The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  “Uhh, sure,” I say. Though the sudden kindness from him is strange, I don’t really have any alternatives but to accept his help. “Thanks!”

  He crouches next to the fallen bags and pauses, hand hovering over one. Suddenly he pulls out a knife and drags the blade down the length of it. The fabric rips loudly and easily. A mass of moist red meat begins to ooze out of the tear, spilling sloppily into the dirt. There’s no skin or bone to be seen, just a mound of wet, raw meat.

  And, oh God, the smell. It hits me like a slap to the face. I choke on the putrid air, gagging.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” I ask, my voice squeaky with surprise. Ignoring me, he plunges his hand into the puddle of meat and sifts around. I find myself filled with inexplicable apprehension, and some very explicable disgust, as I watch. He freezes, and gradually withdraws his hand, now in a closed fist. He unfurls his fingers one after another.

  Resting in his hand is a bloody human finger.

  “Shit,” I say.

  Oh, holy goddamn shit.

  “Sharks,” he snarls, turning a burning gaze toward me.

  Sharks.

  People will do a lot to survive. Everyone in the wastes understands that. Scavengers, thieves, whores, raiders … everyone knows they’re just trying to stay alive. But even in the desperate, lawless world of the wastelands, sharks are hated by all. They practice the last taboo, the one globally acknowledged evil, the act too immoral and repulsive and unfathomable to be accepted: cannibalism.

  The bags tumble from my numb arms, toppling one by one and smacking against the ground. I hold on to the last one, sticking it out in front of me like a shield, but I hastily drop it as I remind myself what’s inside. The townsman rises to his feet, knife clutched in his hand.

  “Stop the others!” he roars, and the townies scramble to obey. “I’ll take care of him.”

  He takes a step toward me.

  “Actually, I’m a gi—” The glint of his blade reminds me how very unimportant that is right now. I step back, raising my hands palms out. “Wait, wait, just hold on a second here—” He continues his advance. “I’m no shark! I’m not even with them! I mean, sure, I got here with them and all—” And I was about to leave with them, too. Shit. This really does not look good for me.

  My foot catches on a rock as I back away. I stumble, pinwheel helplessly, and topple over. I hit the ground hard. The townsman is just a few feet away now, knife raised and face twisted in a righteous fury, ready to avenge all of the crimes against humanity he thinks I’ve committed. Aw, hell, I always knew I was gonna die over something stupid. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  There’s a sudden roar, a rush of movement. My eyes fly open just in time to see a familiar jeep hurtling at the townsman.

  He dives for safety, arms outstretched, and lands belly-up on the dirt several feet away from me. The jeep flies past. Chest heaving, he rises again. Knife still clutched in his hand, he turns and lunges toward me, but the jeep is already making a sharp turn.

  His eyes bulge as he turns to face the oncoming vehicle, and—

  Crunch.

  The driver, Dolly this time, drives back and forth a few times to ensure he’s well and truly dead, while Wolf whoops appreciatively from the passenger seat.

  Disgust and gratitude fight for control of my mind. On one hand, I just saw someone die—messily. On the other, he was going to kill me. I guess I’m not really sure how I should feel right now, so I save my judgments and stand up.

  Wolf extends his hand from the nearby jeep, grinning.

  “The hell you waiting for, kid?”

  As if this is perfectly ordinary. Then again, it could be for them. I hesitate, letting my gaze drift to the townie’s body and then quickly dragging it back to Wolf. Do I really want to stick around two people who could do that to a man and grin about it? Scratch that—two sharks? I’m not really sure. Then again, it’s either these two sharks or a mob of angry townies at my heels, and the sharks have been quite a lot nicer to me. They even came back for me.

  “You saved me,” I say, the statement rising at the end into an almost-question. “Umm, thanks.” I step forward to grab his hand and pull myself up, but Wolf shakes his head.

  “Get the cargo first!”

  Or maybe they came back for that. My nose wrinkles, but I stifle my disgust and start heaving sacks into the jeep. If they’re my ticket out of here, I’m not complaining.

  A few bags into the job, a loud bang nearly makes me jump out of my skin. I whip around to see one of the townies in the distance, pointing a gun at me.

  “Aw, calm the hell down, kid. There’s no way he can shoot us from that far away,” Wolf says.

  I nod shakily and toss in another bag.

  There’s another bang, and then the unmistakable sound of a bullet sinking into the ground just a few feet to my left. I freeze, wide-eyed.

  “Then again, I could be wrong,” Wolf says. “It happens occasionally. Get in.”

  I hop into the backseat and burrow into the pile of bags, just moments before the jeep jerks forward and we roar toward freedom.

  IV

  The Mob

  “No, no, not that way!” Wolf is shouting. “We gotta drive through—for fuck’s sake, not toward the townie with the gun!” He lets out a long string of swear words that don’t make much sense when used together, followed by “Oh, shit, they’re gonna shoot for our ti—”

  The jeep swerves. Bags slide and thud, and I find myself crushed by them. A loud crash, and the jeep shudders with the impact of hitting something heavy. The engine whines with the struggle, a pathetic sound lasting only a few seconds before we jerk to a stop.

  My head spins. I gasp for air. Someone grabs me by the shoulder and drags me out of the jeep, only to drop me on the ground again. I pry my eyes open to see Wolf. His lips are moving, but my brain is too jumbled to make any sense of the words or bring myself to move. He gives up on me, rummages through the jeep, and pulls out a ragged duffel bag.

  I manage to drag myself to my feet as my ability to think returns. We seem to have crashed inside one of the ruined buildings. A makeshift covering of sheet metal and cloth lies crushed under the jeep’s wheels.

  “Staircase!” Wolf barks. I turn in a full circle and a half before locating the barely intact stairs. Wolf is already clambering up them. I take a step forward, skid on loose gravel, and fall flat on my face. Groaning, I rise up to my knees, shaking my still-spinning head in an attempt to clear it. I’m distantly aware of shouts and howls from outside. The townies are closing in. I will myself to move, but with my vision swimming and my legs shaky it’s hard to get my body and mind to cooperate.

  A hand closes around my arm and yanks me to my feet.

  “Come on,” Wolf says gruffly. “You lookin’ to get torn apart by those townies or something?” He half-carries, half-drags me up the stairs. By the time we reach the top I’ve regained my sense of balance.

  The second level of the building seems on the verge of collapse. The roof is torn off and the wooden floorboards are smashed up and unsteady, with a big chunk caved in to the left of the staircase. The wall across from us gapes with holes, letting sunlight and sound pour in. I dash over to find a relatively safe spot against the wall and peer out. It provides a clear view of the street below.

  Townies are swarming the building. They look thirsty for blood, nothing like the hollowed-out, passive folks from yesterday. Their dirty hands are full of weapons—some makeshift, some very real and deadly. One of them aims a gun at my head as he spots me. I duck down to the shelter of the wall.

  Wolf searches through his duffel bag, whistling something off-tune. Dolly looks as calm as ever as she scopes out the approaching townspeople.

  “Quite a few of them,” she says tonelessly.

  “Yeah,” Wolf says, similarly unaffected.

  “Some of them have guns.”

  “Yeah. Since when do townies have such big-ass guns?”

  “Maybe they took the
m from the others,” she says, shrugging.

  “If they’re not dead already, I’m gonna tear those bastards apart for not showing up.”

  “What bastards?” I ask. They ignore me. The more I try to make sense of this situation, the more bizarre it gets.

  “You can always trust Pretty Boy to screw up a job,” Wolf says, shaking his head and grimacing. “Townies closing in?”

  Dolly peeks out and quickly recoils. A rock flies through the space her head occupied.

  “Yeah,” she says, casually flicking a strand of blue hair out of her face. “Armed. Some with guns.”

  “No worries,” Wolf says. That wild grin is back. He pulls a shotgun out of the bag and turns to face the staircase. “Mine’s bigger.”

  The townies announce their arrival in an awful cacophony, raucous howls and shouts bubbling up the staircase. I cringe at the noise. They sound like a pack of starving animals, all shreds of civility gone.

  Wolf stands directly in front of the stairs, the barrel of his shotgun aimed at the doorway.

  “Dolly,” he says, inclining his head toward the duffel bag. “Arm yourself and the kid. I can handle the first few.”

  Amazingly enough, there isn’t a hint of nervousness in his voice. If I stood alone against a pack of angry townies, I’d shit myself. In fact, I’m pretty damn close right now. Yet somehow Wolf doesn’t seem concerned.

  While Dolly grabs the bag, the first townie stomps up the stairs. He’s alone, testing the waters. He’s either very brave or very stupid for doing so … or maybe completely mad, which is what it looks like. His eyes are way too big and bright, his teeth clenched in a violent grimace. He looks like the human equivalent of a rabid dog, except he’s armed with a gun instead of tooth and claw.

  He pauses at the top of the staircase and turns his wild eyes on us. Wolf calmly aims. The man takes one step, pointing his gun at Wolf’s head, and the sound of a gunshot drowns out the mob below.

  The townie’s face shatters and his body tumbles down the stairs. The crowd’s yells subside. I blink rapidly, feeling as though the image is imprinted on the back of my eyelids. So fast, so sudden, and a man is dead. Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow it back.

  “Have I mentioned how much I love close-range gunfights?” Wolf says cheerfully. “What a mess. A fucking beautiful mess, y’know?”

  Actually, I’m kind of wishing I could go back and unsee that happening. Point-blank shotgun blasts to the face aren’t really my thing. But there’s no time for me to dwell on that gruesome image. Dolly kneels next to me with the bag, head bowed, long hair nearly covering her face. She pulls out two pistols, ensures they’re loaded, and stands. One dainty foot nudges the bag toward me in an open invitation. I peek inside.

  It’s full of weapons. There are guns of all shapes and sizes along with boxes of ammo. No wonder Wolf went out of his way to grab this. Stuff like this is valuable nowadays. With a collection this size, it’s obvious these two have done a lot of traveling, and a lot of raiding, too.

  I let out a low whistle and sift through it all, trying to choose one. This one looks too big, I doubt I could even lift it. And this one looks way too small! Bullets that size couldn’t do much damage, could they? Not a single one of these feels right. And how am I supposed to know which ammo to use?

  In the background, the roar of the townies is rising again. We don’t have much time. I imagine them egging each other on. With the way they’ve looked at us since our arrival, the hate in their eyes … we must be like fresh bait to them. However this ends, it won’t be with peace.

  Footsteps on the stairs announce the arrival of more townies. I look up from the weapons as three of them burst into the room. One is instantly taken out by Wolf’s shotgun, but Wolf has to pull back to reload. The two remaining men home in on me, crouched on the floor and completely unarmed. Their faces light up at the sight of such easy prey. These two don’t have guns, but they do have knives. They manage to take about two steps before Dolly shoots from somewhere behind me.

  Compared to Wolf her shooting is beautiful. She kills like it’s an art: two bullets at once, two clean shots, splitting their skulls open like eggshells and erupting in a mess of brain matter on the other side. They’re gone before they hit the ground.

  “Nice shooting, Dolly,” Wolf says. With his gun loaded again, he moves back to his former position and places one foot on top of a body.

  “Yeah!” I agree enthusiastically. It draws Wolf’s attention to me, and he frowns.

  “And where the hell is your gun?”

  “Umm …” I glance between the bag and his face, smiling awkwardly. “Is this a bad time to mention I’ve never used one before?”

  “Oh, for the love of—” Wolf cuts himself off and scowls. “Just grab a gun! You aim, you pull the trigger, brains go flying. Easy.”

  Dolly mumbles something.

  “Right,” Wolf says. “Don’t forget the safety thing.”

  “Safety thing?” I pick up a random gun and stare at it in bewilderment.

  “Yeah, you know, the—” A townie comes into sight, and Wolf blows his face off. “The safety thing!”

  The townies are getting louder outside. My heart pounds faster and faster as I scrutinize the gun, unable to make any sense of it.

  “Goddamn,” Wolf says, and for once he seems to feel a flicker of concern. “Dolly, we’re going to need some explosives. This kid is obviously useless.”

  “I’m right here,” I mutter under my breath, though I know it’s true. Dolly tears her eyes away from the doorway and looks through the bag again. She moves hastily, but her face is still completely blank.

  “And by the way, I do have a name,” I say, raising my voice. “It’s—”

  Dolly interrupts me by shoving something into my hands, saying something too soft for me to catch. I drop the gun and grab it, surprised. The shape and texture are odd, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I open my hands and stare.

  A grenade.

  She did not just hand me a grenade. I freeze, eyes locked on the explosive, which I’m sure is about to blow my hands off in a matter of seconds. Holy shit, I can’t even shoot a gun; how did she possibly think I could handle a grenade? I’ve only ever seen them in pictures, but I know damn well what they can do. Time slows down. My breath quickens and my heart beats a million times per second. Even the yelling of the mob fades into the distance, my breathing somehow louder in my ears. Nothing matters except the grenade resting in my hands. My brain whirs, attempting to come up with a course of action that doesn’t involve me splattering into a thousand bloody bits.

  After a moment of frozen panic, instinct kicks in. I turn and hurl the thing toward the far wall. Thankfully, it sails out one of the holes rather than bouncing back to me.

  I turn around, feeling triumphant, and Dolly’s dumbfounded expression tells me I just screwed up. It’s the first time I’ve seen actual emotion on her otherwise impassive face. It changes from shock, to disbelief, to unmistakable anger before returning to a stony, controlled state.

  “Did you just throw away our last grenade?” she asks, her voice low and toneless.

  “Well, I wasn’t going to hang on to it!” I tell her defensively. What did she expect?

  “You have to pull the pin before you throw it.”

  She’s still staring at me.

  “Pull the … what?”

  “It won’t work unless you pull the pin.”

  That would explain the lack of an explosion.

  “Where are those explosives?” Wolf yells, turning around to glare. Dolly points at the wall behind us.

  “Out there,” she says.

  “And what the fuck are they doing there?” he snarls. She points at me.

  “Kid!” He looks about ready to rip my throat out. “Are you really this stupid, or are you just fucking with us?”

  “Seriously, I have a name!” I say, pointedly ignoring the rest. “Like I was trying to say, it’s—”

  I�
�m drowned out by the sound of townies coming up the stairs. A lot of townies. All three of us turn back to the doorway, and the two who aren’t miserable failures raise their guns.

  A clump of townies spills into the room all at once. A few are taken down by some well-aimed shots by Wolf and Dolly, but they don’t have time to reload before others are upon them. I scramble into a back corner and crouch there with the gun I have no idea how to use.

  Wolf tackles the closest man and brings him down with a thud. He smashes the butt of the unloaded shotgun into the townie’s face, hitting him repeatedly until he goes limp. Two others are on him almost instantly. He disappears beneath them.

  A few bodies are already on the floor near Dolly. She has a crowbar and is attempting to hold back the crowd at the doorway, while the mob outside seethes and writhes like water about to boil over.

  Despite Dolly’s best efforts, it’s already too late. Wolf doesn’t seem to be faring well with his two attackers, and another man is lunging at me.

  I dash for the window on my hands and knees, but a hand closes on my backpack and yanks me back. I scramble for a hold, scraping my nails against splintered wood. It’s useless; he has me. As I turn, I recognize him—it’s the man from last night, the one who shoved me. His mouth spreads in a gap-toothed grin as he meets my eyes. The hand that doesn’t have a viselike grip on my pack is holding a broken bottle, the jagged edges glinting cruelly.

  When I reach for the gun, the townie gives another vicious yank, pulling me away from it and closer to the sharp edges of the glass.

  An explosion drowns out my screams.

  The building shakes. The man lets go. My eardrums nearly burst.

  Everyone is disoriented from the blast, stumbling and blinking. Wolf gains his composure first and takes advantage of it, pulling down the two townies he’s been tussling with. Spurred into action, my former captor grabs a hold of me again. I kick out desperately. This time I dislodge his grip and crawl away on my hands and knees. As I search for an escape route, Dolly steps between me and the townie. Armed with a crowbar, she looks like the closest thing to a miracle I could expect right now.