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

by Jon Cronshaw

  Sal exchanges a look with Abel then looks down at the bowl. “I’ve brought you some water and a cloth to clean yourself,” she says, gesturing to Abel’s forehead.

  “Thanks, Sal.” Looking down at the slices of bread and salt beef, he wrings out the cloth and dabs it across his forehead, wincing as it stings his cuts.

  “Did you see King Omar on the roads?” Sal asks, her brow creased.

  Abel nods, dropping the cloth back into the bowl, watching as the dried blood and dirt turns the water a murky grey. “They raided Town. They're in a pretty bad way back there.”

  Sal slides on the bench next to Abel. “I was hoping they wouldn't head this way. I’ve heard stories—terrible stories.”

  Abel sighs, feeling her warmth. “We watched his camp. He was going on about ruling the wasteland. Just seems like another raider gang to me.”

  “From what I've heard, he's more dangerous than that, more organised. He's left hundreds dead and razed villages.”

  “And they might be on their way here.”

  There’s a knock at the door and a skinny dark-skinned man leans inside. “There’s someone here to see you,” he says, giving Sal a concerned look. “He’s asked specifically to speak to you.”

  “By name?”

  The man shakes his head. “Just said he had to speak to our leader. He said it was very important.”

  Sal nods. “Send him in.” She turns to Abel, shrugging. “How long do you think we’ve got before King Omar’s party heads this way?”

  Abel shrugs. “A day, maybe two. There’s a lot of them and they’ve got a pretty sizable camp.”

  “There’s that truck,” David says, between mouthfuls.

  “A truck?” Sal raises her eyebrows.

  Abel nods. “The kid’s right. They’ve got one of those old trucks working. Noisy thing.”

  “They had a horse too,” David says.

  “And guns,” Sis mutters.

  Sal turns to Sis. “Guns?”

  Tearing a piece of bread, Sis nods.

  “They’re well-armed,” Abel says, the corner of his lip curling. “I’m worried.”

  “Our fence is very secure.”

  Abel swallows. “For how long?” He looks around at the walls. “You think it can hold back a truck? Hold back fire?”

  The noise of clattering wood comes from outside and the door flings open. “Are you the leader?” a man asks, wheeling in a bike, his eyes fixed on Abel. A black flak jacket hangs tight around his broad shoulders. He brushes his fingers through his swept-back hair, black and thick with grease.

  “It’s him,” whispers David.

  “Shh,” Abel says.

  Sal gets up and meets the man’s gaze with a stony glare. “I am the priest of this community. I understand you want to speak with me?”

  The man leans his bike next to Sis’s, vaults the bench and sits across the table from Sal, taking a piece of bread from David’s plate and shoving it in his mouth.

  “I could make you a plate if you’d like?” she asks, seating herself back on the bench.

  The man wipes his mouth, grins, and leans back. “Not necessary. I’m going to keep this quick. I represent King Omar, the ruler of these lands. I’m here to offer you a...” he looks around, turning his right hand, as though searching for the words. “Let’s call it a mutually beneficial deal.”

  Abel tenses when Sal grabs his hand underneath the table.

  “Go on,” she says.

  “It’s very simple.” The man looks around again. “What do you call this place?”

  “Our community is called Trinity,” Sal says, shuffling on her seat.

  “Trinity,” he mutters. “We’ll have to change that.”

  Sal blinks and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, what is it that you want? If you are looking to trade, we have—”

  “Just stop,” the man snaps, raising his hand. “The deal is simple. Vacate this place and King Omar will let you and your people live. How does that sound?”

  Sal gets to her feet. “Get out,” she says, pointing to the door. “Now!”

  Abel gets up and eyes the man up and down. “Get out, or I’ll drag you out.”

  The man raises his hands, smirking. “I’ll let you think on it,” he says, getting up and grabbing another handful of food from David’s plate. “But we will be back. We’re taking this place, one way or another.”

  Reaching into his jacket, Abel pulls out his pistol and hunting knife. “Get out.”

  The man’s grin drops for a second. “If that’s the best you’ve got, this is going to end quicker than expected.”

  “Go,” Abel snaps.

  Nodding, the man clambers over the bench and picks up his bike. Sal goes over to the door and holds it open, watching as he pushes past her.

  Abel leads the man to the main entrance with Sal at his side, his pistol still drawn.

  “Think about our offer,” the man says when Sal slides the fence across. “We’ll be here very soon.” Hopping onto his bike, he gives Sal a broad smile and waves.

  Swallowing, Abel watches the man pedal along the trail towards the highway. He steps back as Sal closes the fence, shaking his head as he returns his pistol and knife.

  “I wish you hadn’t threatened him,” Sal says, turning to him.

  “Don’t put this on me,” he says, jaw tightening. “He came in here threatening everyone in this place.”

  Tears well in Sal’s eyes. “I know.” She leans forward, burying her head in Abel’s shoulder.

  “We’ll figure something,” he says, rubbing her back.

  Sal pulls away and wipes her eyes with the corner of her robe, raising her chin. “Okay,” she says, nodding. “I’m going to call a meeting. We need to be ready.” She turns on her heels and marches back towards the settlement’s central dip, shacks and buildings passing in a blur.

  “Wait,” Abel says, grabbing her shoulder. “What are you going to say?”

  Sal stops and looks at him, tilting her head. “I’m going to tell them we’re about to be raided, that we need to pack up.”

  Abel sighs and shakes his head. “Sal, listen. Let’s get a plan together before you go scaring everyone.”

  “This isn’t your community,” she says, stepping back and turning away. “You don’t have to be involved.”

  “This is my community, Sal. You’re my friend. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

  She looks back at him. “You’d do that?”

  Abel shrugs and nods. “Yep.”

  Taking his hand, she looks at him for several moments, not saying anything.

  He bites his lip and looks at the ground. “We should go back inside,” he says, gesturing towards the communal hall.

  Sal nods, hooking her arm around his. “Lead the way.”

  They follow the trail to the communal hall and find David and Sis waiting at the door. David gives Abel a knowing smile.

  “Don’t,” Abel mouths, eyes narrowing.

  Returning to their seats, Sal brings out a carafe of water and four clay cups. She fills the cups and takes a seat across from Abel. “How many of these raiders are we dealing with?”

  He shrugs. “About thirty, forty tops.”

  Sis nods. “Thirty-six, but there were some in truck.”

  “And they were armed?”

  “Twelve had rifles,” Sis says. “King had shotgun. I saw a pistol, and some hand-weapons, knives, clubs. Others might be hidden.”

  Abel raises his eyebrows. “Damn it, Sis. You caught all that?”

  She gives Abel a confused look. “Need to.”

  Sal leans back, sighing. “What we lack in weapons, we make up for in numbers. We’ve got around two hundred here.”

  “Half of those are kids though,” Abel says.

  “True enough,” she nods. “But children can still perform tasks.”

  “You got weapons?”

  Sal squirms on her seat, waving a hand. “Our best strategy is defence. We need to protect our p
erimeter.”

  David and Sis share a confused look.

  “The fence,” Abel says, gesturing towards the door. “There’s a lot of fence to cover.”

  “I see truck push through fence in other place,” says Sis. “This one bigger, but won’t hold for long.”

  Abel taps his fingers on the table and reaches for his cup. “We need to block the road,” he says, taking a sip. “Dig some trenches. If the truck can’t get to the fence, it can’t damage it.”

  Sal stands and rubs her chin. “What about the caravans? We can’t trade if the road is blocked.”

  “Everything’s got to be on hold. Trade can wait.”

  “Okay,” she says, pacing. “I’ll get some defences put in place. We can dig trenches along the road here to stop the truck.”

  “Do fires,” says Sis. “Fire burn. They won’t go on fire.”

  Sal nods. “Trenches filled with fire?” A smile creeps across her face, her eyes brightening. “This might work. They’ll move on and we’ll avoid bloodshed.”

  “And what if it doesn’t?” David asks.

  “We’ll figure something, kid,” says Abel. He turns to Sal. “I think you need to call that meeting.”

  TRINITY’S RESIDENTS swarm through the church door as David and Sis take turns striking the bell outside. Abel stands next to Sal, his arms crossed as men and women take their seats on six rows of benches, children running around or bouncing on their mothers’ knees. A six-foot crucifix stands behind him, carved in dark oak with delicate flourishes around its edges, reflected flames shimmering across its varnished surface.

  Sal lights a pair of beeswax candles resting on the altar with a match, extinguishing it with a flick of her wrist. A faint herby smell lingers in the air, mingling with chatter and nervous sweat.

  Abel gives a nod when David and Sis enter, closing the door behind them, and standing with their backs against the wall to the entrance’s left. The chatter turns to hush when Sal clears her throat.

  “Friends,” she begins, taking her place behind the altar, her hands gripping its oak edging, dark knuckles turning white. “First, I need to apologise for calling you to this meeting without notice. We have been made aware of a threat to our community. We must come together to defend what we have worked so long to build.”

  Murmurs, coughs, and restless shuffles come from those seated. Abel steps forward. “Some of you know me, a lot of you probably don’t. I’ve been coming to Trinity for a few years now, both as a trader and...” He pauses and swallows, turning to Sal, and then back to the seated residents. “I was addicted to plez and some of your people freed me,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing over to David. “I know Trinity isn’t my home, but this place means a lot to me. The people here mean a lot to me.” He glances over to Sal.

  A woman on the front row with hair pulled back into a ponytail frowns and gets to her feet. “I’m sorry, I don’t see how this has any—”

  “Please, be seated,” Sal says, glaring at the woman. “Let Abel finish. This is important.” She turns to Abel and offers him a half-smile. “Go on.”

  Abel licks his lips, nodding to himself when the woman sits back down. “A man calling himself a king is leading a gang of around thirty raiders.”

  “Thirty-six,” Sis calls from the back.

  “Right,” Abel nods. “Thirty-six raiders. The gang is organised and well-armed.” He pauses, swallowing. “One of them came here to say they want to take over Trinity—”

  A tumult of shouts and gasps erupts from the residents, all of them talking over each other. Abel takes a few steps back, flinching as he knocks into the crucifix.

  “Stop!” Sal shouts over the noise. “Stop it, now. We need to stay calm and focused,” she says, lowering her voice. “They offered us an ultimatum—either we leave or we die. But I say we fight. I say we defend our community and keep everyone safe.”

  “How can we keep safe against raiders?” the woman with the ponytail asks.

  “Yeah, the fence won’t hold,” a man says.

  People call over each other, their words turning into noise, voices growing louder. A few men shove each other, and a mother nudges her way towards the door, sweeping her child protectively into her arms.

  Abel bangs a fist against the wall, letting the thuds ring out. Heads turn with startled jerks. He allows the shock to resonate as the silence spreads across the room. “I thought you were better than this,” he says, his lip curling as the residents stare back at him wide-eyed. A few of them avert their gaze, looking at the floor or down at their hands. “If you work together, you can stop them. It’s going to be a lot of hard work, but if this community means to you even half what it means to me, then I know you’ll do everything you can to defend it.”

  “With God’s help, we can do this,” says Sal, lifting her chin and moving back behind the altar. “We will pray and we will work through the night to make Trinity safe.”

  “What can we do?” a woman asks.

  “We need to barricade the road,” Abel says. “We need to make trenches. We need to make it impossible for those raiders to reach the fence with that damn truck.”

  “Make fires,” Sis calls.

  “And why should we listen to you?” the woman with the ponytail asks, her arms folded.

  Sal steps forward and marches toward the woman. “Abel speaks for all of us,” she says, waving towards him. “He’s seen what we’re up against and he’s a friend to our community. Listen to him as you would to me.” Coming to a stop inches from the woman’s face, she raises a forefinger. “Take orders. Don’t argue.” She looks around, glaring. “That goes for all of you.”

  The woman nods, the tension dropping from her arms.

  Sal holds the woman’s gaze for a long moment before taking her place back behind the altar. “Let us pray,” she says, clasping her hands together and closing her eyes. “Dear Lord, please give us the strength to protect our community and keep us safe in these darkest times. We call on you for your blessings and protection, and to thwart the evil around us. Amen.” She raises her head.

  Abel places a hand on Sal’s shoulder as the residents head to the door. “You think they’ll be okay?”

  Sal takes in a sharp breath. “God willing.”

  7. The Nest

  Abel hurls another clump of soil onto the growing mound. The pit stretches for ten metres in front of Trinity’s fence, slashing through the trail like a jagged scar. The trench reaches up to the middle of his chest. He sighs as the muscles twitch in his lower-back and shoulders. He looks at David, his skin coated in sweat and dirt.

  The fence scrapes open and Sal emerges with a water bottle, Sis following her through the gap. “You two should take a break,” she says. “This is looking good.”

  Abel glances up, shakes his head, and then carries on digging. “I’d rather just carry on.”

  Dropping his shovel, David scrambles from the pit and takes the bottle with a grubby hand, unscrewing the cap and gulping down the water, his head thrown back.

  Abel looks up at the towering crucifix above and nods. He drives his shovel into the ground and pushes down onto it with his boot, standing it up in the dirt. “Trench is getting there,” he says, wiping sweat and grime from his forehead.

  “Come and have a drink,” Sal says.

  David looks down at the ground, gasping. “It needs refilling,” he says, offering the bottle to Sal. “Thirsty work.”

  “Damn it, kid. That was for both of us,” Abel says, climbing from the hole.

  Sal smiles. “There’s plenty to go around. Sis, will you be able to fill this up at the pump like I showed you?”

  Sis nods, takes the bottle, and goes back into the settlement.

  Abel watches her, shaking his head. “Has she been okay?” he asks, turning to Sal.

  “You can tell she’s had a difficult time. She told me about her sister.” Sal sighs. “She’s seen some terrible, terrible things. No child should go through what she
has.”

  “Right,” Abel says, rubbing the back of his neck. “How are the defences coming on?”

  Sal gestures along the trail towards the highway. “The trenches are getting there. The fields are too soft to allow something like a truck through. A few of the residents are building barricades and Sis had the idea of making dummies.”

  “Dummies?” David asks.

  “She thinks if we make King Omar believe there are more of us, they’ll be less likely to raid us.”

  Abel shakes his head and shrugs. “Maybe that’ll work. They’ve already had someone on the inside. You think he wasn’t taking everything in? I bet he was counting numbers, seeing where people could hide...” He frowns, his voice trailing off. “I don’t know, Sal.”

  Sis slides silently through the gap in the fence, the bottle clasped between bony fingers, lines of water coursing along her arm and dripping to the ground—black spots against the brown earth.

  Abel takes the bottle and smiles. “Thanks,” he says. “How are you doing?”

  “I want to make nest,” Sis says. “I could take out wheels, people...whatever.”

  “Damn it, Sis.” Abel jerks the bottle from his lips. “We’re not doing that.”

  “Who’s ‘we’? You don’t have to.” Sis shrugs.

  A deep line forms along Sal’s brow. “You want somewhere you can shoot people from?”

  Sis nods. “I can hit them from far. Road clear.”

  Sal shakes her head. “I can’t allow that,” she says, her voice growing deeper. “This is a Christian settlement. We do not kill.”

  “They won’t die in walls,” Sis says. “I’ll get them on road.”

  “Damn it,” Abel mutters. “Just do what Sal says. We’ll find something else for you.”

  David looks up at the crucifix and then back along the trail. “Sis is right. They’ve got weapons. You’ve got to change how you see things. It’s not that simple.”

  “Damn it, kid. If we kill when it suits us, we’re no better than them.”

  “This is defending a community. You’re not killing to raid. It’s different.”

  Sal shakes her head. “Thou shall not kill does not have caveats or exceptions.”