The Wasteland Series: Books 1-3 of the post-apocalyptic survival series

by Jon Cronshaw

  “Damn it,” Abel grumbles. “They're out.”

  “Keep going,” the kid says.

  The boat pushes out, sending a wave along the water's dusty surface. A trail of black marks their passage behind them, the waters revealing themselves as curls of wet ink on velvet.

  They reach the corner of the first Family building. Abel coughs and holds his breath. “We okay, kid?”

  “Yep.”

  They cross over to the next building. The voices float around them. There's a splash and another. Something heavy drops into the water. Abel looks around but sees no movement. “I'm getting worried, kid. You hear that?”

  “I can't hear much through this helmet. We're okay.”

  The oars clatter against the boat's interior as they paw along the left-hand wall then take a left at the corner.

  Another deep splash comes from somewhere. Abel winces at the tightness in his chest. He hears the voices, growing in urgency. The kid's looking around, worried.

  Abel rows across the open water, heads towards the factory on the right. Two boats emerge from the south — a kayak and a makeshift raft.

  “Damn it,” Abel growls. The kid turns, looking at the approaching boats. Abel rows harder, aiming the boat between two buildings. He takes a left at the corners and skirts around the factory. As he turns, a third boat emerges — a two-person canoe.

  “Stop right there,” a man shouts from the canoe.

  Abel keeps rowing, passing the dynamite. He turns the boat left at the next corner, but a raft blocks the way. A woman takes aim at him with a rifle. “You need to stop,” she growls.

  Abel drops the oars and raises his hands.

  “What are you doing here?” the woman asks.

  “We're just passing,” Abel says. “We're on our way.”

  “You've been ‘just passing’ here before,” the woman says sardonically, continuing to aim her rifle at Abel while her raft drifts closer, a boy rowing behind her.

  There's a loud crack and a bullet seers into Abel's thigh. He cries out in pain.

  The kid waves his hands and takes off the helmet. “Stop, please.”

  The woman tilts her head, eyeing the kid. “It's you.” She looks past the kid. “We got a runner back,” she calls.

  The kid turns. A man brandishing a carbine bobs on a kayak at the other end of the alley.

  Abel grabs his leg as pain tears through his body. He throws himself back, teeth clenched tight in agony, trying not to scream.

  “You got two choices,” the woman says. “You either come back to the Family, or we kill you both here.” There's a long pause. “Well?”

  “Don't do it, kid,” Abel manages.

  “I'm dead if I go back to plez,” the kid says.

  “Think carefully about this,” the woman says, taking aim with her rifle.

  Abel shakes his head, cursing under his breath. “Don't—”

  “I wouldn't listen to him. You're already dead. Make the right choice.”

  The kid looks at Abel and then looks to the woman. “Okay,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Okay, what?”

  The kid looks down. “I'll come with you.”

  “No,” Abel snaps. He looks up at the kid, eyes wide.

  “You can use this one, too,” the kid says, gesturing down to Abel.

  “You made the right choice,” the woman says. “Bring him round the back.”

  Abel grimaces as the kid shoves him aside and takes his seat. “I can't believe you're doing this to me. Why?”

  “Shut up,” the kid says.

  “You've betrayed us all, how could you?”

  “I said, shut up.”

  Abel watches, helpless as the kid leans forward and takes something from his backpack. Two of the boats move away, but the woman remains with her rifle. “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “I'm coming,” the kid says. He turns to his left, lights a match and holds it against the fuse, smiling when it catches. He picks up the oars and grins at Abel. “You should go,” he says, turning back to the woman. Her eyes grow wide as a spark fizzes slowly along the fuse, making its journey towards the dynamite.

  “Go,” she shouts to the boy behind her.

  The kid picks up the oars and rows with frantic urgency. He reaches the end of the alleyway in seconds and turns left.

  Abel cries out in pain at his feet. “Good work, kid,” he mutters as blood pools around him.

  Bullets whizz by, ricocheting off walls, sending chunks of concrete and brick flying into the water.

  Reaching the corner, Abel looks around. Another jolt of pain bursts through him, this time in his chest as another bullet hits. “It didn't work,” he gasps, taking one last look at the factory.

  The explosion throws the boat sideward. There's a second explosion and then a third. The noise of shattering windows and collapsing rubble does little to drown out the screams.

  Another wave strikes the boat, catapulting the kid into the water. Panicking, Abel drags himself to the side of the boat. He looks around. The kid is gone.

  He starts as a bullet plops into the water to his right. A patch of bubbles rises through the murk. Tugging at his beard, he moves the oar towards the bubbles, ducking as a bullet takes a chunk of wood from the boat.

  The kid's hand bursts through the surface, grasping wildly for a moment before dropping back under. Abel reaches down and grips the kid's wrist, dragging him to the surface.

  The kid heaves himself from the water, gasping, and tumbles into the boat. He coughs up a glut of filthy water, jerking as another bullet whizzes by.

  “We need to go,” the kid says, wiping his mouth. He sits on the seat, takes up the oars, and rows.

  “You did it, kid,” Abel manages. “You did it.” With a groan, he collapses into unconsciousness.

  27. Drifting

  WEAK TREMORS FLUTTER across Abel’s body as tight blankets secure his arms and legs. He stares at the sky beneath the branches passing above, his head bouncing against his rolled-up jacket. He blinks at the sound of squeaking wheels, taking in a sharp breath as the pain bursts through his nerves.

  Forcing himself up, he looks around, wincing at the pain in his collarbone as the oars clatter next to him.

  He coughs, clearing his dry throat. ”Hey,” he says, weakly.

  Ahead, the kid pulls the boat along on the trailer. The rope stretches taut towards him. He doesn't respond.

  ”Hey,” Abel repeats.

  The kid slows, looks around, and then stops. “You're awake.” Through sweat and filth and straggling curls, he smiles. He wriggles free of his tether and vaults into the boat.

  Around them, thick green moss engulfs the road. A central barrier, peppered with lichen, twists on ahead. “Where are we?” Abel asks, his voice hoarse.

  The kid takes the water bottle from Abel’s backpack, unscrews the cap, and places it next to Abel's lips. “Drink,” he whispers.

  Abel shakes his head. “I'm done, kid. Leave me to die.”

  “Don't talk like that. Have a drink.”

  Abel takes a sip. The water tastes fresh and cold against his lips. He takes a painful gulp and swallows. “It's good. Thanks.”

  “I went back to the cave. You were still out.”

  “Right.” Abel sighs, looking down at his clothes. “What happened to my armour?”

  “It's with your trolley.”

  Abel frowns. “Where...where we going?”

  “Trinity.”

  Abel rolls his eyes. “It's too much, kid. Just leave me. Promise me you’ll bury me next to Pip.”

  “We'll be there by morning. We need to get you fixed.”

  Abel moves his blanket aside, exposing his swollen leg, bruised and wrapped with a blood-soaked bandage. “I'm too weak for this,” he mutters, pain catching along his chest. “Leave me.”

  “Just lie back. Shout if you need another drink or you get hungry.” He jumps down from the boat and picks up the rope.

  “Right.” Abel
closes his eyes, drifting away.

  THE GROWLS OF FERAL dogs bring Abel back to consciousness with a jerk. He grabs his chest, gripping the rim of the boat as he pulls himself up with a strained groan.

  The sky is black and the boat is still.

  He leans over, resting his arm limply over the side, the air cold around him. A light breeze brings with it the city's stench. The branches of trees rattle against the night. A full moon emerges from behind eddying clouds. He catches sight of the kid wielding the machete on the road ahead, fighting off a pair of dogs, sidestepping as they dive towards him, swinging the blade as he goes.

  The first dog falls onto its side with a yelp, and the second dog runs around the kid, circling him, confusing him.

  The kid goes as though to walk back to the boat but turns on his heels, catching the dog with the blade as it charges towards him.

  Abel coughs. Something drips from his mouth.

  The kid stands over the dogs for several seconds as he regains his breath. He notices Abel and runs over. “How you feeling?” he asks, gasping and sweating.

  “That was...” Abel's voice trails off, incoherent, nebulous.

  “I'll get you some water.”

  A few moments later, Abel swallows. “Dogs...”

  “They're dead.” The kid takes a sip of water and replaces the cap.

  “I saw...” Abel's voice comes breathless, weak. “Why we not...why we...night...?”

  “Why we travelling at night?”

  “That's it...why?” Abel flops his head to one side, resting it on his shoulder.

  “I need to get you to Trinity.”

  “Right...”

  The kid lifts Abel’s limp arm back into the boat, pulling the blanket over him.

  Abel lets out a sharp breath, closes his eyes, and sleeps.

  ABEL OPENS HIS EYES wide. His body shakes with violent convulsions. Sweat follows pain follows pain follows pain.

  The kid holds him and rocks him. “Shh,” he whispers.

  “Wha...?” Abel manages, looking up at the first glimmers of sunrise, the lines of red and purple trailing across the sky.

  “You're okay.”

  Abel feels the water bottle against his lips, swallowing when the kid pours it into his mouth. “Tha—”

  “Don't talk,” the kid says, jumping down from the trailer. “Save your strength. We're not far.”

  “Wha...?” Abel closes his eyes.

  “We're not far. Just keep with me.”

  Abel slides back into unconsciousness.

  THE SOUND OF SHIFTING wood and metal stirs Abel from his sleep. He looks around, confused.

  “What happened?” a voice asks.

  “He was shot. Get Jacob.”

  28. God’s Work

  Abel's eyes flutter open. A warm hand holds his. There's a mattress beneath him. The sheets are spun from wool, warm.

  ”Hey,” a voice whispers.

  “Sal?” Abel tries to sit up, but the pressure of a gentle hand on his shoulder urges him not to move.

  “Stay down.” She wipes his brow with a damp cloth.

  “What happened?” He licks at his dry, cracked lips and coughs.

  “You got shot in the leg and shoulder. Jacob’s managed to remove the bullet from your leg.”

  “Shot? Jacob?” He closes his eyes.

  WHEN ABEL AWAKENS, he finds the kid sleeping on the chair to his left, head back, snoring. A small wooden table stands at the other end of the room. An unlit candle rests on the table, half-melted, Abel’s clothing piled beneath.

  He looks through a glazed window above the table. The wall to the next building makes up the view outside — a patchwork of stone and timber. Light streams through the window at a steep angle, leaving half the room in shadow.

  “Hey,” Abel says.

  The kid stirs, shakes his head, and looks at Abel. He's wearing new clothes — a black jersey and olive-green trousers. “You okay?”

  “I've been better.”

  The kid nods. “You look better. Jacob said you could have died. Your wound was real bad.”

  Abel moves his sheet aside with slow movement and sits up. He's naked. He follows a deep purple bruise extending from his left collarbone to the bottom of his ribs. His gaze moves to his right thigh. A plum-coloured bruise surrounds the wound, the hole itself stitched closed with the same blue thread as on his left arm.

  “Looks like the armour saved you,” the kid says, gesturing to Abel's chest.

  “Yep. That's twice.”

  The kid smiles.

  “How are you feeling, kid?”

  “I'm fine. Didn't get hurt. I'm tired from the walk. Just went straight through. Didn't sleep.”

  Abel nods. “You came through for me.”

  “We saved each other.”

  There's a knock at the door. Abel pulls his sheet back over his body. “Come in.”

  Sal steps into the room and looks down at Abel.

  “Hey, Sal.” Abel offers a weak smile. She wears a brown robe, tied at the waist with rope, her dreadlocks tied behind with a length of string.

  The kid gets to his feet. “I'm going to get some sleep.”

  “Take care, kid.”

  The kid leaves as Sal sits next to Abel. “I'm so glad you made it. We didn't know if you were going to live.”

  “I've survived this long.”

  “What happened?”

  “You not speak to the kid?”

  “He said you were shot by the Family.”

  Abel nods. “Yep.” He sits up and grins. “We did it, Sal.”

  Her eyes widen. “How?”

  “We destroyed their factory. The kid lit the fuse and it blew up.”

  “You're sure?”

  “It's the last thing I remember. They'd already shot me. They'd surrounded us. The kid said he was going to go back with them then lit the dynamite. The place fell into the water.”

  “Did anyone die?”

  Abel pauses and shakes his head. “Who could say? I don't think so. We didn't set out to kill anyone, just destroy their factory. There was a dust storm, so most of them were in different buildings.”

  “There was a dust storm? On the water?”

  “Yep.”

  She gets to her feet and starts to pace. “You really destroyed their factory?”

  Abel nods. “There's going to be no more plez.”

  “God bless us all.”

  HEADS TURN WHEN ABEL limps into the communal hall. He leans on a crutch, hobbling as he walks. He wears a grey shirt, grey trousers, his leather coat, and his tattered cap. He takes a seat next to Sal's empty place. Jacob sits to his left; the kid takes a seat opposite. He nods at the kid and turns to Jacob. “I wanted to say thank you for stitching me up again. You saved my life.”

  “It was God's will,” says Jacob. “I was doing His work.”

  “I was going to trade this, but I want you to have it.” Abel reaches into his jacket pocket, takes out the stethoscope, and hands it to Jacob.

  Jacob looks down, turns the stethoscope in his hands, and smiles. “This is wonderful,” he says. “Thank you.”

  A hush descends when Sal enters. Taking her place next to Abel, her eyes sweep across the residents' faces.

  Abel salivates at the aroma of fried beef and potatoes drifting around them. He looks up at Sal, catches her eyes, and returns her smile.

  “The blight of the wastes has been vanquished,” she says, addressing the hall. “The Family's factory has been destroyed, and it is for this we are thankful.”

  She bows her head. “Let us pray.”

  Abel lowers his head and looks at the empty plate in front of him.

  “Dear Lord, we thank you for giving our friends the strength to carry out your work on Earth and ask you to bless us all with the same strength of character. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Abel mutters.

  “What our friends have shown us is that we must all be willing to take risks to serve the greater good, we must all be wi
lling to put aside our fears and do God's work.” She looks around and then back to Abel.

  “Through our friends' bravery, the wastes are now free from the blight of plez. Their actions will improve the lives of many and help us in our mission to build a better future.”

  She takes a seat next to Abel as trays of fresh bread, potatoes, and sliced beef make their way along the tables. Abel fills his plate. “That was a nice speech.”

  Sal takes Abel's hand. “We really are very proud of you.”

  “The kid's the one who lit the match while I was getting shot. You should be thanking him.”

  Sal turns to the kid and smiles. “God is working through both of you. Thank you.”

  29. Dog Heads

  PURPLE CLOUDS SWIRL across the dusky grey sky as Abel hobbles forward, leaning on a crutch as the kid follows behind harnessed to the boat.

  Abel stops at the highway's edge and gestures to a faint trail leading left from the road. “I got some friends I'd like you to meet.”

  “Friends? Where?”

  “Ever heard of Town?”

  The kid shakes his head and frowns at the road winding its way through trees and up the side of a hill. “I can't take the boat up there.”

  “That's alright, kid. Stash it behind those trees.”

  The kid gives a concerned look. “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “What if the Family come?”

  “I think they’ve got bigger things to worry about than stealing a boat.”

  “They use boats.”

  Abel nods and rubs his chin. “Maybe stick a few branches over it to cover it up.”

  The kid gives an unsure look and then nods. “Okay.”

  Abel watches as the kid wheels the boat off the road, leading it through the trees.

  “A bit further, kid,” he calls, leaning on his crutch.

  “Here?”

  “I can still see it, just a bit more.” He watches as the kid disappears out of sight, engulfed by the trees. “That’s good.”