kyle," Dante said extended a hand that Kyle shook. The rest of the group stepped in closer to have a look at the Scavenger, and the tension melted away. Kyle didn’t recognize any of the other men in the firelight but that wasn’t unusual. Anna didn’t turn many away, and most couldn’t pay her. One of the duties that a lot of families ended up volunteering for was guard duty. It made a lot of sense, they would guard the clinic with their lives because those inside were family.

  “Boys this is Kyle. He runs this place with the Doc. He has more right to be here than anyone, including me, and what he says goes.”

  The guards looked at Kyle with new sets of eyes. Kyle was suddenly very tired, too tired to even be embarrassed. He simply nodded and gave a half smile to the men. Then Dante walked Kyle over to a gate in the fence line, he pulled a key from around his neck and unlocked the heavy padlock. He held it open for Kyle.

  “Goodnight, Sir," Dante said.

  Sir? “Uhh…goodnight to you too Dante. Boys," Kyle said stepping into the compound as Dante secured the gate behind him.

  The clinic might seem like a maze at night to someone who hadn’t seen it built piece by piece as Kyle had. It had been a small family owned garage back when things like cars actually worked. Now the lot had an outer wall made of sections of fencing and backed with R.V.s. Most of them had already been here when Anna and Kyle decided to move the clinic from a tent to an actual structure. It had still taken days of backbreaking work with over a dozen volunteers to help push and prod the big vehicles into position. Now they served double duty as perimeter walls and as housing for those that needed Anna’s help.

  The center of the clinic grounds held a fire pit and was surrounded by low benches were everyone could sit. A huge cast iron pot, the kind you would expect to see a witch stirring sat next to the pit. Here twice a day the women of the compound would gather and serve a meal, it varied wildly depending on what the current residents had brought with them or had traded for. But no matter how little was on hand, everyone got an equal share. The fire pit also acted as the center of life for the Clinic. Most days, but especially on days when meals were short, people would sit around the pit for hours. Talking, sharing memories of what the world had been or even reading stories aloud.

  The Clinic itself was located in the old service station building. The two-vehicle bays had been converted into an exam room and a recovery room. The small office was where Kyle and Anna lived. It was as close to a home as Kyle had allowed himself to have since the fall.

  Kyle stepped up to the office door and ignored the handle, reaching for the top of the door frame and finding the key they always left there. He slid it into the deadbolt and turned it with a quiet click. Stepping in Kyle gently shut the door behind him and relocked the deadbolt. He removed his coat, finding the rack to hang it on in the dark and then slid off his dirty boots. He moved across the small space, it was a wash of shadows and shapes, but he knew it well. The room was dominated by a hide-a-bed and Kyle could make out Anna’s shape stretched out upon it.

  He quietly moved to the office desk and setting his bag down began to open the drawers, quickly he found what he was looking for and struck a match off of the desktop. Anna rolled over as the light filled the space and Kyle lit the small nub of a candle on the desk.

  “The candle? You must have done well if you’re burning the candle," Anna said her voice slurred by sleep.

  Anna stood, wrapping the sheet around her and moving to sit in the office chair across the desk from Kyle. Seeing her like this, even after all of these years still made his heart skip a beat. Her long dark hair cascading down her back, holding both of her legs up to her chest as if she was cold. Then she looked up at him with those wonderfully dark eyes and smiled at him. It was a very tired smile, but it was Anna’s and that ma
de it Kyle’s favorite.

  “I was afraid maybe it didn’t pan out or something when I heard you come in. Didn’t you expect to be out a few more days?” She asked sleepily.

  Kyle continued to stare at her in silence, enjoying the moment. He didn’t know if the pills he had found could cure cancer or were for weight loss. But Anna would know, and then he would get to find out if it had all been worth it. The days alone, the explosion, the killing, all of it. But even that didn’t really matter now. The OXys were in his jacket. He had decided not to tell Anna about them. No doubt she would want to use them for her patients, not trade them. He had decided for them, they were too valuable; that they just meant too much to them. He would look out for her future whether she wanted him too or not. Realizing he hadn’t answered her Kyle was snapped back into the moment. Anna sat quietly staring at him with that speculative single raised eyebrow look he knew so well.

  “I found something out there. I’m not sure if it’s worth anything, but I think it may help the clinic," Kyle said quietly.

  Anna leaned forward in her chair, he had her full, and wide awake attention now. “Dear, what did you find?”

  Kyle took a breath and unceremoniously upended his bag onto the table. The pill bottles came cascading out, bouncing off the table and rolling onto the floor. Anna inhaled sharply and snatched up a handful. She held the bottles in turn up to the light, she made a little noise and then held up another, and then another. Faster and faster she examined each bottle almost frantically now. Suddenly she stopped and clutched the bottles awkwardly to her chest her head lowered. She was still for a moment, and then her shoulders began to shake, and Kyle realized she was quietly sobbing. He reached for her, and as he touched her shoulder, she dropped the bottles sending them cascading to the floor. She wrapped her arms around Kyle, her face covered in tears, she was openly crying now.