by Brett P. S.
Chapter 3
Threat of the Combine
The Combine prowled the wasteland, a rogue, ruthless group of wanderers with no place to call home. Across South America, they decimated enclaves until the only ones left had forgone contact with the rest of the remaining world. Leon doubted even one enclave in South America still existed. He’d been hopeful for a few decades, but as the silence persisted and reports vanished, he’d come to expect that none were left.
The Combine weren’t trying to rebuild civilization. They relished in anarchy and only cared about what scant resources they could pillage from the surrounding population. If this band hit an enclave the size of Leon’s, they might get more than they bargained for, but he’d rather not risk it. He’d learned to steer clear of risky business when it could be helped.
Leon stood up and slapped Jackson’s back as the highwaymen drove over on motor bikes and one refurbished minivan. Jackson stumbled a step or two but regained his composure in time to shoot Leon a worried glance.
“Don’t worry about them,” Leon said. “Just lay low, and let me do the talking.”
Engines hummed around them as the Combine riders parked in a semi-circle around them. There were two bikers, probably an escort service for the group in the minivan. Leon eyed the windshields, which had been tinted and covered with iron bars for protection. However, he did spot two figures moving about. The driver of the minivan shut off his engine, and the passenger and driver side doors popped open.
On the passenger side, an older man stepped out. He looked somewhere in his late fifties. He wore a jean vest, and his face was riddled with age and stubble. He carried a handgun, a repurposed Beretta from before the collapse. Some of the parts weren’t stock though, and the replacements stunk of shoddy welding. Would the gun fire at all, or was it just for show? Maybe a little bit of both.
Out of the driver’s side stepped a middle-aged woman wearing a thick protective jacket. Her hair had begun to gray, salt and pepper amidst the darker shaded follicles. She’d been doing this for some time, probably a point man for the Combine in North America. She was the head of the serpent. Leon jotted down a mental note. She smiled at him, noticing him eyeing her on the way out, and she tapped her fingers against the broad blade strapped to her thigh.
“Let’s make this quick,” the woman said. “Tell me where you hide your enclave, and I might consider letting you live long enough to clear house.”
Jackson held his breath, and Leon did the same until he’d gathered up some proper retorts.
“Lady, we know your MO,” he said. “You let us walk free and hunt us down later. Besides, I’m not about to hand over my enclave to scum like the Combine.”
The woman shot him an icy glare and unsheathed her broad blade, resting the tip at his throat in one swift motion. She swung with the sort of precision that left less than an inch between the rusty steel and the skin of his neck.
“I would choose your words carefully,” she said.
“But I did,” Leon said. “I told you that I own that piece of rock you want to clean out. I’m the last man you want to threaten, believe me.”
The stubble-faced man cocked his handgun and rested the barrel inches from Leon’s head.
“We don’t need him, Mistress,” the man said. “We have the kid. He’ll talk.”
The woman glanced over toward Jackson briefly before redirecting her gaze back to Leon. She folder her arms and grimaced, letting out a sigh, as if it were too frustrating to take the easier path. Good lord, she was obstinate.
“Fine,” she said, drawing back her sword and gesturing toward Jackson.
The stubble-faced man paused and shrugged. “Should I pop this one first?”
“I suppose,” she replied.
Leon glanced aside in time to catch a slight grin on his killer’s face as his finger eased in on the trigger. If there were ever a time to take back control of the situation, now would be that time. He scanned the situation. The bikers would pose little trouble, but he’d need to do away with the gunman before he took on the head mistress. Lucky for him, the old man didn’t look much like a close combat specialist.
Leon gripped his staff, swerved to the right to avoid the clang of the gun and jabbed the butt end into the man’s gut. Fire crackled and his ears rang from a shot too close to his head, but he kept on through the disorientation. He removed his staff and struck the man on the back of the neck, knocking him out in one go before he turned to face the head mistress.
“Whoa!”
Logan swerved his head in time to keep his nose intact from a near fatal swipe of the woman’s broad blade. She sneered and swung again, this time clawing out a chunk of Logan’s staff. He’d tried to block with it, but the hunk of sharpened metal cleaved through it with little effort on her part.
He had about one good shot before she cut off too much for him to retain his reach advantage. Logan lunged forward and ducked her strike, swinging at her legs. The driftwood hit her good, cracking against her kneecap. He felt something break and turned to see her hobbling on one foot out of his reach.
“Don’t make this too easy,” Logan said.
The woman frowned and pressed back with labored breathing. However, she saw the same thing Logan saw, and she reached for her ace in the hole before he could say a word. She grabbed Jackson by the collar and held her sword to his throat. The dumb kid had been awestruck, and it all happened so quickly.
“Don’t come another step or this one slits down the middle,” she stammered. Logan grinned and calmly strode toward her. “Are you crazy?” she shouted. “Stay back or he dies!”
Logan paused briefly and frowned on the inside. His next words hurt him deeply, but they felt true nonetheless.
“Dozens come and go every year. This little one is no different so go ahead and try.”
Leon clutched his staff in frustration, angry at the situation and himself, watching the woman’s disposition melt as she withdrew the young man from her clutches. Hurriedly, she hobbled across the cracked soil and back into her vehicle. Leon would have liked to pursue her, but that leg wouldn’t heal right regardless. She’d outlived her usefulness as a scout. In the coming months, she’d be lucky get behind the wheel by any stretch of the imagination.
Leon jabbed his staff into the ground and took a seat as the group drove off to worse parts of the wasteland, wherever they came from. He thumbed through a piece of literature to calm himself and prepare for the fallout.
Chapter 4
Separate Ways
An orange sun loomed across the horizon, casting a red glint over the cloudy skies and the barren landscape of a rocky wasteland. The Midwest had suffered enough through futile efforts to reseed the soil. Once the heartland of crops prior to the collapse, it now stood as a lifeless expanse for miles in any direction. Leon closed his book and rested it on the dead man’s carcass. The sun would eat that one up soon enough. He cleared his throat.
“I’m not going back,” Leon said. “Go ahead without me. I’ll find my way.”
“But you are coming back, aren’t you?” Jackson asked. “We need you, you know? The enclave needs you.”
Leon sighed and stood up. “That Combine woman showed me something today, something I’ve been avoiding for the better part of a century. I’m not like your lot, not anymore.”
“Pardon my language,” Jackson said, resting a hand on Leon’s shoulder. “Don’t be stupid. You are the same as every flesh and blood person. You can die like the rest of us in ninety-nine ways out of a hundred.”
Leon brushed off his hand and eyed the emptiness of the wasteland he’d come to know as his home. The dust had settled, leaving no hint of the motorists for the time being. More so, the cover of night would leave the two of them more difficult to track.
“Don’t patronize me,” Leon said. “I’m not saying I won’t join you in a few weeks or months. I just n
eed to think this over. For a person such as myself, that takes a bit.”
Jackson shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss. Do you need any supplies?”
“A new walking stick wouldn’t hurt,” Leon said, holding up the rickety sliced open piece he’d banged against solid bone. “I’ll pick up something along the way though.”
Jackson gave him a thumb’s up and a relic salute gesture before he broke into an eastbound jog.
“Hey,” Leon called out. “One more thing, Jackson. You’re the boss until I return.”
Jackson turned around briefly and the two of them made eye contact. “Understood!”