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

by Jon Cronshaw

  Leaning away, he pulls the trigger. Again. And again. The cylinder rotates with each pull, hammer snapping down. Nothing.

  Abel drops the pistol and buries his head in his hands. Tears fill his eyes and his body shakes with sobs. He looks up at the stars and lets out a long, deep sigh.

  11. Killer

  Abel rolls over, flinching as fern leaves brush against his face. The first flickers of sunlight illuminate a shroud of mist with a ghostly white. Cold and damp, he gets to his feet and yawns, rolling the stiffness from his joints and licking the dryness from his lips.

  Shivering, he rubs his eyes and looks around, bits of dirt and crawling bugs dropping from his jacket. Trinity stands at the trail’s end, obscured by the icy haze. He hops across the irrigation ditch and makes his way towards the fence, weaving through barricades and stepping over the corners of trenches.

  When he reaches the gate, he looks up at the crucifix, its wood slick with dew, glistening. There’s no sign of Sis. “Hello?” he calls, banging on the gate. “Anyone?”

  After a minute or so, he sinks to the ground with his back against the fence. When he hears movement from inside, he calls out again.

  The fence slides across and Sal peeks through the gap, bleary-eyed. “Abel? You look terrible. What happened?”

  “I...” His voice trails off. “Can we talk?”

  Sal gives a concerned look. “Of course.” She steps across, gesturing Abel inside, shutting the fence behind them. “Breakfast is being prepared. We should have a little time alone.”

  Abel follows Sal wordlessly, his head hunched over as they amble between huts and animal pens. They reach the church and Sal gives him a long look. “I’ve not seen you this bad since you first came here.” She picks a leaf from his hair and opens the door, leading him inside, taking a seat next to him on the front row of benches.

  Abel looks away when Sal takes his hand, blinking away a tear. He stares ahead, eyes fixed on the oak cross.

  “Talk to me,” Sal urges in a low whisper.

  “I went to speak to that king.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I snuck into his camp.” Abel takes his hand away and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “You spoke to King Omar?”

  Abel nods. “He was saying how all this killing is for the good, how he’s trying to make things better. He said he was going to take Trinity. I pointed my pistol at him and pulled the trigger...” His voice cracks.

  “You killed him?” Sal’s eyes widen.

  Abel looks back up at the crucifix and sighs. “No.”

  “Is he injured?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t know,” he says, raising his hands, his voice filled with helpless frustration. “The pistol didn’t work right or the bullet’s a dud. Either way, nothing happened.” He removes his hat and rubs the back of his neck, picking at a sore.

  “So, you didn’t kill him?”

  “Nope.” He leans forward again, raking his fingers across his hair, jerking when he catches a knot.

  “So, he’s still alive?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did he follow you?”

  “I chinned him with my pistol. He was out cold when I left. But I nearly killed him...I wanted to. I went through with it, Sal.”

  “Right.” Sal folds her arms, biting her bottom lip. “I’d suggest prayer, but I know what you’d say.”

  “I try to do right, Sal. I try to live by a code. I’m just like them. I could have killed him...I tried to.”

  Sal raises her chin and gives Abel a chiding look. “I wish you had.”

  Abel frowns and sits up, meeting her gaze, staring at her in silence, his forehead creasing. “What happened to ‘thou shall not kill’?”

  “The Bible also says ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’. King Omar is not an innocent. While he lives, innocent people suffer.” She waves a hand.

  “This is why I can’t be doing with this God stuff — too many contradictions.”

  “The contents and interpretation of a holy text has no bearing whatsoever on God’s greatness. I don’t think God would approve of stoning adulterers, or cutting off the hands of women...but those things are there.”

  “So, what? You just pick and choose.”

  “I suppose. I’m a Christian. I follow the teachings of Christ. He taught us to love and be loved, to hope and to serve. He wanted us to care for people, especially those in need...the other stuff is just...” She shrugs. “It doesn’t figure into what I believe.”

  Abel looks at the cross and then down at his hands. “You don’t need God or Jesus for any of that. I have a code...at least, I had a code,” he sighs.

  “Did you go to King Omar’s camp with evil intentions?”

  “I didn’t set out to kill him, if that’s what you mean,” he says, shrugging.

  Sal nods. “I’ve said this before. I believe you are doing God’s work on Earth. He has a plan for you. Your actions are His.”

  Abel lets out an incredulous laugh. “So, what? I’m some kind of prophet now? I tried to kill someone. I can’t live with that.”

  “You are a kind and loving person, Abel.” She takes his hand and looks into his eyes. “I know what you’ve been through and the person you’ve become. You know in your heart what is right. And when you tried to kill that so-called king, you were on the side of right.”

  “I don’t know. It just—” Abel looks up with a start as the church bell chimes, the rings reverberating around the walls. He covers his ears and gets up. “Is that the alarm?” he shouts.

  Sal nods. “They must have returned.”

  Abel runs outside into the fog, the church bell ringing out across the settlement.

  “What's happening?” Sal asks, running at his side.

  “I can't see through the mist. I need to find the kid. I’m going to try his room.” He makes a right along a winding dirt track towards the traders’ huts.

  “Wait,” Sal says.

  Abel stops and meets her dark eyes.

  “Good luck.” She leans forward, embracing him. She kisses him on the cheek and takes his hands in hers. “Please, be careful.”

  Abel nods. “You too. I need to go.” He turns and runs past shacks and buildings. Chickens squawk around him. Cows and pigs grunt and snort. The muffled sounds of shouting and panic follow the breeze. He runs over to the traders’ accommodation and bangs against the doors. Sis steps out first, three rifles slung over her back, a sagging bag of bullets tied to her waist. He looks around for David. The other rooms stand empty.

  “Stick with me,” Abel says, turning to Sis. “We need to find the kid.”

  “David?”

  “David,” he agrees, as if trying the name out for the first time.

  Sis takes his hand and they follow the path down to the crater’s middle. Men and women with bows and spears run past, some of them heading towards the gate, others fleeing from the fray with empty hands.

  Gunshots ring out around them. Sis yanks at Abel’s arm. “What?”

  “It’s David.”

  “That's good.”

  “He's over there,” she says, pointing towards the gate.

  Abel grits his teeth and nods. “Come on.” He reaches into his jacket with both hands, retrieving his pistol and knife. They follow the slope up towards the gate, the sounds of shouting and screaming growing louder. Figures emerge through the fog. A spear flies past them.

  The glow of a burning shack appears through the mist, the flames softened and distorted. A few more gunshots ring out. Another person screams.

  Sis tugs on Abel’s sleeve, dragging him by the arm to take cover behind a shack. “We keep back.”

  Thunderous bangs come from the fence’s other side, followed by a deafening split. “They’re breaking through,” says Abel.

  With a smooth motion, Sis takes a rifle from her back, holds it against her shoulder as she tilts her hea
d, lining her right eye up with the sight. “I can't see through fog. I can't tell who people are.”

  Abel runs forward, reaching the crowd as they push against the fence, trying to hold back the gate as it heaves and throbs.

  Shudders pass along the ground as the raiders ram the gate from outside. A split courses like lightning along a broad wooden fence panel. When it falls, a dozen or so men clamber inside, letting off shots and calling out commands.

  The king limps up to the gate, rubbing his bruised chin as a smile creeps across his face. “Round them up,” he calls. “We gave them a chance.”

  The residents raise their hands, some of them placing them on their heads.

  Armed men line the residents along the fence, making them kneel and face away. The king paces back and forth, surveying the people. “Where is your priestess?”

  Abel and Sis crawl backwards, hiding behind the blackened remains of a hut, burnt-out during the last raid.

  “Where is your leader?” The king asks. He grabs a woman by the shoulders, turning her around. “Well?”

  The woman shakes her head, her eyes widening with panic as she cries out.

  “Take her out,” the king says, gesturing with a flourish.

  A single bullet rips through her skull, spraying blood across the fence before she slumps to the ground in a lifeless heap. A few people scream. Others sob. The rest stiffen in silence, waiting to die.

  “I will ask again. Where is your leader?” The king steps over the woman’s body and looks past the gate along the road towards the highway. “Do not ignore me,” he says, turning back.

  “I'm here,” Sal says, breathless. “Let my people go. Please.”

  “Are you the priestess? Are you their leader?”

  “Please. You've won. Let us leave.”

  The king lets out a cold, mocking laugh and squares up to Sal. He grabs a handful of her dreadlocks, twisting her head at an awkward angle, dragging her to her towards him and leaning close to her right ear. “I sent an envoy, and you turned down a deal. I cannot have my subjects defy me.” He lets go, pushing her back with a jerk.

  “Give me one of your rifles,” Abel whispers.

  “They're mine.”

  “Damn it, Sis. There’s no time for this. You can't use all three at once.”

  Sis gives him an unsure look, then nods. She sits up and takes a rifle from her back.

  “Is it loaded?”

  Sis nods.

  “Good.” He takes aim with the rifle and squeezes the trigger, letting off a shot. The king jerks back as the bullet ricochets off the shack to his right. “Damn it, that’s loud,” he says, cringing.

  Getting to his feet, he point the rifle at the king, and clears his throat. “Hey!” he calls. “King.”

  The king shifts his gaze, his eyes darting around until he spots Abel through the fog. “You again?”

  “Get your men to put their weapons down. I’ve got another three rifles on you. Try anything and you die.”

  The king nods as he glances at Sis, squinting as he scans for the others. “More of my men are on the way. There's no way you can win.”

  “We can still kill you,” Abel says.

  The king raises his hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s over. I offered a deal.”

  “Let these people go.”

  “But they disobeyed me.”

  “You got Trinity. Just let the people go. You can't have a kingdom without subjects.”

  The king rubs his chin, makes a show of considering Abel’s words, and then nods. “Perhaps...” He looks around. “Omar's Town. No, no — Omar's Kingdom. You can stop calling this place Trinity. It's Omar’s Kingdom.”

  “As you say,” Abel sighs.

  “Take them. Leave. If a king can’t show mercy to his subjects...” He makes a dismissive wave. “If I see you or any of these people in these parts again, I will not hesitate to execute you for treason.” He glances up at the crucifix, mouth stretching in a wolfish grin. “I’m sure I can find a use for that.”

  Abel raises his chin, sweeping his gaze across the backs of the residents’ heads. “Come on,” he says. “Let's go.”

  12. Exodus

  Abel waits until the last resident files out of Trinity's collapsed gate, stepping backwards over the broken wood as he leaves. Sis walks in a crouch at his side, her rifle fixed on the king. “I can take him out,” she says in a low whisper.

  “No.” Abel places a hand on her shoulder. “Leave it.”

  The residents amble forward, defeated and sobbing, their possessions left behind.

  A group of the king’s guards begins work rebuilding the fence, dragging up the broken gate to a vertical position.

  Abel gets one last look at the king, watching him from the entrance as he walks away. “Damn it,” he mutters.

  Handing the rifle to Sis, he wanders through the crowd until he spots David.

  “Hey, kid.”

  “What are we going to do?” David asks, grimy tears streaking his face.

  “I don't know. Community is more than just a place.”

  “I don't mean that. Where are we going to go with all these people? It's not like there's room in our place.”

  Abel pats David on the shoulder and shakes his head. “We'll work something out.”

  Reaching the highway, Sal turns and raises a hand to speak. “God has sent us a test,” she says. “This is a test of our strength as a community. It is a test of our resolve and our commitment to the Christian way.”

  “What are we going to do?” a man asks in a thin, shaky voice.

  Sal waves a hand, gesturing for calm. She sweeps her gaze across each resident in turn, remaining silent for a long moment. “Jacob is half-a-day from here. We will join him.”

  “You're leading us to the Grid?” a young woman asks, incredulous, blonde straggly hair falling across her face.

  “We are being forced to start again. Jacob has already established himself there. I've said before that we should do more to engage with the outside world, to spread our love and help those less fortunate than ourselves. It seems God is forcing our hand in this.”

  The woman lets out a bitter laugh. “God? This isn’t the work of God. This is the work of those raiders. We lost our homes. We lost our stuff. People have died.”

  “It is a test of our faith. Walls are not a family. Your stuff, your possessions are transient and frivolous. You will not have these things when you die. We have our hearts. We have our souls. We have each other.” She looks around again lowering her eyes. “I'm not going to say things are going to be easy — that would be a lie. Things are going to be difficult. But it is how we deal with these challenges that makes us who we are. This will strengthen our community, not destroy us.”

  “And you’re taking us to the Grid...” the young woman repeats, letting out an exasperated sigh.

  Sal swallows and walks over to the woman, taking her hands and meeting her gaze. “What are you afraid of?”

  “The Family. The drugs. They took me before. That place is hell. I can’t go back to plez...”

  Sal nods and embraces the woman. “The Family have moved on. Things are different now. We will stick together and keep each other safe — make sure we continue to follow the path of Christ.” She looks up, pulling away from the woman, and addresses the other residents again. “With God and love in our hearts, we will overcome this.”

  THE SUN SHINES COLD and bright as the last few strips of haze slowly drift away.

  Abel shudders as tiredness sets in. He listens to the slow shuffling of feet behind him as they pass the shells of wrecked cars and fissured concrete as water-filled blast craters coat the land to the south, heading towards the purple hills.

  Looking east, he follows the highway, Trinity no more than a dot in the distance. David pulls his elbow. “What’s up, kid?”

  “There's a dust storm.” David gestures to the brown haze shrouding the eastern horizon.

  Abel licks his finger, holding i
t up to the gentle wind, almost still. “Things will be right, kid.” He points to the clouds above them. “Shouldn't bother us here.”

  Sal joins them. “What's wrong?”

  “There’s a dust storm near the city. You can just make it out.”

  “You sure?”

  Abel nods. “Yep.”

  “He says we should be alright,” David says. “It's too far away and it’s not very windy.”

  Sal looks between David and Abel. “You’re absolutely sure?”

  Abel nods. “How’s everyone doing?”

  “We need to keep everyone safe.” She sucks in her bottom lip. “I’m not sure how to do that.”

  “You can’t protect everyone, Sal. All you can do is encourage people to pull together. You’re just one person and you are unarmed.”

  “I wish we'd been more prepared for something like this. I can’t believe they got in.” She sighs. “They just came in and took over.”

  “You’re still here. God’s testing you, right?”

  “I was saying those things to keep everyone focused.”

  Abel raises an eyebrow. “You don't believe it, then?”

  Sal shakes her head. “I'm not sure what I believe. I feel like we spent so long building a community, trying to do right, healing the sick, helping people in need...” She looks down at her hands. “What sort of God would do this?”

  Abel shrugs. “You're asking me?”

  “I just know you’ve got a different perspective on things.”

  David taps Abel’s arm and points along the highway to the east. “That storm is getting closer.”

  Abel shuffles, squinting at the swirling cloud. “That doesn't make sense. There's hardly any wind. How can it be getting closer?”