The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  Once we’re on our feet and out of sight of the tower, I break into a sprint, dragging a slightly lagging Jedediah with me. He struggles to keep up, nearly tripping several times, but I force him to keep running. Though it looks like I won’t be able to turn him in to Saint after all, he’s still my bounty, and I’m not going to lose the reason I came all the way to this hellhole. No time to figure the situation out now, but somehow I’ll make it work.

  I yank open the car door as we reach it, throw Jedediah in, and slam it shut before running to my own seat.

  My brain is a blur of thoughts, and my body struggles to keep up with a flurry of actions in response—starting the car, spreading the map across the dashboard, putting on my seatbelt, starting to drive. Behind it all, one thought pushes me: Get out. Get out. Get out. I saw those raiders—so many raiders—and I need to get the hell out of here before they see me. I drive recklessly, wildly, trying to get as far away from the radio tower as possible. But where do I go? Where the hell can I possibly go, that I’ll be safe from that mob?

  I glance frantically between my map and the road, knowing the raider vehicles could be bearing down on me with every second. There’s no way I’ll make it all the way back to the east without getting run down by one of their war machines. I’m not even sure I have the gas to make it. I barely had enough supplies to last the journey here.

  Maybe if I can make it to one of the bigger western towns, I could hole up there, wait for this to blow over. But will any of the towns around here actually hold against the onslaught of raiders? Maybe Blackfort—I’ve heard that place is a safe haven, and knows how to kick some raider ass—but I wouldn’t gamble on it, and it’s too far away for us to reach. We’ll never make it there before being overtaken. I don’t think we can make it to any town in time.

  “We’ve got company,” Jedediah says. Swearing under my breath, I shove the map aside and take a look in the rear-view mirror. The “company” he refers to is a huge truck, already close enough for me to make out some of the finer details, including spikes on the tires and a grinning skull painted on the front. It’s an ugly thing, a killing machine, made of mismatched parts all stuck together. It’s massive, and intimidating, and definitely fast enough to catch us. It’s too late to hide like we did from the poachers, and there’s nothing but empty wastelands all around us. No room to pull a maneuver or a clever trick; we’re out in the open, being run down by an enemy we can’t hope to match.

  “Untie me,” Jedediah says. “Give me a gun. I’ll shoot while you drive, take out their tires—”

  “Not happening.”

  “You’re going to get us both killed!” he says, his voice rising to a shout. Every bit of his cheerful attitude is gone. “Let me go!”

  His plan would make sense, if he wasn’t an insane tyrant and I could trust him not to put a bullet in my head the second I gave him half a chance. Unfortunately, that is not the case. Even if we both die, I’m completely willing to let him die tied up and helpless, rather than giving him a chance at taking me down and surviving himself.

  I slam my foot on the gas pedal. The car struggles and rattles and whines, gaining a pathetic amount of speed. Despite the vehicle’s best efforts, soon the truck is right on our tail.

  It hovers behind us for an instant or two, while I swear and Jedediah yells. Then it rams us, slamming hard against our fender. We skid out of control, tires screeching. The truck falls back while I struggle to straighten us out. They’re fucking with us, I realize. They could have easily run us off the road, or slammed into us hard enough to send the car rolling, but they don’t want to. No need to rush—it’s not like we’re going anywhere.

  I hate being toyed with, and I especially hate that there’s nothing I can do about it. I grind my teeth and keep driving, trying to coax more speed out of this goddamn piece of junk car. Jedediah screams something from the passenger seat, over and over again. It takes three times for me to process the word he’s shouting at me: “gun!” I duck my head just as a bullet whizzes past me and through the windshield. I hunch over the steering wheel, while Jedediah shrinks down as far as he can in his seat, eyes shut tightly, letting out a constant stream of swear words.

  More bullets pepper the car, none doing any serious damage—just continuing to fuck with us, I’m sure—and then the truck gains speed suddenly, roaring its way up beside us. There it slows again, keeping pace. I look over to see a raider grinning at me. The scarred man hangs half out the window, holding a revolver with both hands, the gun pointed right at me. Heart hammering, I slam on the brakes, and the truck pulls ahead. A moment later it reverses, and I shoot forward again. I stay ahead only for a moment or two before the truck is back at our side.

  Desperate, I ram our tiny car sideways, right into their huge truck. The raider nearly topples out the window, and the gun falls from his hands, lost to the road. He scrambles for a handhold, his face utterly shocked. Once the man regains his balance he scowls at me, and shouts something over his shoulder at the driver. Before I can react, the truck rams us back.

  We skid sideways, nearly off the road, and I fight to keep control of the car. At least I don’t have a gun pointed at my face now … but unfortunately, I’ve introduced the raiders to a fun new game. They ram us again, and again. When they’re close, I can hear the laughter drifting out of their open window. As soon as I recover, they hit us once more—and this time stay locked to our side, metal grinding against metal, their truck pushing against us.

  I grit my teeth and turn the wheel sharply, trying to break away, but the truck sticks to us. It edges us toward the side of the road. The car whines pitifully, engine struggling. I push it harder, harder, knowing I have to get away. I pick up speed, but the truck easily keeps up.

  Too late, I see the crumbling building ahead. Too late, I realize the raiders’ plan. I jam my heel against the brake in an attempt to slow down, but all it does is make me lose control. With a screech of tires, the raider truck shoves me off the road and the car rams straight into the side of the building.

  Car hits wall. Forehead hits steering wheel.

  For a moment everything goes black. I fight it. I force my eyes open, will myself to move, to stay conscious. But my brain is hazy, uncooperative. It takes all my effort to lift my head, shaking it in an attempt to clear it while the world spins around me. Jedediah is crumpled in his seat, groaning.

  Gradually, my head clears, and adrenaline sparks me into action. I shift the car into reverse and rev the engine. It only makes a horrible screeching noise, producing no actual movement. Judging from the smoke coming from the hood, this poor piece of shit has finally rumbled its final rumble. The good news is that the raiders have rammed their big-ass truck into the building as well, and despite its size it doesn’t look like the thing won its battle with the wall.

  The bad news is that the raiders are now jumping out of their vehicle and coming for us. I curse, scramble to open the door, and climb out. I stumble in my hurry, my legs shaky beneath me after the crash, but I force myself to keep going. I rush to the trunk, prop it open, and grab the first gun I find: an assault rifle. Jedediah yells at me from the passenger seat, but I ignore him and turn to face the raiders. There are four of them, one with a gun, the others with hand weapons. I immediately release a spray of bullets at the armed one, and he falls with a shout. Before I can aim again, another raider is on me, swinging a knife at my face.

  My gunfire goes wild as I jump back to avoid the blade. I try to level my weapon at the man with a knife, but he dives at me, shoving my arm so the barrel of the gun jerks upward. He shoves me back against the same wall my car crashed into.

  We struggle. I block his wild swings with my gun, unable to get a shot off as I try to prevent my nose from being sliced in half. He grabs the barrel of the gun with his free hand, yanking it out of my grip; I let go immediately, so his own momentum sends him stumbling.

  I grab a loose brick from the wall behind me and launch it at him. It catches him in the si
de of the head, and he shouts, clutching his ear. I grab another before he can recover and tackle him to the ground. The gun slips out of his hands and clatters into the dust. He holds on to the knife and slashes at me, but I block it with the brick and shove his hand to the side, leaving his face wide open. His eyes widen as he realizes what’s about to happen, and his mouth opens, but I bring the brick down before he can say anything. Once, twice, three times, and his face is reduced to a bloody mess. I hold on to the bloody brick, panting.

  I have a mere second to recover before I see another raider diving for my fallen gun. I lunge at her, and smash the brick onto her hand as soon as she grips it. She snarls, trying to snatch her hand back, but I keep it pinned. With my free hand, I grab her arm and yank her down into the dirt with me. We tumble on the ground, both losing our weapons and resorting to hits and kicks and bites and scratches. She’s smaller than me, scrawnier, and eventually I get a good grip on her hair and pin her facedown in the dirt. I find her companion’s fallen knife on the ground nearby, and jam it hilt deep into the back of her exposed neck. She jolts and goes limp, and I slowly pull the blade free.

  I climb to my feet with the knife in hand, breath hard, blood pumping, veins full of the half-fear, half-excitement muddle that a fight always brings out in me. I focus on the last raider still standing. The huge man has dragged Jedediah out of the passenger seat. As I watch, he lifts the wriggling smaller man and slams him down on the hood of the car. Jedediah stops moving.

  No. Not my bounty. If he dies here, all of this was pointless.

  I run at the raider, a shout tearing out of my throat. He turns toward me, and I sink the blade of the knife deep into his shoulder, just missing his neck. He grunts and grabs me by the arm. He starts to lift me off the ground, but I aim a swift kick at his groin, and he loses his grip. I smash a knee into his face as he leans over, and shove him backward. He stumbles into the car, his back slamming against it, and drops to one knee with a grunt of pain. Before he can recover from the flurry of attacks, I find my gun and release a hail of bullets on both him and the car. Bullets ping against metal, and his body jerks and convulses with the force. Finally the gunfire dies, and the body falls to the ground.

  I lower my gun, gasping for breath. My whole body is trembling from the rush. Nearby I can hear at least one of the raiders still groaning, but a quick glance confirms that he’s not going to be a threat. I march over to Jedediah instead. He’s facedown on the hood of the car, not moving. I nudge him, and when I get no response, flip him over. Blood trickles down the side of his face.

  His eyes flutter open and focus on me.

  “I’m okay,” he says dazedly. “I’m good. Don’t you worry about me.”

  I check him over. The blood looks bad, but the gash on his forehead is superficial. Judging from the look on his face he probably took a couple good slams to the head, but he’s still intact enough for my purposes.

  “I wasn’t,” I say curtly. I leave him there and head to the trunk of the car. We don’t have much time to spare, especially since we’re on foot now. I glance at the map, noting the towns nearest to where we are, before shoving it into my pocket. I fill a duffel bag with supplies—food, water, bandages, ammo, and as many guns as I can fit. It hurts me to leave any behind, but overburdening myself will slow me down, and slowing down could get me killed, considering there’s a fuckload of raiders hot on our trail. I’m not going to die for a couple of guns, no matter how nice they are. With that done, I return to Jedediah and grab him by the arm, hauling him to his feet. He sways, nearly falling over backward again. I sigh and slip an arm around his midriff to keep him upright.

  “You’re not very durable for a raider,” I say.

  “Well, you’re not very … uh …” He trails off as he notices the scene around us, his head tilting side to side as he surveys the carnage. “Woah,” he says, blinking. “You killed them all.” He turns to look at me. I expect him to be frightened, like people normally are when they see what I can do, but instead he breaks into a wide grin. “Well, damn. Nice work.”

  I glance sideways at him, surprised—and, though I’d never admit it, a little bit pleased at the compliment. If he had any lick of sense he’d be terrified after that display, but instead he looks impressed.

  “It was necessary,” I say. I half-carry, half-drag Jedediah through the aftermath of the fight, sidestepping bodies and dying men. I put Saint’s radio tower behind us, and set off into the wastes.

  I wander in the direction of the next town, but my heart tells me there’s no way we’re going to make it. We have to stop and duck down every time a vehicle passes, though none of them notice us, or if they do, they don’t care enough to stop for two pathetic wanderers. Jedediah gradually recovers from the fight, and soon we’re walking side by side, though he needs some prodding to keep up.

  I’m just trying to put as much distance as possible between us and the raiders, but something unexpected soon looms on the horizon: a town. I frown, slowing down; this is way too soon to hit the place we were heading toward.

  “Oh, hell yeah,” Jedediah says, picking up his pace. I let him stumble on ahead as I pause and check the map.

  Unless I’m horribly lost, this place isn’t on it. Once we get a little closer, it’s not hard to see why. The town is tiny, just a cluster of tilted, haphazard buildings that seem like they’re drunk and struggling to stay upright. But there are signs of life here and there: blankets covering windows, the faint smell of fire, whispers of conversation carried on the wind. Normally I would never stop here, knowing I’d only find desperate people, and desperate people are likely to do desperate things when they see someone better off than they are. But for now, it’s the only thing breaking up the endless emptiness of the wastes, and we need to get out of open ground. I follow Jedediah, checking my guns just in case violence does break out.

  As we draw closer, I find that the town is dead silent. There’s no movement or sound, nobody around as far as I can see. Maybe I was wrong, and the signs I saw before were just wishful thinking. Maybe it’s a ghost town, abandoned or never really occupied. I’m already considering whether it’s a smart idea to hide in the abandoned buildings or keep going when I hear conversation nearby. I grab Jedediah’s arm and pull him against me, pointing a hand in the direction the noise is coming from. He nods, pressing his lips firmly closed. I draw my gun and we creep around the corner together.

  A small cluster of townies gathers in the street we enter. They’re dirty, thin people, and all turn to stare at us with wide, reproachful eyes. One man has a gun, but he doesn’t raise it as he sees us, just stares with a look of resignation. After a moment I lower my weapon, and the armed man steps forward, holstering his own gun.

  “Who’re you?” he asks. He’s a ragged man with a moustache and a head of scraggly brown hair, eyes squinting out from a wrinkled and sun-spotted face. I holster my gun, keeping my hand on it just in case, but he makes no move to draw on me. The rest of the townsfolk clump together and peer at me fearfully from behind their apparent leader.

  “Stranger looking for a place to stay,” I say.

  “Friendly?”

  “Sure.”

  He eyes me for a moment longer, gaze lingering on my burnt face and the gun at my hip, and nods. He must gather that I’m not a raider, based on the fact that I haven’t tried to shoot anyone up yet. Either that, or he’s accepted his fate already.

  “Fine,” he says. “We’ve got bigger problems to deal with anyway.” He steps forward and juts out a hand. I shake it firmly. “I’m the sheriff here,” he says, “for what it’s worth.”

  “Place got a name?”

  “Nope,” he says. “We just settled here ’bout a week ago. We were nomads before. When we heard about what Saint was doing, thought it was finally safe enough to settle down. Picked up some stragglers along the way, found a spot nice and close to Saint’s tower, and … well, here we are now.”

  “Shit luck,” I say. He nods shortly, his
face grim, and then eyes Jedediah. He takes in the ropes around his wrists and the state of him, as well as the fact that I’m toting several large guns.

  “Guess it’s shit luck for you too,” he says.

  “Yep.” I shrug, as if it doesn’t matter. Better to keep up a brave face around people like this, not show them that I’m scared shitless just like them. “You hear what happened? Raiders storm the tower?”

  “Oh, no,” he says, his face sagging. “No word for sure what went down, but those raiders didn’t all come from outside the tower. They came from inside.” He folds his arms over his chest. “People brought him so many raiders … he must’ve not really been killin’ them like he said.”

  It doesn’t surprise me. Not many good men left nowadays, and those that do exist usually don’t last long. This isn’t a place for good men. Isn’t a world for good men.

  “Well,” I say. “No use wasting time chitchatting. You’ve got a fuckload of raiders coming this way fast. Let’s figure out how to survive this.”

  XI

  The Truth

  The sheriff leads us into a building nearby. They seem to have tried very hard to patch it up, and haven’t quite succeeded. The windows are boarded up, the door is attached by only one hinge, and the entire place has a very sad, dusty look about it. The interior isn’t much better, just a bunch of half-broken furniture scattered in a dim room.

  Most of the townsfolk are huddled here. There’s a surprising number of them. Every chair and stool is occupied, as well as much of the floor space, making it hard to walk. The atmosphere is grim, the people mostly silent aside from the occasional murmured conversation or person weeping. Clearly these people know what they’re up against, and they’re not liking their odds. I want to tell the sheriff that it’s a bad idea to have everyone clustered in the same building, where they could easily be mowed down by a machine gun or a couple grenades, but I don’t see the point. These people aren’t going to survive.