Wasteland

by Ann Bakshis

  “Rena,” he shouts, as he walks over to the bar.

  He carries himself like an alpha male, only he can’t be much older than me. His brown hair hangs loose around his ears at the front, but dusts his shirt collar at the back.

  “Quin, I’ve told you time and time again not to do that,” Rena reprimands him.

  “I can’t help it,” he grins, plopping down on the stool next to mine. “Where’s Terrance? I have goods for him.”

  “He’s in the backroom,” Rena says, nodding towards the back door.

  Quin scopes out the room just like I had when I first entered. I feel his eyes settle on me and stay.

  “Why does she get food and I don’t?” Quin says in a pouty voice.

  “I hate when you’re in one of these moods.” Rena slides the plate over to him, but he doesn’t pick up a sandwich.

  “Who is she?” Quin demands, still staring at me.

  “You can ask her yourself, but if she’s smart she’ll continue to ignore you.”

  I crack a smile then ask Rena where the bathroom is since the water has finally moved from my stomach to my bladder. She points to the back door and tells me that it’s down the hall between the storeroom and bedroom. I take Devlan’s package with me, not trusting Quin, who continues to watch as I make my way through the door.

  The hallway is in worse shape than the bar area.

  Parts of the floor have been eaten away by some kind of animal; planks have been placed along joists to make a path to travel down. Terrance is busy rearranging boxes in the storeroom as I pass by, noticing that many of the boxes have the same strange red and black decal. I find the bathroom and use it quickly because it smells of decay, mildew, and vomit. As I go back, Quin is standing in front of the door, barring me from going any further.

  “I’ve never seen you around here before,” he begins, “and I know everyone who lives in the Wasteland.”

  “Apparently you don’t,” I reply, shoving him out of my way. “Rena, do you have something I can carry this in? I rode my bike here,” I ask as I walk to the bar, placing the package on the counter.

  “Sure just give me a second,” she says, laughing as she goes past Quin and down the hall.

  “So, where do you live?” he inquires after regaining his composure.

  “Around.”

  He takes hold of my arm, spins me around, and grabs my face with his other hand forcing me to look up at him, my feet rising a few inches off the floor.

  “Be careful, little girl, people have a way of disappearing around here.”

  I feel the anger in his eyes bore into me, the heat from his flesh burns.

  “You should watch who you threaten.”

  I grab his fingers squeezing my face and bend them back until he relinquishes. He loosens his grip, but holds tightly onto my arm, so I plant my boot into his left knee, smiling as I hear the crack and he crumples to the floor.

  My anger can be quite dangerous, but sometimes it comes in handy.

  “Here you go,” Rena says nonchalantly. She is holding out a black leather satchel to me, Devlan’s package inside. “Come again, hon’.” She gives me a big hug and waves to me as I exit the house, the satchel strung across my chest.

  I wonder how long Rena had been standing there watching Quin and I tussle.

  I feel a grin spread across my face as I exit the door, walk down the porch, and head to the back.

  A laugh catches in my throat as I replay the image of Quin crumpling under my boot, but my joy is short-lived. I find my motorbike gone. My helmet is lying a few yards away, with the visor cracked. Lifting the lid off of the dumpster, I toss the mangled item in, slamming the lid shut, trying to help vent my anger, but not fully vanquishing the rage building. The air is superheated and burns my skin the longer I stay in one spot, so the only thing left for me to do is to begin my long journey home on foot.

  The sun rises higher in the sky, causing the temperature to increase, forcing me to remove my leather jacket and stuff it in the satchel. Sweat pours down my face right into my eyes, along with a river running into my boots from my legs. I have to suppress the strong desire to take off my boots and walk home barefoot.

  All sorts of deadly creatures live in the desert and not all of them are visible.

  As thirst and heat begin to get the better of me, I finally spot the turn off for home. I drag my sore hot body down the lone driveway, eyeing not the house, but the water barrel along the south side of the property.

  Dropping the satchel to the ground, I open the spigot and drink as much as my stomach will hold, drenching my face and hair in an effort to cool the outer layer of skin. I shut off the flow, pick the satchel back up, and go inside the house, listening as Devlan putters around in his workroom below. I should go there first, but my clothes are soaking, which makes my first priority a change in attire. In the bathroom I discard every piece clinging to me then step quickly into the small hallway, diving into my room as I hear Devlan open the pantry door.

  “Meg, is that you?”

  “Yes. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  I know the remainder of the day will be dedicated to my training, so I put on cotton shorts, a tank top, brush out my hair, secure it back into a ponytail, and slip on my running shoes. I go to fetch the satchel that I dropped on the couch in the living room, but it’s not there. Devlan tosses me my jacket just as I’m entering the kitchen, the satchel resting in his lap.

  “Go out back and start setting up, I’ll be out there shortly,” he says, standing up and heading to the pantry door.

  I exit the back door, walk down the steps, and over to the clapboard storage shed that leans against the house. Inside sits one working battle droid, five ten-pound boulders, random scraps of metal, several detonators, and an arm brace for the Beta gun.

  I set out the boulders in a semi-circle thirty yards from the house, placing a detonator on top of each. I head back to the shed and drag out the battle droid, along with my arm brace. I slide the sleeve of the brace up my right bicep, securing it in place by a thick black Velcro strap, making sure the rest of the brace, which is used to help steady my aim, is not too tight around my arm. Although the Beta gun is lightweight, the toll it takes on my body when using it causes muscle spasms, and the brace is there to prevent too much movement. The last strap I secure is the glove around the palm of my hand, into which I wiggle my fingers, checking my circulation.

  As I begin to work the knobs on the battle droid to get it functioning, Devlan steps out with the Beta gun and a newly repaired Levin gun.

  “Don’t fuss with that,” he says, as he swipes at the droid. “Let’s see how this goes today before we bother with that junk.”

  I leave the droid and walk over to the small wicker table that sits on the edge of the cracked terra cotta patio. Devlan sets each gun down as well as a small first aid kit that he has tucked under his arm. I pick up the Beta gun and examine the energy chamber in the handle, but notice it’s empty.

  “Devlan, I can’t use this,” I say, as I hold up the gun for him to inspect. “It hasn’t been charged.”

  “I know.”

  I look at him quizzically, trying to ascertain his motive for giving me an unloaded weapon. “What do you expect me to do with it?”

  “Well, for starters, I want you to use the Levin gun.” He picks it off of the table, handing it to me, and removes the Beta gun from my other hand. “After that we’ll see what happens.”

  “Happens? Happens with what?”

  “Oh, I removed all the safety features from the Levin gun.”

  “You did what?” I shout at him. “I’ll blow my arm off if I try and use it without those.”

  “I have a theory.”

  “You and your theories! What makes you think any of your theories will work? When have they ever worked?”

  Devlan looks genuinely pained at my comment.

  I feel guilty for saying it, but it’s the truth.

  H
is theories have rarely worked. Sometimes I’ve felt like nothing more than his own personal experiment, watching, waiting to see how my body will respond to his various forms of torture. The removal of the safety attributes for the gun is most worrisome. The energy the gun produces is beyond destructive. The Beta gun will simply put small holes in the items it hits, but the Levin gun will create a much bigger blast hole, even with the safety features on. If they are off, it can cause its target to shatter, no matter the size.

  The power is beyond control without the needed protections.

  I reluctantly look at the gun in my hand, sigh in assent, and slide the handle of the weapon into the grip of my glove, listening for the click as the nodules on the grip sync with the ports in the glove.

  With the safety features disabled, pressure begins to build in the palm of my hand and flow up my arm.

  It’s a sensation I’ve never felt before. It doesn’t hurt, but I feel as if an electrical charge has begun to pulse through my body, slow at first, then faster. I’m not sure what to make of it.

  Stepping closer to the boulders, I aim at the detonator blinking red on top of the rock to my right. I hesitate, not sure if I should squeeze the trigger, afraid of what might happen. Glancing over at Devlan, he nods with his arms crossed against his chest. I look back at the detonator, taking a deep breath as I pull the trigger.

  An intense pain rushes up my arm, and my right shoulder blade explodes from the wave as it finds an exit out of my body.

  A shrill scream fills the air - coming from me.

  I drop the gun and crumple to the ground, feeling the warm flow of blood running down my back. I begin to rip at the arm brace that is holding my useless limb together, but Devlan grabs my hand, indicating for me to stop. My throat is raw from screaming, but I continue until no sound can come out. Devlan squats down with his first aid kit, rummaging around until he comes up with a syringe containing a creamy white liquid.

  I begin to push him off of me as he advances with the needle.

  For a man so old he is incredibly strong.

  He subdues me, cradling me in a hug as he reaches over my right shoulder and injects the liquid into the mangled flesh that was my back. I begin to convulse as shock sets in; dry heaves take over and I shake uncontrollably. Devlan disappears from my view, but returns moments later with a thick wool blanket that he wraps around me. He sits back down next to me.

  Why isn’t he cleaning my wound? I wonder. And what was that shot?

  As the minutes slowly pass I begin to feel better. The pain in my back is subsiding…I no longer shake. As I continue to stare at Devlan, he seems to be mentally assessing the situation. I try and find my voice to speak, but it’s gone, only a whisper remains.

  “What did you give me?” I finally croak.

  “Quarum, it’s to help with the healing.”

  The more time that passes, the better I feel.

  Gingerly, I begin to remove the straps from the brace. Devlan helps to slowly pull down the sleeve, stopping every few moments as I wince at the residual discomfort. My eyes remain closed, afraid of what I might see. I no longer feel blood running down my back, but that appears to be the only good news so far. With one last gentle tug the brace is removed and I open my eyes to stare down at my arm.

  Considering the agony I was in just minutes before, the damage is surprisingly minimal.

  There are two small holes in the palm of my hand from the ports in the glove that are getting smaller and smaller. A thick blue line snakes around my forearm, through my elbow, and ensnaring my bicep, before disappearing just below my shoulder. This must be the place where the energy found the weakest point in my body and exited out my back.

  “What the hell is this?” I cry, pointing to my arm.

  “You’ll be fine, Meg,” Devlan says, as he tries to comfort me. “You’re going to be okay. Why don’t you go into the house and change?”

  I’m shocked by Devlan’s behavior. You would think he would be more concerned with the damage he has caused me, but he’s taking it all in stride. I, on the other hand, am terrified by what has just happened.

  What is this line? What does this mean? What has he done to me?

  Still in shock, I reluctantly get up, almost losing my balance. Devlan catches me, helping to right me. I drop the blanket on the ground and retreat into the house where I begin to scour the rooms for a small hand mirror so I can check out the damage to my back. I finally locate one at the bottom drawer of my dresser, so I step into the bathroom, shutting the door and removing my blood-soaked shirt. I drop the garment into the sink, turn my back against the mirror, and lift the hand mirror to see the reflection.

  The raw angry flesh pokes out in spots, but is healing rapidly. Several scars begin to form. Usually when I heal my skin heals smoothly, but this wound is too horrific to mend nicely. I continue to watch as the redness turns gradually lighter, then back to my normal skin color. Using my left hand, I try to reach over my shoulder and touch the area. Black charred spots flake off, replaced by clean pink skin. Twenty minutes after the Levin gun destroyed my shoulder blade, the only remnants of the mishap are four jagged scars around a small circular spot. I look down at my hand and I see two new freckles in my palm, but the blue line remains, diminished some in intensity.

  I leave the bathroom, enter my room, and put on a clean shirt. Devlan is still sitting on the ground where I left him when I return. He looks up at me, the pained look has returned to his face.

  “You all right?” he asks, as I reach down and pick up my arm brace, which is lying in his lap.

  “I’m fine,” I lie, not wanting to show how much I hate him right now.

  I begin to put the brace back on, noticing it’s undamaged, but Devlan places his hand on top of mine.

  “I don’t think you’ll need that anymore.” He takes the brace, walks over to the table, and picks up the Beta gun, handing it to me. “Try it now.”

  “There isn’t any power in it,” I remind him.

  He thrusts the gun into my hand, almost hitting me in the stomach.

  I shake my head, take the gun, aim, and fire at the detonator I’d been aiming at before. A small burst of blue energy leaves the muzzle, exploding the detonator on impact. I have to blink my eyes a couple of times to make sure I’m seeing correctly.

  The energy for the gun came from me.

  What the hell? I think to myself. How is that possible?

  What am I?

  Somewhere inside, pleasure begins to grow. I fire at the remaining detonators with the same results. Devlan is beaming with joy. Apparently his theory, whatever it is, worked.

  I spend the next several hours battling the droid, dodging its slashes and fire as I move from boulder to boulder, sometimes having to jump a gap of ten feet between rocks. I’m able to take out two of the droid’s Pugio blades, long swords that have a thick blade with a curved tip, before I’m taken down by a Levin gun blast; another scar to live with. I heal shortly after the injury, but there isn’t any mark remaining. My wound has healed a lot quicker this time than before.

  What, exactly, was in that syringe Devlan injected me with? Did the Quarum speed up my healing ability even more?

  The sun is setting, so I have to stop and help Devlan clean up the mess I made from the best training day I’ve had thus far. Scraps from the detonators are placed into a small tin trashcan, and the battle droid is shut down and stored back in the shed. Devlan takes the guns back into the house. I step inside the shed and turn off the generator.

  When I get back to the house Devlan is cooking dinner on the gas stove, with several rush lights so he can see. I head to the bathroom to take a shower in the cold water, which feels good against my hot skin. Goosebumps form on my arms and legs, but I stay in anyway. When I hear Devlan call that dinner is ready, I step out and wrap myself up in a robe, putting my hair up in a towel. We can’t keep fresh meat or vegetables in the fridge since it’s not constantly running, so canned foods are our most commo
n staple. I’m not much of a fan of canned stew, but I devour two hefty helpings.

  As soon as the kitchen is cleaned up, I go to my room, rummaging in the dark for a clean pair of shorts and pajama top, but wind up putting on a pair of running shorts and a tank top since all my other clothes appear to be dirty. I know I should go to bed, but I’m too wired from the day. As I look down at my arm, I’m alarmed to see a slight blue glow radiating from my injury.

  Great, and now I glow in the dark too, I think, shaking my head in disbelief.

  I don’t want the scar to be visible, but I really don’t have any long sleeves to cover it up with except for my leather jacket, which I can’t wear constantly in this heat. The sleeve part of the brace pops into my head. The material is thin but durable, and I didn’t notice the wound in my arm until I took it off, so it should conceal the glow quite well. I exit the house, open up the storage shed, and locate the brace on the bottom shelf. I go back into the house, wondering where to work since I don’t have rush lights in my room. Devlan is working down below, so I open up the pantry door and make my way into his workshop.

  He doesn’t look up as I pull a stool over and place the brace on a workbench next to him. Looking around at the tools, I reach for a pair of pliers to use to gently work the material free from its rough-sewn exterior. I try not to snag or tear the sleeve as I carefully labor the next hour extracting it, leaving the Velcro strap on for the bicep so I have a way to secure it. I slip the sleeve on, fastening it at the top most section of my arm. It looks a bit out of place with the rest of my clothing, but it covers every inch of the glowing line. I leave the brace section on the workbench and head upstairs to go to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Acrid smoke fills my lungs.

  I open my eyes, but only see orange flames flicker in the distance as ash thickens the air. The wailing of sirens is overpowered by the screams and cries of the children around me. The door into our bedroom is sealed. My bed is closest to the door, so I try to squint through the air to see if anyone is coming to our rescue. I notice a woman trying frantically to open the portal, screaming silently.