Badlands: A Post-Apocalyptic Journey

by Nathan Jones

  His bundle was gone, all the trade goods apparently valuable enough to be worth taking. That meant he'd lost his change of clothes, too, although there were plenty of others left behind to scavenge.

  He picked out a couple pairs of the least tattered shirts and pants, just in case he couldn't clean the blood out of his buckskins. Part of him knew he should feel bad about taking from his former traveling companions, even if they were in no position to claim them, but his pragmatic side ignored it.

  When it came to other stuff they'd need, he found plenty of tents, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, blankets, and other necessities and amenities. Things that would get them comfortably to Newpost now that he'd decided to take the flaxen-haired woman up on her deal. There were also plenty of water containers, their pick of handcarts, and things like that.

  As for food, of course that was one of the highest priority items for the bandits to take and he didn't expect they'd left much. Tom did find a few bags of flour and beans hiding among people's scattered possessions that had been missed in the hasty looting, as well as a few sealed jars of sauerkraut, pickled beets, and pickled onions. There was even a bag of salt he found tucked under a wagon seat that he was sure they would've taken if they'd spotted it.

  Pretty slim pickings.

  But thankfully in spite of that there wasn't much danger of him, Kristy, and Skyler going hungry, since the bandits had left the carcasses of all the livestock when they drove off, only bothering to take some of the choicest cuts of meat from the oxen. For Tom that was also a hard sight to see, not just the idea of faithful animals callously butchered but because of how useful they could've been.

  He stared down at the nearest dead horse. “You know, you could've been mine if Simon didn't pay me at the end of all this,” he muttered. He pulled the signed agreement the convoy's leader had given him at the beginning of the trek out of his belt pouch and tore it up, tossing the pieces into the air so they fluttered away on the constant furnace wind. “I guess now you're mine after all, although what's a dead horse worth? Meat's not worth a fraction of what you would've cost when you were still kicking, especially horse meat.”

  With a sigh he looked northwest towards where the woman and her son waited. Ideally he should get to work right away butchering the animals and get the meat soaking in brine to prepare for drying in the sun, before it started to spoil. But he also needed to go bring those two back so they could start packing up what they needed and decide where they were going.

  Also he guessed they weren't having too much fun sitting around twiddling their thumbs waiting for him, possibly worrying about whether he was okay and was coming back. It would be a kindness to go fetch them, give them something to do so they wouldn't be stuck stewing over the day's traumatic events.

  Well, priorities.

  Tom drew his knife and got to work butchering the horse. He liked horses, impossible not to when his truest companion for years had been one, and it hurt his soul to carve one up like this. But at the same time he'd butchered Horse after he'd died, much as it had pained him; it was the pragmatic decision and the way of nature, and he didn't think the gelding would've faulted him for using his remains.

  Just one final way the faithful beast could help him, and it meant he had a good chair upholstered in horsehide waiting for him once he got back to his winter lodge.

  Too bad he was headed the opposite direction.

  * * * * *

  Kristy wasn't sure whether to be pissed that the old mountain man had left them alone while he went off doing his own thing.

  On one hand he sure was taking his time, the hours passing at a crawl through the hottest part of the day with no sign of his return. But on the other hand he was doing it as a favor to her, at least ostensibly, to see whether it would even be possible to find the supplies they needed to continue their trek amongst the wreckage of the convoy.

  And to be fair he probably wasn't even being unreasonable about insisting they return to Grand Junction. She and Skyler would probably be better off there, assuming they could find some help.

  She didn't know what it was, but she just felt like the way was forward. First of all was the obvious need to inform Newpost's authorities about the plight of her friends taken by the bandits, and the fact that there was nothing for them back in the life they'd left. Not only that, the lure of Texas and its prosperous trade with Central America was a shining beacon of hope to her fraying mind.

  Kristy was sure Tom had the skills to get them across the badlands if she could just convince him to, whatever his dire warnings about the impossibility of it. After all, he'd taken out two terrifying thugs with nothing but a knife, then minutes later sniped off moving targets at long range on the pursuing ATV like it was nothing.

  And then he had the gall to whine about not being thanked for it. Thank him? She should've slapped him! He'd hidden like a coward while her friends were being murdered and taken as slaves to face who knew what awful fate. She . . .

  Kristy closed her eyes and sucked in a calming breath. She'd also hidden like a coward and watched. What else could any one person do in that situation? Simon and all his men had been forced to surrender almost immediately. If Tom had tried to fight he would've just gotten himself killed. Worse, he would've led the bandits right to her and Skyler.

  The fact that the man had risked taking on two armed and obviously dangerous men to help her deserved gratitude, and a simple “thank you” would've cost her nothing. It might've even made him more disposed to agree to help her get to Texas.

  Drat, and then she'd done her best to piss him off in their argument about whether to continue on or go back! Her face burned as she remembered the awkward moments when she'd broadly hinted at something she hadn't meant to, then roasted him in misplaced righteous fury when he reached the obvious, if outrageous, conclusion and outright refused to even consider it.

  Great start to convincing him lead them to Newpost. She wouldn't be surprised if he disappeared into the badlands with his pack and left her and her son there hiding in the shade until they starved to death or the attackers came back.

  Although more realistically they'd almost certainly die of thirst first without him to lead them to water.

  Deep down she knew her anger at the mountain man and the blame she heaped on his shoulders for what happened to her loved ones was a shield. For one thing she was shunting onto him a lot of her resentment at Simon. She tried not to feel it, felt bad that she did considering her almost-boyfriend's badly beaten condition when she'd last seen him, but she couldn't stop.

  Simon had called her stupid for obeying the mountain man's warning and getting Skyler to safety. He'd tried to use her son as a way of guilting her into joining him and the others in the wagon circle! If he hadn't been so insistent on fighting Bob and Vicky and Lisa almost certainly would've fled with her, and her friends would be here with her now safe and sound.

  And who knew how many others would've also escaped, avoiding the fate of being taken as slaves to face hardship and suffering for the rest of their lives? The bandits hadn't had the fuel to search for them for more than an hour, and Tom had given them a real reason to by killing four of them and stealing an ATV.

  If the entire convoy had scattered in all directions it was likely most of them would've been able to get away, and the bandits wouldn't have spent long searching for them, especially not if hidden settlers had been taking potshots at them. Kristy and the others still would've lost most of their things and certainly the animals, but at least the majority of them would be alive and free.

  But instead Simon had ignored the clear warning from the guide he'd specifically hired for his expertise, calling the mountain man a coward even as he led his people directly into capture.

  Kristy grit her teeth and stood, fighting the urge to kick the wall of the overhang and instead slumping back against it. Not only was her anger at Tom a shield for her bitter thoughts about the man she'd been coming to love, but it was also all that kept her di
stracted from the crushing grief over the deaths of Brad and Mr. Grainger and Mrs. Cowley. Of the horrible things Vicky and the other women might be suffering right now, and the bleak fate in store for her and Bob and Lisa and everyone else in the convoy.

  Kristy knew if she let herself think of them, let herself give into her grief, she'd completely break down and would be in no position to look out for her son when he needed her most. So just like with Miles she forced the feelings down, forced herself to keep breathing deep when they threatened to overwhelm her, and kept focused on what lay ahead.

  She shifted impatiently in the shade of the overhang. If she was being rational she should probably go check on the mountain man, see what was going on. Or at least get out and start watching to make sure no enemies were creeping up on them. Maybe she was in shock, but all she could do was sit there and try to keep it together as she felt her world unraveling around her.

  Apparently she wasn't the only one feeling impatient. “Is he coming back, Mom?” Skyler asked worriedly. He was perched on the ATV, looking sick and shaky. She would've expected him to stay close to her for comfort after what they'd been through, but maybe he was in shock too. Or maybe he just felt like the four wheeler was his only link to safety and he didn't want to leave it.

  Kristy couldn't blame him after what they'd just been through; she had to focus to keep her hands from shaking herself. And her stomach still churned with the memory of those awful moments when the attackers were almost about to find her and her son, before Tom had seemingly dropped out of the sky and taken them down.

  She forced a smile for the worried boy. “Of course. He's just checking to see what happened with the convoy.”

  He didn't look reassured. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Hendrickson and Lisa okay? And Mr. Randall and Mr. and Mrs. Durant and everyone else?”

  No, they're the opposite of okay. Kristy felt awful that that was her instant conclusion about the fate of her few remaining loved ones and neighbors in the world, that she wasn't even trying to be optimistic for their sake. But her last sights of the convoy haunted her. “I'm sure they're fine, honey.”

  Skyler finally climbed off the four wheeler and joined her in the shade, wrapping his arms tight around her seeking reassurance. “Are we going to be okay?” he asked in a tiny voice.

  “Of course,” she said immediately, hugging him back fiercely and forcing more conviction into her voice. “No matter what happens the two of us are going to make it through just fine.”

  “And Tom will get us out of here, right?”

  If he decides it's worth his while, she thought sourly. But she just nodded. “Mr. Miller has been through this area plenty of times. He knows all about how to survive out here . . . he'll get us to Texas.”

  In fact she had to admit that if she had to pick one man to be stuck with in the middle of the badlands, the mountain man would probably be her first choice. After Simon and Bob, obviously. And Miles, that went without saying. The thought of them sent a fresh stab of grief through her and she fell back into her desolate thoughts.

  Her son was silent for a few seconds. “He was really freaky, all covered in blood and ready to kill people,” he finally whispered. “I've never seen him like that.”

  Kristy held him even closer. “Only to protect us, honey. He's a good man.”

  “Then why were you shouting at him earlier?”

  She laughed ruefully and rubbed his shoulder. “We were just arguing about where to go.”

  “Oh.” Skyler looked up at her, expression troubled. “Why do you want to go south when that's where the bandits came from?”

  That threw her for a loop for a moment. Even her son wanted to go back? “It's where Newpost is,” she finally said. “Help for our friends, and once we save them all it'll be our new home.”

  Thankfully he seemed to accept that.

  After a while Kristy finally shook herself free of her numb shock and stood, gently patting Skyler to keep him sitting in the shade as she moved over to the ATV. After a bit of steeling herself to it she picked up one of the rifles the mountain man had looted from the attackers.

  She was no stranger guns, since Miles had had his old rifle and usually left her the shotgun for home defense when he'd gone out hunting. Or scavenging in the fallout zone, really. Ammo had been too precious to waste much on practicing shooting, but he'd taken her through dry fire drills and had let her shoot at game the few times she'd gone hunting with him.

  She'd never hit anything, but rifles weren't too hard to shoot and she'd always been close to the target.

  This military weapon was much different from her husband's bolt action .30-06, though. It took her an embarrassing few minutes of fiddling with the safety, magazine, and action before she was confident she had the chamber loaded and the gun ready to fire when needed, safety on to prevent accidents.

  She felt a bit stupid slinging it over her shoulder like she was some kind of soldier, but its solid weight was comforting with Tom long gone; if they ran into trouble at least she'd be able to put up a fight.

  “Should I get the other gun, Mom?” Skyler asked. She gave him an incredulous look and he hunched his shoulders defensively. “I'm almost ten!”

  Kristy had to admit that it might be about time to start teaching him how to shoot, especially in the situation they were in. Miles had already taught him a little, mostly how to use a little toy gun he'd carved for their son as if it were real.

  But she'd insisted Skyler was too young to even touch either the big rifle or the shotgun, and when Miles suggested they think about getting him a gun of his own to learn with she'd immediately shot down the idea. After all, their son had plenty of time to learn when he was older and more responsible.

  She regretted that decision now, since while Skyler still had plenty of time Miles hadn't, and now their son would never have a chance to learn shooting or so many other things from his father. Even more than that, the way the world was now required children to grow up quickly, just like she'd been forced to as she found herself caught in the chaos of the shortages and then the horror of the Ultimatum.

  Granted, she'd been sixteen when things started going crazy, almost twice Skyler's age.

  But she certainly hadn't been ready for it. Actually, to be honest she thought her son was already more mature and self reliant than she'd been as a normal teenager in the modern world; living through the shortages, and especially after the Ultimatum, had involved a lot of frightening and painful lessons. She probably wouldn't have survived without Miles.

  She didn't want Skyler to go through that, so the sooner she started preparing her son to face the reality of things the better.

  Although right at this instant seemed like a bad time to start. “That'll be your gun,” she agreed. At his delighted look she continued firmly. “Mr. Miller can show you how to use it when he gets back if he thinks you're ready. Until then hands off.”

  He whined a little, less than she expected really, before reluctantly slumping back down under the overhang to try to get some rest. Kristy wanted to rejoin him now that she was out of the shade and into the full heat of midafternoon, the sun blasting the ground around her hard enough to make heat waves radiate off it and the furnace wind whisking away the beads of sweat that instantly popped out on her forehead.

  She probably looked like she'd been attacked by a sandblaster, and didn't even want to think about how she smelled. Nothing had ever tempted her more than the thought of slumping down in the shade with a container of water and taking a nice, long drink.

  Instead she made sure the rifle was secure, holding the strap with one hand just to be sure, and cautiously climbed up and around to the top of the overhang, then even higher until she'd scaled the steep slope of the gully and reached the top. From there she could get a good look at the surrounding area, squinting at the glare of sun off heat waves and wishing she had a pair of sunglasses, or better yet binoculars. She also kept her ears pricked for the sound of engines.

  There wa
s nothing. She couldn't even see the remains of the convoy through the shimmering air, although she supposed that wasn't too surprising since the mountain man had driven them a few miles away before she'd forced him to stop. And the one thing she didn't see was any sign of him returning.

  The badlands looked even more barren and hostile than usual, seeming to radiate an unspoken menace and a wish to kill her and her son if it could. Although maybe that was just her own dark mood.

  Kristy slumped down, cradling the rifle in her lap and staring listlessly out from beneath the shade of her straw hat at the surrounding terrain for any sign of a threat. Or for that matter any life at all. But finally the blistering sun drove her back to the shelter of the overhang, where she sat next to where Skyler fitfully dozed through the heat of the day, resting one hand lightly on his back as much to reassure herself as him.

  She wasn't sure how long she sat there in that heat-induced daze, staring at the ATV in front of her. Hours, maybe. The sun was low enough to throw shadows across the gully by the time the soft scrape of footsteps on stone finally jolted her back to lucidity.

  She lurched to her feet and scrabbled for the rifle leaning beside her, cursing at herself for letting down her guard as she pointed it towards the noise. Between the unfamiliarity of the weapon and the limp weariness of her muscles it was a struggle to keep her aim steady and her arms from shaking.

  But in spite of that her finger hovered steadily over the trigger, ready to fire at whatever threat might be coming for her son.

  Moments later Tom appeared at the mouth of the gully. His shoulders were slumped wearily beneath the weight of his pack, and sweat dripped off the lank, blood-clumped ropes of his grizzled hair and beard. He saw her standing there with the gun and raised his head enough to look at her face from beneath the brim of his hat.

  “Well at least you're alert and ready to defend yourself,” he said, trudging forward once more. He motioned to her gun. “Might want to take the safety off next time. Also keep your finger off the trigger unless you actually intend to shoot something.”