Vile Wasteland (A Post Apocalyptic Novel)

by Keep, J. E.

  Anagio sported many more residents than her bunker did, and she saw people bustling about every which way. At the sight of the caravan entering, a lot of eyes were watching. There seemed to be some anxiousness there, but the people were obviously used to hardship.

  Jarago led them on through down the middle thoroughfare, and they skirted a large open market area. Looking back to her he let his pace bring him near her, "We’re gonna head over to our usual spot," he explained to her quietly. "We’ll set some guards on the supplies there, while I go and bargain for what we got." Looking her over in her still clean and relatively new clothes he added, "You stickin’ with us still?"

  "When are you guys leavin’?"

  Looking around he shrugged, "A couple nights maybe," he stroked his chin and looked her over. "Judging by the looks of the place, I don’t know if we’ll have a hard time sellin’ what we got for a good price."

  She nodded thoughtfully, looking around the city, "I’m going to take a look around. Maybe someone else has heard of... Viles... stealing people’s shit. Or know where I can get some supplies when I got enough to trade or whatever..." she trailed off, seeming a little uncertain. "But yea, I’ll come back and check in with you soon," her eyes went back to his, those chocolate orbs intent upon him.

  With a firm business-like nod he said, "See that you do." Looking her over once more he gestured to the rifle, "Hold onto that for now then. You haven’t exactly worked with us enough to earn much of a cut, but you need protection," he affirmed. Gesturing over his shoulder he said, "We’ll be stayin’ at the inn on the north-east side. Can’t miss it."

  "I won’t run off with your gun," she agreed, rolling her eyes in a good natured manner. Taking a step back, she paused, "There somewhere I can grab a bath?"

  He nodded and pointed off towards the center of town, "Public bath house that way. Can’t miss it, it’s at the center of the market. Real hot spot. They don’t pump hot water to many places else," he stated.

  "Cost anything?" she asked.

  He shook his head, already turning and going, "Public bath house is free for all," he called out.

  "Great," she said softly as she turned towards the center of town. If there was something she needed, a bath was it.

  Chapter 7

  The marketplace at the heart of the little town was intense for her. She’d not seen so many people congregated in a single place since she was but a little girl. Everywhere people hustled and bustled about, occasionally bumping into her, and many breaking from their own tasks to eye the peculiar looking new woman. All about the calls of vendors rang out, though none of that hid the sight of the large bath house, just as Jarago promised. The building was pretty plain looking at its core, a large square structure, but the steps leading up to it were grand, and there were people coming in and out with towels, and the sign above clearly laid it out for what it was.

  She felt her heart begin to rush, her breathing a bit constricted as she felt so many bodies press against her, but she was resolute not to let the crowds overwhelm her. The driving thought was the idea of slipping down into the hot water and relaxing, though even that wasn’t the dream she’d hope it be. Immediately she found herself worrying about how and where to store her weapons as she pushed her way into the door.

  As makeshift as the town looked, the bath house seemed to be something of a point of pride. It was well organized inside, clean and immediately split off into two sides, one for men, one women. Though at the juncture was a place selling clean towels and locker rentals for some local trade credits she’d never even heard of before by a woman who looked to be in her fifties.

  Her nose crinkled as she stared at the woman, "I’m new here... do you guys take... I.O.U.’s? I had all my stuff stolen yesterday," she tried, knowing it was likely fruitless.

  The elder woman–older than any she’d seen since she’d retreated into the bunker with the other youths in their desperate bid to survive–gave her a bit of a sceptical look. She didn’t seem to buy it, or care, and she shook her head. "No handouts," she stated firmly.

  "Fuck, you can have this jacket," she pushed, setting down her rifle and taking her arms out of the sleeves, "I just want to borrow a towel and put my shit somewhere safe."

  With some surprise at the offer, the woman took the jacket, inspecting it as if it might turn out to be some scam, only to find it was in better condition than anything the people around here wore. Taking it and tucking it behind the counter she said, "Deal," then handed over a towel and one of the locker keys. "Bring the towel back when you’re done."

  "Yea, yea," she muttered as she went to seek out the lockers, bitter at having one less possession in the world.

  The women’s locker room was neatly arranged, and it took no effort to find the one tagged to her key. The baths themselves consisted of one large open pool and a series of shower stalls to the side.

  The water, the relaxation, it soothed her to an extent she hadn’t had since she left home. It was only a day and a bit, yet so much had changed. As she scrubbed the dirt and grime from her body, she left feeling fresh and rejuvenated, even without her favourite jacket. She’d be exposed to the elements now, but for the moment, it was worth it.

  A long while had passed before she finally retreated from the water. Heading towards the showers she quickly washed out her panties and socks, drying them as well as she could with the towel before pulling them back on, clothing herself rather unceremoniously. Returning the towel and the key and collecting her stuff, she set out once more.

  Chapter 8

  Night was falling as she left the bath house. The marketplace was considerably slower, most of the booths seeming to have closed up. But in the dimming light of approaching evening she could make out down the street a couple places of interest. There was a shop front still lit up across from what appeared to be a bar, many people heading there at the end of their work day.

  She trotted there rather quickly, the bath having rejuvenated her spunk, and her expression held the same, excited enthusiasm as it had when she first set out. Even through all her loss and the several near death experiences, not to mention bartering her virginity away - for cheap, she reminded herself - she seemed happy.

  The front doors were open, and she could hear some music coming from inside. The first she’d heard since leaving home. The place was busy, and at the door a burly guard confiscated her rifle and gave her a claims chip to get it back.

  Once inside herself, she could see that there was little in the way of open places to sit, but off to the opposite wall there was an open spot by the bar, nobody apparently daring to sit in it beside the tall, solidly built man there. Looking at him, Alex could almost mistake him for a much buffer, more masculine Marim. The same sort of thick flowing wavy hair that glistened under the bar light, though his skin was more tanned than her dear friends could ever get underground, however.

  She was already on the lookout for people off by themselves, and she cheerily went up to the man. Her hair was mostly dry, and no longer held back in a ponytail. It flowed down over her shoulders and back, the blond colour glinting off the lights as she stood next to him, "Hey. Mind if I take a seat?"

  Upon closer inspection, she could see the lighting was deceptive. His hair was a curious mix of reddish gold, that glinted blonde in the light and came about his shoulders like a thick mane. Turning towards her, she could see, once again, he bore something of a resemblance to her old friend. Handsome and appealing, he looked like Marim in the face to some degree, though his features, nose, jaw and lips, were wider.

  He had a slow sort of movement about him, not as if he were dim or dull, but rather meticulous and unfazed by all around him.

  With deep amber eyes he gave her a curious look over, a drink in one hand. She could see why the spot beside him was empty, in his high jack boots and tight white t-shirt that bulged from muscle, he looked and acted intimidating.

  In a deep husky voice that just radiated masculinity he said, "Go on and t
ake it."

  "Awesome, thanks," she replied, her tone seeming far more girlish than usual as she slid into the seat, "Fuck, this place always this packed?"

  Despite looking like he didn’t care for any interruptions, the large man brought his attention back to her, slowly looking her over and nodding. "Yeah, every time I pass through," he said. Then with a brief look around he added, "Probably slower than usual, due to that raid I guess."

  As he let go of his drink and took a pull on the cigar he had in his other hand, he then offered her one of his large, tanned hands. "Grent King," he introduced himself in that husky rasp of his, obviously having smoked more than a few of those cigars in what must’ve been at least his thirty years.

  She slid her hand smoothly into his in her trademarked way, feeling out his pulse, "Alex," she smiled. "What raid?" she quickly followed up, leaning in towards him, quite interested in what he had to say.

  Grent was obviously a man used to being in control, with his slow, thorough movements and the calm, assured way he sat straight and looked her over, keeping her small hand inside his over-sized mitt. Twisting in his seat slightly he lifted his hand with the cigar, looking to the bartender, "Blueberry wine for the lady," he ordered. "Town was raided by Viles just before I got here," he said to her firmly, her hand still squeezed in his.

  She didn’t retract it, but she smiled at his order, "Blueberry wine?" she asked excitedly before trying to shake her head free, getting back on topic, "Fuck, glad I wasn’t here for that."

  The man didn’t hold her hand in place, letting hers slip from the rough touch of his own then returning to lift his drink. The bartender gingerly laid the wine before her, its curious blue tint showing through the dainty glass it came in. "Don’t like it?" he asked, giving her another look over. "Or I guess they just don’t have that where you’re from, do they?" he said, as if he understood something about her without even needing to ask.

  "The second," she lifted the glass, swirling it about with a curious mix of intensity. She looked at him for a moment though, her head cocking to the side, "I can’t pay for it though. Just so you know."

  Pushing out his jaw a bit at that declaration he shook his head and said, "Already bought it for you," and took another mouthful of his own amber drink. "And lucky you weren’t here for it, yeah. Though I wish I was," he looked back to her with that intense, amber gaze of his.

  She took a sip that was, at best, very unlady like. It was more of a gulp, half of it disappearing before she rest the glass down on the table with a broad smile, "They do that often? The Viles I mean."

  Watching her take a gulp of the wine he simply nodded, "Yeah, they do. Not here though," he said, taking another look around the place before resting his gaze back on her. "This place was always one of the safest," he explained. "Was damn out of character for ‘em too," he said, his dark voice heavy with some emotion she couldn’t gauge.

  "They took my bag!" she said quickly, leaning in. "I was told that was uncharacteristic too, ‘cause there wasn’t any food in it." She seemed so excited, as if she’d just proven her point.

  Grent’s brow furrowed, and she could see the man had a few marks upon his skin, old scars it seemed that traced along his jaw, and one at his forehead. They were subtle mostly, but spoke of a hard life. He contemplated her words a while before he spoke. "Hungry?" he asked, looking her over and not waiting for an answer as he spoke to the bartender, "Bring a couple baskets of dogs and fries to my usual table," and immediately he stood up, taking his drink and cigar with him.

  She stood up as well, downing the rest of the wine, "You have a usual table?" she asked, trying to straighten her posture in the cramped area.

  Without answering he just marched over to a corner booth directly opposite of where they were. It was, of course, occupied, as they all were when she came in, but the three young men sat there saw him coming and, with heads ducked, got up and moved out of the way before he even arrived. "I stay here whenever I pass through," he told her, sliding into his seat comfortably, as if he belonged here, or rather the place belonged to him.

  She slipped in across from him, giving a passing glance to the three that made way for them, "Oh. Everyone knows you, Grent?"

  With a shrug of his heavyset shoulders he puffed on his cigar and looked across at her, sizing her up in her t-shirt again. "In my line of business that’s kind of a necessity." Exhaling a cloud of the gray smoke away from her he asked, "So you’re sayin’ one of those fuckin’ freaks just came by and stole your pack?" There wasn’t the disbelief on his husky voice like had been on Jarago’s, instead merely curiosity.

  "Yea. I came up on a building and was going to go inside when they grabbed me. There was three of them, and one took off my bag and ran off. I still don’t know where they went, ‘cause the other one pinned me. I fuckin’ killed him, but then the other one came at me. I woulda had him too but some people came up and took him out. Still never saw the third one, but there was a woman inside the building. She’s dead too."

  Grent absorbed her tale passively, puffing on his cigar all the while. He didn’t respond right away, but once the four baskets–filled to the brim with steaming hotdogs and fries–were placed before them, and a refill of his drink and another glass for her, he finally cut back in. "That’s fucked up," he said simply and began to coat his own hotdogs in some sort of sauce from an unmarked bottle.

  "Yea," she pushed herself back into the bench, thinking it all over again before reaching for a fry and popping it in her mouth. "So now I’m out here without my stuff, and I’m pretty fucked. And no one knows why they’d take my stuff so I don’t even know where to look."

  Quietly he pondered that, then in a series of three quick bites he’d devoured one of the four hotdogs that sat in his basket. Washing it down with some more of his drink he looked to her, "Startin’ to make sense to me," he said, looking more like he was beginning to understand things in general.

  "Really?" her head cocked to the side and she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "Wait, what do you do?"

  Eating some fries as well–the man seemed to devour things at an alarming rate, but then he’d have to, to be able to maintain his muscular bulk–he then nodded, peering around them cautiously, though nobody was near them. "Mercenary, bounty hunter. Whatever you wanna call it," he said, looking her back over. "I do the tough shit no one else can. Or who has the balls to at least."

  "Oh. So you... don’t kill Viles or you do?" she asked, seeming a bit tense at his admission, though she noticed how quick he was eating and grabbed a hotdog before he could devour that too.

  With a bit of a laugh he nodded to her, "I’ve killed more than I can count," he said, another hotdog disappearing with a stream of liquor going down behind it. "And I can count pretty damn high," he stated. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he looked her over, "And then there’s you, fresh out and you’ve already racked up a kill or two, huh?"

  Her eating paused and she stared at him, "Fresh out?" she took her wine, sipping more of it down and leaving it half full.

  Nodding to her he continued eating, "You’re one of the last bunker dwellers or I’m a janitor," he stated, having apparently guessed her nature by some process in his deceptively swift brain. "Those pristine clothes. Your perfect good looks. Never had a blueberry wine before," he nodded, "yeah, you’re fresh out of a hole. Or from Mars."

  Her nose crinkled as she looked down at the hot dog, "Oh," her lips quirked to the side, squinting a bit at him, "I guess you gotta see this stuff if you’re a janitor."

  That, unlike everything else, managed to crack the unflinching man. His full lips spread into a wide grin, white teeth showing at her as he gave a near silent chuckle. "You’re good," he said while pointing his cigar at her a moment, "Don’t even doubt your story about the Viles. You’d have taken all four by yourself in time, I bet."

  She seemed pleased at his good humour, and she began to eat in earnest, "Well I only had my knife. They took my gun. The first one, t
hat is," she pouted. "So.... why’d they take it?"

  Finishing off the last of his hotdogs he looked her over, head tilted a bit, and that thick head of hair he wore barely budging with its consistency. "Viles don’t steal. They kill, they rape, they pillage, but they don’t steal," he said firmly. "But here they are, raidin’ this town, leavin’ while there’s still livin’ folks ta kill, and then... you," he stated, pointing his cigar at her again. "Stole from you." Mulling that over, he licked his lips, "So the only explanation is... they aren’t Viles no more. Not exactly."

  She cringed at the word rape, visibly pulling away before relaxing once more, though her stomach remained clenched. Yikes. Still, licking over her lips, she swallowed, "Oh. That’s... not good? Good? I mean... better stealing than killing, right?"

  Furrowing his brows he looked off into the distance before peering back at her. "Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it means whatever turned ‘em into those fuckin’ shits they are is wearin’ off finally after all these years. And they are gettin’ something of their humanity back," he theorized, leaning on his elbows, hands folded, the cigars smoke wafting up in front of his handsome, broad face.

  "Well that’d be good, right? Except for the stealing part..." she tacked on, still sounding a bit put out by that personal loss. Her wine was gone, she had a decent dent in her food, and she was looking quite grateful at the man’s kindness, even though apprehension at his words was most dominant.

  It was obvious the large, seasoned man was still mulling it all over in his head. But he looked over her and the mostly eaten food–his all gone, of course–and shook his head in an unknowing look. "Maybe, but probably not," he stated. "Humans can be worse than the Viles at times. And if they’re gettin’ some of their ability to think and calculate back, but still got their nasty rage in ‘em, then that only makes them worse. By tenfold," he added, sounding quite certain now.