by James Harden
Chapter 17
The Mayor.
He’s a slime ball. Part politician, part salesman, part reptile.
His hands are always cold and clammy. He is always smiling.
But like it or not, he runs the Buried City. He has alliances with all the major players of the underworld, all the gangs, all the families.
The Unions.
The Guilds.
The Bosses.
Everyone.
Everyone who had the brains to form a group and horde supplies and guns and ammo.
This is how the Mayor did it. This is how he got his power. This is why he got the top job. He was wealthy. Beyond wealthy.
But most importantly, he is connected to Wonderland.
And if we want any chance of standing up to the might of Wonderland, we need this asshole to fight for us, for the people.
I walk up to his building. His headquarters. His fortress. There is a distinct absence of security.
I make my way to his office.
Sure enough, he’s still there. He sits behind his massive hardwood desk and he is smiling like always. “Heard you ignored my advice, Hector.”
“Didn’t really have a say in the matter.”
The Sheriff is there, standing off to the side. She’s a good kid. Like I said, she’s too young for the position, but she’s tougher than she looks. And stronger. She never takes a backwards step. She’s never intimidated. The mayor made her the Sheriff because he thought he’d be able to manipulate her.
This move has backfired spectacularly.
It’s the only wrong step the Mayor has taken the whole time he’s had the top job.
“Sheriff, could you give us a minute,” the Mayor says.
“She needs to hear this,” I say.
“Trust me, there are some things, some very confidential things that I need to clear up.”
And right on cue, the radio strapped to the Sheriff’s belt squawks to life. I can’t quite make out the voice on the other end. There’s a whole bunch of static. A string of code words. Something about a missing girl. Armed to the teeth. A war chest of weapons. Packing more heat than the Red Giant.
Angel…
They’ve found her.
The Sheriff speaks into the radio. “I’m on my way…”
The Sheriff leaves and gives me a reassuring look. I know I can count on her when the rebellion starts, when the war starts. She’ll be a powerful leader, a powerful ally.
As she walks past me, she whispers… “Your brother is alive.”
And I say, “I know. And that girl, the one with all the heat. She’s on our side.”
She nods and leaves the room immediately, breaking into a run. A girl on a mission.
I turn back to the Mayor.
The Mayor…
Behind him, the wall opens up. There’s a large screen. It shows security footage of the Water Treatment Plant.
It shows me.
The Overseer.
The Mayor looks at me, looks at my ribcage. “You’re bleeding pretty heavily. And that blood is mighty dark.”
“Yeah,” I answer, because I don’t know what else to say.
“You actually killed an Overseer,” he says in disbelief.
I nod.
“No one,” he says. “And I mean… no one… has ever killed an Overseer. Not in hand to hand combat. Not in battle. It is simply unheard of.”
“Killing is easy for me. It’s probably the only thing I’m good at.”
“Apparently so. But the Overseer left his mark on you.”
“Yes, he did.”
I feel the blood pour out of my body. Feel it run down my leg.
“You’re going to need some high-tech to fix that wound,” he says.
“Look, Mayor, I don’t have a lot of time. I just need to know one thing…”
“What’s that?”
“Are you with us?”
“Us?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I told you before, Hector. There is no us… no them. We’re all in this together. We are the last ones left, the last people on Earth.”
“If that’s the case, then why are these girls, why are they running? Why are they escaping? What are they running from?”
I’m pretty sure the Mayor is dirty. I’m pretty sure he’s in on it. He has to be. His job and his livelihood depend on it.
I let him live before, but I think that was a mistake.
I pull my brother’s gun out. I aim it at his chest. “Don’t move. Don’t call for your goons. You move, I destroy your skull.”
“Hector, you’ve got this all wrong.”
“I don’t think so. I just want you to know that I appreciate what you did for me before. I really do. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re working with them. That you sanctioned Ruby’s death.”
“Of course I’m working with them. I’ve always worked with them. It’s the only way!”
“Why did you do it?”
He doesn’t answer me. Not at first.
I cock the hammer.
He talks.
“I had no choice. Like I said, she was a prized possession. But it’s more than that…”
“What do you mean?”
He shakes his head because he doesn’t want to say it out loud. Because he’s under direct orders not to…
If he speaks… he dies.
He’ll die slowly. Painfully.
Maybe I should shoot him. Get it over and done with. I’d be doing him a favor.
“If people knew,” he whispers. “If people knew the truth… they’d tear each other apart. This… this city. The refugee camps in the Canyons. There would be chaos. There is beauty in the lie… there is peace. As long as people live in hope…”
I hear the door shut behind me and someone else is in the room.
They are quiet.
And careful.
Calculating.
And the person, they say, “Stop talking, Mayor. Or we will renegotiate the terms of our deal.”
The Mayor shuts his mouth and raises his hands. He apologizes. Over and over, he apologizes.
I’m afraid to turn around. I rarely get scared.
But I force myself to face the monster behind me. I turn and unload with my brother’s gun. The bullets smash into the door of the Mayor’s office.
Light from the outside hallway pours in through the bullet holes.
I expect security guards and Enforcers and Mercs and goons to come rushing in. But no one does.
No one comes rushing in. No one comes to help.
The reason for this is simple.
There is a man in the room.
He looks thin and malnourished.
He is tall. At least seven foot. He sees eye to eye with me. And there’s not many people down here that do.
He also has a scar over his left eye.
This is a badge of honor, a rite of passage, an initiation. This scar lets everyone know who he is and what he’s done.
This is the son of a bitch who had tracked Ruby to that bar. The son of a bitch who was pretending to drink that beer, asking me if I’d seen Ruby.
Did he poison her? Is he the one?
He is an Overseer.
Another ultimate weapon.
A genetically enhanced super soldier.
There is an Overseer in the room.
Another goddamn Overseer.
How many are there?
Too many.
He has dodged the bullets.
He is thin and he looks malnourished and he’s just as fast as the other bastard I killed. I don’t get a chance to reload, I don’t get a chance to reach for another gun.
I am prepared to die. I was expecting to die this whole time. But expecting it and experiencing it are two amazingly different things. The Overseer is close enough to me he can use his knife. And he does exactly that. He slides it into my body, right next to the other knife wound.
This knife, it also catc
hes on the bones, on my ribs. But the knife smashes through, piercing vital organs.
The pain takes my breath away.
The Overseer has delivered a death blow but his face remains emotionless. “You are defeated?”
He says this like he’s disappointed.
I fall to my knees and the Overseer is standing over me. All seven foot of him. He just pulled off a move, a series of moves that I can barely even comprehend. He dodged bullets, delivered a deathblow. He did this all in one explosive moment. But he’s not sweating. He’s barely even breathing.
“Do it,” I whisper, satisfied that I did right by Ruby. That I did all I could do. All anyone could ever hope to do. I say, “I’m ready.”
I say this even though I’m not sure that I am. “And could you make it quick? I don’t have all day.”
“You are strong,” the Overseer says.
“Don’t try and sweet talk me. Just do it already.”
“Do what?”
“Kill me. You better kill me quick and good or I will haunt you for the rest of your days.”
“Hector, we are not going to kill you.”
“Then what the hell are you going to do?”
“We are going to make you better.”
He kneels down next to me and he puts me in a choke hold. He cuts off the air to my lungs. The hot, hot air. “You are too valuable to waste,” he says.
And my world goes dark. Dark like the outer solar system, dark like the last refuge of the human race.
And I’m ready for death.
But he’s not going to kill me. They’re not going to kill me.
“Put him in the Enhancement Program. Hunter Killer division.”
He says this to I’m not sure who.
And the Mayor says, repeats, “We are the last ones left. There is no us. No them. There will be no rebellion. There will be no war. There will be no exodus because there is no place left to go.”
“You sold us out,” I whisper, choking.
“No. I am saving you. I am saving everyone.”
The Overseer tightens his grip around my throat. And I realize I have failed Angel and I have failed Ruby. I couldn’t protect either of them. I couldn’t save Ruby and I couldn’t avenge her.
Did I even the score? I killed dozens of Mercs, Enforcers. I killed them good. I even killed an Overseer. But there’s more than one. Just exactly how many more of these genetically enhanced bastards are still running loose is anyone’s guess.
Worst of all, I didn’t get the people who were responsible because they are too good, too advanced. They have the tech, the weaponry. They have armies and Overseers. And most importantly, more important than any weapon, or assassin, more important than any army… they have Wonderland. They can hide behind those beautiful walls. And behind those walls, they have the only way off this doomed rock called Earth. They have the only means to escape the Red Giant.
I reach for a gun in the waist of my pants.
I’m still fighting, still struggling.
But I lose consciousness.
And then I lose hope.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Coming Soon!
Wasteland Wonderland
Part 2
Also by J. L. Harden / James Harden
The Secret Apocalypse
Ninja Vs Samurai
For more info visit jamesharden.blogspot.au
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Copyright © 2015 by J. L. Harden
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.