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

by Jon Cronshaw

  The king raises his hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s over. I offered a deal.”

  “Let these people go.”

  “But they disobeyed me.”

  “You got Trinity. Just let the people go. You can't have a kingdom without subjects.”

  The king rubs his chin, makes a show of considering Abel’s words, and then nods. “Perhaps...” He looks around. “Omar's Town. No, no—Omar's Kingdom. You can stop calling this place Trinity. It's Omar’s Kingdom.”

  “As you say,” Abel sighs.

  “Take them. Leave. If a king can’t show mercy to his subjects...” He makes a dismissive wave. “If I see you or any of these people in these parts again, I will not hesitate to execute you for treason.” He glances up at the crucifix, mouth stretching in a wolfish grin. “I’m sure I can find a use for that.”

  Abel raises his chin, sweeping his gaze across the backs of the residents’ heads. “Come on,” he says. “Let's go.”

  12. Exodus

  Abel waits until the last resident files out of Trinity's collapsed gate, stepping backwards over the broken wood as he leaves. Sis walks in a crouch at his side, her rifle fixed on the king. “I can take him out,” she says in a low whisper.

  “No.” Abel places a hand on her shoulder. “Leave it.”

  The residents amble forward, defeated and sobbing, their possessions left behind.

  A group of the king’s guards begins work rebuilding the fence, dragging up the broken gate to a vertical position.

  Abel gets one last look at the king, watching him from the entrance as he walks away. “Damn it,” he mutters.

  Handing the rifle to Sis, he wanders through the crowd until he spots David.

  “Hey, kid.”

  “What are we going to do?” David asks, grimy tears streaking his face.

  “I don't know. Community is more than just a place.”

  “I don't mean that. Where are we going to go with all these people? It's not like there's room in our place.”

  Abel pats David on the shoulder and shakes his head. “We'll work something out.”

  Reaching the highway, Sal turns and raises a hand to speak. “God has sent us a test,” she says. “This is a test of our strength as a community. It is a test of our resolve and our commitment to the Christian way.”

  “What are we going to do?” a man asks in a thin, shaky voice.

  Sal waves a hand, gesturing for calm. She sweeps her gaze across each resident in turn, remaining silent for a long moment. “Jacob is half-a-day from here. We will join him.”

  “You're leading us to the Grid?” a young woman asks, incredulous, blonde straggly hair falling across her face.

  “We are being forced to start again. Jacob has already established himself there. I've said before that we should do more to engage with the outside world, to spread our love and help those less fortunate than ourselves. It seems God is forcing our hand in this.”

  The woman lets out a bitter laugh. “God? This isn’t the work of God. This is the work of those raiders. We lost our homes. We lost our stuff. People have died.”

  “It is a test of our faith. Walls are not a family. Your stuff, your possessions are transient and frivolous. You will not have these things when you die. We have our hearts. We have our souls. We have each other.” She looks around again lowering her eyes. “I'm not going to say things are going to be easy—that would be a lie. Things are going to be difficult. But it is how we deal with these challenges that makes us who we are. This will strengthen our community, not destroy us.”

  “And you’re taking us to the Grid...” the young woman repeats, letting out an exasperated sigh.

  Sal swallows and walks over to the woman, taking her hands and meeting her gaze. “What are you afraid of?”

  “The Family. The drugs. They took me before. That place is hell. I can’t go back to plez...”

  Sal nods and embraces the woman. “The Family have moved on. Things are different now. We will stick together and keep each other safe—make sure we continue to follow the path of Christ.” She looks up, pulling away from the woman, and addresses the other residents again. “With God and love in our hearts, we will overcome this.”

  THE SUN SHINES COLD and bright as the last few strips of haze slowly drift away.

  Abel shudders as tiredness sets in. He listens to the slow shuffling of feet behind him as they pass the shells of wrecked cars and fissured concrete as water-filled blast craters coat the land to the south, heading towards the purple hills.

  Looking east, he follows the highway, Trinity no more than a dot in the distance. David pulls his elbow. “What’s up, kid?”

  “There's a dust storm.” David gestures to the brown haze shrouding the eastern horizon.

  Abel licks his finger, holding it up to the gentle wind, almost still. “Things will be right, kid.” He points to the clouds above them. “Shouldn't bother us here.”

  Sal joins them. “What's wrong?”

  “There’s a dust storm near the city. You can just make it out.”

  “You sure?”

  Abel nods. “Yep.”

  “He says we should be alright,” David says. “It's too far away and it’s not very windy.”

  Sal looks between David and Abel. “You’re absolutely sure?”

  Abel nods. “How’s everyone doing?”

  “We need to keep everyone safe.” She sucks in her bottom lip. “I’m not sure how to do that.”

  “You can’t protect everyone, Sal. All you can do is encourage people to pull together. You’re just one person and you are unarmed.”

  “I wish we'd been more prepared for something like this. I can’t believe they got in.” She sighs. “They just came in and took over.”

  “You’re still here. God’s testing you, right?”

  “I was saying those things to keep everyone focused.”

  Abel raises an eyebrow. “You don't believe it, then?”

  Sal shakes her head. “I'm not sure what I believe. I feel like we spent so long building a community, trying to do right, healing the sick, helping people in need...” She looks down at her hands. “What sort of God would do this?”

  Abel shrugs. “You're asking me?”

  “I just know you’ve got a different perspective on things.”

  David taps Abel’s arm and points along the highway to the east. “That storm is getting closer.”

  Abel shuffles, squinting at the swirling cloud. “That doesn't make sense. There's hardly any wind. How can it be getting closer?”

  “I've never been exposed in a dust storm before,” Sal says. “I’d dare say neither have many of the others.” She looks around, concern etched on her brow. “What should we do?”

  “You need to get your people off the road.”

  “We’re so exposed. How can we protect ourselves?”

  Abel steps to the highway’s edge and looks along the traces of brickwork poking through the mud below. “You could probably get some shelter on the embankment. If some of those walls are tall enough, people can huddle behind them. Use clothes to protect each other, whatever they’ve got.” He looks up the brown mist in the distance, frowning at the clouds above. “It doesn't make sense,” he mutters, shaking his head.

  Sal claps her hands together, getting the residents’ attention. “Everyone,” she says. “We need to get off the road and try to find any shelter we can. There's a dust storm on the way. We must make sure we’re protected and that we look after each other. Abel, you’ve had experience of a few of these. What can we do?”

  Abel pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's not going to be good. You just need to make sure your eyes are covered—that’s the most important thing. If you’ve got something you can cover your nose and mouth with, even better. Find somewhere to protect you. One of these walls might be good enough. Cover yourself as much as you can. Use coats. Use whatever you've got. If the dust gets on the skin, chances are it’s going to hurt. Sometimes
it will give you a rash. It can scrape the top layer of skin off.” He hops down from the highway, walking down the slope.

  Examining the foundations, he finds the lines of brick come to no more than halfway up his shins. He gives David, a concerned look and keeps heading south. After several minutes, he turns and addresses the residents. “When the storm comes, best thing to do is to lie on your fronts, protect your heads and wait it out. These walls are no good.”

  “I need a drink,” a woman says. “Anyone bring water?”

  “I'm hungry,” a boy says.

  “Does anyone have any water bottles?” Sal asks. “Any food?”

  The residents shake their heads, exchanging glances with each other.

  “How can you not have water?” Sal paces before them, her eyes wide, fists clenched. “Not one of you?” She makes a frustrated wave, slumps to the ground, sighing, and puts her head in her hands.

  Abel goes over to Sal, placing an arm around her. She shudders with sobs. “We are not prepared for this,” she whispers. “It's hopeless.”

  “Come on, Sal. Hope springs eternal, right?”

  Sal turns, rolling her shoulder away from Abel. She shoots him a harsh glare. “Don't mock me. I'm not like you. I don't know about the wasteland. I can't survive out here. We are all going to die.”

  “I'm not mocking you and we’re not going to die. We’re just a few hours away from Jacob. We just need to wait for the storm to pass and we can get back on the road. We’ll be there by night. I promise.”

  He reaches for Sal’s hand. She hesitates for a moment then gets to her feet.

  Abel looks to the east, tilting his head at the swirling cloud’s approach. “There’s still hardly any wind,” he mutters. “This doesn't make sense.” He squints at the sound of a distant droning hum.

  “What's that noise?” Sal asks.

  Abel shakes his head. “I don't think that's a dust cloud.”

  “What is it?”

  “I think it’s a bug swarm.” Hopping onto a foundation wall, Abel raises his hands for attention, turning to the residents. “Everyone,” he calls out. “You need to get down. That's no dust storm. Get as low as you can. Keep your eyes closed, and your mouths, noses, ears.”

  The people look around, confused. Sal makes a face. “Well don't just stand there, people,” she says. “Listen to the man.”

  A few residents grumble and whisper to each other as they lower themselves onto the damp soil.

  The first few bugs land on Abel's right hand. They crawl around his fingers, their black and red shells glistening. He brushes them away with a flick of his wrist, shuddering as he pulls his hand back.

  “What do we do?” David asks, blinking away a bug.

  “Pull one of your sweaters around your head, kid. Protect yourself.”

  David nods and wanders back to Sis, smacking a bug when it lands on his neck.

  Dropping down to his stomach, Abel pulls his coat over his head.

  The humming grows louder and people cry out as the bugs swarm around them.

  Abel brushes them away from his ears, his hair, his face, his nose, his mouth. He curses when they land in his jacket, teeming and clicking, their wings flickering against leather.

  Sal rolls free from beneath her robe and cries, spitting out bugs as they fly into her mouth and push into her nostrils. She lets out a bellowing scream as the bugs crawl over her, flailing on the ground, head thrown back.

  Abel rips off his jacket and drapes it over her, scooping her in his arms, holding her against the kicks and flails. He brushes the bugs from Sal’s face, picking them from his own nose and ears, flapping his arms frantically.

  The insects swirl around them, buzzing in a low, thunderous drone—millions of them circling and crowding and crawling, coating the ground in a shimmering moving black and red.

  Abel holds his breath, his fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut. He brushes more bugs from Sal’s face, picking them from her neck and hair. She lets out convulsive, jerking sobs.

  Trembling, Abel rubs away stings from the back of his neck and hands, cursing.

  People around him cry and shout, some of them rolling on the ground. Others are on their feet, running back in the direction of Trinity. Some lie still, silent, waiting.

  Sal trembles, curled up in the dirt, her hands clasped around her head as she mutters a prayer over and over and over.

  After several minutes, the swarm thins out. Though many remain, crawling on surfaces and stinging exposed flesh, the main cloud moves west.

  The humming finally fades and people groan and rise to their feet, shaking their clothes and stripping down to their underclothes, brushing off their skin with the backs of hands, helping the person next them.

  Abel grabs Sal by the hand and pulls her to her feet. Swollen black lumps cover her dark skin. She stands, shaking, taking in sharp sobbing breaths, scratching along her arms and shoulders.

  Abel goes over to David and offers him a grim smile. “You okay, kid?”

  David nods. “Sis isn't doing too well, though.” He gestures to the girl, sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped tight around her knees. She rocks backwards and forwards whispering to herself, her eyes squeezed shut.

  David goes over to her and taps her on the shoulder. She ignores him, still rocking. He pushes her shoulder, and gives her a shake, bringing her from her trance. She looks up at him, blinking, her expression blank.

  “You look after her,” Abel says, patting David on the back. He looks at Sal, shaking his head as she brushes herself down with a look of panic, her movements jerky, trembling. Abel goes back over to her.

  “Get them off me,” she says, not looking up. She cringes, picking bugs from her dreadlocks. “They're everywhere. They're everywhere. Get them off me,” she says, flapping her arms.

  Abel moves towards her, scraping the insects from her back, picking them from her hair, most of them dead.

  “Get them off me. Get them off me. Get them off me.”

  “It's okay. Try to keep calm. They’re gone.”

  “They are all in my hair. They're everywhere. Get them off me.”

  Abel picks a few more insects and Sal flinches, turning to Abel as tears stream down her cheeks. “Have you got your knife?”

  Abel's eyes narrow. “Why?”

  “Just give me the damn knife.”

  Abel shrugs. Reaching into his jacket, he hands her his hunting knife, handle-first and frowns when she grasps one of her dreadlocks, pulling it at arm’s length. She drags the blade up from the hair’s roots, pulling through the lock until it separates from the scalp and drops to the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Abel asks, reaching for her arm, eyebrows raised.

  Sal flinches, jerking back, her jaw clamped shut. She grabs another dreadlock, stretching it taut as she hacks at it with the knife. “I need to get them off me,” she whispers in a thin, trembling voice. The second lock falls to the ground, soaking up the mud. She takes up another handful of hair, cutting it, repeating the process until only curled black tufts remain.

  A shiver passes over her as she looks back at Abel, her face round and dotted with insect bites. She leans into him, sobbing.

  Abel shifts his balance and puts an arm around her, rubbing her back. She buries her face into his chest. “Come on, Sal,” he says. “It’ll be okay. It’s just bugs. They’re gone now. We can go to Jacob. It’ll be okay.”

  She pulls back, wiping a tear, sniffling. “It's not. We've got no food. We’ve got no water. You’re used to this sort of stuff. I can't survive out here. It's too...” Her voice trails off, and she takes in a shuddering breath.

  “Hostile?”

  Sal nods.

  “You’d be surprised what you can survive, Sal. You’ve just got to keep hope. You always talked to me about faith, how important it is to you. It’s easy to have faith when things are easy.”

  “What would you know about faith?”

  “I might not believe in God, but I do
believe in hope. That’s my faith.” He shrugs. “I believe in people. I believe in being good and doing right. Without hope, I’d have none of that.”

  Sal nods, bringing the sleeve across her nose, wiping away a string of snot. “What were those bugs?”

  “Who could say? I think everyone's okay though. And that’s what’s important.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It could be worse.”

  Sal turns her hands over and examines the bites swelling beneath her skin. “I’m worried about these.”

  “You'll be alright. It's rough out here, you know?”

  “I didn't realise.” She looks at her palms, shaking her head. “I didn’t get how hard life is outside.”

  Abel offers a grim smile and looks west along the highway. “You wonder why people take to plez?”

  Sal swallows. “I'm so sorry.” She leans forward again and weeps quietly against Abel’s shoulder. After a minute or so, she looks up, as if considering him.

  “What?”

  “I just thought it was weakness...I get it now. It’s a way out.”

  “It's not a good thing, Sal.”

  “I’ve been so judgemental—even of you. When you first came to Trinity I...” She chokes down her words. “I can’t believe how I behaved.”

  “Getting clean is the best thing I ever did, Sal. It's hard out here. But it's way, way harder when you've got...when you've got that pull, always ringing in the back of your mind.”

  “You’ve had it so tough. I’ve been a monster.”

  Abel lets out an incredulous laugh and smiles. “You’re no monster, Sal. You were the only one who looked out for me. You took a chance on me. You’re not a monster.”

  Sal glances up, forcing a warm smile. “Thank you,” she says, taking his hand. She looks down at the stings on the back of her hands, smile dropping. “You sure these are okay? They look really bad.” She flaps her hands in front of her face, blowing out deep breaths. “I’m hot,” she says, rubbing sweat from her brow. “You don't think I’ve had a reaction to the stings, do you?”

  “They were just small. You'll be fine. I get stung all the time by things.”