The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  “Oh, no big deal.”

  “It’s just kind of how things are, you know?” He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

  “Yeah, I guess.” I think about how Wolf came back to save me in the end, but don’t say anything. Wolf is a bit crazy, after all, so maybe Pretty Boy has the right of it.

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t end up dead, if it means anything,” he says, and smiles at me. His smile is slightly crooked and way too charming for a guy who almost let me die earlier today. I blush and promptly feel like an idiot for doing so.

  “Uh. You, too?” It comes out an uncertain squeak. I don’t know how to deal with a boy who smiles at me like that.

  “Thanks,” he says dryly. “You’re probably the only one.”

  “That can’t be true!” Sure Wolf gives him a lot of shit, but he’s still clearly a part of the crew.

  “Yeah, Tank might miss me.” He looks over his shoulder at Tank, who has fallen even farther behind than us. “Hey, fatty! Would you miss me if I was dead?”

  “’Course I would! Who would I make fun of?” Tank shouts back. We slow down and he huffs and puffs to catch up with us. Sweat runs down his face and stains the armpits of his shirt, but he looks cheerful. He cuffs Pretty Boy around the neck, and Pretty Boy yells about the stench before wiggling free.

  Having Tank around lifts the tension, and Pretty Boy visibly relaxes.

  “So, Kid, how old are you?” he asks.

  “Uh, sixteen. I think.”

  “Oh, wow. You really are a kid, aren’t you? Everyone used to call me young, and I’m eighteen.”

  “Shit, how do you guys keep track?” Tank asks. “I haven’t got a damn clue.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re an old man,” Pretty Boy says, earning himself another cuff.

  “Papa told me I was born in the winter, right ’round when it starts getting cold,” I say. “That’s how I keep track.”

  “Your papa?” Tank asks. “He still around?”

  “Nope,” I say. “Dead. For a long time.” I didn’t see it happen, but I know it to be true. The town took me in and left him out in the wastes. No one makes it long alone. I later wondered if the townies even really let him leave, or if they just shot him when I was gone.

  “I was born on April twelfth,” says Pretty Boy. “Not that it means anything, most of the time. The Queen knows those kinds of things, though, so I can check up on it from time to time. She usually gives me a present.”

  There’s that name again. Seeing as Wolf isn’t around to tell me to shut up and stop asking questions, I try again.

  “So who is this Queen person?”

  “You’ve never been?” Pretty Boy asks. I shake my head. “Ah. She’s called the Queen of the Wastes. Nobody is really sure how she started off, but now she lives in this big mansion with a ton of guards. She runs this place called the Crossroads. All of the trading routes of the main caravans cross there.”

  “Why?”

  “Water, mainly. She lives right next to a river, and has a way to make the water drinkable. So people trade her for it, and now she has just about everything you could ever need. Traders buy and sell her shit along their routes. And people like us, too. Raiders, I mean. Sharks. No discrimination as long as you have stuff to trade.”

  “Wow,” I say. It sounds big and important, definitely more so than anywhere I’ve ever been. “I didn’t know anyone like that existed. I guess I never thought about where the caravans get their supplies.”

  “Yeah. She’s a powerful lady. And a rich one.”

  “So you guys go to her a lot?”

  “Whenever we get a chance. She has a lot of stuff that’s hard to get anywhere else.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that she has a thing for Pretty Boy,” Tank butts in.

  “Shut it,” Pretty Boy says. “She likes Dolly, too. Dolly used to work for her.”

  “What do you mean, used to work for her?” I ask. They exchange a glance. “Like, a bodyguard?”

  “Not exactly,” Pretty Boy says. “She was …” He trails off, looking nervous. I follow his gaze to see Dolly staring back at us. She studies each of us for a few long seconds before slowly turning back forward.

  “That is just not normal,” Pretty Boy mutters under his breath. “God, she’s creepy.”

  “She just doesn’t like you,” Tank tells him.

  “No, no, it’s not just me! Once we went into a town as partners, you know, scoping out the place. And it was the one and only time, because nobody wanted a damn thing to do with us. Thought she might be less sketchy than the rest of you, but nope, not even a little. There I was trying to be friendly and get them off their guard and shit, and Dolly would just stand there with that face of hers, just staring and not saying anything and … ugh, it was bad.” He shakes his head.

  “I think she’s nice,” I say.

  “Well, she likes you,” Pretty Boy says. He almost sounds jealous. “For whatever reason.”

  “She does?”

  “Seems like it.”

  I look ahead at her, scrutinizing the back of her long blue hair. As if on cue she looks over her shoulder again, meeting my gaze. I smile, and she blinks and looks away.

  “See? That’s about as friendly as she gets,” Pretty Boy says, watching with a wry half smile. “If I ever tried to smile at her like that, she’d break my nose.”

  “Again,” Tank says.

  “Right. Again.”

  “She broke your nose?” I ask.

  “He deserved it.”

  “Shut up, Tank.”

  “But I thought you guys were all friends,” I say, confused.

  “Friends?” Pretty Boy laughs. “You have a lot to learn, Kid.”

  I don’t understand, but his condescending tone bites enough to make me stop asking questions. We walk along in silence, the only sound our ragged breathing. It hurts to inhale. My mouth and throat are already as dry as the sand we’re walking on, and the hot air burns. My tongue feels thick in my mouth, as if even that is coated by dust, and my lips are starting to crack and bleed. I finally cave and pull out my water flask. I take a short gulp and quickly cap it again before I chug the whole thing.

  It doesn’t even take the edge off my thirst. The water is warm and goes down as thick as paste.

  Soon enough even Wolf and Dolly are beaten down by the heat, and they slow enough to allow all five of us to walk side by side.

  “You know,” Wolf says, “it’s days like these that really make me appreciate humanity.”

  His comment is met with silence. I assume everyone, like me, is trying to work out how that makes any sense.

  “The fuck?” Tank finally says, effectively summing up my own thoughts.

  “I’m serious. I mean, look at this place. Look at this fucking world we live in.” He sweeps his hands in a broad gesture, indicating the expanse of wastelands around us. “It’s unlivable. Or at least, it should be, you know? And yet here we are. I bet most of you weren’t even alive before the war, huh, Kid? Pretty Boy? Little post-bomb babies raised on radioactive milk, that’s what you are. Probably shouldn’t even be possible.” He lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. “People just do what they have to do, like always. Ain’t nothing that can kill us.”

  “Like cockroaches,” I say.

  “Right. That’s deep, Kid.” Wolf laughs and abruptly stops walking, cracking his back. “And this cockroach is about ready for a break. One hour, everybody eat and piss and do whatever else you need to do.”

  The first day is long and rough. By the time we stop for the night, seeking shelter in the broken-down shell of a house, my water canteen is dangerously close to empty. Judging by the way the others check their flasks and mutter and pore over the map, I’m not the only one. It’s frightening how much water I consumed in a day.

  Wolf doesn’t want to risk a fire after this morning. We eat a quick, cold dinner and I spend the night squeezed between Tank and Dolly, with my blanket wrapped around me and my backpack as a pil
low. I have trouble falling asleep with water weighing on my mind.

  Still, curled up and staring at the dark sky through the holes in the roof, I think back on all the nights spent on my own and know this is so much better. Ever since my papa was swallowed by the wastes—maybe even at the end of when we were still together—I’ve felt a constant ache of loneliness. Even though Wolf snores and Tank smells and everyone’s a bit crazy, somehow I feel like I belong here. I finally fall asleep with that thought in mind, and it makes everything a little more okay.

  IX

  Death Sentence

  “Wake up, lazy fucks!”

  The voice cuts through the fog of sleep and wakes me. I keep my eyes squeezed shut and my blanket wrapped tightly around me.

  “No, not yet,” I groan and roll onto my side, trying to hide from the sun. Hands yank my blanket off me. “Hey!” I stand up slowly, rubbing my eyes and yawning. Wolf’s grinning face steps into my line of sight, and a hand smacks the side of my head and sends me staggering.

  “That enough of a wake-up call for you, Kid?” he asks. I shake my head to clear it and give him a weary thumbs-up. At least this is better than waking up to a gun in my face. He returns my blanket, and I pack it up. “Good, good. Let’s get going.”

  Everyone except Wolf looks as tired as I feel, but they all trudge onward so I have no choice but to follow. I shoot Pretty Boy a sleepy-eyed smile. He smiles back, which makes my stomach do a flip and helps me keep going.

  I feel more awake after we’ve been traveling for about an hour, when the last coolness of the night has leaked away and the sun seems intent on roasting us where we stand. Today is windier than yesterday, but the hot air blowing at us gives little relief. Instead it only fills my eyes and mouth with gritty sand. I feel dry and dusty deep down to my core, but resist the temptation of my canteen. I refuse to be the first one to take a drink.

  “So …” My voice comes out rough and unfamiliar. I cough and clear my throat and try again. “So, what’s the plan once we get to Black … Blackrock?”

  “Blackfort,” Pretty Boy corrects.

  “Yeah, that one.”

  “Right, a plan,” Wolf says, as if it had just occurred to him. “We should reach it today, so I guess that would be a good idea.”

  “How do you guys usually do this?”

  “Eh, well, we send in two people to scout, make sure the townies aren’t going to chase us out with pitchforks on sight or nothin’, trade some of our shit for their shit …”

  “Who does the scouting?” I ask.

  “Always Pretty Boy, because he’s good at bullshitting if nothing else, and then whoever else has got nothing better to do.”

  “It’d be better if you let me go alone,” Pretty Boy says. “All the rest of you ever do is make my job harder.”

  “Ha, ha, let you go in alone? So you can fuck us over and leave? No way in hell.”

  “And after you scout, then what?” I ask, not wanting them to veer off track.

  “They meet up with the rest of us, and if it seems like a good target, we raid the place.” He shrugs. “Kill some people, take their stuff, you know, the fun part.”

  “Okay …” It doesn’t sound like the most well-thought-out plan, but I figure they’ve been doing it for a while so I’m in no place to question it. “Wait, so, what happened at that town back there?”

  “Well, that time everything got a bit screwy.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Pretty Boy fucked it up.”

  “I did not!” He throws his hands up in exasperation, shaking his head. “Tank and I got there to scope it out, and they were suspicious from the start. I don’t know, the area was a shithole, maybe we looked too well fed or something. We had to get the hell out and camp nearby. Seriously, I thought they were gonna string us up there and then.”

  “So why did you and Dolly still go there?” I ask Wolf.

  “No choice. The jeep was almost out of gas so we had to just roll with the plan. But hey, it worked out all right.”

  “Except we ended up losing the jeep for the gasoline,” says Pretty Boy, “so we’re still fucked.”

  “Aw, lighten the hell up,” Wolf says.

  “We probably don’t have enough water to make it to Blackfort, and even if we do they’ll likely as not shoot us when we get there. We look like a bunch of crazy raiders.”

  “But we are kind of a bunch of crazy raiders, aren’t we?” I ask, confused.

  “It’s usually not so obvious,” Pretty Boy says. “It’s vital that we trick them into thinking we’re harmless. So as long as we look like this, we’re screwed.”

  “Shut up, you’re pissing me off,” Wolf says.

  Pretty Boy falls into a sulky silence. He grabs his flask off his hip and takes a swig of water, which makes my heart surge. Finally, I can take a drink without feeling too guilty about it.

  “Hey, don’t get all moody on us now,” Tank says to Pretty Boy as I break out my canteen. “It’s just Wolf being Wolf.” He reaches over to clap him on the back.

  Allowing myself a tiny sip of water, I’m far too focused to pay attention to anything else. It’s only once I’ve finished my paltry drink that I notice everyone else has stopped walking. I turn around, about to ask what everyone is staring at, but as soon as I look their way I know.

  Pretty Boy is standing with an arm outstretched, a look of shock on his face. On the ground is his water flask, with the last of it draining out into the sand. The dirt takes it in as hungrily as any of us would; just like that, it’s gone.

  He unfreezes and falls to his knees, snatching up the canteen and placing it upright. As an afterthought he desperately scoops up the wet earth in his hands, as if he could take the water back from its clutches. But as the dirt sifts through his fingers it’s already drying, disappearing as if it was never there.

  Pretty Boy sits back on his heels and stays there. Everyone is dead silent. I screw the top back onto my canteen, suddenly afraid of it falling from my hands.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Pretty Boy asks after a few seconds, his voice shaky. He glares at Tank with red-rimmed eyes.

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “You fucking knocked it out of my hands!”

  “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to! Come on, Pretty Boy, you know I would never …” Tank looks horrified.

  “Well as it stands, I don’t …” Pretty Boy sucks in a deep breath. “There’s no way I can make it to …” He looks up at Wolf with his lower lip trembling. “Wolf, please.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Wolf asks, his face and voice hard. He’s more serious than I’ve ever seen him, both the humor and ferocity absent, and it frightens me.

  “I don’t—” He gestures despairingly, the words dying in his throat. “I mean, it wasn’t like I just dropped it—”

  “I saw.”

  Pretty Boy opens his mouth to speak again. Wolf holds up a hand to silence him. He sighs and pushes his goggles up, leaving a streak of sweat and dirt behind. His face is stony as he rubs the bridge of his nose, and after a few seconds he slides the goggles back into place and looks up at Tank.

  “Tank, give him your water.” The sentence falls as final as a guillotine.

  Tank doesn’t argue, but I can see his hands shaking as he hands it over. Pretty Boy drops his empty flask and takes the new one from Tank’s hand, clutching it against himself.

  I stare at my feet. The silence feels thick, and I’m struck by the impression that all of them are strangers again.

  Wolf turns back to the road and starts walking again. Dolly follows first, and then Pretty Boy, and then me. When I look back I see Tank picking up Pretty Boy’s empty canteen and checking it for any drop of water before tossing it away again. He follows the group even more slowly than before, and nobody but me looks back at him.

  As the sun saps our strength and the sand grows hotter, it’s impossible not to notice how far Tank is falling behind. Wolf and Dolly exchange m
eaningful looks. Pretty Boy looks at nothing but the ground and doesn’t say a word. His eyes are red, but dry.

  I keep glancing back at Tank. He’s struggling, sweat streaming down his body and chest heaving.

  The next time I look back, he’s stopped, his eyes closed. I look frantically at the others.

  “Guys, wait, Tank is—” Nobody stops walking or so much as glances at me. “He stopped, shouldn’t we wait …?”

  “No,” Wolf says without turning around.

  “No?” I stop, staring at their backs as they continue to move forward.

  “He’s not gonna make it, Kid,” Wolf says. “We keep walking.”

  Keep walking. Carry on. It’s what I have to do, what I’ve always done.

  I will my feet to move, telling myself this is the way things have to be, yet somehow I can’t bring myself to. The idea of leaving Tank behind makes me feel sick. I remain motionless, all too aware of the others moving farther away every second.

  But I can’t continue.

  I turn and walk back to Tank. He opens his eyes and gives me a weary half smile.

  “Hey, Kid, it’s okay,” he says.

  I offer my canteen to him.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Take it.”

  “No way.”

  “Come on, it’s fine, you can have the last of it,” I say. Forcing myself to crack a smile, I add, “It’s not like I’m thirsty or anything, anyway.”

  He chuckles, but still hesitates; I give him an encouraging nod, and only then does he take the canteen and down the rest of it. Even I have enough common sense to know we’re both screwed at this point with no water between us. Still, I can’t regret it. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I left him behind.

  “Thanks, kiddo.”

  “Yeah.” I start walking again, and Tank comes with me. “I mean, we’re friends, right?” I add.

  “Friends,” he repeats. He smiles in a sad way and puts an arm around my shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before releasing me again. “Yeah, I guess so.”