King of the Wasteland: Follow-up to Knight of the Wasteland

by Jon Cronshaw

  Creeping past the truck, Abel stops, tilting his head at the noise inside. “There’s people in there.”

  “I bet it’s those women from Town,” says David.

  Abel glances past the truck to the clearing, the king still talking and waving his arms. “Let’s see if we can get them out.”

  Sis grabs his arm, her eyes wide, ferocious. “No,” she snarls.

  “Damn it, we can’t just leave them.” Abel shakes his head.

  “She’s right,” David says. “It’s too risky.”

  Abel hesitates for a moment and heaves out a shuddering sigh. “Okay,” he manages. “We need to focus on warning Trinity.” He swallows and moves forward, looking back over his shoulder towards the truck. “We’ll come back for them later.”

  Someone calls out from the camp and points towards them. Heads turn. “Seize them,” the king shouts.

  Sis bolts on ahead, riding into the darkness.

  Abel yanks David’s sleeve, jerking him as he sets off. He runs full force into the blackness, only vaguely aware of the highway’s edge. He scans ahead for Sis, but sees no sign of her.

  Charging forward, he stumbles, his leg catching on a twisted tree root. “Damn it,” he cries out. David pulls him to his feet and moves off the highway, scrambling down into thick brush.

  Branches snap and scratch across Abel’s face, the voices closing in behind him. He ducks and weaves through the trees, ignoring the thorn bushes that tear at his flesh, slicing his forehead open and scratching at his hands and wrists. “Where's Sis?”

  “Still on the road, I think,” David says.

  “Give it a few more minutes and we’ll head back to the road. I think we've lost them.”

  The moon slips behind billowing, whirling clouds as firelight pokes through the bushes. Reaching the edge of the trees, Abel leans against a trunk, scanning back along the highway for signs of movement through the shadows. “I think we lost them,” he says, his breath strained.

  David sweeps his gaze along the highway, and nods. “Come on.”

  They run along the narrow ditch, stumbling over broken branches, trailing vines, and junk. “I'm going to break my ankle at this rate,” says Abel. “We should get on the road properly.”

  “But they’ll see us.”

  “They'll have lost interest. I'm sure they’ve got better things to do than chasing us.” Breathing heavily, Abel spits the acid taste from his mouth and watches the road behind him. “Looks clear, kid.”

  They step onto the asphalt, skirting past the remains of cars and trucks, slumped rusty things, weathered and twisted into garish forms, shadows upon shadows in the night.

  Abel starts when part of a van door crumbles from its hinges, clattering against the concrete. The noise rings out, echoing around him.

  “You think Sis went this way?” David asks.

  “Who could say? She seemed pretty frantic. I'm not too sure we'll see her again.” He blinks against the dripping blood, sticky around his eyelids.

  “We should find somewhere to camp.”

  “I'd rather push on, kid.” He wipes his eyes with a sleeve. “We need to warn Sal.”

  A man’s voice calls out behind them. Abel turns to see two shadowy figures lurching towards them, their outlines barely visible in the darkness. “We need to go.”

  They run along the highway’s middle, the central barrier long-gone. Muscles seize in Abel's thighs, the bottoms of his feet burning and raw. Tiredness grips him, pulling him down. A stitch tugs at his chest. He stops and hunches over, pushing thick spit from his mouth, blood pooling around his eyebrows.

  “You okay?” David asks.

  Abel looks up and raises a hand, nodding. He spits again and wipes more blood from his eyes, gasping for breath. “I'll be fine, kid. Just need to get my breath back.”

  “They're gaining.”

  Shuddering with exhaustion, Abel runs his tongue along his dry lips, closes his eyes for a moment, and nods. “Okay,” he manages, shuffling forwards into a half-run, forcing his body to move against its protests.

  The voices behind them grow louder and his shin clips something sharp and sturdy. He lands hard on his right hip and lets out an agonised grunt. Looking up at David, he shakes his head weakly. “Just go, kid. Warn them. Don't let these bastards get them.”

  “I can't leave you.”

  “Damn it, kid. You need to warn them.”

  They stare at each other for a long moment.

  “Go,” Abel snaps, wincing.

  David turns and runs. Abel lies back in the darkness, gritting his teeth and waiting, his muscles burning and quivering. He closes his eyes.

  “I think he's dead,” a male voice says above him.

  Abel feels a kick in his side and groans, curling up into the pain.

  The second man laughs. “We should cut him.”

  “We should string him up.”

  “Two trophies in one day.”

  A loud crack comes from somewhere above and the first man falls dead at Abel's side. He opens his eyes, cringing as another gunshot takes out the second. A long silence follows.

  David pulls him up.

  “What happened?” Abel asks, confused and dizzy.

  “I think Sis is still with us.”

  6. The Envoy

  Abel limps along the trail towards Trinity, his hand resting on David's shoulder for support. Hay bales stand at regular intervals along the field to the left. An irrigation ditch trickles to the right.

  Abel looks around to see Sis bringing her bike to a stop. “What's up?”

  She stares at Abel for several seconds and then swallows. “Nothing.”

  “It will be okay,” David says. “They're good people.”

  Sis shakes her head. “No guards. No one to watch.” She turns her head towards the highway. “If king comes, fence won't hold.”

  Abel nods. “I've been all round that fence. It's pretty secure.”

  “That's why we're here,” David says. “They'll be able to set up a guard. It will be fine.”

  Sis scratches her neck, biting her bottom lip. “Okay.”

  The towering crucifix to the right of the main entrance looms ahead, its form dark against the glaring sunlight. Sheets of metal and wood stand tethered to chunks of broken asphalt, twisted lamp posts acting as stakes for telegraph cables and ropes.

  Abel bangs his fist against the fence at the trail’s end. “Hello?” he calls. He forces a reassuring smile when he meets Sis's gaze. “It'll be fine. We’re here.”

  She flinches when the fence shudders open and Sal looks out from beneath her hooded robe.

  “What happened to you?” Sal asks.

  Abel reaches up to his forehead. “It looks worse that it is,” he says. “I'm sure Jacob can clean it up.”

  Sal shakes her head, a black dreadlock spilling from her hood. “Jacob is at the Grid.”

  “The Grid?”

  “We're spreading out. He's out there helping people.”

  Abel pushes out his bottom lip and nods. “Certainly a place that could do with help.”

  Sal turns to Sis, her eyes widening at the trio of rifles. “Is she with you?”

  “This is Sis,” David says.

  “Well, she'll need to hand in those weapons if she's going to come in.”

  Sis takes a sharp intake of breath. “No.”

  “It’s just while we’re here,” says Abel. “Don’t worry, Sal will keep them safe.”

  “No.” Sis shakes her head, wide-eyed. “No.” She looks along the road behind her and takes a few steps backwards. “No.”

  Sal opens her palms and offers a warm smile. “Child, it’s okay. You’ll be safe here. You won’t need weapons.” Her voice is soft, calming.

  Sis looks back over her shoulder and then looks at Sal for a long moment, tugging at the ends of her hair. “King coming.”

  Abel gives Sal a haunted look. “That's why we're here. We've got nothing to trade. You know anything about the king?”
>
  There's a long pause and Sal looks past Abel along the road. “You’d better come in. You hungry?”

  Abel nods. “Yep.” He turns to Sis. “The food’s good here. Let Sal have your rifles. We can get them back when we go.”

  Holding her breath, Sis nods.

  SAL WALKS AT ABEL'S side with Sis's rifles cradled under her left arm. David and Sis follow behind. Abel inhales the aromas of wood smoke and soil, the stench of pigs and animal filth.

  “We got word of King Omar from one of the caravans a few months back,” Sal says as they head along a sloping dirt track down towards the settlement’s centre, passing ramshackle huts, vegetable patches, and chicken coops.

  “Why didn’t you say anything before?” Abel asks.

  “We hear lots of things from traders. If I told you every rumour that came our way, you’d be crippled by fear.”

  The water tower’s globe stands ahead, partially blocking the front of a white-painted church. Residents slip by them, some offering Abel a smile, others ignoring him. A brown and white cow stares out from behind a wire mesh fence as bees hum in the air.

  “That’s a cow,” David says.

  Sis doesn’t respond. Abel turns to see she’s stopped at the fence staring at the cow. She raises her fingers to her temples, pointing them up like horns. “Moo,” she says. She tilts her head and stares at the cow. “No horns.”

  David laughs. “Come on,” he says. “I’m hungry.”

  The cow lows and Sis flinches. She trembles, paralysed.

  “It’s okay,” Abel says.

  Sis gives him an unsure look.

  Abel lifts his hands to his head, pointing his fingers to the sky. “Moo.”

  The flicker of a smile brushes at the sides of Sis’s mouth. The cow lows again, and this time she laughs, copying the call.

  “It’s more like ‘oooorm’ than ‘moo’,” she says.

  Abel laughs. “Hey, maybe different cows have different voices.”

  “Like people.” Sis smiles, nodding at the cow.

  Sal opens the door to the communal hall, smiling at Sis. “Would you like to leave your bike here?” She makes a gesture to the hall’s outer wall.

  “No,” Sis says.

  Sal shrugs and Abel follows her inside to the candlelit gloom. “Take a seat,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

  Three rows of long pine tables fill the hall. Abel approaches the middle table and slides onto the nearest bench, its scratched surface smooth from years of wear.

  Sis wheels her bike into the hall behind David and leans it against the wall to her left. She sits on the bench across from Abel, looking around with a bemused expression.

  “Abel likes Sal,” David says in a low whisper.

  “I heard that,” Abel says, narrowing his eyes. “Just leave it.”

  “She’s nice,” Sis says. “You should be with her if you like her.”

  “Damn it, kid. Why do you have to bring things up? Just leave it.”

  “He doesn’t like me talking about it,” David whispers, grinning.

  Sis sniggers.

  Abel shakes his head and lets out a long sigh. “Just leave it,” he mutters.

  Sal returns with three plates of food and a bowl of steaming water.

  Sis starts when the first plate hits the table. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologise,” says Sal.

  “King coming.”

  Sal exchanges a look with Abel then looks down at the bowl. “I’ve brought you some water and a cloth to clean yourself,” she says, gesturing to Abel’s forehead.

  “Thanks, Sal.” Looking down at the slices of bread and salt beef, he wrings out the cloth and dabs it across his forehead, wincing as it stings his cuts.

  “Did you see King Omar on the roads?” Sal asks, her brow creased.

  Abel nods, dropping the cloth back into the bowl, watching as the dried blood and dirt turns the water a murky grey. “They raided Town. They're in a pretty bad way back there.”

  Sal slides on the bench next to Abel. “I was hoping they wouldn't head this way. I’ve heard stories — terrible stories.”

  Abel sighs, feeling her warmth. “We watched his camp. He was going on about ruling the wasteland. Just seems like another raider gang to me.”

  “From what I've heard, he's more dangerous than that, more organised. He's left hundreds dead and razed villages.”

  “And they might be on their way here.”

  There’s a knock at the door and a skinny dark-skinned man leans inside. “There’s someone here to see you,” he says, giving Sal a concerned look. “He’s asked specifically to speak to you.”

  “By name?”

  The man shakes his head. “Just said he had to speak to our leader. He said it was very important.”

  Sal nods. “Send him in.” She turns to Abel, shrugging. “How long do you think we’ve got before King Omar’s party heads this way?”

  Abel shrugs. “A day, maybe two. There’s a lot of them and they’ve got a pretty sizable camp.”

  “There’s that truck,” David says, between mouthfuls.

  “A truck?” Sal raises her eyebrows.

  Abel nods. “The kid’s right. They’ve got one of those old trucks working. Noisy thing.”

  “They had a horse too,” David says.

  “And guns,” Sis mutters.

  Sal turns to Sis. “Guns?”

  Tearing a piece of bread, Sis nods.

  “They’re well-armed,” Abel says, the corner of his lip curling. “I’m worried.”

  “Our fence is very secure.”

  Abel swallows. “For how long?” He looks around at the walls. “You think it can hold back a truck? Hold back fire?”

  The noise of clattering wood comes from outside and the door flings open. “Are you the leader?” a man asks, wheeling in a bike, his eyes fixed on Abel. A black flak jacket hangs tight around his broad shoulders. He brushes his fingers through his swept-back hair, black and thick with grease.

  “It’s him,” whispers David.

  “Shh,” Abel says.

  Sal gets up and meets the man’s gaze with a stony glare. “I am the priest of this community. I understand you want to speak with me?”

  The man leans his bike next to Sis’s, vaults the bench and sits across the table from Sal, taking a piece of bread from David’s plate and shoving it in his mouth.

  “I could make you a plate if you’d like?” she asks, seating herself back on the bench.

  The man wipes his mouth, grins, and leans back. “Not necessary. I’m going to keep this quick. I represent King Omar, the ruler of these lands. I’m here to offer you a...” he looks around, turning his right hand, as though searching for the words. “Let’s call it a mutually beneficial deal.”

  Abel tenses when Sal grabs his hand underneath the table.

  “Go on,” she says.

  “It’s very simple.” The man looks around again. “What do you call this place?”

  “Our community is called Trinity,” Sal says, shuffling on her seat.

  “Trinity,” he mutters. “We’ll have to change that.”

  Sal blinks and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, what is it that you want? If you are looking to trade, we have—”

  “Just stop,” the man snaps, raising his hand. “The deal is simple. Vacate this place and King Omar will let you and your people live. How does that sound?”

  Sal gets to her feet. “Get out,” she says, pointing to the door. “Now!”

  Abel gets up and eyes the man up and down. “Get out, or I’ll drag you out.”

  The man raises his hands, smirking. “I’ll let you think on it,” he says, getting up and grabbing another handful of food from David’s plate. “But we will be back. We’re taking this place, one way or another.”

  Reaching into his jacket, Abel pulls out his pistol and hunting knife. “Get out.”

  The man’s grin drops for a second. “If that’s the best you’ve got, this is going to e
nd quicker than expected.”

  “Go,” Abel snaps.

  Nodding, the man clambers over the bench and picks up his bike. Sal goes over to the door and holds it open, watching as he pushes past her.

  Abel leads the man to the main entrance with Sal at his side, his pistol still drawn.

  “Think about our offer,” the man says when Sal slides the fence across. “We’ll be here very soon.” Hopping onto his bike, he gives Sal a broad smile and waves.

  Swallowing, Abel watches the man pedal along the trail towards the highway. He steps back as Sal closes the fence, shaking his head as he returns his pistol and knife.

  “I wish you hadn’t threatened him,” Sal says, turning to him.

  “Don’t put this on me,” he says, jaw tightening. “He came in here threatening everyone in this place.”

  Tears well in Sal’s eyes. “I know.” She leans forward, burying her head in Abel’s shoulder.

  “We’ll figure something,” he says, rubbing her back.

  Sal pulls away and wipes her eyes with the corner of her robe, raising her chin. “Okay,” she says, nodding. “I’m going to call a meeting. We need to be ready.” She turns on her heels and marches back towards the settlement’s central dip, shacks and buildings passing in a blur.

  “Wait,” Abel says, grabbing her shoulder. “What are you going to say?”

  Sal stops and looks at him, tilting her head. “I’m going to tell them we’re about to be raided, that we need to pack up.”

  Abel sighs and shakes his head. “Sal, listen. Let’s get a plan together before you go scaring everyone.”

  “This isn’t your community,” she says, stepping back and turning away. “You don’t have to be involved.”

  “This is my community, Sal. You’re my friend. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

  She looks back at him. “You’d do that?”

  Abel shrugs and nods. “Yep.”

  Taking his hand, she looks at him for several moments, not saying anything.

  He bites his lip and looks at the ground. “We should go back inside,” he says, gesturing towards the communal hall.