The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  I peek around her legs and see the man smirk.

  “Pretty thing, ain’t ya?” he comments, leering at Dolly. “Come on, little girl, you can’t fight me.”

  One crack to the side of the head is all it takes to prove him wrong. Unsatisfied with that, she bends down and beats the crowbar into his skull until blood pools around him. I can’t look away, my eyes wide open and locked on despite the nauseous churn of my stomach. Finally Dolly stops and turns to me, pale face flecked with red. She offers me a bloody hand.

  “Thanks,” I squeak, pulling myself to my feet. Wolf is up as well now, and looks very satisfied despite the blood streaming from his nose and a gash on his head. The room is still, aside from us. Strangely, gunfire continues down below.

  “Phew!” Wolf wipes a hand across his forehead, pushing his matted hair back. “Now that was a good fight.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that. Instead I ask, “So … uhh … what exploded?”

  “Not the grenade you wasted, that’s for sure.” I wince at the reminder. “But otherwise … haven’t got a clue.”

  “The jeep?” Dolly suggests.

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Wolf leads us down the stairs, which are blackened from the explosion and thoroughly decorated with townie guts. I have to step over detached limbs and disfigured torsos to get down. I feel nothing; numbness stifles the emotional responses struggling to fight their way out of me. I almost feel like I’m watching the scene through someone else’s eyes.

  At the bottom of the staircase the mob is dispersing. Injured townies are scattered on the ground, howling in pain and nursing wounds. The remainders sprint or limp off to safety. I see the mother and son from yesterday in the distance, hightailing it out of town, and am thankful they didn’t end up involved in this mess.

  Amid the dead, dying, and deserting stands a single figure, who raises a hand to greet us.

  “Pretty Boy!” Wolf exclaims.

  And damn is he pretty.

  V

  The Aftermath

  I’m not the kind of girl who gets all flustered about boys. But, then again, the wastelands have a serious shortage of boys like this. It’s rare enough to find someone who isn’t missing a few teeth, or a few fingers, or maybe their sanity. Everyone’s missing something or other. For me it’s probably wits, and for this guy … well, he’s not lacking anything in the looks department, that’s for sure.

  “Pretty Boy,” as Wolf referred to him, is dusty and tired-looking and has a smear of blood down the side of his face, but beneath that he’s still ridiculously attractive. He has high cheekbones and long eyelashes and beautiful hazel eyes. Sure his nose is a little crooked, most likely from being broken a couple times, and his dark hair is tousled and dirty, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t just add a hint of roguish charm to his otherwise perfect looks.

  As he walks toward us, he holsters his gun in his belt and winds his way through mangled corpses with an effortless grace. I, on the other hand, trip over a severed arm as I stare.

  “Am I late to the party?” he asks with a grin. He shoots me the briefest of glances and I avert my eyes. I’m suddenly aware of my sunburnt face and boyishly short hair.

  “Yeah,” Wolf says, and spits. “Just a little.”

  He punches him right in his pretty face.

  Pretty Boy reels from the impact, loses his footing, and trips over a nearby body. He falls to the ground hard, holding his face. I gape. Dolly laughs quietly from somewhere behind me.

  “What the hell, Wolf?” Pretty Boy wails from the ground, still covering his face with both hands. “Why do you always have to—”

  “Where the fuck were you when we showed up? Do you know how much shit you got us in?” Wolf shouts at him. “Do you have to screw up every job?”

  “I didn’t … It wasn’t … I swear …!”

  “Shut up.” Wolf grimaces and turns in a circle, surveying the messy scene around us. “Where the hell is Tank?”

  Pretty Boy pulls his hand back from his face, double-checks that his nose isn’t bleeding, and stands up. He takes a few steps back, putting some distance and a corpse between himself and Wolf.

  “He’s coming,” he says, his voice sullen. “Slowly.”

  “Fat bastard,” Wolf says with a wry smile. “Ah, I missed him. Dolly isn’t much company.”

  “Is that why you picked up the stray?” Pretty Boy’s eyes shift to me. I smile awkwardly. He looks back at Wolf.

  “Yeah, well, we needed an extra hand.” Wolf looks at me and shakes his head. “Damn near got us killed, though.”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “What? How?”

  “The little shit tossed our last grenade out the window.”

  “Sorry,” I repeat sheepishly.

  “Well, that explains a lot …” Pretty Boy gives me another, more curious look. “Lucky I was there to find it, then, eh?”

  “Very lucky,” Wolf says, his tone implying a lot of unfortunate consequences that would have happened otherwise. I try to pretend I’m not terrified.

  “Boss, I’m here!” An unfamiliar voice bellows out of nowhere. A few seconds later a dark-skinned stranger comes into view, plowing toward us at a slow jog. When he finally reaches us, he leans over with his hands on his knees, wheezing. “I … made it … sorry … is everyone dead already?”

  This guy is huge. He must be at least twice my height and width, with broad shoulders and a thick torso. It’s difficult to tell whether all of the extra padding is fat or muscle, but either way, it looks like he could snap my spine like a toothpick. His face is scarred and hard, but the smile he shows us seems genuine, teeth whiter than I’d expect.

  “Tank!” Wolf’s greeting is considerably friendlier than his one to Pretty Boy. He walks over and gives the big man a slap on the back. “Good to see you, buddy. And yeah, everyone worth killing is smeared across the ground, sorry to disappoint.”

  “Damn,” he wheezes out. Only when he finally catches his breath and straightens up does he notice me. “Who’s the little one?”

  “Hi,” I squeak at him nervously. Standing up, he’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen in my life. “I’m—”

  “Just some kid we picked up,” Wolf finishes with a shrug. “We needed some help.”

  “So what do we do with him now?” Pretty Boy asks.

  “I’m a—”

  “Not much meat on the bones, wouldn’t make much of a meal,” Tank says, his face hard as he looks down at me. I force out a laugh and hope he’s joking.

  “Might be useful,” Wolf says, scrutinizing me. “Or might not. Who can say?”

  “I can be useful,” I say, desperate to get a word in. I really don’t want to end up a meal. And if I could make myself useful to these guys, with their jeep and all those guns, well … my days of being afraid and hungry would be over. They might be a little bit crazy, but with them on my side, even I might manage to stay alive out here in the wastes. I stare at Wolf, seeking acceptance, my mouth opening but unable to find the words to convince him.

  “I want to keep it.” Dolly steps up behind me and lays a hand on top of my head. “Let’s keep it.”

  “It?” I repeat, confused. I guess I should probably be offended she’s referring to me like some kind of pet … but, in the end, being a pet is better than getting left behind or becoming dinner.

  No one says anything. Tank is hard-eyed, Wolf skeptical, and Pretty Boy, I notice nervously, has his hand on the gun at his hip.

  Wolf breaks into a grin and the tension snaps like a twig. Everyone else relaxes the moment they see the all-too-amused look on their leader’s face. Tank gives an easygoing smile, followed by a booming laugh.

  “Okay, Dolly, fine. We’ll keep it,” Wolf says. He walks over and punches me in the shoulder. What he probably intends as a light tap sends me reeling. “Welcome to the crew, kiddo!”

  “Um, thanks.” I rub my shoulder and smile. “And just so we’re all on the same page, I’m a g
irl.”

  “Whatever,” he says. “Someone get the jeep. Let’s get out of this shithole.”

  VI

  The Crew

  We make camp a few miles out from the massacred town, with a fresh supply of dead townies to chop up and sell as “hog meat.” After seeing how terribly awry it went, I wonder how often this plan works, but I figure it’s best not to bring that up. At least we now have the gasoline Wolf was looking for, toted by Tank from the town coffers, and plenty of canned food. Listening to the way Wolf boasts and brags, it’s as if the mission was a great success.

  As for me, I’m most excited by the fact we have ample food, not to mention a fire. Everyone else seems amused by my delight, but I don’t care. I’ve had too many long, dark nights spent shivering because I was too afraid of what flames could bring. When I was with Papa we had to be cautious about fires, and when I was alone they weren’t even a remote possibility. Now we make camp out in the open and build a roaring bonfire. When I suggest it could cause trouble, Wolf laughs.

  “We are the trouble, dumbass,” he tells me.

  That’s when I remember the guns. And I finally feel safe, safer than I ever have before.

  I sit close to the warmth of the flames while the others enthusiastically sift through the loot we collected. Wolf finds a new pair of boots that fit him almost-right. Pretty Boy finds a broken but shiny pocket watch, which Dolly promptly steals from him. Tank finds a rusty knife, which he tosses down at my feet.

  “Wolf says you can’t handle a gun for shit,” he explains with a good-humored smile.

  “Oh, wow!” I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. Underneath patches of rust, the blade glints in the firelight. It’s small, but it’s sharp. I tuck it away into the side of one of my scuffed-up boots. “Thanks!”

  Soon it’s time to eat. I knew it would come eventually. I try to steel myself, but still, it’s rough. At least they did the slicing and dicing back in town, so most of it is unrecognizable, but the smell still gives me an odd combination of repulsion and hunger. My brain knows that what they’re cooking used to be a person, but really, it just smells like meat. The last time I had real meat was when my papa found a dead rat and attempted to cook it. It didn’t turn out well.

  This, on the other hand, actually looks really … tasty. After days of beans, the sight and smell make my mouth water.

  I look away from the spit on the fire and try to busy myself by sharpening my knife on a rock. It doesn’t seem to do much, but it distracts me from my hunger. When I glance up, I see Wolf and Pretty Boy standing together with their heads bowed conspiratorially, both looking in my direction. I quickly look down again and pretend I didn’t notice.

  Still, when Wolf sits beside me with a chunk of cooked meat in his hands, it’s hard not to pay attention. The smell wafts toward me tantalizingly, and out of the corner of my eye I see him tearing into it with a vehement hunger. I slowly turn my head, even as I will myself not to, and see that what he’s holding is clearly a human arm.

  To my horror, my stomach lets out a loud rumble.

  I turn away, face reddening. Wolf laughs.

  “Hungry, kiddo?” he asks.

  “Nah,” I say weakly.

  “Like hell you ain’t.” He leans over and holds it out in offering. “Here, have some.”

  “Uh,” I say. “Um. Well.”

  He’s looking at me expectantly. I fumble with my words, not even sure what I’m trying to say.

  “I don’t know … if I … I just … uhh.” I look back and forth between the meat and Wolf’s hideous grin. My hands flutter in some vague gestures that communicate even less than my words do. “This is kinda, uh …”

  “Just try it,” he suggests, and shoves the meat into my hands.

  I glance around nervously and, of course, everyone is watching me. Dolly is blank-faced, Tank grinning broadly, and Pretty Boy curious. A sudden weight descends on my shoulders. I realize that this moment could be important, that I’m being judged by the group.

  I turn the meat over in my hands, looking at the way the grease glistens in the firelight. I swallow my excuses and try to smile.

  “Well,” I say. “Papa always said don’t knock it till you try it.”

  My teeth brush against the meat—and I stop as a wave of revulsion rises up in me. I can’t bring myself to bite down. I can’t stop thinking about how this hunk of flesh used to be a person.

  The silence around the fire thickens as I lower the meat. I hold on to it for a few seconds, trying to decide if I want to change my mind, before I hand it back to Wolf.

  “Sorry,” I say. I hunch over self-consciously, biting my lip. I wonder if this is the part where they kick me out and leave me behind in the dust. Or, more likely, put a bullet in my head and be done with it.

  Wolf looks down and sighs heavily. I watch him, my shoulders tensing nervously, not sure what he’s going to do. A moment later he abruptly looks up and grins.

  “What’d I tell you guys?” He holds out a hand and gestures to the others. “She didn’t eat it. Hand over your shit.”

  I look up, frowning, and realize that the spotlight is no longer on me. Everyone is looking at him. Tank groans and tosses over a glass jar half-full of what looks like jam, which Wolf hoists triumphantly. Pretty Boy sullenly produces a metal flask from his pack and hands that over as well.

  “Not fair,” he complains. “You really had to give her an arm?”

  “Thanks, guys. Pleasure as always.” Wolf stuffs the new goodies into his pack and smirks, giving a mock-gracious bow of his head.

  “What’s going on?” I look around the circle, trying to make sense of what just happened. “You guys aren’t …” Going to kill me? “Upset?”

  “Nah,” Wolf says. He’s chuckling, looking very pleased with himself. “More meat for us. We always bet on whether or not the newbies will eat. And Pretty Boy is always wrong.”

  “One day someone’s gonna do it, and I’ll win big,” Pretty Boy says.

  “Nope. You’ll forever be the only one who was fucked-up enough to eat the first time.”

  I stare at Pretty Boy, surprised. Out of the lot of them, I definitely wouldn’t have expected him to be the one who took to cannibalism so easily. He shrugs.

  “I thought they would kill me if I didn’t,” he says by way of explanation, not quite meeting my eyes. I nod. I thought the same thing, but there’s no point in saying that.

  “And he puked it all up about thirty seconds later,” Tank says. “Waste of good meat.”

  “And you bet that I would eat, too?” I ask, looking over at him—or, rather, at his protruding belly, because it’s rather intimidating to stare at his scarred-up face.

  “Well, look at you. Scrawny little thing, I figured you must be hungry,” he says. Despite losing the bet, he’s smiling, his tough face softened by good humor.

  “Joke’s on you, big guy,” Wolf says. “She ate yesterday. I made sure of it.”

  “So you rigged it,” Pretty Boy says. “Asshole.”

  The three of them devolve into bickering over the fairness of the bet. I watch, half-amused and half-disturbed by how lightly they view the whole issue. A tap on my shoulder startles me out of my thoughts. I look up to see Dolly, who wordlessly hands me a can. The top is already half-opened for me.

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. “Thanks!”

  She stares at me. It seems like she wants to say something, but she merely turns and walks away. I smile at her retreating figure before raising the can and taking a sniff.

  Beans.

  After everyone finishes eating, the camp settles down and I relax into a state of sleepy contentment. Maybe I shouldn’t feel so safe, considering I’m surrounded by cannibals who just decimated the population of a small town, but I do. It’s pretty clear they have no interest in killing me at the moment, and it’s hard to feel too concerned with a full belly and a warm fire. Matter of fact, I’m starting to nod off as the exhaustion of the day hits me.

&
nbsp; A pair of fingers snaps in my face, jolting me awake.

  “Hey, you,” Wolf says, waving a hand in front of my eyes. “Go to sleep already. You’ve got second watch.”

  “Umm, okay.” I rub my eyes and yawn. The fire has died down to glowing embers. It looks like Dolly has already fallen asleep, curled up on the ground near where Wolf was sitting. Tank is setting up a spot close by, while Pretty Boy is sitting near the fire and has a peeved expression that tells me he got stuck with first watch. I’m about to dig out my blanket and find a flat spot on the ground when I realize they still haven’t bothered to ask for my name. “By the way, I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m—”

  “Nope!” Wolf practically shouts so I have no chance of talking over him. “No names.”

  “Huh?”

  “Most people who join us don’t last long,” Tank says. He states it like someone might comment on the weather.

  “Like Sticks,” says Wolf, counting off on his fingers. “Three days, that one. Or Snake Eyes. One week, I think. Or Bluebird—”

  “I liked Bluebird,” Pretty Boy says, sighing.

  “You liked her tits, you mean. Anyway, the point is, we don’t use real names.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Okay. So, who should I be?”

  Wolf grins.

  “That’s obvious,” he says. “You’ll be Kid.”

  VII

  Trouble

  I wake up with the barrel of a gun in my face.

  It takes my foggy brain a few seconds to register the danger. As soon as it does I snap awake, sitting up and scrambling back in the dirt. The gun follows, never losing sight of its target.

  I keep my eyes locked on the gun, and only then think to look at who’s holding it. I feel sick to my stomach, thinking I’ll look up and see Pretty Boy or Wolf ready to pull the trigger. I slowly raise my eyes, letting my gaze climb from a hand to an arm to a face … a crooked and cruel face I don’t recognize. It’s almost strange how relieved I feel that it’s not one of the crew.