Origins twc-2

by Kyle West

  Origins

  ( The Wasteland Chronicles - 2 )

  Kyle West

  Ragnarok was only the beginning.

  Buried in Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, is the massive Bunker One. Long conquered by the spawn of the xenovirus, it is now the mission of Alex Keener, Samuel Neth, and Makara Angel to find the fallen Bunker, or die trying. Contained within are the mysterious Black Files, which may be the key to stopping the xenovirus before it is too late.

  But one thousand miles of post-apocalyptic desert stand between the team and their goal, and human hostiles and killer dust storms are the least of their worries. They must make it to Bunker One before the winter snows bury it… and before anyone else can claim the Black Files as their own.

  For growing in the south in the wake of the expanding Blights is the mysterious Empire, who will stop at nothing to secure the Bunkers’ resources, technology, and information… and Bunker One is at the top of their list.

  And in the Great Blight, the monsters get bigger. Much, much bigger.

  ORIGINS

  The Wasteland Chronicles, Volume 2

  by Kyle West

  Chapter 1

  Samuel was dying.

  We had left Bunker 114 and Cold Mountain behind hours ago and darkness cloaked the Wasteland. As we sped east toward Raider Bluff, I wondered if Brux’s parting shot meant our mission had failed before it even began.

  Samuel’s eyes had remained closed for almost the entire journey. Wet blood soaked his right shoulder. The congealing agent had slowed the bleeding somewhat, but he wouldn’t last for long. We had to find someone who could remove the bullet and stop the bleeding. If we couldn’t, either Makara or I would have to do it.

  The Recon’s bright blue lights pushed back the night, letting us see ahead in a wide arc. Thirty years of red dust covered most parts of the highway. We zoomed past decrepit buildings, ghost towns, and mangled road signs, the skeletal remains of Ragnarok.

  Makara was speeding as fast as the heavy Recon would go — about fifty-five miles per hour, the wheels churning to get us to our destination.

  I just didn’t know if it was fast enough.

  When the highway turned south, a wide dark river became visible to our left, flowing south.

  “We hit the Colorado,” Makara said.

  It was more water than I’d ever seen in my life. I’d read about the Colorado River in the Bunker 108 archive. It had once been an important river in the Old World, but overuse had dried it up. Now the river was wide — so wide, in fact, that I couldn’t see the other side in the darkness. Above the river on the opposite bank, high up, rose Raider Bluff. The city’s yellow lights glowed dimly with distance, almost unmoving even with the Recon’s speed.

  At last, the road turned left, toward the river. A bridge of tall arches spanned the water.

  “Silver Arched Bridge,” Makara said. “The only crossing for miles.”

  The giant rungs of the arch stretched from shore to shore with the road running straight underneath. The road itself was almost even with the river — maybe just ten feet above it. The pressure from the current must have been enormous. Two Raiders with rifles guarded the bridge’s front.

  “Let me do the talking,” Makara said.

  We pulled up, and Makara rolled down her window.

  A hard-faced, grizzled man peered inside. His eyes widened as he saw who was driving.

  “Makara?”

  “Chris, step aside. I have a wounded man in here who will die without medical attention.”

  “What?” Chris asked. He shined the flashlight inside the Recon, pointing the beam at Makara, Samuel, and then me. “What happened? Where’s Brux? Twitch? Tyson?”

  “All dead. Let me through, and I don’t have time for these questions!”

  “What happened?”

  “Gunshot wound,” Makara said. “Now step aside unless you want me to run you over!”

  “Not so fast,” he said. “I’m not putting my ass on the line until you answer some questions. First, who is this?” he asked, pointing at me.

  “Look, Chris,” Makara said, “Just give me clearance to Char or I’ll have him wipe the floor with you. I promise, your not listening to me is more dangerous than this sixteen-year-old kid and a man dying from a gunshot wound.”

  Chris sighed, his gaze doing its best to match up with Makara’s. But after a moment, he turned away and raised his radio to his mouth.

  “Makara’s back. I’m sending her up. Have the gates ready, over.”

  “Copy that, over,” the voice said from the other end.

  “Welcome home, Makara,” Chris said sarcastically. “You’re clear. I hope you have a better story for Char than you do for me.”

  “I don’t need a story, Chris.” Makara said. “I need a doctor.”

  Makara was about to gun the accelerator when Chris grabbed her shoulder.

  “What?” she asked, shrugging off his grasp.

  “Be careful up there. Things have changed. An emissary from the Empire is in Bluff, talking with Char.”

  “The Empire?” Makara asked. “What the hell is the Empire?”

  Chris frowned. “You were gone longer than I thought. They’re based in Old Mexico. They’re big, powerful — tens of thousands of people.” He paused. “The emissary’s name is Rex. Just don’t get on his bad side. I know you can be mouthy.”

  Makara shook her head. “I’ll say what I want, when I want, Chris. Is that it?”

  “Yeah. You should head on. Just watch your back.”

  Makara didn’t waste any more words on him. When Chris stepped aside, Makara floored the Recon, rocketing it into the night.

  “The Empire,” I said. “That sounds sinister.”

  “I’ve never heard of it before,” Makara said. “Gone a few months, and this is what happens. The game always changes every time I come back. That’s nothing new, though.”

  Despite those words, I saw the worry in her eyes.

  “It’s hard to imagine war at a time like this,” I said. “The world is being taken over by the xenovirus. Leave it to humanity to take itself out first.”

  Makara sighed. “All the more reason to patch my brother up quickly and be on our way. We have a mission to finish.”

  I looked at Samuel. He was out again. Hopefully, it wasn’t for good this time.

  “Just a few minutes, Sam,” Makara said. “Hang on.”

  * * *

  We drove up what seemed an endless series of switchbacks before the land leveled and placed us before the wooden gates of Raider Bluff. These things were huge, probably three stories high. They made the gates of Oasis look like toys in comparison. A giant wooden palisade surrounded all sides of the town, maybe twenty feet high, as if the sheer cliffs weren’t enough. It must have taken an eternity to build. I wondered where they found the labor, until I realized Raiders were notorious for employing slaves.

  At various points in the perimeter, large watchtowers rose. I had no idea where they had gotten the lumber to build these walls. Trees were growing somewhere, apparently, if not here. It was a testament to the citadel’s wealth and power.

  The gates drew back, sliding into the walls on either side. Thick chains rigged to pulleys moved the massive fortifications. Even though I was about to enter the biggest den of thieves in all the world, I couldn’t help but be impressed.

  Makara drove down the main drag. Wooden buildings and saloons lined either side of the dirt road. It was like entering an Old West town on steroids. Signs swung above the open doors — liquor, girls, and guns seemed to be the establishments’ main themes. Raiders dressed in dingy apparel flanked both sides of the road, making way for us as we came in. From their widened eyes, it was clear that none of them had seen a Recon before.

>   The Raiders tried to get the Recon to stop but Makara honked the horn and sped up when they got too close.

  “They’re not going to hurt us,” she said. “They just want to check out the ride.”

  Outside, I could hear them yelling her name.

  “You seem to be pretty popular around here,” I said.

  “They’re all idiots,” Makara said.

  The road wound its way around the mesa. I saw we were not even close to the top. There were three levels, and buildings rose from all of them. The bottom, which we were on, was the largest. It seemed to contain all the places of business, the wide outdoor markets, the bars, pretty much anywhere you could buy something.

  “We’re heading to the Alpha’s Compound,” Makara said. “It’s where Char lives. It’s at the very top of Bluff and exclusive. No one will bother us, and that’s where the clinic is. Char, in addition to being the Alpha, is also good at stitching a wound. Hopefully this isn’t beyond his expertise.”

  “Char was the one you raided with, right?”

  Makara nodded. “Probably the only decent person who lives here. It’s weird for a decent man to lead a bunch of scum. It’s a wonder he’s still alive.”

  We entered the second level. We were halfway up the bluff. On either side were well-constructed wooden cabins.

  Makara pointed out a small building we drove by. A sign overhung the door, reading “The Bounty.”

  “That’s the Bounty,” Makara said. “It’s a bar run by my friend Lisa. I’ve spent many-a-night there.”

  “I remember you mentioning it.”

  We rounded the last bend. Over the wooden rooftops of Bluff spread the vast panorama of dark desert. The black Colorado River flowed south and the sky above was dark and void.

  We reached a final gate. A Raider pulled it open from the other side, revealing a long cobblestone road that led into a grassy courtyard. The green grass must have been watered and cared for to flourish like that. Flanking either side of the road were tall pines. I rolled down my window, the trees’ crisp, sweet smell pleasant yet foreign to my nostrils. The stone structure of the compound was a U-shape, surrounding the courtyard. It had narrow slits for windows; open air, no glass. Ahead, the cobblestone drive ended in a cul-de-sac. A wide yet short stairway led to a pair of heavy wooden doors. Judging from the thick stone walls, the compound had been constructed to withstand an all-out siege.

  “Fancy,” I said.

  “It’s grown over the last few years,” Makara said. “Each new Alpha leaves his own mark. Char redid the courtyard. The pines were taken from mountains far to the east.”

  “Why is he called Char?” I asked.

  Makara smiled grimly. “You will see.”

  Makara pulled to a stop in the cul-de-sac. She powered off the vehicle, the hum of the hydrogen pressure tank dimming to nothing.

  We hopped out of the vehicle. The air was dry, cold, and sharp. It had definitely dropped a few degrees. We went to Samuel’s side and opened the passenger’s door. Makara and I lifted Samuel from the Recon.

  He stirred a bit and groaned. It was good to know he was still alive, though pale as a ghost. Despite the sound he made, his whole body was limp. He was dead weight between us.

  “Come on,” Makara said. “We’re going to have to drag him.”

  We dragged him through the compound, to the large front doors. Makara didn’t bother knocking. She threw the doors open with her shoulder, revealing a wide, dark interior lit by torches. We dragged Samuel inside.

  “Char!” Makara screamed.

  No one answered her call. The entry hall was empty, lit only by two blazing braziers along the far wall and a few torches ensconced upon four heavy pillars supporting the room’s structure.

  A shadow materialized in front of us, moving forward at lightning speed.

  “Watch out!” I said.

  Makara reached for her handgun with her free hand, never letting go of Samuel.

  A thin, curved sword was placed at the base of Makara’s neck.

  “Not so fast,” a young, female voice said.

  Chapter 2

  Standing in the light, the bearer of the sword was a black-haired girl, about my age, with green almond eyes. The eyes narrowed as she edged the blade closer to Makara’s throat. I saw that she was beautiful, with a short, yet curvy, figure. I berated myself for even noticing that at a time like this, but even at the threat of one’s life, guys couldn’t help but notice certain things.

  “Who are you,” she asked dangerously, “and what are you doing here?”

  Makara spoke first, making an effort to keep calm. “We’re here to see Char, girl. Put that thing away or there’s going to be trouble.”

  “Char is not here.” The girl did not withdraw her sword. In fact, it looked as if it was more in her mind to use it. “If you had been cleared, I would be the first to know. I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me who you are, and why you’re here. This wouldn’t be the first assassination attempt I’ve stopped.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are, but Char and I are old friends,” Makara said, never batting an eyelash. “I’m Makara. Ever heard the name? And if you don’t get us Char, then…”

  The front doors banged open. I turned to see a grizzled man, probably in his fifties, enter.

  “Makara,” he said, his voice gravelly.

  There was no mistaking the man’s air of command. He was Char. He was tall with broad shoulders and a shaved head. Two guards flanked his either side, holding rifles. His sharp blue eyes surveyed us all calmly. He wore green camo pants and a thick black leather jacket. A tattoo of a snakelike dragon eating its own tail was emblazoned on his forearm. But his most striking feature was his face. A deep burn wound scarred his right cheek. That wound had happened long ago and would never fully heal.

  No one said anything as the man stepped forward.

  “I am sorry I was not here to greet you,” he said to Makara. “Politics.”

  The girl glanced from Char to Makara, not sure what to do.

  “Stand down, Anna,” Char said. “I appreciate your drive to protect me, but Makara is a friend.”

  Anna pulled the blade back, sheathing it immediately. Those beautiful eyes stung with hurt. “Char, no one let me know of Makara’s arrival.”

  “Your loyalty is admirable, but Makara is to be treated with the same respect you would give to any of my guests. More, in fact. But we don’t have time for hurt feelings, do we?”

  He faced Samuel, who lay on the ground between Makara and me.

  “Lay him face-up,” Char said. “I need to see the wound.”

  We laid Samuel on the ground. Char walked forward and knelt beside him. He placed two fingers on Samuel’s neck.

  He glanced sideways at Makara. “Is the bullet still in?”

  “Yes. It happened about ten hours ago.”

  “Humph.”

  Char retrieved a knife from his belt and cut Samuel’s white tee shirt open at the shoulder. He pulled the fabric back tenderly to reveal the wound. Fresh red blood trickled out. The surrounding skin was black, purple, and green.

  “He’s out,” Char said. “But he’ll be dead if I try to pull it out of him like this. He needs morphine.”

  “You have that, don’t you?” Makara asked.

  Char grunted. “A bit. I do not want to use it on an outsider.”

  “My brother is not an outsider,” Makara said. “He is family, as much a Raider as anybody here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Char said. “I wouldn’t let you bring him all this way to tell you no.”

  “Good. You had me worried.” Makara’s eyes went up to Anna and narrowed, as if willing the katana-wielding girl away. Anna merely stood, meeting Makara’s stare without blinking.

  “This is Anna, my bodyguard. You noticed her katana, I presume. She lives by the Bushido Code.”

  “Are you a samurai?” I asked.

  Anna gave a single nod, but no word for answer.

  �
�I thought samurai were supposed to be Japanese,” Makara said. “And men.”

  Judging from the look in Anna’s eyes, she stood ready to draw her blade again.

  “Honor and principle go beyond the confines of gender and race.”

  “She is deadly with a blade,” Char said. “Where she learned to use it like that, I don’t know. She’s most of the reason why I’ve stayed Alpha so long. Especially these days. But all this is idle talk. Your brother needs my help.” Char motioned to the Raiders nearby. “We’re taking Samuel to the clinic.”

  The men gathered around. Together, they lifted Samuel up.

  “Follow me,” Char said to Makara. He noticed me for the first time. “Who’s this?”

  “Alex,” I said.

  “He’s from Bunker 108,” Makara said. “Once we take care of Samuel, we’ll fill you in. It’s a long, long story.”

  We followed Char and his bodyguards through the dark corridors and into the clinic.

  * * *

  Char and his men set Samuel up in a hospital bed. After washing his hands, Char found an IV and filled it with a dosage of morphine. He inserted it into Samuel’s arm. Samuel gave no reaction.

  Slowly, Char pushed down on the syringe.

  “The morphine’s in,” Char said.

  Char took a pair of forceps and began to dig into the open wound. Samuel was completely out. If he had been conscious, that pain would have been near unbearable.

  “Do you have medical training?” I asked.

  “My training is more of the school of hard knocks than anything else,” Char said. “I’m the best in Bluff, that’s for sure.”

  Samuel was still. It was as if he were already dead.

  Makara watched, biting her lip. More blood oozed from Samuel’s wound, staining his shirt, the sheets. Char dug around, using his fingers to widen the puncture. We watched as he searched for the bullet.

  A minute later, Char pulled it out.

  “It didn’t fragment,” he said. “Your brother’s lucky.”

  “Will he live?” Makara asked.