The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  “There’s no way I’m climbing that,” Tank says, staring up at the cliffside.

  “Me neither,” Pretty Boy says.

  “Don’t be babies. It looks easy.” Wolf climbs up on a rock to demonstrate. He grabs at the lowest outcropping for leverage, but his grasping fingers fall just short. “You just—you just gotta—aww, hell!” He loses his balance and stumbles off the rock. Narrowly managing to catch his balance again, he folds his arms over his chest, disgruntled.

  Pretty Boy lets out a snort of laughter, and Wolf rounds on him.

  “What the fuck are you laughing at? You have any better ideas?” he asks, giving him a shove that sends him stumbling. “Yeah. No. Didn’t think so. But I have another one.” He jabs a finger in Pretty Boy’s chest. “Get on the ground.”

  “What?”

  “On the ground. Now.”

  When Pretty Boy still hesitates, Wolf smacks him upside the head.

  “You think I’m fucking kidding?”

  “All right, all right! Ow, really, you don’t—” Pretty Boy clamps his mouth shut as Wolf draws his hand back again, and obediently drops to the ground.

  “On your hands and knees. There ya go. Now a bit to the right …” Wolf positions an unhappy-looking Pretty Boy to his liking and climbs onto his back. His arms start to tremble the moment Wolf steps on. Wolf bounces up and down a few times. Pretty Boy grits his teeth, arms shaking violently.

  “Wolf! Come on!”

  “Eh, fine, fine.” Wolf grabs the rocky ledge, grasping it easily from his new height. With a grunt of effort he hoists himself onto the outcropping. It’s narrow, but he manages to crouch there, leaning against the cliff wall. “See? Easy!”

  Tank, Dolly, and I glance at each other.

  “Yeah, that ain’t gonna work out for me,” Tank says. Dolly silently walks away, heading downriver.

  “Where are you going?” Wolf shouts after her. She doesn’t turn around. “Whatever. Your turn, Kid, get up here.”

  “Me?” I look up the cliff uneasily. “I don’t know about that …”

  “Shut up and get over here.”

  I nervously tighten the straps of my bag and walk over. I’m about to place a foot on Pretty Boy’s back, then think twice about it. Indecisive, I end up hopping awkwardly on one foot.

  “Here, Kid, let me hoist you up,” Tank says, noticing my predicament.

  “Nah, Pretty Boy’s got it,” Wolf insists. I look up at him and he grins deviously. “Go on, kiddo. Step on up.”

  I hesitantly place one boot on Pretty Boy’s back, and then the other. I pinwheel my arms before finding my balance.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. He doesn’t respond. I bite my lip and look up at Wolf.

  “Can you reach?”

  I stand up on my tiptoes and grab for the edge. My fingers scrabble at the cliff just a few centimeters beneath it.

  “Uh, almost—” I try to stretch taller and lose my balance. One foot slips and lands on Pretty Boy’s head.

  “Ow!”

  “I’m sorry!” I cringe and move my foot back over.

  “Here, Kid.” Wolf extends a hand down to me. I grab a hold of it with both of mine, wincing at the pressure on my bandaged injury, and we both struggle to lift my weight. I scramble against the cliff wall for a foothold, showering dirt and rocks down. Finally I manage to reach the ledge and crouch beside Wolf, panting. I look down to see Pretty Boy covered in dirt from my ascent. He glowers up at me. Wolf is smirking. To my surprise, I feel a glimmer of amusement myself. Biting back a smile, I look away from both of them and stare at the stretch of cliff above us.

  “So now what?”

  “We find another ledge.”

  “How does this solve anything? The rest of us still can’t get up,” Pretty Boy says from below, dusting himself off.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Wolf says.

  The next ledge isn’t any easier to reach than this one was. Wolf has to help me again, giving me a boost so I can reach. Even then, I only barely manage to clamber up.

  “Now help me up,” Wolf says.

  “What? How?”

  “Grab my hand.” He reaches out for me. I look around for something to steady myself, and grab onto a sturdy-looking rock jutting out of the cliff. I reach down with my free hand to clasp Wolf’s and strain to pull him up. It’s no easy task, even with him doing most of the work. Soon my arm is burning and my palms are slick with sweat. My injured hand, the one grasping the rock, starts to hurt pretty badly. It feels like the wound is tearing open again. My eyes water at the pain.

  “I-I can’t do this!”

  “You got it. I’m almost there.” His free hand grabs the ledge, finally—and it crumbles right out from underneath us. I lose my grip on Wolf’s hand and he slides downward, scrambling for a hold.

  “Shit! Shit, shit!” I try to hold on to the rock as the rest of the ledge crumbles away, but I soon lose my hold and my footing and I’m free-falling. I scream, eyes closed, desperately hoping I won’t break my neck when I hit the ground.

  And then—thud. I freeze, expecting pain, but none comes. I tentatively open one eye, then the other, and find myself resting safely in Tank’s arm. He grins at me.

  “Caught ya.”

  “Oh … thanks.” I let out a shaky breath. He sets me upright on the ground, and I look around for Wolf. He’s sprawled across the ground on top of Pretty Boy. They’re both covered in dirt but look relatively unharmed.

  “So. That didn’t work out well.” Wolf stands up with a grunt, leaving a groaning Pretty Boy on the ground. He turns to survey the cliff, shielding his eyes as he looks up. “Yeah … that wasn’t even halfway up, was it? Damn.”

  “It wasn’t?” I follow his eyes. He’s right. And it felt so high already …

  “Well, let’s give it another go,” Wolf says.

  “No!” Pretty Boy and I exclaim simultaneously. I notice him glance at me and refuse to look over. Wolf looks taken aback.

  “Well, we ain’t got any other plans, guys.”

  “We could try riding the river downstream—” Tank starts, but I quickly interject.

  “I am not going back in that water!”

  “Then, how ’bout Wolf climbs up, gets a rope, and—”

  “There ain’t no way I can lift you up, fat-ass.”

  “Well …” Tank tries to think of something else, fails, and shrugs. “I guess that is our only option.”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’, dumbasses. Now let’s try this again, and try not to screw it up this—” Wolf stares up at the cliff and pauses, his mouth hanging open.

  I follow his gaze. Dolly is standing at the top of the cliff, peering down at us as if confused why we aren’t up yet.

  “What the hell? How did you get up there?” Wolf shouts up to her. In response she points downriver.

  We follow her direction to find, not very far at all, a much easier path up the cliff. It’s narrow and winding and the thought of climbing it makes my legs wobble, but it’s still a hell of a lot better than Wolf’s plan.

  “Well, shit,” Wolf says. “I guess that works just as well.”

  From there, it doesn’t take much time to reach the top. Soon enough we find a road and we’re back on track as if the ordeal with the Queen never happened.

  As the heat of the day sets in, the sun soaks up the moisture from my clothes and body—all except for my boots. My feet still feel damp and clammy while the rest of me is way too hot. My feet squish noisily with every step, painfully loud in the near silence. I feel more and more ridiculous, though nobody says anything. Everyone seems subdued, or maybe just exhausted. Pretty Boy walks with his head down and his shoulders slumped, Tank is lagging behind as usual, and Dolly stays a few yards ahead and doesn’t say a word. I want to speak to her, but I have no idea what to say. The atmosphere is grim; even Wolf is dragging his feet.

  “So what’s the plan, then?” I ask eventually, unable to take the dreary silence any longer.

  “Same as
before,” Wolf says. “This Saint asshole’s got Lord knows how many sharks locked up already, and we sure as hell ain’t gonna join them. So we find that radio tower and explode the shit out of it.” He says it matter-of-factly, without his usual excitement.

  “Really?” Pretty Boy asks, lifting his head. “How the hell are we supposed to do that?”

  “In the usual way, dumbass. With explosives.”

  “Wolf, we don’t have any explosives.”

  “So we get some.”

  “Oh? Just like that? We can’t use the Queen anymore.”

  “This is the fucking wastelands, Pretty Boy, everyone has explosives. We just need to find a town.”

  “A town that will know we’re coming, thanks to that broadcast.”

  “Shit, you’re right.” Wolf pauses for a second. “Guess we’ll need disguises, then.”

  “Disguises?” I ask. “Does that actually work?”

  “’Course it does. This one time, we dressed Pretty Boy up as a girl and—”

  “I am not doing that again. No way.”

  “It worked way too well,” Tank says, looking disturbed.

  “Yeah, it did. He looked more like a girl than you do, Kid.”

  Somehow, I don’t find that hard to believe.

  “Actually, that could work. We dress Kid up as a girl,” Wolf says, face lighting like he just came up with something brilliant.

  “Uh, Wolf, I am a girl.”

  “Yeah, but hardly. It still counts as a disguise.”

  “What, so we send Kid in as a scout? You really think that’s a good idea?” Tank asks. He says it without malice, but it stings a little.

  “Yeah. Kid and Pretty Boy.”

  Pretty Boy and I glance at each other simultaneously. He looks away first. I try not to let my mind wander. It makes me feel sick to think about last night, and there’s something hard and bitter inside me that grows with every reminder.

  “She’ll fuck it up,” Pretty Boy says bluntly.

  “We ain’t got any other options,” Wolf says. “I’m too easy to recognize, Tank is too scary, and Dolly is too … you know.”

  “She’ll fuck it up,” he repeats.

  “Shut up. That’s my decision and we’re sticking with it.”

  I glance at Pretty Boy again to find him adamantly avoiding my gaze, his jaw set. It takes me a moment to realize what’s happening here. Pretty Boy might not trust me to do the job right, but Wolf actually does. I smile down at my boots, but at the same time my stomach flutters nervously. I hope his faith in me isn’t misplaced.

  “So what do we … do?” I ask.

  “Just go in, test the waters, don’t blow your cover. If things look bad, you get the hell out. If all goes well, you wait for the rest of us.”

  “Why not just go in together?”

  “’Cause if they’re gonna shoot us up the moment we step into town, then …”

  Wolf trails off and abruptly stops walking. The others do the same. I run right into Tank and stumble back.

  “What is it?” I ask, seeing nothing.

  “You hear that?” Wolf asks, looking at Dolly. She tilts her head, pauses, and nods.

  “What? What?” I ask, looking back and forth between them. Wolf turns to the stretch of road behind us, raising his goggles and squinting. He points.

  I turn around and see it: a cloud of dust speeding down the road toward us.

  “Someone’s coming.”

  I squint at the cloud, confused.

  “Vehicles. Big ones,” Dolly says.

  “The Queen?” I ask.

  “Let’s hope not. Binoculars?” Wolf asks. Dolly produces some from her pack and hands them to him, and he scopes out the fast-approaching dust.

  “Doesn’t look like the Queen,” he says. “Or raiders. Looks like a trade caravan.”

  “How do you know?” Pretty Boy asks.

  “Just got a feeling.”

  “Last time you said that, we ended up tied up in that crazy old woman’s basement and—”

  “This time will be different.” Wolf lowers the binoculars and shows that crazy grin of his. “And screw the scouting plan, I’ve got something else in mind.”

  XIX

  The New Plan

  So then I end up standing in the middle of the road and flailing my arms around as the vehicles roar toward me.

  There’s three of them: an open-top jeep, a big supply truck, and a pickup truck. There are a few car lengths of space in between them. They’re moving at a relatively slow speed, but my heart still pounds as they bear down on me. Wolf promised they would stop. He insisted that these guys are “bleeding-heart traders.” Probably.

  As they come closer I raise my hands as high as I can get them, waving wildly to ensure they see me. A gust of wind whips my dress up, and I hastily pin my arms to my sides. Damn dress is such a pain, but Wolf insisted on it. They ain’t gonna stop for some ugly boy, he said. But if they see the dress before your ugly face, maybe you’ll have a chance.

  They don’t seem to see me. Or, if they do, they don’t care that I’m here. The head jeep keeps roaring toward me without any sign of stopping. I suck in a deep breath and feel my knees start to tremble. Still, I hold my ground. I close my eyes and grit my teeth, expecting to be splattered across the road at any second.

  The jeep roars past, a gust of wind buffeting me as it does so. I stumble and cringe, knowing the supply truck is next. There’s no way it can pass by on this narrow road. It’ll either stop or hit me head-on. I peek open one eye, unable to help myself.

  And, to my amazement, the truck is stopping. It gradually slows as it approaches, brakes squealing, and stops just a few feet ahead of me. The thing is huge. It towers over me, making me feel like a bug about to be squished. The engine sounds like some angry beast growling and ready to swallow me whole. Legs still shaking, I manage a timid wave and a shaky smile. I can’t see anything through the windshield.

  A door slams. Footsteps approach. Against the sunlight, all I see is a vast silhouette getting closer. I shrink back nervously. I know the others are nearby, hidden behind a crumbling wall on the side of the road, but I still feel alone.

  “Umm … hi … c-can I get a ride?” I squeak out, still taking tiny steps backward as the silhouette approaches.

  The figure swings close, thick shoulders blocking out the direct sun so I can see. It’s … not exactly what I expected.

  “Well, howdy!”

  The driver, it turns out, is a broad woman with a near-blinding grin of what look like fake teeth. She wears a wide-brimmed hat and is fatter than Tank, with rolls on her arms and multiple chins. Her eyes are set a little too far apart, and her round face is all smiles. She doesn’t look very bright or all that threatening. I almost feel bad about what’s going to happen to her, but I stifle it. This is something I need to do for my crew.

  “Umm.” I have no idea what to say.

  “What’s a little girl like you doing wandering around all by your lonesome?” she asks.

  “Oh. I got separated from my family.” I try to pull my face into some semblance of sadness. My facial features don’t want to cooperate, though, and I just grimace awkwardly.

  “Aww, poor little thing.” She yanks me into a hug. I find myself with my face squished into her chest. My entire body stiffens. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me, let alone a stranger. It’s … squishy, and uncomfortably warm and damp, and suffocating. I hold my head back as far as I can.

  “Yeah—there were raiders, and—I don’t know if they’re—I … can’t breathe …” She finally releases me. I stumble back, blinking, and gasp for air. “Can I get a ride to the nearest town, please?”

  “Well of course, sweetie! I’d be happy to give you a lift!”

  “Great!” My reply comes out a little too eager. I try to tone it down, and ask, “Where, uh … where is the nearest town, anyway?”

  “Just a bit up the road from here. Ain’t far, hun, don’t worry. Maybe your famil
y will meet you there, if they escaped.”

  “Huh? … Oh. Right. Yeah.” My response comes a little late, but she only grins wider.

  I hear the rumble of a vehicle at my back, and turn to see the jeep has circled around. There are two men in it, each with a bandana over his head. One has a gun, which he aims at me. His eyes are dark and shrewd.

  “What’s the holdup, ma?” the driver shouts at us.

  “Found this little one just standin’ in the road!” The woman places a fleshy arm around my shoulders, squeezing me a little too hard. “She’s lost her family, poor little doll.”

  “And?” the man responds. I look back and forth between him and the woman with a growing sense of unease. It’s hard to tell which of them is in charge here.

  “And … just look at her!” She beams down at me. I can feel the man’s eyes on me as well, and stare down at my feet.

  “I’m looking.”

  “She’s a little girl, Frankie!”

  “And?”

  “Do you know how much some people will pay for little girls?”

  I’m already nodding along with her, agreeing with my defense, when her words hit me.

  “Uh, pay?” I ask.

  “An ugly little thing like her? Don’t think so,” Frankie says, ignoring me.

  “They always pay more for girls!”

  “You sure we can even sell her ’round here, with this Saint guy running things?” he asks.

  “Saint ain’t gonna bother us. It’s not like we’re sharks or somethin’.”

  “Still, I’m pretty sure his ‘law and order’ spiel don’t involve sellin’ people …”

  “We’ll find a way,” the woman says. “There’s always someone willing to do business.” I try to wrench free from her grip, but she clutches me tighter. “Oh, calm down, sweetie. If your family is there, we’ll try an’ sell you to them first!” she says cheerfully. “Only if they can pay the price, though. How much should we charge, Frankie?”

  “Dunno. What do you think, Freddie?” He looks at the man with the gun, who shrugs without comment. “Ehh, we’ll figure it out. Fine, fine, ma, just throw ’er in with the rest of the loot.”