Wasteland Wonderland - Part 4

by J. L. Harden

  “There’s not enough of them. There’s only a few. Led by the Rangers. They’re the elite, the Special Forces division. They are the spear. The hammer. But they are not enough. You were right. They’ve got Spider tanks and gunships. Their tech is so damned advanced, they could flatten this Ruined City. They could destroy everyone outside of Wonderland with the push of a button if they wanted to. We don’t stand a chance.”

  “Where are the Rangers now?”

  “I don’t know. They disappeared a while back. Got the Wonderland leadership spooked.”

  “They could be dead.”

  “Not dead.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’ve seen them.”

  “Where?”

  “Does it matter?” he repeats, softer, barely whispering.

  He is dying.

  “Yes,” I say. “It matters…”

  “You won’t find them. Not unless they want to be found. You’re better off looking for the Magician. You’ve heard of the Magician, haven’t you? Of course you have. You’re Hector fucking Ramirez.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of the Magician.”

  “He’s the one. You’ll need to go through him. You try and talk to any of the other Raiders, they’ll kill you on sight. Or at least, they’ll try and kill you. There’ll be no talking, no negotiating, they’ll fight you. They’ll fight you to the death. So you need to find the Magician. He wants this war more than anyone. And right now, he’s playing both sides because he thinks it’s the only way. But he wants to fight Wonderland, he wants to destroy it, he wants to die fighting for a cause, he wants to die in battle, in the Wasteland. He wants to die on Earth. He does not want to leave.”

  “Sounds like a madman with a death wish.”

  “That’s pretty accurate.”

  I realize I’ve lowered the machete. I’ve loosened my grip.

  This guy, this Merc, he’s breathing his last and he’s being honest with me about everything.

  About Wonderland.

  About the Rangers and the corruption.

  He’s being honest about everything.

  Everything except Ruby.

  “You’ve found yourself in a unique position,” I say. “Meeting with Wasteland Raiders and Wonderland Enforcers. This is a rare thing, this meeting. I’ve never seen anything like it. And I’ve seen a lot of things.”

  “We woke up, Hector. Why don’t you? You could make a real difference.”

  “I am awake. For the first time in my life… I’m awake. And I know exactly what I was put on this Earth for.”

  The Merc is no longer afraid. He knows this is the end. So I ask him one last time… “Who killed Ruby?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. All I know is, you’re supposed to be dead.”

  I think about leaving him here to bleed to death…

  But then he says, “Do it. Don’t make a mess of it.”

  So I take his head and I end his life and I leave his body for the Raiders, for any twisted thing bold enough to venture this far into the Ruined City.

  Chapter 10

  I kneel at the mouth of an alleyway with three dead Conspirators behind me. I’m scanning the street. This particular street is clogged with abandoned cars and old dune buggies and old military vehicles. I imagine a struggle here, once upon a time, in those final days of civilization. I imagine a city full of people gripped with fear and panic.

  The final words of the Merc repeat over and over in my head.

  “This is the end,” he said. “This is it. There’s no tomorrow. No future. The girl was just the start. She knew. She had to know. That’s why she ran.”

  For some reason his words sound familiar, like I’ve heard them all before.

  A distant echo.

  The final words of Rob follow right after the dead Merc’s words.

  Find the killer. Find the truth.

  The Merc didn’t know who killed Ruby, and after careful consideration, I believe him. I took his head and his life anyway. I did this because I had to. Because if I didn’t take his head, and if through some miracle he survived his wounds, he would’ve come after me. Nothing personal. It’s just the way of the world.

  It was also the kinder option. A quick death is a good death. A quick death is a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

  Anyway, before I granted him mercy, he told me that there’s an elite team of Enforcers known as the Rangers, hiding somewhere in the Wasteland. Rob said the same thing. He told me that these guys are the best. That they operate behind enemy lines, outside the walls of Wonderland, out in the Wasteland for months at a time. He said they might be hiding in the Canyons, or they might be hiding right here, in the Ruined City. My guess is they’re hiding here, amongst the crumbling skyscrapers. Sure they would. They’d want to stay close to the action, to the killing.

  The only problem is they don’t want to be found. This means I’m better off tracking down the Wasteland Raider known as the Magician. The Magician probably doesn’t want to be found either, but this city is crawling with Raiders.

  Scouts in every other building, on every block…

  This shouldn’t be too hard. All I need to do is take a walk. Announce myself. And the rats and the Raiders will come sniffing.

  So I take a walk down the middle of a once magnificent boulevard of a street. I am surrounded by skyscrapers, by man-made structures taller than they have any right to be. Way taller than necessary. I crane my neck skyward and these monolithic buildings are reaching up to the Red Giant, up to the heavens and the stars, guiding the last of us to the great continental Arks.

  Sand has blown up against the base of these buildings, forming huge, mountainous sand dunes. I stick to the shadows cast by the mountains and the skyscrapers. I tell myself it makes a difference, that it provides relief from the heat. But this is a fantasy. This is a dream. There is no relief. I haven’t even walked two blocks yet and already my heart is pounding, working overtime. I feel weak. My hands are shaking. I remember Ruby’s killer, a tall and thin man with powerful limbs, I remember he had used poisons on her. And on me. Maybe he wasn’t a man. Maybe he was something else. I’m trying to remember, trying to think back. But I can’t. Anyway, this guy, he’d used a rare and deadly poison on me. It was his weapon of choice. He’d jabbed me with a syringe full of the stuff. So much so that my legs and arms felt like lead, felt like I was moving through water, through quicksand. Eventually my limbs became numb and limp and useless.

  I’m starting to feel these effects all over again. Maybe the poison’s not completely out of my system yet. Then again, maybe it’s just the heat. This is probably the longest I’ve been above ground without the aid of a thermo suit. And now I’m trying to remember the last time I was above ground, the last time I was out in the Wasteland. Alone. Exiled. And while I’m trying and failing to remember my past, to remember crucial and important events and information, I suddenly realize I am not alone. The Geiger counter strapped to my wrist starts making a noise, starts giving off a reading.

  I look up and down the street.

  Mutants?

  No…

  Up ahead I see a Wasteland Raider.

  He’s alone, standing in the middle of the street. Machete in his hand.

  Wasteland Raiders are tough. More than tough, they’re dangerous and mad. Driven insane by living above ground, living underneath the Red Giant. There’s one lone Raider. And I’m thinking I can take him. I can take one Wasteland Raider. Even in my condition.

  But then there are two…

  Three…

  Half a dozen.

  An old dune buggy that’s been converted into a Sunspeeder comes out of nowhere. And now there’s a dozen Wasteland Raiders. The Geiger counter is flashing red, making a hell of a racket.

  Another Sunspeeder.

  I’m expecting more Wasteland Raiders. But stepping out of the Sunspeeder is a team of highly advance, highly trained soldiers.

  An elite team of Enfor
cers.

  The Rangers.

  They are heavily armed with super hi-tech weaponry. They are wearing thermo suits and full headgear and breathing equipment. They are wearing light and impenetrable body armor. And I can’t see their faces. When one of them speaks, it sounds as though he is speaking through a radio.

  “Target confirmed,” he says.

  And now more Raiders pour out of the nearest building. There’s now over two dozen Raiders.

  A small army.

  A horde.

  I am surrounded. I have a machete and a shiv and two knives but I don’t think this will be enough. Two of the Raiders are armed with old machine guns. They may or may not be loaded. The Rangers are armed with hi-tech rapid fire guns that could cut me in half in a heartbeat.

  And now there’s this weird silence. A calm before a storm, before the bomb drops.

  And then a Raider says, “You make too much noise.”

  “Wasn’t trying to be quiet.”

  “You trying to commit suicide?”

  “I got no gripe with you. I’m tracking a killer. The son of a bitch who killed my girl. I just want information.”

  There is more silence and the Raiders close in.

  “My name is Hector Ramirez. The Exiled. Wasteland Survivor. Just like you.

  “We know who you are. And no, you are nothing like us.”

  “I will defend myself.”

  “No, you won’t. Not if you want to live. We know everything, Hector. Step into the Sunspeeder.”

  “I might not kill all of you,” I say. “But some of you will die right now, on this day, if you don’t cooperate.”

  “If you want to meet with the Magician, you will come with us.”

  I’m expecting a fight, but there’s no fight. There’s no violence. No blood spilled in the streets of the Ruined City, in the dust of the Wasteland.

  One of the Rangers, a hulking warrior of a man, he turns to one of the Raiders armed with a machine gun and he says, “We helped you track him down. We helped you bring him in. That’s worth at least two of my men.”

  “I agree. But you’ll need to take it up with the Magician.”

  “If my men are hurt,” the Ranger says. “If you’ve laid a finger on them, if you’ve taken a slice, we will level this city. We will burn you and bury you underneath the rubble of these buildings.”

  “As far as I know, your men are fine.”

  “They better be. Our whole agreement depends on it.”

  “I’m well aware of that. But remember, you need us just as much as we need you.”

  I’ve found myself in the middle of something… a strange and shaky alliance. And there’s nothing to do except to go with the flow. So I get into the Sunspeeder because I’m too weak to resist, to do anything. I’m too fatigued and exhausted to figure out what’s going on and too stupid.

  They take the Geiger counter off me and smash it on the ground.

  And I can’t figure out why an elite team of Enforcers has made an agreement with the Wasteland Raiders. And why have those Enforcers willingly given men, soldiers, brothers, over as hostages and collateral?

  Yeah, I’m too stupid to figure this out and my mind is cloudy and foggy. I can’t think straight, can’t connect the dots. Can’t fit the puzzle pieces together. I’ve been exposed to the surface temperature for too long. No thermo suit. Just this old heat resistant coat. And I use the term ‘heat resistant’ loosely. I can’t even remember how I got to the surface, to the Ruined City. The world spins and my memory is failing me. Hard to think straight. Hard to remember.

  Wait.

  I had help.

  From Rob.

  He helped me escape from the quarantine facility. Yeah, I remember now. But it’s hard to think. It shouldn’t be this hard. It’s almost impossible. Don’t know why. And I know I’m not the smartest man alive but I’ve never experienced anything like this before.

  All I know is the bastard who killed Ruby, he’s still out there, still on the run.

  I need answers and these Raiders said they can get me a meeting with the Magician. The Magician has the answers. He has all the answers. I’m convinced he does. So I get in the back of the Sunspeeder and the Rangers disappear because that’s what they do and now I’m in the custody of the Wasteland Raiders. Normally, this is not where you want to be. Normally you don’t want to find yourself anywhere near these psychopaths. But I’ve got no choice.

  We drive through the city fast and carefree. Son of a bitch is driving like a madman, driving like he owns this city, like he’s the only other person on these roads, which I guess he is. There’s no one else around, no one else with a vehicle like this. And maybe he does own the city, just by being here, just by staking his claim. Who is left to challenge him? No one. These guys own the city. They own the Wasteland.

  This particular Sunspeeder has specially designed wheels for sand and dust. It is truly capable of traversing any and all terrain. On more than a few occasions we get airborne, the driver using the sand dunes to launch himself high into the air.

  We quickly arrive at another non-descript building, another skyscraper, crumbling and desolate, looking as though it’s on the brink of collapse, just like every other building in this city, like every other building on Earth.

  We are greeted by another Raider who may or may not be the Magician.

  And he says, “Take this poor bastard and beat him. Beat him until he breaks, until his spirit is broken. And then throw him in the Pit.”

  “I was promised answers,” I say. “I was promised a meeting with the Magician.”

  “There are no promises in the Wasteland. Except for death.”

  The bastard is smiling as he tells me the only promise is death and I feel like I’ve been set up. Like I’ve been played for a fool.

  There’s a chance to run.

  I’m still outside.

  I can run.

  And I think about doing just that. I picture it. I dream about it. Fantasize about it.

  But then something is pressed into my back.

  A stick.

  A baton.

  And then my body convulses and spasms and lightning shoots through my body. Every bit of flesh and all the muscles and tendons tighten up to a point where it’s impossible to move. It takes me a long time to realize I’ve been electrocuted.

  I fall to my knees. I scramble, still trying to run.

  I am electrocuted again.

  And then I lose complete control of my legs and my arms. And I can’t run or stand or crawl or move. My whole body is convulsing out of control.

  They drag me into a room.

  And then it begins…

  They tie me up with old electrical cords. They tangle me up in a spider web of rubber tubing and insulation. They whip me with it repeatedly. And then they beat me with wooden sticks and baseball bats. So many baseball bats, like someone, or maybe all of them raided an old sporting goods store. They hit me hard enough for it to hurt, hard enough to bruise, but not hard enough to break my bones. They are precise. The torture has purpose. They are in this for the long haul. I open my mouth to scream but no sound escapes my mouth. A baseball bat slams into my gut, taking my breath away, forcing the air from my lungs.

  I can’t breathe. I pass out.

  When I come to, they are still beating me.

  Carefully. With purpose.

  The whipping and flogging finally breaks my skin and I begin to bleed profusely.

  Blood covers the floor in long streaking arcs.

  My blood. My life.

  The electrical cord is whipped across my back and I clench my fists and I’m ready to lash out, I’m ready to fight back. But I can’t stand and I can’t fight and I can’t do anything.

  The beating stops.

  “Take him to the holding cell. Put him with the others.”

  My face is so swollen it’s difficult to open my eyes, difficult to focus my vision.

  But I manage.

  I manage to get a
good look at the son of a bitch in charge.

  He could be the Magician. He might have answers.

  I feel blood drip down my back, down my legs, down my arms and off my fingertips. I’m dragged down a set a stairs. I’m not sure exactly where I am. I think I’m in a decrepit building in the middle of the Ruined City. A building with solid walls and solid doors. A building that has been converted into a holding cell for their prisoners.

  Not sure why I’ve been captured.

  Is it because I’ve killed Raiders?

  No.

  I killed those Raiders in a fair fight. They wouldn’t go to this trouble, they wouldn’t imprison me for that.

  A fair fight and a good death is what a Wasteland Raider desires above all else.

  So I’m starting to feel like I’ve been set up. But by who? And why?

  Is it because I’m getting close?

  Find the killer. Find the truth.

  Yeah. I’m getting close. I’m getting real close.

  All of a sudden I’m thrown into a large holding cell full of dead and dying and broken men. A gate is slammed shut behind me. And then someone is standing on the other side of the gate.

  He says his name is Kilgore. But everyone calls him the Magician because he makes problems disappear, he makes people disappear.

  It’s a good story.

  But I know it is just a story.

  I know the name is a fake, an alias. I know this man is an apprentice. The real Magician is a woman. A genius. A puppet master. I don’t know how I know this, I just do. This fact pops into my mind, fresh and clear as day, as if conjured up and recalled by magic. My mind finally clears, even if it’s only for a moment, and I can remember this fact.

  The Magician is a woman.

  She pretends to be many.

  The trick she is using is an old one but a good one. When few, appear to be many. She realized early in life that if she wanted to survive, if she wanted to rule the Wasteland and the Wasteland Raiders, she’d need to be smarter and more ruthless and more cunning than the next son of a bitch in line. She’d need to be dangerous and deadly and feared, more so than any of the other Raiders. She knew she would need to spend her life accumulating power. She would need to do this every day, every night, every month and every year. She would need to leverage this power and wield it with single minded ferocity.