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

by Jon Cronshaw

  The king looks round, concerned. “There are more of you?”

  “We've got you surrounded,” Abel says. “It's only a matter of time.”

  The king scowls, his foot stamping down on Abel’s leg. He starts when Sal jumps on his back, swinging her fists against the top of his head. Staggering back, he slams her against the wall, grinning when she drops to the floor. “You want some of this as well?” he asks, slapping the club against his open palm.

  The roar of shouts and splitting wood comes from outside as the bells continue to ring. Sal gets to her feet. “Okay,” she says. “You can take me. Let Abel go.”

  “Sal, no,” Abel snaps.

  A grin curls across the king's lips. “Take you?” He moves towards her, eyebrows raised.

  Sal nods. “I'll do whatever you want. Please, just let Abel go.”

  The king grabs Sal's arm and meets her gaze. “You don't get to tell me what I can do. You can watch with me as he squirms on that cross out there.”

  Sal jerks her arm in an upward arc and the king lets out a scream. He stumbles backwards, a switchblade lodged in his right eye socket. Sal lunges forward, charging at him shoulder-first, knocking him to the ground, clawing at his face. Frantic, she slams the palm of her hand down onto the blade's handle, driving it deeper into his head. The king lets out a gurgling, choking sound, and then stops. Sal slumps over him, sobbing.

  Screaming comes from outside. Abel gets to his feet and limps over to Sal. “Is he dead?”

  Sal looks up, her eyes filled with tears. “I think so,” she says in a soft voice. She stares down at her hands, shaking her head as blood pools on the floor.

  Abel gestures to the switchblade. “Bring that with you.” He reaches down for the club. “We should take him outside. Show them their leader.”

  “What?” Sal asks, wiping a tear.

  “His people need to see this.” Abel walks over to the king’s plastic crown and stamps down on it, shattering it beneath a boot.

  Sal and Abel lift the king to his feet, resting his limp body over their shoulders. They trudge forward, past the rows of benches. Sal pushes through the door and outside.

  Huts burn around them as people run in all directions. One of the king's men stops, his mouth gaping at the sight of his king. “Your king is dead,” Abel says. “Get out.”

  “What are we going to do with him?” Sal asks.

  “Drag him to the gate.” He jerks around at the tap to his shoulder. “Ned.”

  “Where our women at?”

  “I don't know,” Abel says. “They might still be in that truck, I guess.”

  “Truck? What truck?”

  “It's to the right of the gate,” says Sal. “You can't miss it.”

  Abel shakes his head. “I missed it.”

  “You fell off it.”

  “Right.”

  Big Ned goes to run and then stops. “That the king?”

  Abel nods. “Yep. He got got.”

  “We get the rest of these people out, get our women. Then we have hootenanny.”

  “Sounds good, Ned. Good luck.”

  Men and women lie dead around them as they make their way to the main entrance. Gunshots and shouts come from behind them. The truck stands at the gate’s right as Big Ned and Second Bob strike the rear shutters with metal spikes.

  The church bell stops.

  Abel and Sal pass through the open gate and throw the king's body to the ground. Sal looks up at Jacob and turns back to Abel. “I won't be a minute,” she says, running back inside.

  Abel rubs the back of his neck as the bodies of a dozen or so of the king's men lie in a pile along the trail. He shakes his head and sighs as the sunrise fills the sky with pools of pinks and oranges. He looks around when Sal returns, a ladder held under her arm. “What are you going to—” Abel stops himself when Sal leans the ladder against the crucifix and starts to climb. Moving beneath her, he grips the ladder’s sides, keeping it steady as Sal yanks Jacob's feet free from the cross. She pulls at his left hand, almost falling when he swings from his right wrist, before dropping to the ground next to Abel's. She makes her way slowly back down, staring at his body. “Now we can put him to rest.” She glances through the gate as Trinity’s residents put out fires.

  “We did it, Sal,” Abel says.

  She nods. “We need to get a message to the Grid.”

  Abel looks over to the push-bike lying on its side next to the pile of bodies. “If anyone can ride, they should take that.”

  “You should take it. It will be good when you’re on the roads.”

  “Maybe,” Abel agrees. “I’d have to find one for David too.”

  “I’ll get someone to go,” Sal says. “They can be back before sunset.”

  SAL SPRINKLES A HANDFUL of soil onto Jacob's body as it rests in the shadow of a freshly dug grave. Abel places an arm around her and stares into the hole, his eyes fixed on the bullet wound in the centre of Jacob's forehead.

  Others step forward, dropping in dirt as low sobs and murmurs spread out behind them. A man and woman take up a pair of shovels and get to work filling the pit.

  Sal looks away, her eyes squeezed shut.

  “It's okay,” Abel says.

  She shakes her head. “It's not,” she whispers. “I can't do this.” She slips from Abel's arm and marches back over the fields towards Trinity.

  Abel blinks away a tear as a clump of soil lands on Jacob's face, covering it for the last time. He turns, limping after Sal.

  After a minute or so, he catches up and calls out.

  She stops and looks back at him.

  “Wait,” he says, almost breathless.

  Sal forces a smile. “I'm sorry. That was too hard.”

  “I know, but your people need you.”

  “They don't,” she says, looking down at her hands. “They're not really my people any more, are they?”

  “What you mean? Of course they are.”

  Sal shakes her head and carries on walking, Abel hobbling at her side. “We may have got Trinity back from those raiders,” she says. “You and me both know things will never be the same.”

  Abel shrugs and cringes at the pain in his shoulder. “Because of Jacob?”

  Sal stops and turns to Abel. “Because of everything. Because Alf is going to be here, staking his claim. Because of Jacob. Because of what I did to him — to that king.”

  Looking at the ground, Abel sighs. “You did what needed to be done, Sal. Jacob was suffering and who knows what that king was going to do. Your people have got their homes back — that's what's important.”

  “I can't lead these people. How can I preach the Gospels? My faith is shattered. I'm a killer, not a priest.”

  “I thought you believed in forgiveness and redemption?”

  The corners of Sal's lips twitch. “I can't be the one to do that. I need to go back and plead for clemency.”

  A crease sets along Abel's brow. “I don't—” He gestures towards the trail. “Look. They're here.” He waves and smiles when he sees David and Sis walking alongside the wizard, leading dozens of children along the trail towards Trinity.

  With pained steps, he rushes forward, stumbling over the waves of dirt. When he reaches the trail, he grins at David. “How are you doing, kid?”

  “Tired.”

  “Can't believe you did it, man,” the wizard says, glancing at the bodies, still piled next to the fence. “That those raiders?”

  Abel nods. “Yep.”

  “Welcome home, everyone,” Sal says, reaching the gate. “Come in, please.” She looks up at Abel, her expression unreadable.

  Abel turns to Sis. “You okay?”

  Sis nods. “Want my bike.”

  “I haven't seen it. Maybe check the traders’ accommodation.”

  “Okay. Glad you didn't die.”

  Abel laughs. “Me too.”

  The wizard waits with Abel and Sal as the children file inside, running to find their parents. “We’ve got a trail
er stuck back there. Got the rest of the food from the Grid. It’s not going to be much, but it will last us about a week.”

  “That’s fantastic,” Abel says. “The road up here’s in a bit of a bad way.”

  “That’s for sure,” the wizard says. “Where's my place?”

  “We've just buried Jacob,” Sal says, folding her arms. “I haven't had time to think about that yet.”

  “That's fine. I'll take Jacob's old place. Either of you want to show me the way?”

  Abel turns at the sound of high-pitched ticking as Sis skids to a screeching stop. “Got my bike,” she says, grinning.

  32. Cider

  Big Ned gets to his feet when Abel and Sal enter the communal hall. “We got our family back,” he says, gesturing to four pale, skinny women.

  “I'm so pleased for you,” Sal says. “It must have been very harrowing for them.”

  Big Ned gives her a confused look. “That king got got. That needs hootenanny.”

  Sal tilts her head.

  “They want a party, Sal.”

  “You got moonshine?” Big Ned asks.

  Sal shakes her head. “I—”

  Big Ned takes a pack from his back and swings it onto the table, taking out a petrol can. “I got moonshine. Need more.”

  “What does he mean?” Sal whispers.

  “Anything with a kick.”

  Sal looks around. “I'll have to check the stores. I'm not sure what will be left. We certainly had some cider, maybe some wine.”

  Big Ned nods. “You get home back. We get women back. This is good.”

  Sal casts her gaze across the identical faces. “Ned,” she says. “I can't thank you enough for the assistance you gave us.” She looks around. “I'd like to invite all of you to stay here if you'd like. I know your village was destroyed by those raiders. It’s the least I can offer you.”

  “You do all those God things?”

  Sal nods. “We are, or at least were, a Christian settlement.”

  There's a long silence and Big Ned starts to laugh. He waves his hands and looks around. “We don't want no God. Town better.”

  “So, you don't want to stay here?”

  Big Ned shakes his head emphatically. “Too weird for me.”

  Sal drops her gaze and smiles. “Well, you're always welcome here if you need to trade or if you ever need assistance rebuilding Town.”

  “If you are looking for some good eats, you stop by.”

  Sal places a hand on Big Ned's arm and smiles. “Thank you. Really. If there's anything I can do, anything at all, plea—”

  “You go get moonshine,” Big Ned says, jumping onto the nearest table. “We got hootenanny to do.”

  ABEL SITS WITH HIS back against the communal hall's rear wall, sipping on a cup of cider. Men and women from Town blow through plastic tubes and bang on barrels and crates.

  “Sal ask me to stay here,” Sis says. She looks into her cup, swirling its contents as people dance to the drumming behind her.

  Abel smiles. “That's great,” he says. “You'll have a home. You'll make friends. It's a great idea.”

  “You not mad at me?”

  “Of course not,” he says, smiling. “You do what's best for you.”

  Sis glances at David and leans towards Abel, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Abel holds his cup at arm's length, taking care not to spill its contents onto the floor. “Thanks, Sis. You saved us a few times out there.”

  Sis crawls back to where she was sitting and knocks back the rest of her cider.

  “What about you, kid?” Abel asks, turning to David.

  David squirms and rubs the back of his neck. “I don't know. What are you doing?”

  “Going to get back on the road, head back home.”

  “Why don't you stay here?” David asks, looking down. “With us?”

  “You planning on staying, kid?”

  David nods. “I was thinking about it, but—”

  “But nothing, kid. You’ll have a better life here than anything I can offer you.”

  Sis leans forward. “You didn't answer.”

  Abel shakes his head. “I don't know.” He glances over to the wizard. “I spent time around that Alf guy before. It won't end well.”

  “You can still stay,” David says.

  “Honestly, kid, this place isn't for me — not to live, anyway.”

  David takes in a stilted breath. “I'll miss you.”

  “I'll be back. You know that.”

  David looks away, wiping his eyes. “You sure you're okay with it?”

  Abel pats David’s back and swallows. “It's fine, kid,” he manages. “Make sure you look out for Sis.” He gets to his feet and downs the rest of his drink, wiping his mouth as he places the cup on a nearby table.

  “Where are you going?” David asks.

  “Just getting some air, kid.” He moves through the crowd, looking over to Big Ned dancing with his shirt off. Shouldering his way through the door, he goes out into the cold and leans against the wall. He looks up at the moon, tears filling his eyes. “Damn it,” he mutters.

  “Hey,” a soft voice says.

  Abel looks around, wiping a sleeve across his eyes. “Hey, Sal.”

  “You okay?”

  “Getting some air.”

  Sal nods and stands next him, leaning against the wall. She reaches down and takes his hand. “It's pretty wild in there.”

  Abel sighs. “Yep.”

  “Have you thought any more about staying?”

  “Yep.”

  “And?”

  Abel shrugs. “Can't stay here. If I do, things will only get bad with Alf.”

  “You’ve spoken to David and Sis?”

  “Yep. I'm going to miss the kid.” He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip. “Both of them.”

  Sal rests her head on his shoulder. “I don't think I can stay here either.”

  “Of course you can. They need you here.”

  “They'll find a way. They don't need me.”

  Abel turns to her. “Where are you going to go?”

  “I was thinking about what you said about redemption, about finding forgiveness. I know the only way I can do that is if I go home.”

  “Home? This is your home.”

  “I mean before I came here. I need to go back to the protected zone.” She looks Abel in the eyes. “I want you to come with me.”

  Abel shakes his head and blinks. “What are you on about, Sal?”

  Sal regards him for several seconds then raises her eyebrows. “You really don't know, do you?”

  THE END

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  Author’s Note

  Thank you so much for making it this far through my Wasteland series. As a new author it’s heartening to think that you have not only taken a chance on my work, but have made it this far.

  I outlined this book in May, 2017. It was the morning after the Manchester Arena Bombing and I watched the news unable to comprehend what had happened. It was beyond horrible to think that someone could kill innocent children.

  I live an hour from Manchester and have been to the arena countless time with friends and family to watch bands and entertainment events. Being so close to home and being the father of a five-year-old boy, the whole think broke my heart and I cried.

  Angry and frustrated, I grabbed a pen and notepad and went to my local pub. All I had for the book was the title and the cover, so I focused all the negative emotions into creating something positive.

  You can now keep up to date with my work in a number of ways. The best way is through my newsletter, which I usually send a couple of times a month. There you’ll find out about new release, have the chance to win exclusive prizes, and every now and then I’ll send you a free short story. Go to http://www.tinyurl.com/getmyprequel and claim your free copy of the series pr
equel, Addict of the Wasteland.

  In October 2017, I started making an audio journal of my writing life and releasing them as podcasts. On the show I talk about writing and what’s inspired me over the week, and also answer questions from listeners about my work and life. You can find Jon Cronshaw’s Author Diary on iTunes, Podcast Addict, Libsyn, and YouTube, or wherever else you get your podcasts. So, if you have any questions, please do get in touch at jon@joncronshaw.com.

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  Thank you,

  Jon Ctonshaw, 2017

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to everyone who made this work possible. Especially to my family and friends who’ve supported me in countless ways.

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