Wizard of the Wasteland: a post-apocalyptic adventure

by Jon Cronshaw

  Abel holds back a frown as he guides the mule in a broad arc until the cart faces back towards the road.

  “I remember,” says Second Bob, raising his right hand. “You had a tick-tick thing.”

  The wizard furrows his brow for a moment, puts his hat back on and scratches his beard. “Of course,” he says. “The movement of the magical hands around the circle of life. A gift of ancient alchemy, now, I am afraid to say, lost forever.”

  “You lose your tick-tick thing?” Second Bob asks, his lip quivering.

  “My boy, have no fear. For through painstaking research and exploration of faraway palaces and libraries, I have come to discover more powerful spells. Some of the most incredible sights you will ever see await you. But, alas, my assistant and I are tired and our legs weary.”

  “You wants eats?” Big Ned asks.

  “Big Ned. You are a wise and thoughtful man. Food for me and my assistant will give us the necessary strength to demonstrate the great mysteries of the unknown.”

  Big Ned turns to Second Bob and slaps him across the back of the head. “What you standing for? Get the women make some eats.”

  “Pa.” Second Bob dips his head, flinching, and runs over to the shacks. Some of the crowd disperse and head back to their own shelters.

  Abel walks over to the wizard. “What are these people?” he whispers, surveying the settlement. “Where are the women?”

  “I said this place was a bit odd.”

  “They're creeping me out. They all look the same.”

  “They don't breed with outsiders,” the wizard says.

  Abel scratches his nose. “What was Big Ned saying about kids going missing?”

  “Ah, Second Bob,” the wizard says, looking past Abel. “What is this fine selection?”

  Second Bob drops a tin bucket to the ground, crouches over it, and pokes at its contents with a stick. “We got a few critters, a tree critter.” He lifts the charred remains of squirrel from the bucket, letting it hang limp from the end of his stick. “That good tree critter.”

  Abel kneels next to Second Bob and wrinkles his nose at the smell of rotting meat. He examines the skinned animals. Some of the rats have been cooked to a crisp. The rabbit bends in an awkward contortion, half-raw and turning green along one side. He takes a rat then moves aside for the wizard who takes a rat and the squirrel.

  When Second Bob goes, the wizard tosses the squirrel to Pip. “At least the rats are cooked,” he says, pulling off the rat's tail and dropping it to the ground.

  The wizard raises his chin and takes in a deep breath. With a broad, fixed grin, Abel unfastens the bolts around the side-panel of the wizard's cart. A gasp comes from the crowd, now reconvened and standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a semi-circle around the cart.

  “Behold! Today, I will show you wonders hitherto unseen in these parts; marvels of alchemy, myth, and ancient magic. I do not wish to speak in hyperbole, my good sirs, but what you will see today will be on the tips of your conversations for a generation.”

  “What you saying?” asks Big Ned, his eyes knitted with confusion.

  Second Bob moves his gaze from the wizard to Big Ned, back to the wizard, and back to Big Ned. “He say he got some magic. That we be telling the kids about his spells.” He looks back to the wizard, seeking confirmation.

  The wizard nods. “May I present: the magical extravaganza of the Great Alfonso.”

  He stands to the side of his cart, gesturing to the crowded shelves: the fish tank in the top-right corner, the television set, and the hand-generator. “Gentlemen, children. What you see before you are the wonders of magic and wizardry.”

  Big Ned walks over to the cart, folds his arms and sniffs. He points to the television, his arms still folded. “What that?”

  “My good sir, I must urge you to step back. This is ancient and powerful magic. I would hate for you or one of your wonderful relatives to be struck down by an alchemical curse.”

  Big Ned jerks backwards, his eyes darting between the shelves, the wizard, Abel, and Pip. “I don't like it,” he says.

  Abel walks over to Big Ned and places a hand on his shoulder. “It's good,” he says. “You'll see.”

  “You are probably wondering what these magnificent things can do,” the wizard says, smiling at the crowd. He takes the pair of binoculars from a high shelf and hands them to Second Bob. “With these, your eyes are made stronger. The magic is a guarded secret, passed down to me from wizards past. You will see faraway objects as if they are right next to you.”

  Second Bob takes the binoculars, turns them in his hands, and squints. Abel moves over to him and lifts them up to his eyes. “Like this.”

  With a slack mouth, Second Bob looks around, starts, and then laughs. “That magic,” he says, wiping a string of drool from his bottom lip.

  “Please, pass them around, let the others see one of my many marvels.” The wizard turns to the cart and attaches the hand-generator to the television with a length of wire and crocodile clips. “You may have seen glass windows,” the wizard says. He looks around at the huddle of windowless shacks and shrugs. “This window allows the Great Alfonso to gain a fleeting glimpse into a distant land.”

  The wizard winds the handle on the generator until the machine lets out a low hum. He signals for Abel to push the switch to turn on the television. The screen lights up in shifting spots of random greys, blacks, and whites.

  The wizard grins, gesturing to the screen. “Gentleman, what we are seeing here is a land of snow. Look around you. This is no trickery. We are in the midst of summer, yet the snow is as clear as day.”

  As the crowd creeps forward, the image fades to a tiny dot and then to black. “Alas, the magic only lasts so long,” he says, wiping his brow with a sleeve. He steps over to the right, reaches up, and takes down the fish tank. He steps over to Second Bob. “My boy, please tell your friends what lives in this tank.”

  Second Bob stares down into the tank, scratching his head. “They a pond critter.”

  “Pond critter?” the wizard asks.

  “That a pond critter if ever I see one,” says Second Bob, nodding.

  “My boy, please take one out for me, see for yourself that there is no shenanigans.”

  Second Bob frowns. “She-what now? Nana in woman hut. She not allowed out.”

  “Don't worry about it,” Abel whispers, patting Second Bob on the back.

  The wizard puts the tank back on the shelf, pulls out a frog, and holds it up by one leg. “Is there anyone here in doubt that this is a not real frog, that this is not, in the local parlance, a pond critter?”

  Big Ned steps forward, tilting his head at the squirming frog. “Look like good eats to me,” he says with a chuckle. “It pond critter.”

  The wizard flicks his wrist and smashes the frog against the cart’s side. He turns and holds up the frog, green and limp. “As you can see, this frog— ahem, pond critter— is dead. If anyone among you would care to inspect?” He waves the frog by its legs and bows his head when no one steps forward.

  “This is a most ancient magic,” he says, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I will ask all of you to move back a few steps.”

  The wizard places the frog carefully on the panel, takes the wires from behind the television set, and connects them to its arms. He steps over to the generator and winds the handle.

  The frog's right leg twitches. Gasps come from the crowd, and a small boy cries out.

  “As you can see, the Great Alfonso can bring this poor creature back to life.”

  There's a ripple of applause.

  “That some magic, mister,” Second Bob says.

  Big Ned grabs Second Bob by the hair and clenches his fists. “Get Mister Fluffy,” he growls.

  Second Bob's eyes widen. “But—”

  “Get!” Big Ned snaps, raising a threatening hand.

  Abel slides his hand into his jacket, fingers the handle of his hunting knife, and reaches slowly for his pistol. He readies
himself as Second Bob scrambles to a nearby hut. Big Ned raises his chin, his eyes fixed on the wizard, air whistling through his nose. The other men fall silent, their shoulders and jaws tightening.

  Abel sidles up to the wizard. “I don't like this,” he whispers.

  The wizard gives a quick bow to the crowd and then bolts up the cart with urgent haste.

  “Where you going?” asks Big Ned. He steps forward, puffing out his chest. “You got to see Mister Fluffy.”

  “We need to go,” Abel says.

  The crowd bursts into applause when Second Bob returns with a taxidermy creature hooked under his left arm.

  “What the hell is that?” Abel mutters, his hand dropping from his pistol.

  Second Bob kneels before the wizard, dips his head, and places the creature at his feet. Abel looks down, tilts his head, and tugs at his beard. The thing has ten half-rotting rat heads sewn onto a fox’s torso, poking from the neck in a tight cluster. Three pairs of rabbit's hind legs hang limp from its sides and five squirrel tails jut from the fox’s anus. A red ribbon has been tied in a bow around its waist, and someone has made it a blue polythene poncho.

  “This Mister Fluffy,” says Big Ned, his voice spilling with pride and spittle.

  Abel shares a confused glance with the wizard as Pip lets out a whine.

  “A pleasure it is to meet you, Mister Fluffy,” the wizard says, removing his pointy hat.

  “He won't hear,” says Big Ned. “He dead.”

  The wizard straightens up and brushes dust from his cape. “Of course,” he says.

  “You make that pond critter live,” Big Ned says. “You do that to Mister Fluffy.”

  Shaking his head, the wizard moves over to Big Ned. “My good sir, the magic I used to bring life to the frog was very powerful and, well...” He scratches behind his ear, looking to Abel.

  “The Great Alfonso has used all his magic,” Abel says. “He's very powerful, but there's only so much magic to go around.” He glances at the wizard, who nods. “I'm afraid he's very tired and won't be able to help Mister Fluffy.”

  Big Ned looks at the wizard and then at Mister Fluffy. He gulps as if something is trapped in his throat. “That too bad,” he says. “I want Mister Fluffy to watch out for us. Stop them Family taking the kids.”

  “I'm so sorry,” the wizard says.

  “Wait,” says Second Bob. “Take Mister Fluffy with you. When you get magic back, you bring Mister Fluffy back to watch out for us.” He turns to Big Ned. “What you say, Pa?”

  Big Ned's eyes brighten. “You do that?” he asks.

  The wizard looks at Abel and nods to Big Ned. “Of course,” he says in a solemn tone. “It would be an honour.”

  4. Bullets

  The sun blazes down when Abel reaches the highway. He blinks away the wisps of dust circling around him in lazy swirls.

  “We can still probably get back to Trinity by nightfall,” the wizard says from his perch on the cart.

  Abel shakes his head, gesturing east. “I want to see if we can catch up with those kids.”

  There's a long pause and the wizard's body tenses.

  “You don't have to come,” Abel says. “But I could do with the company.”

  “What you so scared of being alone for?” the wizard asks.

  Abel squirms at the question. “Look around,” he says. “You know how hard it is.”

  The wizard slides down from his seat and steps around the cart's side, unfastening the bolts. He takes the binoculars from a shelf and looks along the highway to the east.

  “Any sign?”

  The wizard shakes his head, handing Abel the binoculars. Through the lenses, Abel sees the highway curve downhill towards the city. He scans the horizon but sees no sign of the campervan. “They could be in a dip,” he says.

  “Yeah. Could be.”

  He looks again at the city — the remains of ancient buildings poking through black waters, and the twists of smoke rising from half-submerged buildings to the north. “Damn it,” he says. “Let's keep moving.”

  The wizard raises the reins and the mule lumbers forward. Pip laps at a puddle on the right-hand side of the highway and sniffs around the roots of a wiry apple tree. They pass rusted cars.

  Abel scans the highway back west and makes out the trail of the campervan's wheels, the kids' shambling footprints just visible through the dust. The tracks continue ahead, disappearing before him towards a low rise in the road. Pip takes off again, bounding between the trees and hopping over the ruined foundations of buildings.

  “What do you think was here before?” the wizard asks.

  Abel slows his pace, matching speed with the wizard. “Who could say? Could have been houses, I suppose.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  Abel shakes his head, rubbing his beard. “My mother used to tell me stories about the time before.” He pats the roof of a car with the flat of his right hand. “She said things like this used to race all over the place. You could travel a hundred miles in one day.”

  The wizard lets out a bitter laugh. “These heaps?”

  “Look at this road. You've got to admit it makes sense.” Abel looks up and sees the wizard looking at something in the distance. “What is it?”

  “It's them.”

  Abel jogs ahead, reaches the brow of a hill, and follows the highway until he sees the campervan. He catches his breath. “What we going to do?”

  The wizard snorts. “I thought you had a plan?”

  “We'll wait until night. They'll see us coming if we move up on them now.”

  The wizard brings his cart to a halt on Abel's left. “We should stay here then.”

  “We need to follow them. Keep enough distance so they don't see us as a threat. When they make camp, we'll do the same.”

  The wizard hops down from his cart and relieves himself behind a bush. “They're going to twig that something's going on,” he calls over his shoulder. “They're moving real slow.”

  Abel nods. “We can search these old cars and buildings along the way. If they see we're scavenging, hopefully they won't see us as a threat.”

  The wizard walks back over to his cart and pulls himself up onto the seat. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  Pip bounds along the track ahead. The trees around them stand thin and spindly, their fallen leaves spread red and orange along the ground. They reach the buildings the wizard had spotted from the road as the trees make way for a dusty clearing. To Abel’s left, a tumbledown house with a collapsed roof and missing front wall rests useless next to a sagging tractor. They ignore them and head straight towards the barn, built from grey stone with a corrugated steel roof. Thin rectangles, cut into the stone like arrowslits, let in light. Its reinforced doors hang off their hinges at awkward angles.

  Abel takes out his hunting knife and pistol and listens for noises from inside. “What do you think?” he whispers.

  “Seems safe.”

  Reaching the doors, Abel leans inside. “Looks clear.”

  Oak beams stretch along the barn's width, the concrete floor stained with oil patches, animal filth, and scattered with hay and dust, puddles, and feeding troughs. A series of steel enclosures line the right-hand wall. Shafts of sunlight poke through the windows, casting a grey light over everything. Rickety wooden steps lead up to a loft at the far end. Stacked plastic barrels line the left wall.

  “We should check up there,” Abel says, gesturing to the loft.

  The wizard shakes his head and waves his hands. “I’ve had enough falls for one day.”

  Pip pushes past Abel and heads to the animal enclosures. She sniffs around a puddle and then urinates.

  Abel lets out a sigh and makes his way to the steps. He tests the handrails first, gripping them in his hands and shaking them for a few seconds. He looks up and waits for the collapse, but nothing happens. He tries the first step, the sodden wood bending beneath his weight. With hesitant steps, he reaches the loft. The wood holds sturdy unde
rfoot.

  Looking down, he sees the wizard struggling to open a barrel. He turns and scratches his beard. A dozen or so hay bales rest against the back wall. Next to them, there’s a wooden tea chest. He walks over, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. He looks inside and frowns. “Damn it,” he says, finding the box empty, save for polystyrene packing foam. He checks around the hay bales but finds nothing.

  He makes his way down the stairs and joins the wizard next to the barrels. “Anything good?”

  “They’re all empty. You?”

  Abel looks into the empty barrels, grimacing at the chemical smell. “Nothing, unless you’re after packing foam.” He looks around for Pip.

  “Where is it?” the wizard asks.

  “What?”

  “Packing foam,” he says, his voice growing with excitement. “Show me.”

  Abel gives a shrug. “It’s in a wooden box. It’s useless.”

  The wizard runs over to the steps and totters up to the loft.

  “Be careful.”

  A few seconds later the wizard stands at the loft's edge beaming as he waves the blocks of packing foam. He makes his way down the steps with a triumphant grin. “Useless?” he says with a mocking tone. “You need to learn the value of things. My friend, this is not useless— this is the fuel for magic.”

  The Family’s campervan is just visible in the distance when Abel helps the wizard drag the cart back onto the highway. He looks to the west and sees the sun low above the horizon.

  The wizard follows Abel’s gaze. “What is it?”

  “Seeing how much light we’ve got left.”

  “We should set up camp soon.”

  Abel glances towards the van and sighs. “Let’s see what they do. If they move through the night, we’ll lose them for sure.”

  The wizard climbs onto the cart, shuffles into his seat and grabs the reins. With a flick of his wrist, the mule lurches forward.

  “You going to tell me what’s so magical about packing foam?” Abel asks.

  “All in good time,” says the wizard, adopting his showman’s voice. “All in good time.”

  Abel shakes his head and smirks. “I’m going to go on ahead, see if I can get a better idea about this van.”