Wasteland Blues

by Scott Christian Carr

  “You think we should move on?” asked John, absently wringing water from his long hair.

  “Hell yeah,” said Leggy. “I thought that old coot in the tree was just crazy. But it sounds like he was telling the truth.”

  “We’ll have to take a detour,” said Derek. “That bunker sits right on the road.”

  “Which is more dangerous?” asked Magdelena, her blank eyes fixed on Leggy. “Staying here until morning or traveling the Wasteland at night?”

  “She’s got a point,” said John. “What’s the chance those gunmen would come back? They already think they killed the folks living here.”

  Leggy pursed his lips. The sun had gone down and the brightest of the evening stars had already appeared. He looked at the landscape, pointed to the low hills to the north. “We don’t have to travel all night. I bet we could put them hills between us and the fort in a couple of hours. Then we hunker down till morning and take the long way ’round.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Derek. “Anybody else who’s got objections should climb that tree and see what I saw.”

  “All right, let’s dry off and get dressed,” said Leggy. “It’s a damn shame though. I was hopin’ to wash these clothes.” He looked askance at his dingy shirt and pants.

  Derek snorted. “Old man, the only thing holdin’ them rags together is the dirt and the stink.”

  Teddy and Samuel laughed out loud. Leggy shook his head.

  When they’d dressed, Leggy suggested topping off their jugs with well water.

  John and Teddy drew water and carried buckets to the tank. Samuel and Magdalena tried to coax the mules back aboard the crawler. The beasts had been nibbling green leaves from the lowest branches of Jordan’s tree.

  Leggy and Derek waited by the driver’s seat. “How much longer you think this thing’s gonna run?” asked Derek.

  “Don’t know,” said Leggy. “Not forever. I’m not even sure what it runs on—not gas. Maybe ’lectricity. I honestly don’t know. There’s a gauge inside I been keepin’ my eye on. When we started it was all the way to the right. Now it’s more’n three quarters of the way to the left. I ’spect when it goes all the way left, the crawler will stop. I ain’t lookin’ forward to gettin’ up on the back of a donkey again. But we definitely got enough juice to slide past that bunker you told us about, and for now that’s all that concerns me.”

  “Me too,” said Derek. “I—”

  “There’s men coming,” shrieked Samuel, standing in the flatbed. “I can sense men coming!”

  “Shit,” said Derek. He lifted Leggy off the ground and shoved him inside the cab then jumped into the driver’s seat and started the motor.

  “Wait,” said John. “Teddy’s still in the shed drawing water.”

  “Go and get him,” hissed Derek.

  John sprinted for the shed.

  Magdalena drew her long rifle from a web of netting along the left side of the flatbed’s rail. Suddenly Sheba turned toward the shed and started barking.

  A group of men emerged from the twilight shadows behind the house. They were armed, and John and Teddy walked ahead of them with their hands laced behind their heads.

  The group stopped ten paces from the sand crawler. Derek counted six of them. They wore wide-brimmed hats and long, brown, handwoven ponchos. They carried hunting rifles and shotguns, and one man had what Leggy recognized as a grenade launcher slung across his shoulders.

  “Are they the ones from the bunker?” whispered Leggy.

  “No,” said Derek.

  The men’s rough faces were exposed beneath the wide brims of their hats. They didn’t wear the strange rebreathers that Derek had described on the men of the distant outpost.

  John and Teddy were pushed to their knees. Then the tallest of the men stepped forward. He carried a rifle that was, for the time being, pointed toward the ground.

  “Where’s Jordan?” he asked, his eyes hard. “Where’s Ruth and the children?”

  Standing in the flatbed, Magdalena trained in on the sound of the man’s voice, her rifle at the ready. In turn, three men aimed up at her.

  “Who’re you?” demanded Derek.

  “The name’s Burrell,” said the tall man. “Captain Burrell. And I’ll only ask you one more time—where’s Jordan?”

  “Dead,” said Derek. “Hung himself. The rope’s still in the tree, and his body’s buried in the roots.”

  “Ruth? The children?”

  “The old man said raiders came for ’em,” Leggy called out. “The ones from that bunker down the road.”

  Burrell tipped his head sideways. One of the men approached, and Burrell whispered to him. The man lit a lantern and went inside the house. Derek watched the light leak through open windows as the man searched the house. He emerged a few minutes later and walked in a slow circle around the tree, squatting for a moment beside the fresh grave. Then he returned to Burrell and spoke quietly into his captain’s ear. Burrell listened, nodded, and then turned to face the cab of the sand crawler.

  “Step out of the vehicle one at a time. The woman with the rifle will go first. Put your hands behind your heads. Kneel next to your companions here.”

  “Fuck you,” said Derek. “You ain’t in charge of us, and we ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

  “Easy, easy,” whispered Leggy.

  “What you have or haven’t done is still to be decided,” said Burrell. “But we’ve got six rifles to your one. We are in charge.”

  “I’ll send you straight to Hell,” said Magdalena from the crawler bed, “and then we’ll see who’s in charge.”

  “And then it will be five rifles against none and all of you in Hell with me,” said Burrell.

  “Maggie, put the rifle down,” said Leggy.

  “No,” shouted Derek. “Don’t you dare!”

  ***

  Magdalena stood firm but inside she was wavering.

  “John,” she called. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Magdalena,” she heard him reply. And then she jumped as a voice rang out inside her heard.

  MAGDALENA—I CAN KILL A MAN MAYBE TWO IF YOU TELL ME WHICH ONES—I’M NOT SURE BUT I THINK IF I TRY REALLY HARD I CAN KILL

  Magdalena stilled the urge to vomit. She tasted blood in the back of her throat, running from her sinuses. John had told her about Samuel speaking inside his head in the robot’s museum, but to experience it herself was unnerving. When he spoke she felt as if her skull were a canyon and his voice a thunder that filled the stillness and echoed off its walls. But even more troubling was the message—that this boy, so much like an innocent lamb who hovered near her skirts, would kill for her. She didn’t know how he could do it, or if he could do it, but she didn’t doubt his willingness to try. And it was Samuel’s willingness to kill that made her decision for her.

  “Time grows short,” said Burrell. “Decide now.”

  Magdalena pointed the rifle at the deck of the sand crawler. One of the men climbed in and took it from her hands.

  She climbed down from the rear gate and whistled. Sheba leapt down at her side and Magdalena grabbed the dog’s harness.

  “You’re blind?” said the man who took her rifle.

  “Yes,” said Magdalena. “But I would not have missed your captain’s heart. Believe it.”

  The man stepped away and crossed himself.

  Sheba led Magdalena to John. She kneeled down next to him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “No,” said John. “You did the right thing.”

  “Now the child,” said Burrell.

  Samuel walked to the edge of the gate and jumped down. His legs were rubbery and he stumbled. He righted himself and walked slowly toward his companions. His body quivered with adrenaline. He’d been priming himself for a
psychic blow, a deadly blast of mental energy that would’ve burst the brain of his target.

  Blood trickled from his nose and ears—a side effect. He felt that it would’ve been worse if he’d actually tried the attack. A gush of blood and snot and a pain like an ice pick driven through his skull. Great effort was required to overcome the inhibitors that the doctors had instilled in him through his long and careful training. Training that ensured his Terrible Power wasn’t used as a reflex. Samuel had to want to hurt someone.

  Burrell gestured to the two men flanking him. “Now the ones in the cab.”

  Leggy saw Derek steel himself to resist, so he popped the passenger-side door open. “I’m comin’ out,” he called. “Nice and slow.”

  The two men ran around to his door and watched as Leggy eased himself down onto the sand.

  “Captain, this one’s a cripple,” shouted one of the men.

  “Name’s Leggy.”

  ***

  Burrell shook his head. “A feeb, a blind woman, a crippled old man, and a child, all riding in a machine from the Before Days. You must have strange tales to tell.”

  “You have no idea,” said Leggy. He swung himself on his hands around the front of the crawler. He stopped at the driver’s side door and looked up at Derek.

  “Come out, son.” He could see the cords standing out in Derek’s neck, the flush of red blooming on his cheeks. “They’re only gonna pry you out anyway. Might as well come out on your own two feet.”

  For a moment Leggy thought Derek might gun the crawler to life and make a break for the road. Instead the door popped open and Derek stepped down. He took two steps toward Burrell, and then a pair of men intercepted him. There was a brief struggle, and then a third came and bound his wrists behind his back. They led him to the others and forced him to kneel in the sand.

  Leggy looked up at his captors. “Now what?” he asked.

  “Judgment,” said Burrell. “I believe it was Chulo’s men who killed Jordan, not you.”

  “I don’t know Chulo,” said Leggy. “Does he have somethin’ to do with that bunker down the road?”

  “Yes,” said Burrell.

  “So you ain’t…you ain’t associated with all that?” said Leggy.

  Captain Burrell shook his head. “Chulo is a madman. He takes pleasure in the suffering and humiliation of others. He breaks the minds of his captives and turns them into dog-slaves. Pets. Domesticated people. He feeds his soldiers human flesh. If his men had found you, you’d all be in collars by now. Or in the cookpot.”

  “But you found us instead,” said Leggy, holding Burrell’s eye. “What do you take pleasure in?”

  Burrell pointed to the low hills to the north, the place where Leggy had planned their detour. “Beyond those hills we have our ranches and our homesteads,” he said. “I raise goats. These days one in every three kids born has the blood-poison, or strange deformities. I pray that when my son takes my place, it will be only one in five. And when his son comes of age, one in ten. I take pleasure in the hope that the world may heal itself someday.”

  “But then there’s Chulo,” said Leggy.

  “Yes. Then there’s Chulo. Two years ago, he emerged from the wastes. He found a way into that fort, which we’d never before been able to open. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Inside he found weapons the likes of which we’d never seen. And sooner than you’d think possible, he’d gathered a band of wanderers and thieves to him. He set himself up as a king and demanded tribute. Those who resisted were killed. Or worse. And so we did as he demanded. we sent him food and goats.”

  “At first he seemed satisfied. At least he kept his distance, and his men didn’t trouble us too much. But eventually his madness proved even more powerful than his greed. He began demanding more and more from us. Not just livestock—he wanted people—women and children. When we refused, he simply took what he wanted. We defended ourselves as best we could, but our homesteads are far apart. It was too easy for him to take us out, one by one.”

  “Shit,” said Leggy. “Lemme guess. You decided to band together and fight back. So what are you, the scoutin’ party?”

  The captain smiled. “Scouts are already set. We’re the war party. I’ve got twenty more men beyond that hill, waiting for my command.”

  “We ain’t got nothin’ to do with your fight,” said Derek. “You let us go, and we’ll stay out of your way.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that,” said Burrell. “I doubt you’re spies, but maybe you’re bandits. Our homesteads are unguarded now, and I can’t have you roaming about.”

  “So what then?” asked Leggy. “Murder us here in the dirt?”

  “I’d prefer not to,” said Burrell, “so this is what will happen. You will stay inside Jordan’s house. I’ll leave two guards at the door. They’ll shoot you if you try to leave—trust me on that. When morning comes, you’re free to go. By then the battle will be over, and either Chulo will be dead or we will.”

  Burrell beckoned to the man who had searched the house and spoke into his ear. The man climbed into the back of the crawler and tossed out their packs. Then he opened the storage locker and emptied that as well.

  “What are you doing?” shouted Derek.

  “I’m trading with you,” said Burrell. “Your lives for this vehicle. We have a need for it.”

  “No,” shouted Derek. “That’s ours!”

  “I could just as easily kill you and take it,” said Burrell. “I hope you see the generosity of this bargain.”

  “You fuck,” Derek screamed. He tried to stand and run at Burrell but was knocked to the ground as the guard behind him pressed a knee into his back. Another man looped rope around his feet, hog-tying him.

  Teddy surged to his feet. “Don’t hurt my brother,” he roared.

  The man guarding Teddy swung the butt of his rifle in a short, vicious arc, connecting with Teddy’s temple. The blow spun him around, and he toppled into the sand, moaning.

  Derek writhed beneath his captor, flecks of spittle on his lips as he cursed and raged. Now all the captives were on their feet, shouting and scrambling. Rifles were leveled.

  “Stop,” cried Burrell. He strode forward and ordered two men to carry Teddy inside.

  They lifted him clumsily and staggered toward the house, Teddy’s feet dragging behind them.

  Burrell turned to Leggy. “Take your people inside. Wait until morning. Do it now, or I’ll leave you dead in the dirt.”

  “John, gather the gear and bring Maggie inside,” said Leggy. “Sam, tie the mules to the tree and then go tend to Teddy.”

  They moved to their assigned tasks. The two men who carried Teddy to the house now returned for Derek.

  “Will you cut him free?” asked Leggy.

  “No. You can do that once we’ve gone,” said Burrell.

  The men lifted Derek, who continued to flail like a wild animal, and carried him inside. Derek was in a blind rage, screaming and hissing, his limbs straining against the ropes that bound him. Another man started the crawler, and Burrell’s troop climbed up into the trailer bed.

  Leggy looked up at the captain.

  “I make no apologies,” said the man. “Hard decisions are necessary here.”

  “So much for the world healing itself,” said Leggy. “What with men the likes o’ you’s pourin’ salt in her open wounds.”

  Burrell said nothing. He strode to the crawler and climbed into the passenger side. Then the vehicle pulled away, disappearing into the darkening night. Leggy swung himself toward the house. Two men stood nearby, rifles at the ready. At their feet were the meager weapons of Leggy’s band.

  “You’ll get those back tomorrow, old man,” said the guard to the left. “Don’t make things any harder than they need to be.”

  Sa
muel dragged the last of the gear inside. Leggy glanced once more at the guards and then crossed the threshold.

  ***

  Jordan’s house was neat and spare. The scent of dried herbs and cooked meat flavored the air. Teddy was laid out on a soft mat on the floor, holding his swollen temple and rocking back-and-forth. Magdalena dabbed at the injury with a damp cloth. Derek lay on the flagstone floor near the hearth, still bound. John struggled with the knotted ropes, Derek cursing him for his clumsiness.

  Leggy swung himself over to Derek. “I’m gonna unbind you,” he said. “But you gotta promise me you ain’t gonna make a run for it. I think the captain’s as good as his word. Those men outside will shoot you dead if you even poke a toe out that door.”

  “Just cut the fuckin’ ropes,” said Derek.

  Leggy found a knife in Jordan’s small kitchen and slashed the cords. Derek shot to his feet and stripped off the strands tied to his wrists and ankles. He strode over to a pair of wooden shutters and yanked off the bar that held them closed.

  “Easy,” said Leggy.

  Derek opened one shutter and poked his head out. Leggy heard the snak of a shotgun being levered. Derek closed the shutter.

  “What now?” he said, turning to Leggy.

  “We wait.”

  ***

  Hours passed. Teddy complained of a headache. They lit a fire in the fireplace, and John found stores of food in a larder—lamb jerky, a few tubers, onions, dried sage, and a sack of corn. There were half a dozen ratty looking apples, as well, but, remembering Jordan’s complaints of graininess and worms, no one dared sample one.

  Samuel got permission from the guards to fetch water, and he and Magdalena prepared a meal. Once it was ready, they all ate without speaking.

  After supper, Derek peeked through the shutters again. The guards sat with their backs against the apple tree, nearly invisible in the moonlight. One smoked a stubby cheroot, its glowing red eye pointed at the door.