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

by Jon Cronshaw

  “I've never been exposed in a dust storm before,” Sal says. “I’d dare say neither have many of the others.” She looks around, concern etched on her brow. “What should we do?”

  “You need to get your people off the road.”

  “We’re so exposed. How can we protect ourselves?”

  Abel steps to the highway’s edge and looks along the traces of brickwork poking through the mud below. “You could probably get some shelter on the embankment. If some of those walls are tall enough, people can huddle behind them. Use clothes to protect each other, whatever they’ve got.” He looks up the brown mist in the distance, frowning at the clouds above. “It doesn't make sense,” he mutters, shaking his head.

  Sal claps her hands together, getting the residents’ attention. “Everyone,” she says. “We need to get off the road and try to find any shelter we can. There's a dust storm on the way. We must make sure we’re protected and that we look after each other. Abel, you’ve had experience of a few of these. What can we do?”

  Abel pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's not going to be good. You just need to make sure your eyes are covered — that’s the most important thing. If you’ve got something you can cover your nose and mouth with, even better. Find somewhere to protect you. One of these walls might be good enough. Cover yourself as much as you can. Use coats. Use whatever you've got. If the dust gets on the skin, chances are it’s going to hurt. Sometimes it will give you a rash. It can scrape the top layer of skin off.” He hops down from the highway, walking down the slope.

  Examining the foundations, he finds the lines of brick come to no more than halfway up his shins. He gives David, a concerned look and keeps heading south. After several minutes, he turns and addresses the residents. “When the storm comes, best thing to do is to lie on your fronts, protect your heads and wait it out. These walls are no good.”

  “I need a drink,” a woman says. “Anyone bring water?”

  “I'm hungry,” a boy says.

  “Does anyone have any water bottles?” Sal asks. “Any food?”

  The residents shake their heads, exchanging glances with each other.

  “How can you not have water?” Sal paces before them, her eyes wide, fists clenched. “Not one of you?” She makes a frustrated wave, slumps to the ground, sighing, and puts her head in her hands.

  Abel goes over to Sal, placing an arm around her. She shudders with sobs. “We are not prepared for this,” she whispers. “It's hopeless.”

  “Come on, Sal. Hope springs eternal, right?”

  Sal turns, rolling her shoulder away from Abel. She shoots him a harsh glare. “Don't mock me. I'm not like you. I don't know about the wasteland. I can't survive out here. We are all going to die.”

  “I'm not mocking you and we’re not going to die. We’re just a few hours away from Jacob. We just need to wait for the storm to pass and we can get back on the road. We’ll be there by night. I promise.”

  He reaches for Sal’s hand. She hesitates for a moment then gets to her feet.

  Abel looks to the east, tilting his head at the swirling cloud’s approach. “There’s still hardly any wind,” he mutters. “This doesn't make sense.” He squints at the sound of a distant droning hum.

  “What's that noise?” Sal asks.

  Abel shakes his head. “I don't think that's a dust cloud.”

  “What is it?”

  “I think it’s a bug swarm.” Hopping onto a foundation wall, Abel raises his hands for attention, turning to the residents. “Everyone,” he calls out. “You need to get down. That's no dust storm. Get as low as you can. Keep your eyes closed, and your mouths, noses, ears.”

  The people look around, confused. Sal makes a face. “Well don't just stand there, people,” she says. “Listen to the man.”

  A few residents grumble and whisper to each other as they lower themselves onto the damp soil.

  The first few bugs land on Abel's right hand. They crawl around his fingers, their black and red shells glistening. He brushes them away with a flick of his wrist, shuddering as he pulls his hand back.

  “What do we do?” David asks, blinking away a bug.

  “Pull one of your sweaters around your head, kid. Protect yourself.”

  David nods and wanders back to Sis, smacking a bug when it lands on his neck.

  Dropping down to his stomach, Abel pulls his coat over his head.

  The humming grows louder and people cry out as the bugs swarm around them.

  Abel brushes them away from his ears, his hair, his face, his nose, his mouth. He curses when they land in his jacket, teeming and clicking, their wings flickering against leather.

  Sal rolls free from beneath her robe and cries, spitting out bugs as they fly into her mouth and push into her nostrils. She lets out a bellowing scream as the bugs crawl over her, flailing on the ground, head thrown back.

  Abel rips off his jacket and drapes it over her, scooping her in his arms, holding her against the kicks and flails. He brushes the bugs from Sal’s face, picking them from his own nose and ears, flapping his arms frantically.

  The insects swirl around them, buzzing in a low, thunderous drone — millions of them circling and crowding and crawling, coating the ground in a shimmering moving black and red.

  Abel holds his breath, his fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut. He brushes more bugs from Sal’s face, picking them from her neck and hair. She lets out convulsive, jerking sobs.

  Trembling, Abel rubs away stings from the back of his neck and hands, cursing.

  People around him cry and shout, some of them rolling on the ground. Others are on their feet, running back in the direction of Trinity. Some lie still, silent, waiting.

  Sal trembles, curled up in the dirt, her hands clasped around her head as she mutters a prayer over and over and over.

  After several minutes, the swarm thins out. Though many remain, crawling on surfaces and stinging exposed flesh, the main cloud moves west.

  The humming finally fades and people groan and rise to their feet, shaking their clothes and stripping down to their underclothes, brushing off their skin with the backs of hands, helping the person next them.

  Abel grabs Sal by the hand and pulls her to her feet. Swollen black lumps cover her dark skin. She stands, shaking, taking in sharp sobbing breaths, scratching along her arms and shoulders.

  Abel goes over to David and offers him a grim smile. “You okay, kid?”

  David nods. “Sis isn't doing too well, though.” He gestures to the girl, sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped tight around her knees. She rocks backwards and forwards whispering to herself, her eyes squeezed shut.

  David goes over to her and taps her on the shoulder. She ignores him, still rocking. He pushes her shoulder, and gives her a shake, bringing her from her trance. She looks up at him, blinking, her expression blank.

  “You look after her,” Abel says, patting David on the back. He looks at Sal, shaking his head as she brushes herself down with a look of panic, her movements jerky, trembling. Abel goes back over to her.

  “Get them off me,” she says, not looking up. She cringes, picking bugs from her dreadlocks. “They're everywhere. They're everywhere. Get them off me,” she says, flapping her arms.

  Abel moves towards her, scraping the insects from her back, picking them from her hair, most of them dead.

  “Get them off me. Get them off me. Get them off me.”

  “It's okay. Try to keep calm. They’re gone.”

  “They are all in my hair. They're everywhere. Get them off me.”

  Abel picks a few more insects and Sal flinches, turning to Abel as tears stream down her cheeks. “Have you got your knife?”

  Abel's eyes narrow. “Why?”

  “Just give me the damn knife.”

  Abel shrugs. Reaching into his jacket, he hands her his hunting knife, handle-first and frowns when she grasps one of her dreadlocks, pulling it at arm’s length. She drags the blade up from the hair’s
roots, pulling through the lock until it separates from the scalp and drops to the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Abel asks, reaching for her arm, eyebrows raised.

  Sal flinches, jerking back, her jaw clamped shut. She grabs another dreadlock, stretching it taut as she hacks at it with the knife. “I need to get them off me,” she whispers in a thin, trembling voice. The second lock falls to the ground, soaking up the mud. She takes up another handful of hair, cutting it, repeating the process until only curled black tufts remain.

  A shiver passes over her as she looks back at Abel, her face round and dotted with insect bites. She leans into him, sobbing.

  Abel shifts his balance and puts an arm around her, rubbing her back. She buries her face into his chest. “Come on, Sal,” he says. “It’ll be okay. It’s just bugs. They’re gone now. We can go to Jacob. It’ll be okay.”

  She pulls back, wiping a tear, sniffling. “It's not. We've got no food. We’ve got no water. You’re used to this sort of stuff. I can't survive out here. It's too...” Her voice trails off, and she takes in a shuddering breath.

  “Hostile?”

  Sal nods.

  “You’d be surprised what you can survive, Sal. You’ve just got to keep hope. You always talked to me about faith, how important it is to you. It’s easy to have faith when things are easy.”

  “What would you know about faith?”

  “I might not believe in God, but I do believe in hope. That’s my faith.” He shrugs. “I believe in people. I believe in being good and doing right. Without hope, I’d have none of that.”

  Sal nods, bringing the sleeve across her nose, wiping away a string of snot. “What were those bugs?”

  “Who could say? I think everyone's okay though. And that’s what’s important.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It could be worse.”

  Sal turns her hands over and examines the bites swelling beneath her skin. “I’m worried about these.”

  “You'll be alright. It's rough out here, you know?”

  “I didn't realise.” She looks at her palms, shaking her head. “I didn’t get how hard life is outside.”

  Abel offers a grim smile and looks west along the highway. “You wonder why people take to plez?”

  Sal swallows. “I'm so sorry.” She leans forward again and weeps quietly against Abel’s shoulder. After a minute or so, she looks up, as if considering him.

  “What?”

  “I just thought it was weakness...I get it now. It’s a way out.”

  “It's not a good thing, Sal.”

  “I’ve been so judgemental — even of you. When you first came to Trinity I...” She chokes down her words. “I can’t believe how I behaved.”

  “Getting clean is the best thing I ever did, Sal. It's hard out here. But it's way, way harder when you've got...when you've got that pull, always ringing in the back of your mind.”

  “You’ve had it so tough. I’ve been a monster.”

  Abel lets out an incredulous laugh and smiles. “You’re no monster, Sal. You were the only one who looked out for me. You took a chance on me. You’re not a monster.”

  Sal glances up, forcing a warm smile. “Thank you,” she says, taking his hand. She looks down at the stings on the back of her hands, smile dropping. “You sure these are okay? They look really bad.” She flaps her hands in front of her face, blowing out deep breaths. “I’m hot,” she says, rubbing sweat from her brow. “You don't think I’ve had a reaction to the stings, do you?”

  “They were just small. You'll be fine. I get stung all the time by things.”

  Sal shakes her head. “No, no. Stings can be deadly.”

  “They’re just bugs. Don't worry about it. You just had a scare.”

  “A few years ago, we had a woman who lived with us who got stung by the bees. It killed her.”

  “They’re just bee stings, surely?”

  “Jacob thinks there was an allergy of some kind. It’s rare, but it happens.”

  “Well, we need to get to the Grid. We’ll get Jacob to have a look at everyone.”

  “I’m burning up,” she says.

  “Let's get moving then.”

  “HOW FAR IS IT?” SAL asks, breathing hard, sweat soaking her face.

  Abel tightens his jaw, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “About an hour, maybe two. The quicker people walk, the quicker we’ll get there.”

  Sal stops. “We’re hungry and thirsty, Abel. How do we know there’s even going to be enough food when we get there?”

  Abel shrugs and trudges forward, the stings around the back of his neck throbbing. “I don't know what you want me to say. If you keep stopping, it’s going to take longer.”

  They continue along the highway, not speaking.

  Sis runs up to Abel’s side and points to some wrecked cars in the distance. “Some people.”

  Abel squints, placing a hand along his brow to shield his eyes from the sun. “You sure?”

  “I'm sure. At least two.”

  When he sees no signs of movement, he swallows and looks down at Sis. “You okay?”

  “Thirsty. No bike.”

  “I forgot about your bike.” Abel sighs. “Really sorry. I take it that it’s still at Trinity?”

  Sis nods. “Not right. I should have shot king when I could.”

  Sal lets out a snort. “She’s right. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t stopped her.”

  A tense silence stretches between them.

  “I just wanted to make sure we were doing the right thing, Sal. I figured when you do good things, good things happen. Guess I was wrong.”

  “I guess you were.”

  THREE MEN EMERGE FROM some trees to the highway’s right, standing tall behind a rusted car. The tallest holds a shotgun at his shoulder. A shorter blond man carries a gleaming pistol. The other man stands unarmed.

  “You can't pass,” the tall man says, patting his shotgun. “Unless you can pay.”

  “We’re heading to the Grid,” Sal says, gesturing behind them. “We need to get past.”

  The taller man looks at his friends, grinning, his mouth a checkerboard of missing teeth. “We’re going to need your food, your boots, and anything else we can trade.”

  Sal looks around, frowning. “Please, we’re hungry, we need to get to the Grid. Please, I’m appealing to your better natures. Let us pass.”

  The tallest man lets out a deep laugh and turns to his accomplices. “She wants to pass,” he says. “She’s appealing to our better natures.” The other men laugh.

  “Let me put it another way,” the tallest man begins, raising his shotgun, aiming it at Sal.

  Abel starts when three gunshots ring out in quick succession to his right. He turns as Sis lowers her rifle and the three men drop to the ground, dead.

  Sal walks behind the car and looks down at the men. She glances over to Sis, licks her lips then nods. She swallows and turns to the residents. “We need to keep going,” she says, raising her chin. “Abel says it's another hour or two from here.”

  “What about their bodies?” a woman asks.

  Sal narrows her eyes. “Screw them. They were going to kill us. Let them rot.” She spits on the ground and turns on her heels.

  13. The Grid

  The sun shines low in the sky by the time they reach the Grid. A dried ditch runs along to Abel's right — the remains of an open sewer. White curls of smoke drift into the sky, dispersing into nothing. Between the rows of wrecked cars and rusted trucks, ramshackle wooden huts stand among smaller buildings cobbled together with plastic sheets and corrugated iron nailed over misshapen frames.

  Sal approaches and places a hand on Abel’s arm, a deep crease setting down the centre of her forehead. “Is this the place?”

  “Yep. Looks different without the Family.”

  They move forward, weaving through the cars. When they reach a clearing in the centre, they wander over to a group of people huddled around a cooking fire. Jacob glances up, make
s a double-take, and gets to his feet. “Sal. Abel. What happened to your hair? You look...” His voice trails off when he sees the scores of people following behind them.

  “A gang of raiders has taken Trinity,” Sal says.

  Jacob looks at her, mouth agape. “What?” He shakes his head, blinking. “How?”

  Sal opens her palms. “I—”

  “How could you let this happen?”

  Abel steps forward. “It's not Sal's fault. This guy calling himself a king came. They had guns. If people stayed, they would have been killed.”

  “King? King Omar?” Jacob looks at the ground. “I’m really sorry, Sal. I should have been there. I’ve heard about him from the caravans. Brutal lot. Is everyone okay?”

  “We lost of few. Mary’s gone. We fought them off a few times, but they overwhelmed us.”

  “Right.” Jacob scratches his nose. “What can we do?”

  “First and foremost, do you have water?”

  Jacob nods. “Of course. We’ve got a couple of buckets with clean water in there.” He points to a small hut. “It’s not ideal, but I suppose we can pass them around. We’ll need to get some fresh water from the well. It will need to be boiled first.”

  “You’ve got a well?”

  “A few of us dug one last year. The water’s clean enough, but you can’t be too careful.”

  Abel tilts his head when a grunting sound comes from behind. “What's that?”

  Jacob gives a confused look. “What's what?”

  “That grunting.”

  Jacob smiles and looks behind him at some toilet sheds.

  “Oh.” Abel shakes his head. “That doesn’t sound too healthy.”

  A faint smile passes along Jacob’s lips. “No, no,” he says, waving a hand. “We’ve got some pigs living behind there. They keep the place clean.”

  Abel shakes his head. “Well, I'll be damned. I never thought I'd see the day when you get animals living at the Grid.” He looks around, wide-eyed. “It’s amazing.”

  “We've done a lot of work out here,” Jacob says, his voice filled with pride. “There’s still a lot to do. It's not quite Trinity — in fact, it's nowhere near — but we've got everyone off plez and having a purpose within the community. I’ve been working with Alf on building a communal hall, and we got the surgery finished over the summer.”