Wasteland Wonderland - Part 3

by J. L. Harden

  I’m checking out my antique thermo suit. It’s so old, I don’t recognize the design. Mia gave us each a Poncho to wear as well. Each poncho is made from a special material that’ll help absorb the rays of the sun, providing a crucial layer of protection in case the thermo suits fail.

  Which, to be honest, is looking more and more likely. And if the suits fail, we’ll need to get out of them as quickly as possible. These older thermo suits are only good while they’re charged up. I check the left glove. The power reading. And my heart sinks.

  The charge was full when we left… I swear to the Red Giant the charge was full.

  The battery reading is falling. It’s down to half a charge.

  And falling.

  Fuck.

  I swear under my breath and this causes the Magician to turn around and look over his shoulder at me. He flashes me a smile. A deceptive and slippery fucking smile.

  “Those old thermo regulator suits,” he says. “I’m kind of jealous. They don’t make them like they used to. The bad boys you’re wearing look like they were made during the Wars.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Alphonse says. “Keep walking.”

  He ignores Alphonse and he says, “They’re real sturdy. Bullet proof. Blast proof. And most importantly, they’re heat proof. But they’re only heat proof for as long as their batteries last. And I hear that the older suits, I hear their batteries don’t last very long.”

  “Shut up, Frank. They’ll last as long as we need them to last.”

  “How optimistic of you. Who knows how long we’re going to be stuck above ground? You guys will need to be careful. Do you know how quickly you’ll overheat and die if they lose power? We’re talking minutes. Not hours. Minutes. I thought Mia would’ve hooked you guys up with some of the newer suits.”

  “We don’t have any newer suits,” Alphonse says.

  “That’s a shame. You know, my people could’ve sourced some for you.”

  By ‘sourced’… he means steal. And to steal someone’s thermo suit, especially a newer one, there’s a damn good chance you’d need to kill them first.

  I try my best to ignore the Magician. Try my best to ignore his mind games.

  We finally reach the basement level and then we quickly make our way to the lobby of this building, to the ground floor level.

  The heat is unbelievable.

  The heat is amazing.

  Like we’ve stepped inside an honest to god oven.

  But for some reason it’s still dark. We’re above ground… but it’s still dark.

  “Why is it still dark?” I ask. “What time is it?”

  “It must be getting late,” Alphonse says. “Nearly time for sunset.”

  I check my watch. It’s late afternoon. It should still be daytime.

  “The Ruined City is partially buried by sand,” the Magician explains. “And so is this building.”

  “How many more floors do we need to climb to get out of here,” I ask. “To get above the sand?”

  “At least ten more floors. But it’s hard to say. The sands are always shifting.”

  I swear under my breath again and we keep climbing and the charge of my thermo suit keeps falling.

  We power up ten flights of stairs. Eleven, just to be sure.

  We exit the stairwell and waiting for us on the eleventh floor is a surprise. Waiting for us is something I most definitely was not expecting.

  Waiting for us is a man.

  Another living soul.

  He’s wearing a hooded coat. A poncho. No thermo suit.

  He’s covered in dirt and sand. He wears a hungry and desperate and fearful look on his face.

  Before I even realize what I’m doing, my gun is in my hand and it’s pointing right at the stranger and I ask, “Who the hell are you?”

  “Please… don’t hurt me. I…”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m from the Deep Canyon. I was Exiled.”

  “Exiled? What for?”

  “Stealing…”

  “And what did you steal?”

  “Please… I’m not a bad person.”

  “I’m not interested in whether or not you think you’re a bad person. I want to know what you stole.”

  His hands are raised. He says, “I stole everything and anything. But I did it to provide for my kids. My family. My wife died a year ago. I had no choice.”

  A man forced into a life of crime. It would be tragic if it wasn’t so routine.

  “I stumbled across this place,” he continues. “Thought I was dead. I’d only heard rumors about the Ruined City. Didn’t believe it existed. Didn’t believe my own eyes when I saw it. Thought it was a mirage. Thought it was the Wasteland and the Red Giant playing tricks on me. Is it true? Is the Buried City close by?”

  “Yeah,” Alphonse says. “It’s close.”

  And as Alphonse explains to this guy just how close the Buried City is, I’m thinking about how this guy stumbled here. To the Ruined City. All the way from the Deep Canyon. Over a hundred miles through the Wasteland.

  This scenario is extremely not likely.

  I tighten my grip on the gun. I thumb the safety off.

  But what if this guy is telling the truth?

  What if he’s just trying to survive? What if he was just trying to provide for his family, for his young kids after his wife died?

  What if he really has been Exiled?

  Fuck.

  We don’t have time for this. We don’t have time for any of this. And we sure as hell can’t bring this guy with us.

  Or can we?

  I think about offering this guy a chance for redemption.

  A chance to make a fresh start.

  A new life.

  But this guy is not interested in redemption.

  Or a fresh start.

  Or a new life.

  Franklin Kilgore, the Magician, he slips up and saves me a whole world of trouble, saves me from second guessing myself and making a mistake that could’ve cost me my life.

  There’s eye contact between the stranger and the Magician. It only lasts for a second. For less than a second.

  And the stranger lowers his head. Like he’s defeated. Like he’s resigned to his fate.

  And then he reaches for a gun, hidden inside his poncho.

  But he’s too slow.

  Way too slow.

  I open fire and before the bullets have destroyed his face, Alphonse swings his axe and buries it in the stranger’s chest.

  He falls to the floor in a heap. And he drops the gun, an old rusty and dust covered revolver that only contains two bullets.

  “Any more surprises you want to tell us about?” I ask the Magician.

  “If I told you about them,” he says, smiling. “They wouldn’t be surprises now, would they?”

  Alphonse punches the Magician again, cutting the soft skin above his eye.

  The Magician continues smiling as blood flows down his face.

  Chapter 10

  Alphonse is swearing.

  The Magician is smiling.

  We need to take off our thermo suits. We haven’t even stepped foot outside yet and the thermo suits have run out of power.

  The heat inside the building is unbearable.

  How hot is it going to be outside, in full view of the Red Giant?

  “Maybe we should wait until the sun sets?” Alphonse says.

  “No. There’s no time. We need to make a move. We’ll just need to suck it up and acclimatize real fucking fast. And stick to the shady side of the street, the shadows of the skyscrapers.”

  The Magician is now laughing at us so I put my elbow through his face, breaking one of his front teeth.

  Alphonse gags him again.

  But he keeps right on laughing and smiling.

  Wasteland Raiders. Mad as a cut snake, my uncle used to say. I never knew what that meant, having never seen a snake in real life. Let alone one that’s been cut. But I’m looking at this crazy son of a
bitch right now.

  Crazy.

  Mad.

  Insane.

  And dangerous.

  And I’m starting to get a pretty good understanding of that particular saying. And even though the Red Giant cooks their brains, it also makes them strong.

  It makes them deadly.

  We move over to the window and check the empty street below. I can see tiny sections of road, of cracked asphalt and bitumen and concrete. But most of the roads and the streets and the alleys are covered in sand and dirt and dust. Mountainous piles of sand have accumulated up against the ruins of the buildings, blown in from the vast plains of the Wasteland.

  The Magician mumbles something. I ungag him.

  “What?”

  “Welcome to the Ruined City,” he says with more than a hint of pride in his voice.

  We climb out the window on the eleventh floor, stepping outside, into direct sunlight, stepping onto a sand dune that has blown up against the building.

  The heat takes my breath away.

  It’s been over five years since I’ve been outside, since I’ve experienced the heat and the wrath of the Red Giant, and I can honestly say, I am not ready for it. I am not prepared. It feels hotter than it did five years ago. A lot hotter.

  And the Magician is reveling in our obvious discomfort. “Wooooo! The Red Giant is angry today.”

  I grab the Magician by his greasy mane of hair and pull his head back. “If you make any more noise, if you give away our position, I will rip out your tongue with my bare hands.”

  “A thousand apologies, Edgar. It’s just been a few days since I’ve been above ground. And let me tell you, it’s a hot one today.”

  He’s about to say something else but I gag him again.

  We slide down the sand dune and cross the street, seeking out the shade as soon as possible. I take the gag out of the Magician’s mouth. “Sorry about your nose. And the cut above your eye. And your tooth. I really am. I let my emotions get the better of me. I won’t let it happen again.”

  The Magician flashes me a bloody smile. “I understand, Edgar. Emotions tend to make us blind.”

  “So, which way?”

  “Straight down this once magnificent boulevard of a street,” he answers, pointing in the direction we need to go.

  “Lead the way.”

  “Certainly. But first, let me ask you both a question.”

  “We don’t have time for your bullshit. We need to go.”

  “This won’t take a moment. I merely want to ask you one question.”

  The son of a bitch is still smiling and then he has the audacity to ask us, “Which one of you wants to die first?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I hear the distinct tone of anger in your voice, Edgar. Remember what I just said about emotions? They tend to make us blind.”

  “The only one in danger of dying here today is you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Because the truth of the matter… the reality… is that a whole lot of people are going to die today. So you better get used to death.”

  Alphonse steps forward to gag him again.

  The Magician raises his one good hand with his palm facing outwards, like he’s apologizing about shooting his mouth off and making threats. But he’s not apologizing.

  He’s not apologizing at all. He’s toying with us.

  Distracting us.

  Misdirecting us.

  Like a goddamn professional.

  “Since no one will answer my question,” he says.

  “What fucking question?”

  “The question of who gets to die first. And since no one is forthcoming with an answer, I will simply make the decision for you.”

  He points to Alphonse. He points right at his chest, at his heart. “This is for cutting my hand off.”

  Alphonse stops dead.

  A red dot appears on his chest, right where the Magician is pointing. And it’s too late. It’s too late to do anything. We are sitting ducks in this once magnificent boulevard of a street. We are out in the open. Exposed for the whole world to see, exposed for any half-decent shot with a half-decent scope to see.

  We’re smack bang in the middle of enemy territory.

  And we’re distracted by our prisoner, distracted by the heat and the mountainous piles of sand, distracted by the long shadows of the tall buildings, distracted by the weird beauty of the Ruined City and the outside world and the Wasteland.

  Alphonse is knocked clear off his feet. And he lets go of his axe.

  A full two seconds later we hear the crack of a distant gunshot.

  I do my best to take cover, pressing myself up against the nearest building, ducking behind a massive pile of sand that I’m hoping is big enough to stop a high powered high velocity bullet.

  The unseen sniper keeps a steady rate of fire. Each bullet slams into the small sand dune that is my only protection.

  The Magician holds his one good hand up, signaling to the sniper to hold his fire.

  I take a small breath.

  “Do not struggle, Edgar. Do not fight us. You will not win. You really thought you could walk in here, stroll through the Ruined City, my fucking city, with me as a prisoner? You really thought there wouldn’t be consequences? How fucking stupid are you?”

  Before I can answer he keeps going, “Nah, you’re not stupid. But you must be super fucking desperate to even attempt to pull this off. This is a goddamn suicide mission. I honestly thought you were better than this, Ed.”

  I thought I was better than this as well.

  Can’t believe I walked into this trap.

  “Just so you know,” Frank continues. “I’ve got my best snipers covering the streets. And I’ve got more men hidden in the buildings. You are completely trapped. There’s no getting out of this.”

  “Seems like you’ve got everything figured out. Nothing left for me to do but surrender.”

  “That’s the smartest fucking thing you’ve said today. And if you cooperate, if you come quietly, we can make a deal. I can save you. I can save the girls. But only if you cooperate. And only because I’ve got a lot of respect for you.”

  For some reason I think this deal over. I think about it long and hard. And then I remind myself that if it sounds too good to be true, it always is too good, and it always ain’t true. I guess I’m thinking this over just so I can buy myself some time. Because right now I’m trapped. Pinned down by the Wasteland’s best sniper and backed into a wall by a Magician with the upper hand and all the leverage and all the power.

  Yeah. Need time to think.

  I press myself against the building and I hear a crack. I hear glass splintering. I realize that I’m pressing myself up against a dust covered window. An old and brittle pane of glass.

  In the corner of my eye, I see Alphonse breathing, I see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

  Son of a bitch is still alive.

  Need time to think.

  Come on Edgar, think!

  But the Magician has run out of patience.

  And I’ve run out of time.

  “I mean really, Ed. What the fuck is there to think about? This right here is the best damn deal you’re ever gonna get. And it’s the only deal you’re ever gonna get. I save your life. I save the girls’ lives. That’s four lives. That’s a whole lot better than dying today. That’s a whole lot better than dying out here in the Wasteland. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yeah, I agree. Living is a whole lot better than dying.”

  Four men, four Wasteland Raiders appear from nowhere, flanking the Magician. These are tough men, strong enough and crazy-mad enough to live above ground, to live under the gaze of the Red Giant.

  None of them appear to be too bothered by the heat.

  I am outnumbered. Outgunned.

  I am pinned down.

  Trapped.

  Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run.

  The Magician says, “Ed, you have the power rig
ht now to save lives. Just a few. You can join us. We can cut you in on the deal we’ve brokered with Wonderland. This is the only way to survive what comes next.”

  “Yeah? And what comes next, Frank?”

  I’m asking questions and I’m pretending to entertain his offer, but what I’m really doing is I’m making a play for one of the smoke grenades I’ve got clipped onto my belt. I’m moving my hand and my whole arm as slow as I can, moving underneath my poncho. I don’t think Frank or any of his buddies can tell what I’m doing.

  At least… not yet.

  “You really don’t know what comes next?” he asks.

  “Not a clue.”

  “I thought you were smarter than this, Ed. I really did. Look, I know you’ve been out of the game for a long time. And I know some of my men gave you a hard time back in your transporting days. And for giving you the business, a lot of them paid with their life. I mean, you don’t take on the Ramirez brothers. Not unless you got a death wish. But hey, that’s all water under the bridge. We should all let bygones be bygones. Because, I mean, the shit that’s about to go down…” he trails off, shaking his head.

  “What comes next, Frank?”

  He looks at me like he can’t believe I don’t know. And then he says, “Extermination comes next.”

  Max said the same thing before. Down in the morgue. He called it an ‘Event’. Said he’d lived through more of these events than he wanted to admit. I guess I was in denial about the whole thing. And I guess I don’t really want to believe that Wonderland is capable of massacring the last people of Earth. The last of us. But now I’m hearing the same thing from Franklin Kilgore, The Magician. Wasteland Raider.

  Extermination.

  The word and what it means for the people of the Wasteland sends a chill down my spine.

  “That’s right, Ed. It’s Extermination time. Which means, it’s ass covering time. If you make this deal, if you join us and stop fighting a war you can’t possibly win, you’ll get to live through it.”

  I don’t believe a word he says because he is a slippery and deceptive motherfucker.

  He is a liar.

  A conman.

  Misdirection and distraction are his weapons.

  He makes people disappear.

  I’ve got my hand on the smoke grenade now. My right hand on the grenade. My left hand in the air, telling these Wasteland Raiders, telling the Magician, “I surrender.”