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

by Jon Cronshaw

  David lets out a sharp breath. “So you’d let all these people die?” he asks, waving his hands, gesturing to the fence. “Standing back and letting people die is fine, but stopping killers isn’t?”

  Abel clenches a fist and turns to David. “Kid, it’s not for us to question the way Sal runs things. We’re guests, remember? Apologise.”

  A long silence hangs in the air. David scowls, turning to Sal. “What kind of God do you follow that lets people die?”

  Sal doesn’t answer.

  “I could do warning shots,” says Sis in a quiet voice. “Only aim for truck. Scare them. No killing.”

  Abel and Sal turn to her. “Okay,” says Sal. “We can do that.”

  “Things would be easier if you just took out that king,” says David. “You should aim for him.”

  Sis shakes her head. “I said I won’t.”

  TRINITY'S ENTRANCE stands wide open as men and women bring barricades onto the road, dragging them around the trenches and lining them up at regular intervals. The barricade nearest to Abel consists of a simple wooden frame, with sharpened pine stakes jutting out at awkward angles. Others stand like walls—sheets of steel, bricks and concrete.

  Children run by, heaving bundles of straw and kindling. Men carry large logs on their shoulders, dropping them into the trenches.

  “We should light these fires at sunset,” Abel says.

  Sal nods. “Do you think this is going to work?”

  “Who could say?” A grim smile passes over his face. “All I know is that you can't let these raiders take over. You've done too much good here to let them take it away.” He looks down as Sal takes his hand, biting his bottom lip as he meets her gaze.

  “Thank you,” she says. “We've achieved so much in such a short space of time.” A shuddering breath leaves her mouth, the tremors reaching her shoulders. She drops Abel's hand as a parade of men and women pass through the gate carrying figures made of stuffed sacking and cloth.

  “No one is going to fall for these,” Sal says in a voice just loud enough for Abel to hear.

  Abel watches as they move past the barricades. “When it's dark and the fires are burning, you’re not going to be able to tell. If it gives them pause, then they’ve done their job.”

  Sal shakes her head and looks around. She turns to the crucifix and makes the sign of the cross over her chest. “I sincerely hope you're right.” Her hand drops and her eyes widen. Abel follows her gaze to see Sis scaling the crucifix with a rifle strapped to her back and a bag of bullets hanging behind her.

  “Damn it, Sis,” Abel calls. “Come down from there. Can't be climbing up that.”

  Sis ignores him until she's seated on the crossbeam. “I got a good view here,” she calls. “Can see the big road, top of tent.”

  Abel turns to Sal. “She okay doing that?”

  Sal gives an almost imperceptible nod, and swallows. “The cross is a symbol of protection, an embodiment of our faith.”

  “Looks like it's going to be more than just a symbol.” He glances up at Sis adjusting her rifle's sight. “If God’s really watching over you, I’m sure He’ll be fine with it. If not, I’m sure He can forgive you.”

  “Please don’t be facetious, Abel. I appreciate your help, but that’s a very disrespectful thing to say.”

  Abel sighs and offers Sal a smile. “Just trying to lighten the mood, is all. We’ve got a big task ahead of us.”

  “I will pray for protection,” she says looking up at Sis. She turns to Abel. “And I will pray for your forgiveness.”

  Abel grins. “You do what you need to. I need to get back to work.”

  “This is serious,” Sal spits. “We need to take every advantage we can.”

  There’s a long silence. Abel goes to speak but stops himself.

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to offend. We need to get these barricades set up and trenches finished before it gets dark.”

  Sal folds her arms across her chest. “Please, speak your mind.”

  Abel removes his cap and rubs his beard, his eyes making their way up the crucifix and then back to Sal. “It doesn’t matter, really.”

  “It matters. I won’t chide you.”

  Sighing, Abel places his cap back on his head and looks around. “The thing I don’t get is you’re always looking for help from God, but I’ve never seen anything that’s ever helped anyone that hasn’t been done by people.”

  “God works in mysterious ways. Who are we to question His will?”

  “But that’s my point. Look at what we’re doing here. We’ve got people working together to protect their homes and families. This isn’t because of God, it’s because we’re working together.” He shakes his head.

  “I think your understanding of God is different from my own. If you’re expecting a magical hand to directly intervene, and send those raiders away without us lifting a finger, then you’re right to be sceptical.” She raises a forefinger, her eyes brightening. “But God is with us, guiding us with love, giving us the focus, and drive to help ourselves.”

  “I can do that without God.”

  Sal shakes her head emphatically. “You’re wrong. You are completely wrong. Refusing to believe in something does not make it false.”

  “And believing in something doesn’t make it real, Sal. It’s the same argument. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Look at everything you’ve done, everything you’ve accomplished, how far you’ve come since I first met you. You couldn’t have done any of that without God’s love.”

  Abel sighs. “Now I should be the one who’s offended.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “It was hard for me to get clean. I’ve worked really hard not to go back, to resist, to try to be a better person, to live by a code. You’re reducing that to nothing by saying it’s God.”

  “Not at all.” Sal takes his hands. “You’ve found love in your heart and that love is God. It takes nothing away from your efforts at all. You’ve done wonderful things, but you couldn’t have done that without hope and love.”

  “Right.” Abel looks past Sal’s shoulder and takes a step back. “You know we’re not going to see eye-to-eye on this, don’t you?”

  Sal smiles. “I know. But I have to try. I’m determined to save you.”

  “You already did.” Abel rubs the back of his neck and looks up at Sis. “How’s it looking up there?”

  “Clear,” she says. “Need to finish trenches. Stop talking.”

  Abel smiles at Sal and offers her a shrug. “Best do as she says.”

  8. Rain

  The clatter of trays and plates punctuates the blur of tense conversation as Sal stands at the end of the communal hall’s central table, torchlight flickering behind her.

  Abel looks up as she drops her hood and pulls her dreadlocks back across her face, revealing trembling lips and fear-filled eyes. The conversations stop as the residents turn to face her, many of them arching their necks to see over their shoulders.

  Sal clears her throat. “Before our Lord Jesus Christ was betrayed and sent to be crucified for all of our sins, he ate the last supper with his disciples. We live our lives for God, to do his work on Earth in these end days.” She raises her chin, sweeping her gaze across the room, across the familiar faces. “Be assured, this is not our last supper. We will—” The church bell’s urgent ringing cuts off her words, its loud metallic clang shrill and insistent. She looks around with a panicked look, then steels herself. “It is time,” she says, raising her hands. “We can all do this.”

  Abel scoops up a few slices of bread and stuffs them into his jacket pocket. “Grab some food, kid,” he says, turning to David. “Get something for Sis.”

  Residents stream from the door and into the night. Abel turns to Sal but does not say a word. She meets his gaze and forces a smile. “Let's go,” she says, her voice cracking.

  Abel places a hand on her shoulder and leads her towards th
e door.

  “I should be out there fighting,” she says.

  “Your people want you safe—they need you safe.”

  Sal takes in a deep breath and nods, reaching out for Abel's hand. “Stay with me,” she whispers. “I need you.”

  Abel swallows. “If they manage to get through, I'll protect you to the end.” He leans past Sal and gestures to a dozen or so sticks sharpened to spears. “We should take those.”

  They split the spears between them, carrying them under their arms as residents line the fence, brandishing their own sticks. Abel makes out the shadow of Sis perched on the crucifix, her body perfectly still against the night. A few adults lead a line of children towards the communal hall, slamming the door closed as the last one piles in.

  Abel leads the way as they run across the settlement to the church. “Take these,” she says, handing Abel the spears.

  Sal goes around the side, takes a ladder and leans it against the church’s wall. Rungs creak as she ascends. With her back against the roof, she reaches down to take the spears. Shuffling back, she lays the lengths of wood between the waves of corrugated steel that stretch along the roof towards the church’s bell.

  Joining Sal, Abel shifts uncomfortably as the corrugated humps dig into his buttocks. He removes his jacket folds in it half and pats it down, gesturing to Sal. “Sit here. It's a bit more comfortable than the metal.”

  Sal removes her robe, revealing a knitted sweater and woollen leggings beneath. She gestures for Abel to move across and lays the robe over his jacket. “Now it will be even more comfortable,” she says, forcing a smile. “I think we’re going to be in for a long night.”

  “Think you’ll be warm enough?”

  “For now.”

  Abel nods and looks across the settlement. Towering flames rise from the trenches along the road towards the highway.

  A procession of torches emerges in the distance, little more than glowing specks of light, fireflies in the dark. “They're here.”

  Sal squeezes his hand as the truck comes into view, ghostly and hellish reflected flames ripple on its surface in shades of orange and yellow. “Is that him?” She points to the king's horse.

  Abel squints. “Yep. That's the one.”

  The king's men cluster into a huddle as the truck comes to a stop near the first barricade. A few of them make gestures, waving their hands.

  “What are they doing?” Sal asks.

  “I think it's working.” He points to the truck. “Look.”

  A frown passes over Sal's face as the truck reverses for a few metres, then lurches off the road and onto the wheat field, its wheels spinning against the damp earth.

  “They're going to struggle to get that thing moved,” Abel says, grinning. “Ground is too wet.”

  Sal turns to Abel and nods. “So they're stuck?”

  A breath catches in Abel's throat as a sharp crack bursts from Sis's rifle. Sal grabs his hand.

  “They're scattering,” Sal whispers. “It's working.”

  Abel stands and watches and the king turns his horse around, his arms waving frantically. His men return to his side and the king brings his horse back around to face Trinity, his men charging forward.

  “Damn it. They’re trying again.”

  A few of the men and women barricaded near the fence set fire to the ends of spears, hurling them forward. Another snap rings out from Sis’s rifle.

  “There’s too much smoke,” says Abel, dropping back to a sitting position. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand tugging at his beard. “I can’t see what’s happening.”

  “I can’t watch.” Sal covers her eyes and leans into Abel. He pats her shoulder, gritting his teeth as three of the king’s men smash through the first barricade, sending logs and barrels flying as they fire their rifles.

  “They’re through the first one. The smoke’s clearing a bit.”

  Sal cries out as a resident is swarmed by four of the king’s men. “I can’t see who it is. I need to go down.”

  Abel grips Sal’s arm. “No,” he growls. “You’re not a fighter. You’ve done all you can.”

  She turns away as someone screams in the darkness. The first drops of rain patter down on the rooftops, hissing against the raging fires. “Rain,” Abel mutters, opening a palm.

  Sis lets off another shot and the king’s horse wobbles for a moment then topples, landing hard on its side. The king goes down with it, his arms flailing.

  “She shot the damn horse,” Abel says, bolting to his feet, almost losing his balance. “I can’t believe she shot a horse.”

  “I think he’s under there.”

  “What?”

  Sal points to the horse, now dead on its side. “He’s under it. He might be dead.”

  Abel tilts his head, searching around for the king. “I think you’re right. Sis did it. She really did it.” He shakes the rain from his hands and winces as his skin starts to burn and prickle. “We should get shelter. We’ve got brown rain.”

  Sal looks up at the sky, then sucks in her bottom lip, nodding.

  Abel unfolds his jacket, shakes it, and puts it on, flipping the collar against the rain. He pulls Sal to her feet and picks up her robe. She faces away from him, allowing him to slide the robe onto her shoulders.

  Looking past her, he feels her warmth and takes in a deep breath. “Damn it,” he says.

  “What is it?”

  He points to the horse, his finger trembling. The king’s men push against its side, leaning against its deadweight as they rock back and forth. One of the men pulls the king’s leg free from beneath the horse. The king wobbles to his feet, waving away assistance as he limps forward.

  “Spoke too soon,” Abel mutters.

  “That’s a shame. What should we do?”

  A gust of wind blows from the east, bringing with it a torrent of burning rain. “Let’s go,” Abel says, covering his eyes with a forearm. “We can’t stay out in this.”

  Sheets of wood and metal rattle around below them as the wind lets out a low howl. A cow moans deeply as the chickens crash around inside their sheds with panicked squawks.

  Sal reaches for the ladder first. “They’re going,” she says. “They’re actually leaving.” She makes a gesture towards the highway as the king’s men run for cover, the king limping behind them.

  Abel drops down after Sal and follows her into the communal hall. Inside, beeswax candles flicker with the wind. Children sit huddled in blankets, cuddling up to their mothers. The tables stand pushed against the walls, with the benches resting upside-down.

  “How is everybody?” Sal asks.

  A pale woman with cropped red hair gets up, hugging herself, shivering. “We’re okay. Scared, but okay. What’s happening?”

  “There’s brown rain,” Abel says. “They’re heading back to their camp.”

  “Hopefully, for good,” Sal says.

  Abel lets out a sigh, starting as the door crashes open.

  “They’re gone,” David calls, bolting inside, almost breathless, as others pile in behind him “Sis took out the king’s horse. You should have seen it—”

  “We saw it,” says Abel, standing back as people brush past him, searching for their loved-ones. “Where’s Sis now?”

  David looks back over his shoulder and shrugs. “I think she’s still up there.”

  “Damn it, kid. She can’t sit out in that. I’ll bring her in.” He goes to leave after the last person comes in, and feels a hand on his shoulder.

  “Wait,” says Sal.

  “I can’t leave her out there, Sal. That rain burns.”

  “You can’t go out like that.” She looks around then gestures to a woman wearing a black and purple waterproof jacket. “Can we borrow your coat for a few minutes?”

  The woman’s eyes widen. She shakes her head.

  “Please, it’s just for a few minutes. I promise he’ll return it.”

  There’s a long pause before the woman gets to her f
eet and wriggles free of her jacket and hands it to Abel.

  He offers a smile and pulls the jacket over his head, adjusting the elastic strapping around the hood before going back outside.

  The rain pours around him, water cascading from rooftops, gathering in puddles, descending in streams towards the crater’s midpoint. Raindrops pummel his back and leak down his neck and along his sides. He pushes forward, his open palm raised to the sky.

  Squinting, he makes out the crucifix against the night. He darts between buildings, keeping his head tucked low until he reaches the main entrance. A burning sensation throbs against his neck.

  Fumbling, he undoes the rope holding the fence closed. He grips the edge of a wooden sheet and heaves the gate open, sliding it along the ground, feeling its weight as water pools around his boots.

  Fires hiss in their trenches as thick white smoke fills the air around him. He skirts around a wooden frame, dipping his head beneath jutting spikes. His eyes fill with tears as he blinks away the rain. “Sis?” he calls, looking up at the cross. “Where you at?”

  The crucifix towers above, shrouded in shadow and obscured by the smoke. He glances around, his eyes following the trail towards the highway. With the flats of his hands, he pats the crucifix and calls out again. There’s no response.

  “Damn it.” He smacks against the cross again, flinching back as a shot of pain goes up his right arm. His eyes sting with the rain when he looks up again, trying to make out Sis’s shape. He rubs the back of his neck, raw like sunburn, and goes back into the settlement, closing the fence behind him. “Sis?” he calls, looking around again.

  He follows the path towards the crater’s centre, his feet slipping as the ground turns to mud. A cow rests on its stomach, its head flat against the dirt as it moans in a low, mournful drone. Stopping, Abel reaches down and pats the cow’s side, her fur rough and sopping with rain. “It’s okay, girl.” Her ribs expand beneath his palms, muscles quivering.

  Abel gets up and skirts the path towards the communal hall, the trail brimming with flowing water.

  When he reaches the hall, he pushes the door open with a shoulder and gasps. The air inside is thick with the smell of sweat and fear. A few people stare at him, wide-eyed, relaxing when he pulls the hood down.