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

by Jon Cronshaw

  “We'll do it,” a woman says, walking ahead with a man at her side, their car door held out.

  Turning, Abel pushes the ramp back a few steps, changing its direction. “Let's keep going,” he says, taking the chain's tension.

  They trudge on ahead for thirty or so metres before the man and the woman run back towards them. “The pit is too deep,” the woman says, gesturing behind her. “There's no way we can get past.”

  “You sure?” Abel asks, pulling free from the chains.

  The woman nods.

  “Show me.” Abel follows the woman as she leads the way along the trail. She stops abruptly and points to the ground. Crouching, Abel inspects the trench and shakes his head. “Damn it. We don't have time to fill it and it's going to be too wide for a wooden sheet to hold.” He gets up and looks around at the sky, the sun’s edges just visible over the horizon. Jogging back to the ramp he looks around at the people trailing behind them. “We can't get up the road. We’ll have to take this thing over the fields.”

  “But the ground is sodden,” says Sal. “The wheels will get stuck.”

  “I need ten more people. We’re going to lift this on our shoulders.” He pats the side of the ramp.

  After half a minute of whispers and murmurs, a dozen men line up against the ramp’s base, straining as they lift it onto their shoulders. Abel cringes beneath the weight, hard metal pressing down against his shoulders and neck. He lets out sharp staccato breaths, his knees trembling as they drop from the road and onto the soft ground.

  Shambling forward, Abel curses and groans, his boots sinking into the mud, the other men wobbling and straining around him. “This isn't going to work,” he says through gritted teeth. “Let's put this thing down.”

  They lower the ramp to the ground, breathless and sweating. Abel shakes his head as the wheels sink into the mud, rolling his shoulder against the pain.

  “What are we going to do?” Sal asks

  “I don't know.” Abel staggers to his feet and inspects the ramp. His eyes wander towards the fence. “Damn it.”

  Sal follows his gaze. “Jacob.”

  “Yep. I'd hoped they would have taken him down.”

  Swallowing, Sal turns away and lets out a trembling sigh. “This isn't going to work, is it?”

  Abel shakes his head. “Don't speak like that.” He runs his hand along the ramp and nods to himself. “We don't need the chassis to get over the fence,” he announces. “Let's get this ramp free and we’ll just use that.”

  “We got no tools,” a man says.

  Abel turns to the men, now sitting on the ground, rubbing their shoulders, gasping for air. “Let's try to rip this ramp free. Carefully, though.”

  The men surround the ramp, wood splitting around the joints as they separate it from the campervan's chassis.

  After a few minutes, the ramp lies on the ground, half submerged in mud. Abel forces a smile and sighs. “Good work, people.”

  Moving to the ramp’s front, he raises it onto his left shoulder, smiling as the others follow his lead and take its weight.

  Abel glimpses Second Bob crouching next to a hay bale, and waves. “This is it,” he says. “Let's try to go a bit faster now.” He picks up the pace, starting to jog, feet slipping against the mud.

  The sound of shouts and war cries ring out from beyond the settlement’s other side as Abel leans the ramp against the fence. “Let's get in,” Abel says, turning to Sal. “You can open the gate.”

  Sal nods and charges up the ramp, disappearing over the fence. Abel turns to the others. “Follow me. One at a time.” He gazes up and swallows, pulse thundering in his head, and runs forward, clambering upwards, the wood cracking beneath his feet. Reaching out, he grabs the top of fence, the ramp shattering beneath him. “Damn it,” he cries out. His feet scramble against the fence’s side until he gains traction and rolls over the top, landing on the box truck’s roof and bouncing to the ground with a thud, knocking the wind out of his chest when he lands, the shotgun and backpack pushing down on his back.

  Sal reaches down to him as he rolls on his side, gasping for breath. She glances up towards the top of the fence. “Are the others coming?”

  “Ramp...broke...” Abel gulps.

  She drags him to his feet. “Help me get this gate open.”

  The man behind them clears his throat. Abel looks down at the pistol and raises his hands.

  “Big mistake coming here,” the man says. “Stick them over there.” He gestures to the backpack and shotgun.

  Abel nods, sliding the backpack from his shoulders and letting it drop to the ground. The man snatches the shotgun and shakes his head. “What's King Omar going to do with you?”

  31. The Church

  Abel staggers backwards, holding his jaw when the king strikes him again with a club.

  “Have you seen what happened to your friend? We crucified him as an example to anyone who would dare to defy me.” The king glowers at Abel. “Now I'm going to have to drag his corpse down and hammer up a new one.” He turns to Sal. “You could go on the other side.”

  Sal's eyes widen. “You are a monster.”

  The king shrugs and gestures to the crucifix standing behind him. “I'm the monster? That implement of torture was already here when I found this place. I watched him dying up there. It was a terrible sight.” He holds his hands out, echoing the shape of Jacob on the cross, and looks up at each hand in turn. “Imagine having all your weight pulling down on you from nails driven into your wrists. He squirmed for so long. When the pain was too much in his wrists, he pushed down on the nails that were driven through his ankles. All the while, his ribs were stretched and his breathing came out in strained breaths. I didn't think a man could cry out for so long.”

  “You really are a monster,” Sal says.

  “It could have been worse for him. I think one of my men shot him. They must have been weak. They must've felt sorry for him.”

  “I did that.”

  A grin flickers across the king’s face. “You murdered your friend? That's another thing I can add to your growing list of misdeeds.”

  “You need to give Big Ned's daughters back,” Abel says, wiping blood from his mouth.

  The king snorts. “I like you. You've got spirit.” He swings the club, connecting with Abel’s gut.

  Abel drops to the floor, cringing.

  “Leave him—” Sal glance up as the church bell rings out above.

  The king looks round, concerned. “There are more of you?”

  “We've got you surrounded,” Abel says. “It's only a matter of time.”

  The king scowls, his foot stamping down on Abel’s leg. He starts when Sal jumps on his back, swinging her fists against the top of his head. Staggering back, he slams her against the wall, grinning when she drops to the floor. “You want some of this as well?” he asks, slapping the club against his open palm.

  The roar of shouts and splitting wood comes from outside as the bells continue to ring. Sal gets to her feet. “Okay,” she says. “You can take me. Let Abel go.”

  “Sal, no,” Abel snaps.

  A grin curls across the king's lips. “Take you?” He moves towards her, eyebrows raised.

  Sal nods. “I'll do whatever you want. Please, just let Abel go.”

  The king grabs Sal's arm and meets her gaze. “You don't get to tell me what I can do. You can watch with me as he squirms on that cross out there.”

  Sal jerks her arm in an upward arc and the king lets out a scream. He stumbles backwards, a switchblade lodged in his right eye socket. Sal lunges forward, charging at him shoulder-first, knocking him to the ground, clawing at his face. Frantic, she slams the palm of her hand down onto the blade's handle, driving it deeper into his head. The king lets out a gurgling, choking sound, and then stops. Sal slumps over him, sobbing.

  Screaming comes from outside. Abel gets to his feet and limps over to Sal. “Is he dead?”

  Sal looks up, her eyes filled with tears. “I t
hink so,” she says in a soft voice. She stares down at her hands, shaking her head as blood pools on the floor.

  Abel gestures to the switchblade. “Bring that with you.” He reaches down for the club. “We should take him outside. Show them their leader.”

  “What?” Sal asks, wiping a tear.

  “His people need to see this.” Abel walks over to the king’s plastic crown and stamps down on it, shattering it beneath a boot.

  Sal and Abel lift the king to his feet, resting his limp body over their shoulders. They trudge forward, past the rows of benches. Sal pushes through the door and outside.

  Huts burn around them as people run in all directions. One of the king's men stops, his mouth gaping at the sight of his king. “Your king is dead,” Abel says. “Get out.”

  “What are we going to do with him?” Sal asks.

  “Drag him to the gate.” He jerks around at the tap to his shoulder. “Ned.”

  “Where our women at?”

  “I don't know,” Abel says. “They might still be in that truck, I guess.”

  “Truck? What truck?”

  “It's to the right of the gate,” says Sal. “You can't miss it.”

  Abel shakes his head. “I missed it.”

  “You fell off it.”

  “Right.”

  Big Ned goes to run and then stops. “That the king?”

  Abel nods. “Yep. He got got.”

  “We get the rest of these people out, get our women. Then we have hootenanny.”

  “Sounds good, Ned. Good luck.”

  Men and women lie dead around them as they make their way to the main entrance. Gunshots and shouts come from behind them. The truck stands at the gate’s right as Big Ned and Second Bob strike the rear shutters with metal spikes.

  The church bell stops.

  Abel and Sal pass through the open gate and throw the king's body to the ground. Sal looks up at Jacob and turns back to Abel. “I won't be a minute,” she says, running back inside.

  Abel rubs the back of his neck as the bodies of a dozen or so of the king's men lie in a pile along the trail. He shakes his head and sighs as the sunrise fills the sky with pools of pinks and oranges. He looks around when Sal returns, a ladder held under her arm. “What are you going to—” Abel stops himself when Sal leans the ladder against the crucifix and starts to climb. Moving beneath her, he grips the ladder’s sides, keeping it steady as Sal yanks Jacob's feet free from the cross. She pulls at his left hand, almost falling when he swings from his right wrist, before dropping to the ground next to Abel's. She makes her way slowly back down, staring at his body. “Now we can put him to rest.” She glances through the gate as Trinity’s residents put out fires.

  “We did it, Sal,” Abel says.

  She nods. “We need to get a message to the Grid.”

  Abel looks over to the push-bike lying on its side next to the pile of bodies. “If anyone can ride, they should take that.”

  “You should take it. It will be good when you’re on the roads.”

  “Maybe,” Abel agrees. “I’d have to find one for David too.”

  “I’ll get someone to go,” Sal says. “They can be back before sunset.”

  SAL SPRINKLES A HANDFUL of soil onto Jacob's body as it rests in the shadow of a freshly dug grave. Abel places an arm around her and stares into the hole, his eyes fixed on the bullet wound in the centre of Jacob's forehead.

  Others step forward, dropping in dirt as low sobs and murmurs spread out behind them. A man and woman take up a pair of shovels and get to work filling the pit.

  Sal looks away, her eyes squeezed shut.

  “It's okay,” Abel says.

  She shakes her head. “It's not,” she whispers. “I can't do this.” She slips from Abel's arm and marches back over the fields towards Trinity.

  Abel blinks away a tear as a clump of soil lands on Jacob's face, covering it for the last time. He turns, limping after Sal.

  After a minute or so, he catches up and calls out.

  She stops and looks back at him.

  “Wait,” he says, almost breathless.

  Sal forces a smile. “I'm sorry. That was too hard.”

  “I know, but your people need you.”

  “They don't,” she says, looking down at her hands. “They're not really my people any more, are they?”

  “What you mean? Of course they are.”

  Sal shakes her head and carries on walking, Abel hobbling at her side. “We may have got Trinity back from those raiders,” she says. “You and me both know things will never be the same.”

  Abel shrugs and cringes at the pain in his shoulder. “Because of Jacob?”

  Sal stops and turns to Abel. “Because of everything. Because Alf is going to be here, staking his claim. Because of Jacob. Because of what I did to him—to that king.”

  Looking at the ground, Abel sighs. “You did what needed to be done, Sal. Jacob was suffering and who knows what that king was going to do. Your people have got their homes back—that's what's important.”

  “I can't lead these people. How can I preach the Gospels? My faith is shattered. I'm a killer, not a priest.”

  “I thought you believed in forgiveness and redemption?”

  The corners of Sal's lips twitch. “I can't be the one to do that. I need to go back and plead for clemency.”

  A crease sets along Abel's brow. “I don't—” He gestures towards the trail. “Look. They're here.” He waves and smiles when he sees David and Sis walking alongside the wizard, leading dozens of children along the trail towards Trinity.

  With pained steps, he rushes forward, stumbling over the waves of dirt. When he reaches the trail, he grins at David. “How are you doing, kid?”

  “Tired.”

  “Can't believe you did it, man,” the wizard says, glancing at the bodies, still piled next to the fence. “That those raiders?”

  Abel nods. “Yep.”

  “Welcome home, everyone,” Sal says, reaching the gate. “Come in, please.” She looks up at Abel, her expression unreadable.

  Abel turns to Sis. “You okay?”

  Sis nods. “Want my bike.”

  “I haven't seen it. Maybe check the traders’ accommodation.”

  “Okay. Glad you didn't die.”

  Abel laughs. “Me too.”

  The wizard waits with Abel and Sal as the children file inside, running to find their parents. “We’ve got a trailer stuck back there. Got the rest of the food from the Grid. It’s not going to be much, but it will last us about a week.”

  “That’s fantastic,” Abel says. “The road up here’s in a bit of a bad way.”

  “That’s for sure,” the wizard says. “Where's my place?”

  “We've just buried Jacob,” Sal says, folding her arms. “I haven't had time to think about that yet.”

  “That's fine. I'll take Jacob's old place. Either of you want to show me the way?”

  Abel turns at the sound of high-pitched ticking as Sis skids to a screeching stop. “Got my bike,” she says, grinning.

  32. Cider

  Big Ned gets to his feet when Abel and Sal enter the communal hall. “We got our family back,” he says, gesturing to four pale, skinny women.

  “I'm so pleased for you,” Sal says. “It must have been very harrowing for them.”

  Big Ned gives her a confused look. “That king got got. That needs hootenanny.”

  Sal tilts her head.

  “They want a party, Sal.”

  “You got moonshine?” Big Ned asks.

  Sal shakes her head. “I—”

  Big Ned takes a pack from his back and swings it onto the table, taking out a petrol can. “I got moonshine. Need more.”

  “What does he mean?” Sal whispers.

  “Anything with a kick.”

  Sal looks around. “I'll have to check the stores. I'm not sure what will be left. We certainly had some cider, maybe some wine.”

  Big Ned nods. “You get home back. W
e get women back. This is good.”

  Sal casts her gaze across the identical faces. “Ned,” she says. “I can't thank you enough for the assistance you gave us.” She looks around. “I'd like to invite all of you to stay here if you'd like. I know your village was destroyed by those raiders. It’s the least I can offer you.”

  “You do all those God things?”

  Sal nods. “We are, or at least were, a Christian settlement.”

  There's a long silence and Big Ned starts to laugh. He waves his hands and looks around. “We don't want no God. Town better.”

  “So, you don't want to stay here?”

  Big Ned shakes his head emphatically. “Too weird for me.”

  Sal drops her gaze and smiles. “Well, you're always welcome here if you need to trade or if you ever need assistance rebuilding Town.”

  “If you are looking for some good eats, you stop by.”

  Sal places a hand on Big Ned's arm and smiles. “Thank you. Really. If there's anything I can do, anything at all, plea—”

  “You go get moonshine,” Big Ned says, jumping onto the nearest table. “We got hootenanny to do.”

  ABEL SITS WITH HIS back against the communal hall's rear wall, sipping on a cup of cider. Men and women from Town blow through plastic tubes and bang on barrels and crates.

  “Sal ask me to stay here,” Sis says. She looks into her cup, swirling its contents as people dance to the drumming behind her.

  Abel smiles. “That's great,” he says. “You'll have a home. You'll make friends. It's a great idea.”

  “You not mad at me?”

  “Of course not,” he says, smiling. “You do what's best for you.”

  Sis glances at David and leans towards Abel, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Abel holds his cup at arm's length, taking care not to spill its contents onto the floor. “Thanks, Sis. You saved us a few times out there.”

  Sis crawls back to where she was sitting and knocks back the rest of her cider.