Wasteland Rules: Kill or Be Killed (The World After Book 1)

by J. G. Martin

  Derek noticed the street was surprisingly clean and empty of any drunken loiterers or bums. At the very end of the street was the Station House. It was a large imposing building of granite and steel. It was larger than the usual Station House and looked well-fortified. He could see several Regulators standing guard outside. There was also an armored vehicle stationed out in front. It stood out because there were no vehicles at all on the main street. He decided he needed a drink before he tried to finagle a transponder.

  He glanced over a Rora. She stood there with her mouth hanging open in awe. This was probably the most civilization she had ever seen. He laughed to himself and shook his head. What had he gotten himself into? She would probably get him killed trying to take her to NASA. But, he had made a promise. One he had modified slightly, but one he would still try to keep.

  First step was to trade in some of their loot for ammo and cash. Derek located a shop with a flashing neon gun above it and dragged the girl with him. She didn’t resist and followed along looking around at everything trying to take it all in. The shop was small and very clean. There was a tiny vestibule for the customer to stand in surrounded on three sides by counters covered with bulletproof glass. On the walls behind the counter guns of all makes, models, and calibers were displayed.

  An older man with a burned in tan, simple but clean clothes, and neatly trimmed beard addressed them. “May I help you?”

  “Yes sir, I would like to trade for some ammo.” Derek replied respectfully.

  “What have you got?”

  Derek pulled out the 9 mm pistols and the shotgun and placed them in a drawer on the counter. He added the extra clips which he had emptied of ammo on the counter as well. The shopkeeper slid the drawer in and inspected the weapons. Derek had cleaned them and checked them out so he knew they were in good shape. The man checked each clip and dry fired the weapons before he was satisfied. He looked at Derek and asked him, “What do you want for them?”

  “I need forty caliber auto rounds and twelve gauge shotgun shells.”

  “I don’t have a lot of either. The forties are hard to come by and the twelve gauge rounds are very popular. I can give you twenty 40 cals and eight twelve gauge shells, plus some cash for these guns.”

  “How much cash?”

  “Two hundred New Republic dollars.”

  Derek hated bargaining. “Those guns are all in good condition, four hundred or I’m walking out.”

  “I can only give you three hundred friend, there are plenty of 9 mm pistols and shotguns out there.”

  It was probably below value, but Derek agreed. There weren’t a lot of places to trade and the ammo from here would be guaranteed to be good. He checked the traded ammo and pocketed the cash. The ammo looked to be in pristine condition. He nodded to the man and then they left.

  The next store down was the general store with gear and clothing displayed in the window behind a steel security grate. Rora moved towards the door and Derek followed. He needed to trade for supplies anyway. Might as well let her think it was her idea to go in. She breezed through the door and went right to the brightly colored clothing on display. He laughed to himself. They looked nice, but bright colors were a bad idea in the wasteland. Keeping a low profile was one of the keys to survival and that clothing would really make you stand out.

  The store was not large but it was packed full of gear and supplies. Tents, lanterns, MREs, and all sorts of military surplus lined the walls. Racks of coats and jackets hung behind the pretty clothing Rora was admiring. Shelves contained blankets, sleeping bags, camp chairs, and all sorts of survival gear. Knives and tools were in reinforced glass cases along one wall that doubled as the counter.

  He let her browse and moved to the counter. A young woman leaned behind there watching Rora shop with a half smirk on her face. Probably laughing to herself at the “rube’s” reaction to the pretty things. Derek checked her out quickly. Attractive, but way too young for him. Just like the older man at the gun store she was dressed simply and very clean. Her hair cut short and she wore no makeup. When she noticed him standing at the counter she straightened up and focused her attention on him. She blushed slightly when she realized he saw her laughing at Rora.

  “What can I get for you today.” She asked, “Maybe a pretty shirt for your woman?”

  Derek snorted. “She’s not my woman. I’m just doing a favor for a friend.”

  The woman made a face that said she didn’t believe him, “Right…”

  In way of response he plunked the backpack full of loot on the counter and started taking parts and tools out. The woman’s eyes widened when she saw the amount of gear he was pulling out. She looked back towards an open door behind her and called out, “Dad, I have a gentleman here who wants to trade.”

  An older man with a grizzled appearance limped out of the back room. Again, he was simply dressed but clean. There must be a dress code in town or some sort of standard for the shopkeepers. The man made his way to the counter and inspected the items on the counter. Then he inspected Derek, looking him up and down. Derek knew he looked a little worse for wear after their troubles getting here, but he wasn’t sure why the man was checking him out so closely.

  Finally, the man spoke. “Where did you get this stuff?”

  Derek was a little non-plussed. Rule #6 usually prevented people from asking that question. It could be hazardous to your health but it was also considered rude. As a matter of fact, no one had ever asked him that question before and he was unsure how to answer it. The owner obviously viewed his hesitation as a sign it was gained immorally or illegally based on his next question and how his hand drifted to a pistol in a holster on his hip.

  “Did you steal it or murder someone to get it?”

  “What?” Derek asked him in surprise. “I’m not sure how it’s any of your business where I got it, but they used to belong to some bikers, a few burners, and some raiders. Fair gotten when I defended myself against their attacks.”

  He opened the other pack to show his trophies. The woman pulled back in disgust when she saw the tattoos Derek had carved off of the raiders foreheads. The shopkeeper’s eyes widened when he saw the number of trophies in the pack. He looked Derek over again and a little fear entered his eyes when he realized how dangerous a man with so many trophies must be. Rora had moved towards the counter when she heard the man’s question, but Derek waved her off and she returned to browsing.

  Derek looked the man straight in the eyes and asked in a very calm but serious voice. “So are we going to trade or what?”

  “Uh sure…” The man stammered, clearly intimidated. “What do you want?”

  Derek glanced around the store and then rattled off a list of supplies including MREs and sleeping bags. The daughter wrote down the list on a piece of scrap paper and nodded that they had each item. As he was going through the list, Rora held up a frilly pink shirt and gave him a questioning look. With a sigh he added that to the list. Maybe she could wear it once she got to NASA. The brilliant smile she gave him when he said yes made it all worth it. When he was done, the owner looked over the list and looked at the pile of gear on the counter.

  “This stuff is worth more than what you are buying, do you want cash or scrip for the remainder?”

  “Scrip?” Derek asked.

  “Paper money only good in town. You get a better exchange rate than if I give you New Republic dollars.” The owner explained patiently as he probably had a thousand times.

  “New Republic dollars is good.”

  Derek didn’t quote a price. He honestly wasn’t sure how much the stuff was worth and he had a feeling the man wouldn’t rip him off. The owner went into the back and came back out in a few minutes with a wad of cash. 225 New Republic dollars in smaller bills to be precise. He shoved the cash into Derek’s hand and immediately began clearing the gear off the counter.

  “Appreciate your business. Melanie here will get your order together and you can pick it up in a few hours.”
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br />   Derek nodded, collected Rora, and headed out the door. He shook his head at the odd encounter and the owner’s questions. Maybe he needed a bath, haircut, and shave? Cleaning himself up might make him more likely to get assistance from the Regulator’s when he asked to go into No Man’s Land.

  Chapter 15

  June 11, 2029

  Freehold of Nevada, MO

  Derek looked up and down the street checking out the signs and advertisements. Flush with cash, he needed to get cleaned up, find some refreshment, and maybe some entertainment. He glanced over at Rora. She was busy cooing to herself over her new shirt. She took off her jacket and started pulling the shirt on over her top. He shook his head and reached over to stop her.

  “Let’s put that away, we don’t want it to get dirty.”

  “But I want to look pretty.” She whined.

  “You look fine now, if you ruin the shirt you won’t be able to wear it when we get to NASA. There are no dry cleaners in the wasteland.” He responded probably a little too sternly.

  She responded with a confused look and then pouted, but tucked the shirt carefully into her pack. Derek starting walking down the street forcing her to follow. He headed towards the most brightly lit saloon with a half-naked neon woman on the sign. When she noticed the sign, Rora stopped suddenly with a look of disgust on her face.

  “Why are we going in there?” She demanded.

  Derek replied with a grin, “Because I need to get a drink, get cleaned up, and get entertained.”

  Rora’s eyes narrowed as she processed what he had said. She glared at him, but he just stared back smiling.

  “I’m sure they have milk and cookies or whatever it is you were thinking we should eat…” he called over his shoulder as he turned and entered the saloon.

  Derek entered a large alcove and made for the double doors that led into the main floor but was stopped by three security guards that appeared from the shadows. They were all large, well-muscled young men. They also sported the clean cut and simply attired look all the citizens here seemed to have. But they wore body armor and carried what looked to be cattle prods. They moved to block his path and from their stances, Derek could see they were well trained to deal with any threat.

  “No weapons.” The middle guard announced. “Leave them in a locker here and you can get them on the way out.”

  The guard gestured towards a wall of lockers that would have looked at home in a bus station. Half were closed, but half hung open and had orange keys dangling from them. Derek shrugged and walked over to the lockers with Rora trailing. He stashed his machete and guns and ammo in the locker and glanced over at the guards. Realizing they were watching him and they would probably search him like at the gate, he stashed his combat knife as well. That left him his ceramic blade which they wouldn’t find. But nobody else should have a weapon either unless it was like his. He slammed the locker shut and took the key.

  The guards stepped aside and let them enter the main floor. They entered into a riot of colors and sound. The inside was large and brightly lit with neon and floodlights. It looked like it might have once been some sort of warehouse. A large stage filled with half naked women gyrating on steel poles dominated the back of the building. They danced in time with the heavy metal beats that vibrated throughout the room. A long bar crowded with men trying to get drinks ran along the right wall. A wide staircase on the left wall ran up to a large balcony on the second floor. Circular tables were packed in on the floor in front of the stage. The tables were crowded with men drinking and hollering at the women on stage. Scantily clad waitresses wove in and out of the throng barely avoiding grabbing hands.

  The crowd was a wild mix of people. Clean and nicely dressed citizens were scattered amongst the main clientele of wastelanders. Dirty and scruffy scavengers sat next to heavily bearded, ball cap wearing Haulers and grease stained, coverall wearing Wreckers. Bounty Hunters of all kinds, obvious from their multiple empty holsters, mingled with heavily pierced Cultists and well attired Traders. Derek even saw a white suited Preacher in the crowd. There also a few women mixed in with the crowd of drunken men.

  Derek led Rora down a short set of steps onto the main floor. He found an empty table in the back and parked Rora there. She only sat down after she wiped off the chair with a cloth she had gotten from somewhere. He used his sleeve to clear the cigarette butts and beer bottles off the table and planted his packs there. He flagged down a waitress and asked what they had to drink.

  “We have home brew beer, Lonestar bottles, house whiskey, white lightning, or clean water.” She informed him.

  “No Jack Daniel’s or Maker’s Mark?” He asked hopefully.

  “Sorry honey, that’s too expensive to get shipped out here. The distillery’s may still be running, but no one distributes it out here.”

  “Okay, give me a Lonestar then and water for the girl.”

  He paid the ridiculous charge of $10 for a bottle of clean water for Rora and $8 for a beer for himself. Clean water could be hard to come by, so the price for that wasn’t too outrageous. But the cost of a beer seemed to be rising. The Lonestar Beer Company was based in Houston, Texas and had a good reputation for making a decent beer without any toxins or impurities. They had a strong distribution network supported by the government. Still, last time he had ordered a beer it had only been $5.

  The main beer companies prior to the Collapse, based in Denver and St Louis, had been wiped out in the Collapse and Aftermath. The U.S.T.G. had its own breweries owned by government cronies that produced the only alcohol legal for consumption in the U.S.T.G.. National Brewery and Distillery in Des Moines, Iowa produced several beers and liquors. But they were mass produced with little taste but high alcohol content. Advertising portrayed drink National beer as patriotic. It was really a means of keeping the masses docile and happy. The upper classes still had access to high end liquor produced before the Collapse.

  Despite the massive amounts of alcohol consumed by Americans prior to the Collapse, little had survived. Most of it had been destroyed or consumed as the country and the world fell apart. The beer that had survived had gone bad and become skunky. Some liquor stockpiles had survived and were grabbed by the various factions or sold on the open market. Small caches of undistributed liquor could still be found and were worth a small fortune.

  The Jack Daniels and Makers Mark distilleries had survived and recently been restarted. But they had a limited distribution area and the costs were high. Limited supplies of grain had driven the prices of beer and whiskey up as the populations had started to rebound. The U.S.T.G. had access to large grain supplies from their Iowa farms and could produce more alcohol more cheaply. But so far they had not exported it outside the U.S.T.G..

  Wine production was nonexistent. The destruction of the vineyards by the crop virus had wiped out the existing wine industry. And the change in weather caused by the Collapse made it impossible to start a new one. Many of the bottles that survived through the Aftermath were soured but some still remain. A bottle of a good vintage can be priceless.

  The home brew was dangerous to consume since it often had toxins and other chemicals added for “flavor”, by accident through contaminated brewing processes, or by using bad water. Moonshine was just as bad, especially since many moonshiners used old radiators in their stills. That didn’t stop a lot of people from drinking it. In the wasteland, where life was cheap and short, a good buzz to help you forget for a while was worth the risk.

  He paid the waitress in New Republic Dollars or NRD for short. They were probably the most stable form of currency in North America and preferred by most merchants. Near U.S.T.G. territory they generally preferred U.S.T.G. Dollars or U.S.TD, but only because the U.S.T.G. only dealt in their own currency. Outside of the U.S.T.G. almost everyone would accept the various currencies or gold and the cost depended on the exchange rates.

  Gold still held the allure that it had before the Collapse, but since demand for jewelry had fallen it was
less valuable. It was a tangible commodity though so it still commanded a high price and was the only currency that could always be converted and couldn’t be counterfeited. The supply of gold had shrunk following the Collapse. Actual gold ownership had been illegal in the United States for years prior to the Collapse, but many people still owned coins and other valuables made of gold. And there were always those who hoarded it illegally.

  The U.S.T.G. had looted all the Federal Reserve stockpiles they could reach following the Collapse, but when they had arrived at Fort Knox the vaults had been empty. There was no sign of a battle but the vault doors had been ripped open and the gold removed. It was suspected that the Collective had taken the gold, but there was no proof. It was well known however, that the Collective always paid in gold.

  Most big sales took place in gold. It was all based on weight so all gold was melted down into one once wafers and ten ounce bars. Currently one ounce was worth five hundred NRD or six hundred U.S.TD. Confederate dollars weren’t as stable and were worth less so the exchange to CCDs was over one thousand.

  When the waitress returned with their drinks he asked her where he could get cleaned up and get more personal entertainment. She smiled, more of a leer really, and gestured towards the staircase. Derek noticed a steady stream of men heading up the staircase and returning ten minutes later with a satisfied grin on their face. He could see several guards at the top collecting money. He nodded and tipped her. He glanced over at Rora and could see that she was totally engrossed in the spectacle.

  Her head was moving from side to side trying to take everything in with wide eyes and a slightly horrified look on her face. This was more people in one place then she had ever seen and with her sheltered upbringing it was probably quite an education.

  “What are all these people?” She asked.

  Derek smiled and between sips of his beer he pointed out a few interesting customers. “The guys in coveralls we saw at the Express Station. They are members of the Wrecker’s Guild. They tow in damaged vehicles at a premium price for stranded owners and repair them. They also scavenge wrecked vehicles for parts or to rebuild and sell. They are based out of Chattanooga and have shops all over the country, except in U.S.T.G. territory. The bearded guys wearing orange ball caps with the blue wheel logo on it are Haulers. They belong to the Hauler’s Guild based out of Indianapolis. They move cargo via armored big rigs throughout the country. Some rigs even have weapons and armed guards. But they are generally considered so vital to survival that only a desperate raider would attack them.”