by J. L. Harden
Chapter 13
It was called Liberty Tower once upon a time. Now it’s called the Tower of the Ruined City, or the Tower of the Wasteland, depending who you ask. There’s no official name for it, so people call it different things. And then when they get a mean drunk on they like to argue over which name is the real name. Even though technically, neither of them are the correct name.
This argument is a pretty good example of human fucking nature.
Anyway, sometimes, back in my transporting days, when a particularly strong solar flare would knock out the GPS signal, my brother and I would use the tower for navigation. It’s over a thousand meters tall, damn near four thousand feet. Which incidentally, is many times taller than the requirement for the height and elevation of an actual mountain. How fucking crazy is that? Humans. We started building towers as tall as mountains, for no other reason than because we could.
This is another good example of human fucking nature.
We just can’t help ourselves.
I wouldn’t be surprised if this tower, this colossal building, is the last of its kind in the whole world.
No one really knows why this place, this city, this tower and these skyscrapers were spared the worst of the Last Great Wars. If I had to take a guess, I’d say it’s because this city and this whole geographical location served no strategic purpose or advantage to anyone.
None whatsoever.
There’s no water, well none that anyone knew about back then. There’s no sustainable food sources, and there’s no soil to grow any food.
It was a city, in the middle of nowhere. In a desert. And as a result, not a single nuclear warhead was dropped on it. It’s hard to tell it was spared the madness and destruction of war though. It still looks pretty fucked up.
The Red Giant has made sure of that.
And now the Wasteland is slowly eating and swallowing and devouring it. A combination of extreme heat, extreme wind, and an extreme amount of sand and dust is eroding this place quicker than natural elements should. It almost looks like someone, a god, a titan, has taken a giant eraser to the skyline, the buildings. And then that god said, “Fuck it.” And decided to take a sledgehammer to the buildings just for the fun of it.
It doesn’t take long to realize that this tower is a kind of fortress for the Raiders. A place that they can defend easily and ferociously. A place where they can keep and hide their valuables on the highest floors.
We don’t have the firepower or the manpower or the energy to fight our way through two hundred floors.
And I can’t help but think that’s the kind of thing that Hector would volunteer for.
But he’s not here.
So we’ll need to come up with a better plan.
Anyway, the genius and the advantage of using this tower as a fortress is that if anyone feels inclined to steal from the Raiders, they need to actually climb the tower first. They need to fight through floor after floor of mad warriors who want nothing more than to die in a fight. And even though Alphonse and I are very competent killers, even though this kind of thing comes naturally to us, there’s no way we can fight our way through and up this great Tower of the Wasteland.
“We’re going to have to play this quietly,” I say to Alphonse.
“I agree.”
“I know from experience that there’s at least two emergency stairwells located in the middle of the building. They run right from the ground floor, right to the top.”
“Okay. Which one do we take?”
“Whichever one is empty.”
“Good idea. What if none of them are empty?”
“Then I hope you brought your climbing shoes…”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means we’ll have to climb up the elevator shaft. Or maybe even on the outside of the building.”
I know there are ropes and lines the Raiders use to climb the outside of the tower with. And other buildings throughout the Ruined City. But this is another huge risk. Not only will we be climbing the world’s tallest building in full view of the Red Giant, but in full view of anyone who bothers to look.
And that means they could cut the lines whenever they want and drop us to our death.
So yeah, taking the stairs is our first option.
We waste precisely no time locating the emergency stairwell. We have a quick look, a cursory glance. The stairwell appears to be unguarded.
Suspiciously unguarded.
But we’re short on time so we throw caution to the fucking wind and we start the climb.
The first thirty floors are empty. And then the next thirty floors are empty. And I’m thinking that something doesn’t feel right.
Something doesn’t smell right.
Because I should be smelling the sweat of other men. I should be smelling their rotten breath. I should hear their breathing and the sound of their boots dragging across the concrete as they shift uncomfortably in their cramped hiding positions. I should feel the slight buzz of adrenalin and a ripple of electricity from the anticipation of an ambush. I should feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
But there’s nothing…
There’s no buzz. No electricity.
Nothing but the smell of dust and sand and hot air.
Nothing but the sound of our own footsteps… our own heavy and labored breathing.
“It’s too damn quiet,” I say.
Alphonse doesn’t agree. “You think so? I can hardly hear myself think over my own breathing.”
“That’s not what I meant…”
“I know. And yeah… it is way, way too quiet. I’m guessing the Magician has got something planned. I’m guessing he wants us right here. In this stairwell.”
We both crane our necks, looking up, looking through the gap in the stairwell. And then we look down. It’s impossible to see the ground floor. Impossible to see where this stairway ends and where it begins.
Nothing we can do but keep going.
We’re half a mile in the air, climbing the tower of the Ruined City.
The Tower of the Wasteland.
Whatever you want to fucking call it.
Can’t turn back now.
The girls need us.
The Buried City needs us.
So we keep climbing. It takes us over an hour to reach the top floor. And then as we crouch down in the emergency stairwell, trying desperately to catch our breath, we finally hear signs of life. We finally hear signs of activity. Below us, maybe a hundred floors, maybe more, we here the distant and faint echo of doors opening and closing and slamming shut.
The silence I was worried about has disappeared.
And now we can hear the sounds of boots marching.
Now we can hear the sounds of an army.
A horde of Wasteland Raiders.
And they sound hungry.
They sound ready to fight and die.
Ready to trap and kill.
“Fuck,” Alphonse says. “They’re coming. We need to move.”
The door in front of us says we’re about to enter the observation floor. So Alphonse opens the door slightly and has a quick look. “I can only see a couple of guys,” he whispers. “They don’t look too alert. We could take them.”
“There’s bound to be more,” I say.
“So what the fuck do we do?”
“I don’t know. But we need to stop this bastard before he causes any more trouble. Before he kills the girls and kills the Buried City.”
Before he makes an entire city disappear…
The Magician. He’s a scary, psychotic son of a bitch. He’s mad enough that he thinks he’s got assurances from Wonderland.
So I’m telling Alphonse we need to stop this psycho. By any means necessary. We need to do whatever it takes. And right now, that means killing him and killing a whole lot of Raiders. We’ll need to kill an entire horde while we’re dangerously dehydrated, while we’re on the brink of heat exhaustion.
The marching of
the horde is getting louder, our breathing is getting louder.
Alphonse grips his axe and he’s ready to do whatever it takes.
I offer him one of my guns. But he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t need it.
Alphonse stands up and wipes the sweat away from his forehead, away from his eyes. And he’s ready to get down to it. I’m still checking my guns, making sure they’re good and loaded, making sure the hammer on the revolver is cocked and ready when Alphonse kicks down the door.
Because there’s no time to play this quiet anymore.
No time to play this careful.
I follow Alphonse into the observation room. And for a second, the view takes my breath away. For a second, I am speechless and paralyzed and my guns are lowered and my guard is lowered and I don’t feel like killing anyone.
The view is amazing…
And even though it’s just the Wasteland, even though it’s just a barren featureless desert, the sheer enormity and vastness of it is fucking beautiful. Way off in the distance I see a sandstorm, as wide as the horizon, as high as the sky. To the south, I see the massive Solar Panel Farm. A man made structure you can see from space. The panels are glistening in the sunlight like a million diamonds, like a beacon of hope.
A promise of clean and endless energy.
A promise of life and light.
The sound of an axe sinking and slicing into a man’s chest, the sound of that man gargling on his own blood, brings me back to my current situation, back to my immediate surroundings and my immediate problems.
Two Wasteland Raiders.
Two bodyguards of the Magician...
Alphonse’s axe is firmly stuck deep in a man’s chest. He places one foot on the guy’s stomach to try and get some leverage, to try and force it free. He’s using two hands, using all his weight, but he can’t shake it. He can’t get it loose.
The other bodyguard rushes at him from behind.
A foot long knife in his hand.
Is it a knife?
When does a knife stop being a knife and become a sword?
Who knows?
Anyway, I take aim. I take the shot. His head explodes like a piece of perfectly ripe fruit. To my left, the Magician is sitting on a throne of wooden crates of ammunition and explosives and guns. Another treasure chest. Another war chest. I suppose this is as good a place as any to store this stuff.
High in the sky
Atop an impossibly tall tower.
Atop a fortress.
At his feet is a girl.
Just one.
One.
Where are the other two?
The girl is on her knees. Hands tied behind her back. Mouth gagged. Fearful look in her eyes.
Where the fuck are the other girls?
Are we too late?
Has the Magician lived up to his name and made them disappear?
I need answers. I need answers right fucking now.
The Magician has two grenades in his one good hand. He holds his severed arm close to his chest. He’s looking pale, covered in sweat. Not from the heat, but because he’s slowly passing out from blood loss and pain. Slowly dying.
He pulls the pins of the grenades with his teeth, one after the other. “Play time is over. It’s time for you fuckers to die.”
He throws the grenades and I’ve got this horrible feeling that these particular grenades have an extremely short fuse.
And I’m right. Because there’s no time to react.
Barely enough time to dive for cover.
The grenades erupt.
Heat and pressure and fragmented bits of metal and ball bearings fly through the air in all directions as I dive behind the headless Wasteland Raider, using a corpse as my shield.
Alphonse was still struggling with his axe, still trying to dislodge it from the chest of a dead man. He turns his body, moving the dead man in the path of the explosion and the blast wave, using the dead man as a shield as well.
The force of the explosion knocks him clear off his feet.
I close my eyes and when I open them, there’s dust and debris everywhere and I’ve gone completely deaf. I can’t focus my vision.
For a second.
For two seconds…
The Magician grabs the girl by the hair, drags her into another stairwell.
To the Observation Deck.
He’s going outside.
There’s a warning on the door that says, “Caution. High wind area.”
“He’s taking her outside!” I yell, because I can’t hear my own voice over the ringing in my ears.
I don’t know why he’s doing this. Is he going to throw her over the edge? Or is he just buying time?
Alphonse is on his back, he no longer has a hold of his axe. Can’t tell if he’s breathing. Can’t tell if he’s dead or alive.
No time to check.
There’s an army climbing the stairs. An entire horde of Wasteland Raiders. And there’s a Magician about to make a girl disappear in the most violent and bloody and dramatic way possible.
Need to move.
Need to kill this bastard.
I get to my feet and I’m dizzy and disorientated from the blast. I get to the door. Two flights of stairs. I make my way outside, on to the Observation Deck. The Observation Deck wraps around the building. It’s essentially a narrow walkway. A tall safety fence stops people from falling or jumping over the edge. At the moment I can’t see the Magician or the girl. They must’ve moved to the other side of the building.
What I can see is a guy.
A sniper.
He’s kneeling down. The barrel of his rifle pointing through a narrow gap in the safety fence. He’s looking out over the city, out over the Wasteland, providing protection, providing over watch. This is the perfect spot for a sniper. The perfect bird’s nest. He’s got panoramic views of the city. He’s thousands of feet above everyone else.
The only problem for this guy right now is I don’t think he expected anyone to ever sneak up on him.
Not here.
Not in this fortress of a tower.
The Magician failed to warn this guy, failed to mention that two natural born killers are in the building. Failed to mention that even though he just threw two short fused grenades at their feet, there’s a small chance, however unlikely, that they could still be alive. And if they are still alive, they’ll be so very pissed off and extremely mad and ready to kill anything that moves.
The Magician has failed to mention any of this, and as a result, he’s sealed this guy’s fate. The sniper is looking down the scope, scanning the streets and the horizon. I think about sneaking up on him, using the knife, slitting his throat.
But I’m on a schedule. I’m in a bit of a hurry and I need to do this quick and dirty. So I just shoot him twice in the back and once in the head and I keep moving.
I walk around the circular observation deck. I try my best to ignore the spectacular views. Try my best to stay focused.
I finally see them.
The Magician is smiling and I’ve got this horrible feeling that he’s still got the upper hand.
“The only reason you are here is because I allowed you to be here,” he says. “You are trapped now. In this tower. Two thousand meters in the sky, closer to the Red Giant than you have ever been, closer to the Arks than you will ever be.”
He’s got the girl pushed up against the safety fence with the stump of his severed hand. In his other hand is another grenade.
I instinctively raise my gun…
“You want the girl alive, don’t you?” he says. “Then you better lower that gun. This here grenade comes with a dead man switch. You kill me, you kill us all.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” I say, lying, bluffing, not really thinking that it would be in my best interest for me and the girl to die up here. “I mean, you’ve got an army marching up this tower, coming for me. I’m trapped. I’m done for. You know, I’m kind of flattered that you felt the need to send an army.�
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“Can’t be too careful these days. That’s why I prefer these here grenades. The ones with the short fuse, the ones with a dead man switch. Plus they’re nice and theatrical. Perfect for distraction and misdirection. Perfect for creating a show. That was a nice trick you pulled before by the way. Using the smoke grenade. And just now, using my man as a shield. Very impressive.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s a shame that your friend with the axe was too slow.”
“It is a shame.”
“But listen up. And listen good. Because yes, it’s true, there is an army of Wasteland Raiders coming for you right now. An entire horde of crazy, blood thirsty killers who want nothing more than to kill you and cook you up.” He then seems to get distracted for a second. Blood loss making it hard to concentrate, hard to focus his thoughts. He goes off on a tangent. He says, “I don’t know where it started. But a lot of these bastards think if they eat the flesh of their enemies, they’ll gain their strength and power. And boy, let me tell you, they are all chomping at the bit to eat the flesh of Edgar Ramirez. Guys are gonna kill each other for a piece of your flesh. Anyway, I’m getting distracted. Because I want you to know that I can save you from all of that unpleasantness. I can get you down from here. I can get you into Wonderland. The Lord is looking for good soldiers. For warriors. For natural born killers. You would be a wonderful asset. You would be a Commander. You would answer only to the Lord and the Collector and the Overseers. And of course, you’ll have a guaranteed seat on the next Shuttle off this rock.”
“Sounds too good to be true…”
“It does, doesn’t it? But you have my word. Your other option is to die out here, in the Ruined City, in the Wasteland. Carved up and eaten. Cooked over an open flame. Skewered and roasted. Do you want that?”
Nobody wants that.
And I feel like he’s stalling for time because maybe his army of Raiders is taking longer than expected to get here. And come to think of it, why was there only two bodyguards up here? Why wasn’t there more?
Not sure. Can’t figure it out.
Anyway, I get the sense that he’s stalling. But so am I because I’m not a hundred percent sure how to end this.
The girl is too close. She’s in harm’s way. The Magician is holding a grenade with a dead man switch.
