Wasteland Blues

by Scott Christian Carr

  “I came for you,” said Magdalena. “But maybe I shouldn’t have. Now that you know what I am.”

  John could hear the pain in her voice. Part of him wanted to hurt her more, to drive his shock and disgust into her like a stake. A voice spoke to him, the voice of Elder Hale. The voice was full of righteous condemnation.

  This woman was a fornicator, a liar, a killer. Perhaps even possessed by demons.

  If John valued his soul, if he loved Jesus Manchrist, he would turn his face away from her. Avert his eyes.

  But he didn’t turn away.

  He looked. John saw her misery and sorrow and felt the anger wash out of him. He went to her and put his arms around her. She put her face in the hollow of his neck, and he felt her tears against his dry skin.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered to her, stroking her hair. “It’s okay. We’re safe now. You found me. And I’m glad.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The group, their number now increased by one woman and two dogs, spent three days recuperating in Youslus’s cave. They slept sixteen to eighteen hours at a stretch. They ate their fill from Youslus’s tins and drank from the spring-fed pool.

  On the morning of the fourth day, Leggy drew John and Derek away from the cave. They hunkered down near a large boulder.

  “We should be moving on,” said Leggy.

  Derek and John nodded.

  “That means it’s time to send the young lady home,” said Leggy.

  “What? No, she’s going to to come with us,” said John.

  Leggy glanced at Derek, but Derek was toying with his boot. No one spoke.

  Finally, Leggy cleared his throat. “I don’t think so, Johnny Boy. She’s just gonna slow us down.”

  “She won’t,” said John. “In fact, I expect she can get along quite a bit better than you, Leggy. No offense, but she’s a lot more able-bodied. With those guide dogs of hers, she’ll be all right. She tracked us this far, didn’t she? She saved us from the pit.”

  “Well, that may be true,” said Leggy, “but I still don’t think it’s right. We’re on the verge of some hard travelin’. Very hard. You fellas are gonna think our whole trek up to now was just a picnic compared to what’s waiting for us. I think that girl’d be better off goin’ home. The Wasteland’s no place for a girl, a blind one, at that.”

  Leggy also had another concern—Derek had bedded this girl. That fact hadn’t been shared with all parties yet, but Leggy would bet a hundred food tins against a lump of shit that it wouldn’t stay secret. And when it came out, Leggy could only see two outcomes: the end of their fellowship or blood. Likely both.

  “She’s got no home,” said John. He explained her predicament to them. “If she doesn’t come with us, we’ll just be leaving her alone.”

  “Shit,” said Leggy. “I still don’t like it. What do you say, Derek?” Leggy knew Derek was a master at bending John to his will.

  But Derek simply shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? We already got a cripple and a mutie donkey. Might as well have a blind girl too. Maybe we can pick up a deaf-mute along the way and we’ll have a complete set.”

  Leggy raised his eyebrows in surprise but didn’t press the debate.

  “So if we’re all settled up, I suggest we get the fuck out of here,” said Derek.

  “Just one more thing I have to do,” said John.

  ***

  While the others gathered together as many food tins as could be carried, John and Teddy walked over to the moths chained to the base of the wall. They’d found a hammer and chisel among Youslus’s tools, and they walked purposefully toward the creatures.

  At their approach the insects stirred from their sleep and rose as far as the cords would allow, chittering and clucking down at the men. John gripped an arm’s length of rope and held it on the ground with his foot. The moth attached to it shrieked in alarm and strained to pull away. The others began to swoop upon the two men, battering them with powdery canvas-like wings.

  “Quick now,” shouted John, but Teddy needed no urging. He pinned a moth to the ground and with three quick blows split the link at the base of the creature’s abdomen. The creature shot skyward, free of its bond.

  John wasn’t sure how smart these things were, but their cries suddenly sounded excited rather than fearful, and the remaining two stopped swooping. They slowly settled to the ground at Teddy’s feet. A half dozen more blows were enough to set them free.

  John and Teddy watched as the creatures spiraled upward on a draft of air and over the canyon wall. Soon they were gone from sight.

  “Fly up to Heaven now,” whispered John. “Fly up to Heaven and pray for us.”

  ***

  Finally, the group was assembled. Leggy, saddled up on Afha, looked at his companions. “We must be the most unlikely band of travelers to ever dare the Wasteland,” he said. “We’re going to need all our strength and all our resources. We’ve already been in some pretty tough scrapes, and come out the other side. But the Wasteland’s a whole other ballgame. Now let’s shake the dust of this place from our shoes and get our asses goin’.”

  “Amen to that,” said John.

  And they were on their way.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Several hours after the travelers had left Youslus’s valley, a humming noise came from deep within the bunker that had so obsessed the old hermit. Beneath the humming came another noise, a two-note alarm that repeated itself for perhaps thirty seconds. Then the alarm cut out and the great steel door inside the bunker split down the middle and began to swing open. Air—cool, climate-controlled and scrubbed of particulates—hissed through the widening seam. The wings of the door swung out flush against the bunker walls, revealing a shadowy tunnel. The humming noise died away.

  A boy appeared in the opening. He was slender and delicate, as if his bones were made of straw. He was dressed in a sky-blue singlet with long pants and sleeves and wore sandals on his six-toed feet. He was bald. His skull was slightly ovoid and perhaps a touch too large to be in proportion to his narrow body.

  The boy blinked in the bright sun and climbed carefully out of the pit. When he reached the top, he noted Youslus’s cave and the stony lane that led down into the desert.

  The boy stood for a moment then reached out with his mind, searching. He found the cave empty and the surrounding valley desolate. Then, extending his search, he ran his mind along the lane and caught up with the travelers. Curious, the boy probed gently, and discovered four men, one woman, and four beasts. One of the animals stirred in its mind, aware of the mental probe, and snorted inquisitively. The boy withdrew and let his consciousness hover above the travelers.

  The boy monitored their progress for several minutes, gauging the roiling flow of their thoughts and emotions.

  Then the boy turned his mind upward, focusing on a narrow band high above the common channels of perception. His consciousness rose like a hawk on a thermal column, sensing, testing, seeking a signal. Background noise had overwhelmed the meta-psychic band after the missiles had fallen so many years ago. Now, finally, the noise had subsided somewhat—but enough to let communications pass? It had been so long since he had reached out to the others. Had any of them survived?

  The boy strained for a contact, temples throbbing, breath coming in short gasps. He had been asleep for so long his ability was rusty. With redoubled effort he concentrated, ignoring a sharp spike of pain that stabbed across his forehead. Suddenly he felt a blip, the touch of a mind, like fingertips brushing against another hand in a dense fog. And then it was gone. His mind tumbled from its high place, and a whirling vertigo dropped him to his knees.

  The boy cried out, a small, despairing sound. He was alone. He had awoken to find Karen, his “mother,” dead—her stasis chamber had failed some time ago. None of the scientists, techs or solide
r men in the bunker had made it through the long sleep. And the others like him, secreted in bunkers and compounds around the world, were out of reach and likely dead, too. He was alone. He put his strange head to the stony ground and cried.

  After a few minutes of tears, the boy stood and wiped his face. Crying wouldn’t help him. He’d have to help himself. He shaded his eyes and looked up at the blue sky and the unfamiliar, unyielding sun above. He ran a hand over the smooth, pale skin of his skull and felt the heat gathering there. He knew that if he stood in front of his dressing mirror he would see a red bloom beginning on his head and his cheeks.

  He went back inside, emerging a few minutes later with a makeshift turban fashioned from a section of white sheet. He also had a knapsack stuffed with supplies and a gurgling canteen. The strange boy took a last long look at the bunker then started down the lane and into the desert.

  ***

  The valley where Youslus had imprisoned them sloped gently down toward the desert. The Sierra Nevadas were behind them now, and Leggy pointed them toward the rising sun, due east.

  They traveled for two days, and each day brought more changes. The air grew hotter, the landscape drier and more desolate. Foothills gave way to a brown plain that stretched out before them, flat and unvarying for miles and miles.

  “Is this it?” asked John. “Is this the Wasteland?”

  “This is the hem of it,” said Leggy. “We’ve still got a few hundred miles before we reach the Wasteland proper.”

  “Do you know where you’re going?” asked Magdalena.

  “I’m trying to get my bearings,” said Leggy. “If we’re where I think we are, we should be runnin’ into a small lake soon. From there we can strike for an old roadway that I’ve traveled before.”

  “Who made it? Bedouins?” asked Derek.

  “It was from the Before Times,” said Leggy. “Afore-the-War. Bedouins travel it occasionally, but there ain’t many settlements out this way, so there’s no reason for Bedouin traders to come through here.”

  “What is out here?” asked John.

  Leggy grinned. “Bugs. Loners. Muties. And Lord knows what else.”

  That comment ended the question-and-answer session, and the travelers moved on in silence.

  ***

  By mid-morning of their third day out from Youslus’s pit, they struck the shallow, polluted lake Leggy was seeking. Thin, gray wisps of chemical haze floated languidly above the still, stagnant water.

  “From here we follow the lake north and then east again. That should get us to the road, and the road will take us right through the heart of a place called Death Valley.” He smiled at John. “And that’s where the Wasteland proper begins. Sounds good, huh?”

  John said nothing. As they followed the banks of the dead lake north, Magdalena asked if the water had a name.

  “I don’t know what it used to be called in the Before Times,” said Leggy. “When I was working as a hauler for Rasham, we just called it Blue Lake. But maybe we should give it a proper title, like Lake Nicodemus.”

  “How about Lake Crippled Old Drunk?” suggested Derek.

  Leggy threw back his head and laughed. “Tell you what, son. You ever run into a map maker, you have my blessing to call it that.”

  Eventually they struck Leggy’s road, an old two-lane highway. A sign stuck into the side of the road told them it was once called Route 190, but that meant nothing to them. Ghosts of heat shimmered up from the aging blacktop, which was cracked and broken in many places. But the way was clearly marked, and ran on ahead of them to the horizon.

  The highway bent southward, but Leggy assured them that soon it would turn east again.

  As they traveled, Magdalena began to show signs of strain. The heat seemed nearly suffocating to her, and she felt the sun as a merciless presence, beating on her with fiery fists. Flakes of sand and bits of dust, kicked up by hot winds, scratched at her face. John showed her how to fasten a kerchief across her nose and mouth, and wrap her head against the sun, but while this helped with the dust and grit it only increased her feeling of being smothered.

  The dogs, Cole and Sheba, were also suffering. Their smooth coats, so suited to a cool mountain climate, were a liability down on the arid plain. The rough, old roadbed was hot under foot and abraded the pads on their paws. At night when they camped, the dogs would lick sorrowfully at their sore feet.

  John tried his best to encourage Magdalena. “You’ll get used to it,” he said. “Really, it’s not so bad once your body adjusts.”

  Magdalena nodded. Despite her suffering she did not complain.

  ***

  Their fourth day on the blasted highway they spotted a structure. It was near dusk, and daylight was fading when Derek glimpsed the low building. They approached carefully, but the place seemed deserted. A sign had been set into the side of the road next to the building.

  WILLY’S GAS ‘N GO

  “‘Water. Pop. Snacks. Maps. Film. Clean restrooms,’” read Derek. “Must be some old way station, right?”

  “Yup,” said Leggy. “There’s the gas pumps. No more gas, though. I know because we used to hole up here on runs.”

  Three pumps stood on a concrete island—the nozzles of their hoses tucked neatly into their sides, like a trio of saluting dwarves. Next to the pumps stood a one-story clapboard store designed in a faux Old West style, complete with a porch that ran the length of the store, a hitching post, and a wagon wheel nailed to the façade.

  “Looks like it’s in pretty good shape,” said Derek, tilting his head toward the store. “Might be suitable for the night.”

  “Yup,” said Leggy.

  “Maybe there’s snacks, Der-Der,” said Teddy excitedly.

  “Sorry, Teddy,” said Leggy. “The place has been cleaned out of food and drink for ages.”

  “Can we lookie-see?” asked Teddy.

  “Might as well,” said Leggy. “But let’s do it real cautious. Me and Ted and Derek’ll scout it out. You two keep an eye on things out here,” he said to John. Then he turned to Magdalena. “Ma’am, can we take one of your dogs inside?”

  “Of course,” said Magdalena. “Take Cole.”

  Derek whistled. “C’mere Cole. Let’s check this place out.”

  The shepherd trotted to Derek’s side, tail wagging. Despite having threatened to blow the dogs’ heads off on their first encounter, Derek found he liked the animals, and their relationship had improved tremendously on the journey. In the evenings, Derek would tend to their sore paws and stroke and scratch them with affection. For their part, the dogs had quickly learned that Derek was a soft touch when it came to sharing food, which raised his standing with them considerably.

  Leggy scrambled off Ahfa’s back and onto Ted’s, and the three men and the dog stepped cautiously inside the building. Derek took point, his shotgun at the ready.

  ***

  John tied Ahfa and Minna to the hitching post and stood next to Magdalena. She took his hand and smiled. He squeezed her hand in return. Then he cast his eyes up and down the road but saw nothing. Magdalena’s head was cocked to one side, which meant she was listening intently.

  They waited in silence.

  Five minutes later Derek appeared at the door. “All clear. C’mon in,” he said.

  John led Magdalena inside. The store was one large room with a wooden floor and ceiling. Bits of paper and trash were scattered everywhere, and dusty old cobwebs had gathered in corners of the sagging ceiling. Empty shelves had long been knocked over and broken. Along the far wall stood a row of tall glass cases, also long empty.

  A counter stood at the other end of the room. A large banner, dusty and fading, hung on the wall behind it. The words California Lotto were barely visible.

  Leggy appeared from behind the counter, scooting along
on his hands. “Pretty good mess, huh? But it’ll do for a night’s shelter.”

  “You shoulda seen all the scag-rats that went running when we came in,” said Derek. “Ol’ Cole there almost caught himself a couple.” The dog was rooting in a corner, scratching at a baseboard and sniffing. Sheba strained in her harness, eager to join her fellow in the search. Magdalena released her and she raced over to Cole, yipping with excitement.

  “Where’s Teddy?” asked John. “I’d like some help unloading Minna.”

  “We found a cellar,” said Derek. “He’s still hopin’ to dig up some snacks.”

  “Where is it?” asked John.

  Derek jerked a thumb behind the counter. John went around and found a small corridor. There was a pair of bathrooms, a utility closet full of old cleaning supplies, and a small door with a staircase leading down. John stuck his head in the door.

  The basement was full of shadow—the only light coming from a couple of small, dust-covered windows. John went carefully down the stairs. He could hear Teddy rooting around below him. At the bottom of the staircase he stopped to fill his lungs to call for Teddy when he heard a scream.

  “Aaahhhhhhhhh!”

  It was Teddy. He wrestled with something man-sized. Suddenly Teddy was hurtling through the air. He crashed heavily against the wall.

  “Muties,” shouted John.

  The creature spun around. John had time to see its face—sallow skin wrapped around a misshapen skull, one eye gone, the other yellowed and alive with menace. Then it raced at John with unbelievable speed. John fled but only made it up a few stairs before a hand locked around his ankle and pulled him back down.