The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  The room we enter is quiet. It holds only a run-down, stained wooden table, with two women and a man seated at it. Spread across the surface between them is a frayed, yellowed piece of paper with curled edges. As soon as we enter, the three grab it and turn it facedown, hiding its contents from our sight. I catch only a glimpse of what seems to be a diagram of the town.

  “What’s this?” one of the women asks sharply. She’s middle-aged, with pinched lips and olive skin. She scrutinizes Jed and me and glares at the guard accompanying us. “I thought we agreed not to let any strangers into town. We’ve got enough to worry about already.”

  “I know, I know,” the guard says. She takes off her helmet, runs a hand through her sweaty hair, and shrugs. “But these two say they’ve seen the raiders. Thought we should hear what they have to say.”

  The woman at the table looks back at us, her eyes narrowing.

  “They’ve been disarmed, at least?”

  “Of course,” the guard says. “And I gotta say, there was a lot of disarming to be done. The two were packing. Her especially.” She jerks her chin at me. I keep my face neutral, meeting the eyes of the woman at the table. Her lips twist to one side, and she nods at the guard.

  “Got it. You can go now.”

  The guard leaves us. When the door shuts behind her, the room is quiet. The three townies at the table eye us warily. Jed, beside me, shifts from foot to foot and clears his throat. I shoot him a warning glare, just to make sure he doesn’t get any stupid ideas, but he stays quiet.

  “So which of you is in charge here?” I ask finally, looking from one to another.

  “All of us,” the single man says. He has hard eyes and a scruffy black goatee. “We’re the council of Fort Cain.” He says it with a proudly raised chin, like I should recognize the name of their backwater little western town. I look at Jed, wondering if I should have heard of the place, but he shrugs back at me, as lost as I am.

  “All right,” I say. “Well, we—”

  “So you saw the raiders?” the woman who spoke before asks. “We’ve had a few people fleeing this way, talking about some massive army coming this way, but no details. You actually saw them?”

  I take a deep breath, trying to stifle my annoyance at being interrupted, reminding myself that we’re currently at these people’s mercy.

  “We did,” I say. “They overtook the last town we stayed in.”

  “How many of them were there?” the man asks. I know what he’s really asking: Do we have a chance? I don’t think he really wants to know the answer, but is it really better to lie to him, set up false hopes? I exchange another look with Jed.

  “A lot of them,” I say. “It’s hard to get an exact number.” It’s the best I can do, I figure, without causing a panic. But the council, of course, isn’t pleased with that response—or maybe the implied answer behind it: Too many.

  “It’s possible some of them have split off from the main group by now,” Jed adds, finally speaking up. “But yeah, last time we saw, I’d say … about a hundred of them, at least.”

  Clearly he hasn’t taken the hint to be vague. The council members murmur among themselves, their expressions troubled. I stay silent, waiting for them to speak again. Whatever damage Jed has done with the truth, it can’t be undone at this point.

  “We appreciate the honesty,” the third council member says, speaking for the first time. She has a plain and open face, lined with age and experience. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  I pause, considering. I know what she wants to hear is good news, something that will help them, or at least boost morale, but there’s not much to give. There isn’t some big secret that’s going to change the fact that they’re completely fucked. But I’m not going to be the person to tell them that, especially not when I’m looking to stay here for a night or two, utilize their shelter and supplies for as long as they last.

  “They don’t have any vehicles,” I say after a moment. “The ones who did already went ahead. These are … the strays, I guess. They don’t have the best weapons, and they’re disorganized. Not a singular army, but a bunch of crews who happen to be headed the same way. They’ll work together, but only to a certain extent.”

  Of course, the council looks disappointed. I know they wanted more, but I can’t give anything else without lying blatantly to their faces.

  “Thank you,” the older woman says. While the other two are sullen, she at least seems to be holding it together. “I have one last question. Is it true the raiders came from Saint’s tower?”

  I hesitate for a long moment. I don’t want to break these people, but so far this woman, at least, seems to have genuinely appreciated the honesty.

  “Yes,” I say finally. “That’s what it seems like. The sheriff of a nearby town said most of them came from inside the tower, that they’d been there all along.”

  I’ve barely finished speaking when the other woman suddenly slams a fist on the table. The man and the elderly woman turn to face her with startled expressions.

  “He fucked us,” she says through gritted teeth. “Do you know how many raiders we brought to him? And this whole time, he was lying about killing them. Jesus fuck. He’s no better than that Jedediah Johnson in the east.”

  “Jedediah Johnson would’ve been better,” the man mutters. “At least he’s upfront about what he’s doing.”

  I try to suppress my reaction, and refuse to look at Jed, though I see him glance at me. I clear my throat, collecting myself before speaking.

  “You know of Jedediah Johnson?” I ask, very carefully.

  “Heard of him recently,” the older woman says, speaking before the other two have a chance to. She’s still maintaining her composure. I respect that. “Other towns sent warning that he’s headed this way, stopping at each and every town, looking for someone. I guess a couple of them have sworn their loyalty to him already, hoping he’ll protect them from the raider army. Word is he’ll be here within the week.”

  I feel a cold prickle of fear at that. Within the week? As if we didn’t have enough to worry about with the raider army. Even if this town miraculously holds against that onslaught, I still won’t be safe from Jed’s father here. There’s no way the town can keep him out, especially not when they’ll be worn down from their encounter with the raiders.

  “Dunno why he’s bothering with this area,” the other woman says. “It’s enough of a shitfest already.”

  “Maybe that’s the point,” the man says with a shrug. “This place is ripe for the picking, ain’t it? And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe we should consider swearing to him when he gets here. If we make it that long.”

  “Jedediah Johnson is a monster,” I spit out, unable to help myself. The council turns to me, surprised by the interjection, and I take a breath to calm myself. “I’ve been to the eastern wastes. People live awful lives. Whatever you may have heard, he’s nothing but a dictator. And not a benevolent one.”

  Beside me, Jed shifts and makes some noise that sounds almost like protest under his breath. I shoot him a dark look, and he presses his lips together, saying nothing.

  “Well, at least they live,” the man says. “Better to be under his control than to be wiped out by raiders, ain’t it?”

  The two women exchange a glance, drop their eyes, and say nothing. I keep my mouth shut as well and, to my own shock, feel a glimmer of uncertainty about whether he’s right.

  The conversation may not have gone too smoothly, but in the end the council agrees to let us stay in town. They let us loose without a guard, though I suspect that’s less of a sign of trust and more of a sign that they can’t spare anyone to babysit us. They do, however, refuse to give us our guns back, which leaves me feeling itchy and vulnerable.

  This place is certainly better equipped than the Nameless Town. They have real defenses set up, real guns to arm their townies with, real plans on how to hold out against the flood of raiders headed this way. If I hadn’t witnessed the
massacre at the Nameless Town, I might’ve let myself have a shred of hope. I might’ve thought they could at least hold well enough that the raiders would get bored and move on to an easier target. But as it is, all I can think of is the march of raiders on the Nameless Town, the seemingly-endless amount of them, the sheer viciousness of the mob as they tore their way through the people there. Plus, by now the raiders will be hungry. I can’t help but feel that, no matter what defenses and plans they have, these people don’t understand what’s coming for them. It’s all too easy to imagine the wall coming down and these people being slaughtered.

  But Jed and I are in no position to be on the run again so soon. We need this time to rest, prepare ourselves for more travel ahead. We have little choice but to stay here—for as long as we can, at least. I’ll be happy if we get one good night’s sleep under a roof instead of out in the open wastes. I know better than to expect more than that. After Jed speaks to the townies and gets us a tiny serving of water and canned food to share, I keep to myself in town, sitting quietly in the shade of a building and watching the townies go about their defensive preparations.

  Jed, apparently, is not on the same page as I am. He’s unnaturally quiet for the first hour or so, probably exhausted and shell-shocked from our bumpy journey here. But after a brief nap—during which I keep watch, because I don’t fully trust these people—he’s back to his old self again, but in hyperdrive. I have no idea where he finds the energy or the spirit, but soon he’s flitting around and chatting up just about anyone who will listen. I sit by myself and watch him, half-annoyed and half-puzzled, as he talks the ear off every townie he can find.

  It’s easy to write him and his constant chatter off as ridiculous, but he’s remarkably skilled at getting on people’s good sides. The townies seem mistrustful of him at first, but soon he’s earning himself smiles, and then laughs, and soon enough they’re treating him like one of their own. Meanwhile, I sit alone, and townies shoot me nervous glances and give me a wide berth as they pass by. I don’t understand how he does it … but I have to admit that I respect his ability to earn people’s trust. Not just respect—part of me envies it. No one has looked at me the way people look at him since Old Creek burned.

  Still, I don’t see the point of getting to know these townies when they’re basically dead already. This is not the time or the place to get friendly with the locals, and it irritates me that Jed is wasting time working his charms on them right now.

  “Hi,” a quiet voice says. I look up to find a townie girl standing a couple feet away. She’s young, barely a teenager from the look of her, with mousy hair pulled back in a ragged braid and a pair of buck teeth.

  “What do you want?” I ask, a little more harshly than I intended, and the girl blushes.

  “Um, well, I heard that you and your partner got into a scrape with some raiders,” she says, and I suppress an eye roll at the word “partner.” Goddamn Jed. “I thought you might be hurt, so I brought some bandages.” She holds up a bag for me to see, gauze poking out from within.

  “I’m fine,” I say. Again, the words come out unnecessarily hard, but the girl doesn’t back away like I’m half-hoping she will. I glance around for Jed. He’s busy talking with a small crowd of men nearby, and doesn’t notice me looking.

  “Are you sure?” the girl asks, her forehead creasing. “You’ve got a cut on your cheek, and—”

  “I said I’m fine, girl.” My voice is intentionally sharp this time. “Now shoo.”

  The girl’s eyes widen, and she scurries away without another word. Sighing, I let my head fall back against the cool bricks behind me. My brain flashes an unwanted image of that townie kid, Wyatt, who helped me in the Nameless Town, and I grimace. I don’t need any more faces haunting my thoughts. If things were different, maybe I could make an effort, try to settle down here. But this place is practically dust and ash already. While I want to find a new home, I don’t think I can take losing one again.

  After a few minutes, footsteps approach. I raise my head again, bristling, ready to tell off whatever townie is disturbing me this time, but it’s only Jed. He looks down at me with his head tilted to one side, and then drops to a seat beside me. He hands over a bottle of water. It’s much more than the townies initially gave us; at least Jed’s socializing has gained us that benefit.

  “What are you up to over here?” he asks, while I take several greedy gulps.

  “Keeping my distance,” I say, lowering the bottle and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I eye him as I hand the bottle back. “What are you doing?”

  “Well, I was over there telling Dan and Bert about our journey here, but Mary came by and said—”

  “Stop it,” I snap. “For fuck’s sake, Jed. I don’t want to know these people’s names.”

  “Why’s that?” he asks, frowning.

  “Don’t play dumb,” I say. “You know as well as I do that these people will be dead come tomorrow. This stay is very temporary.”

  He’s quiet for a moment.

  “Yeah, I know,” he says finally, without any of the casual joviality from before. “Still, can’t hurt to figure out how many people are in town, how many will be armed when the raiders come, what kind of defenses they’re setting up …”

  I stare wordlessly at him. I never would have expected that, with all of his joking around and casual chatting with the townies, he’s getting important information. Once again, it seems I’ve underestimated him. I give him an appraising look. He’s a damn good shot, charming as all hell, clearly much smarter than his constant joking suggests … What else lurks beneath that ridiculous exterior?

  “I’m getting a feel for our options,” he says, when I don’t comment.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He smiles. After one more sip of water, he hands me the last of it and stands up.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, brushing dust off his pants. “Just … y’know, you do you, and I’ll do me.”

  With that he’s gone, back to talking with the townies and helping with the hustle and bustle around town. I watch him, frowning, still trying to puzzle him out and decide whether I trust him. He may not be the infamous raider I thought he was, but he’s still a raider, and his father’s infamous blood flows through his veins. I have yet to figure out how I feel about him, but I do know that I don’t understand him at all.

  Plus, I think, watching him dramatically reenact our journey here for a group of townies, I’m still not convinced he’s entirely sane.

  As night falls, the townies retreat into their saloon. Despite its worn appearance and half-broken door, it isn’t too bad inside. The floorboards are scuffed up but mostly intact, and there’s even some makeshift furniture: tables and mismatched chairs, a bar with a couple of rickety stools. The bar doesn’t actually serve anything other than water, but still. A few townies stay outside on the wall to keep watch, and the rest crowd inside of the small building.

  I stand in a corner, waiting to grab the attention of someone important and ask where Jed and I can spend the night, but anyone with any semblance of authority seems to be dealing with a steady stream of worried townies. As I wait, Jed brings me a warm can of beans. I slurp it down, and he leans against the wall beside me, looking out at the townies with an oddly shrewd face. I stay quiet, watching alongside him.

  “Wait a second,” he says, his face lighting up as his eyes find something in the corner. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Oh, no,” I say under my breath, following his gaze. I reach out to grab his arm and stop him, but he’s already weaving his way through the crowd on the way over.

  What he finds, stuffed into the corner of the room and half-covered with a ragged blanket, is a piano. He drags the blanket off, revealing a dusty and cobwebbed but still mostly intact instrument. The townies make room for him on the bench without him even asking. He slides onto it between two townie women and brushes his fingertips over the keys. He blows off some dust, cl
eans a spot of grime with his shirt, and prods a few keys to test it out, his head tilted to one side and his expression deeply thoughtful. A satisfied smile spreads across his face, and he starts to play.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter to myself, still leaning against the wall where he left me. Of course Jed actually knows how to play a goddamn piano. There are some missing keys and the thing is clearly not in the best state of repair, but he still manages to play a song that sounds almost correct. I recognize it as the one he hums all the time—and he hums still as he plays, fingers dancing over the keys. The townies are absolutely delighted by the unexpected entertainment, their faces lighting up, gathering around Jed as he plays. Some attempt to clap along, though it’s clear none of them actually know the tune.

  “Of all the useless skills to have,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. What person nowadays actually knows how to play an instrument? Who would spend their time learning that, of all things? And how would someone even manage it? It’s absurd. Then again, I suppose if anyone had the time and resources to learn a useless skill, it would be the son of a crazy dictator. I guess when you don’t have to constantly worry about how to survive, you can spend your time on other things.

  The “why” of the matter is a bit harder to grasp, but it always seems to be with Jed. Spending time with him is basically a long series of me repeatedly wondering why. I don’t think he even knows the answer half the time.

  Though the “why” of learning the piano is hard to gauge, the “why” of playing it now is evident: the townies absolutely adore him for it. The tension melts away, and the townies treat him like an old friend, laughing and joking and clapping him on the back. Jed invites me to join him on the bench a few times, but I shake my head and keep my distance.

  It’s strange, watching how easily Jed interacts with people. I’ve never had his easy charm and way of speaking to strangers like they’re friends. Actually, I seem to have the opposite effect on most people. People respect me, fear me, occasionally trust me, but I’m well aware that most people don’t particularly like me. Nobody has, ever since Old Creek. Except … Jed, perhaps.