by J. G. Martin
Wasteland Rules:
Kill or Be Killed
(The World After #1)
November 2013
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my awesome wife, without whom I never would have written this book. The ideas had been swirling in my head for years; but she is the one who encouraged me to write it, and who edited it even though this isn’t her chosen genre of books.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
The Rules
Wasteland Rules Glossary
Prologue
The crop virus started in China. They covered it up for a while, but when massive food riots broke out they couldn’t contain the news. Videos of fields and fields of wasted crops caught international attention. China accused the U.S. of a biological attack and that seemed plausible given that it only seemed to affect China’s crops. But the U.S. gave China surplus grain to try to help avoid a crisis of gigantic proportion and to bribe them not to attack their neighbors. This calmed the situation for a month.
Then the virus spread to neighboring countries and all attempts to stop it met with failure. The virus seemed to adapt itself to avoid any countermeasures. No one could figure out how it was spreading. It only affected food crops and there was no airborne pathogen anyone could detect. It was theorized that birds and insects were carrying it, but migration patterns didn’t seem to bear that out.
Nations started closing their borders and mobilizing troops to keep any carriers out and in preparation for the possible impending war or wars as nations struck out for desperately needed food. Despite their best efforts the virus continued to spread. It reached into Eastern Europe and Russia within a month and continued to spread in Asia. Countries declared martial law and troops roamed the streets to enforce curfews and strict rationing.
The U.S. Navy withdrew to the Americas and formed a strict blockade around all of North and South America. The virus hadn’t spread there yet and they were determined to prevent it. It became very obvious the virus was a deliberate attack when it popped up in the U.S. and Brazil simultaneously. Panic and hoarding ensued and martial law was declared throughout the Americas. Rioting and fighting spread throughout South and Central America. The U.S. sent troops to the borders to prevent entry of refugees and shot anyone attempting to enter.
After six months with no relief, China acted. They launched an invasion of Taiwan and Japan to seize hoarded food supplies they believed to be there. North Korea followed suit and invaded South Korea. When the U.S. didn’t intervene, other nations became emboldened and Russia struck into Europe and the Caucasus. Without the intervention of NATO and the now defunct UN, wars broke out all over the world. Simmering feuds exploded into open conflict. India and Pakistan, Turkey and Greece, the Arabs and Israel, and hundreds of ethnic and tribal conflicts broke out into open warfare. The world started to burn. Then the satellites went dead.
Every satellite in the world stopped functioning simultaneously. Global communication ceased almost instantly. Blind, panicked and fearing they were under attack; the developed nations all launched every missile and bomb they had. Nuclear fire, chemical weapons, and viruses stored for decades were unleashed. Fifty percent of the Earth’s population was wiped out in the span of twenty four hours. The electromagnetic pulses from the nuclear weapons fried most of the world’s electronics. Cars shut down, planes fell from the sky, and ships became dead in the water. Computers went dead all over the globe, and since they controlled almost everything most systems stopped working. The power plants went quiet and some of the nuclear ones melted down. Power failed almost everywhere and the globe slowly went dark. Survivors scrambled to take what they could, fires rampaged unchecked, crime was rampant, and epidemics broke out due to the unclean conditions. Then it got bad.
Whether it was radiation or mixing with chemical or biological weapons is unknown, but the crop virus mutated. It started attacking all plant life on the planet. Within a year almost all trees, bushes, grasses, and flowers were dead. Only the hardiest plants survived, mostly scrub trees and weeds. This created a catastrophic ripple effect on the environment. Animals died as their food sources disappeared. Fertile plains became desert. The weather changed due to the nuclear strikes and the resulting storms washed huge swathes of land out into the oceans without the trees and grasses to protect the coastline. The temperature dropped at least twenty degrees across the world, even more in the tropics.
The apocalyptic chain of events left less than twenty five percent of the world’s population alive. The chaos and anarchy that followed the complete collapse of civilization eliminated another ten percent. Only the toughest fifteen percent of the world’s population survived the Collapse. They inherited a ruined world covered in wastelands ravaged by harsh storms and polluted by radiation and chemical poison, with little food and no power. Powerful factions control the remaining cities. Raiders and worse roam the desolate wastelands. How do you survive in the World After? You have to follow the Rules.
Chapter 1
June 6, 2029
Near the Colorado-Wyoming Border
The harsh sunlight beat down on Derek Storm’s head as he walked out of the wastes onto the side of the old Interstate 25. After the Collapse the Interstates had not been maintained but they were still in good shape. Since eighty five percent of the country’s population had died within ten years of the Collapse they had minimal usage. They were also targeted by raiders and biker packs making travel on them dangerous and causing most travelers to avoid them.
So it was odd that there was a car and three classic Harley Davidson motorcycles pulled off to the side up ahead. But that was good for him because he needed transportation. As Derek neared the vehicles he could see that three bikers had a small family cornered next to their SUV. He could tell they were from the Death Angels pack by the black leather cuts they were wearing with a black angel holding a scythe on them. The Death Angels were an ultra-violent off shoot of the Hell’s Angels. So violent and vile in fact, that the other Angels had kicked them out. They were the worst of the one-percenters.
The three bikers were all scruffy and dirty, hygiene not being a requirement to be a member. Really, as Derek pondered it for a minute, it seemed to be a pack requirement to live up to the scumbag title. They were all over six feet tall and in decent shape. All of them wore dirty blue jeans, filthy white long sleeve t-shirts, and worn black leather boots, like they had all looted the same store.
One had the father by the throat, pinned up against the back of the SUV while the other two w
ere pawing at the mother. A seven year old boy and a twelve year old girl stood to the side crying and shaking in terror. Both the father and the mother looked unarmed and helpless. They were clean and well dressed and the SUV was an expensive one from before the Collapse. They had once been a family of privilege and education.
Derek walked over to the three bikes and cleared his throat. The bikers turned around slowly and looked surprised to see anyone else. Which made sense since they hadn’t heard a vehicle approach and who could possibly be out in the middle of nowhere without a vehicle? As soon as they realized he could be a threat, the three bikers dropped the father and mother and spread out to face him.
The leader of the three, a tall rangy man with long dirty brown hair and a short beard trimmed in a neat vee addressed him. “This ain’t your business. Move on.”
The other two just smirked. The one on the right was big, almost six four, but trending towards fat. He had the ex-jock look about him. He had curly blond hair, was unshaven, and tattoos all over his wrists, and from what Derek could see his chest. The one on the left was wiry and had a crazed look in his eyes. He sported a crew cut and had a short brown beard. His hand hovered near a semi-automatic pistol in his belt. He also had a large knife sheathed on his belt which he stroked unconsciously. Derek decided he was the more dangerous of the two and obviously a psychopath.
After a moment of silence he responded. “I need a bike.”
The three bikers stared at him with incomprehension. They quickly glanced at each other. Derek knew what they were thinking. Who was this guy who wandered out of the desert and demanded one of their bikes? They were Death Angels, their reputation alone should have gotten rid of him. To them, he didn’t look anything special. He stood just over six feet tall and was scruffy himself. His long brown hair and unkempt beard with spots of gray concealed most of his features. He had on an old style camouflage jacket over a red t-shirt with Born to Fight stenciled in black on it and faded blue jeans tucked into worn combat boots. A knife and pistol were still holstered and he didn’t have any other obvious weapons. He was turned sideways to them with his left side facing them so it was hard to see what he might be holding in his right hand. Plus it created a smaller target.
He repeated himself more firmly. “I need a bike.”
The leader replied somewhat nervously, “You can have the car when we are done with them, you can even take a turn if you like?” While the other two started to draw their weapons.
Derek didn’t even hesitate. He rotated towards them and fired one barrel of the sawed off shotgun he had been concealing. He had slowly been moving closer as they talked and the effect of the shot was devastating on the thin biker on the left. He dropped dead with a big hole in his chest. Derek fired the other barrel between the other two aiming at their faces. They went down screaming as the blast sent pellets into both of their faces probably blinding them. Their faces were a crimson mask with dozens of pellet holes leaking blood.
The leader managed to draw a pistol and began firing blindly. Derek calmly walked up and knocked the gun from his hand. He then casually slit both of the bikers’ throats as they rolled helplessly on the ground writhing in agony. Rule #5, don’t waste ammo. There had once been billions of rounds of ammo in the U.S., but the Collapse and the fighting that followed had burned through a lot of it. The U.S.T.G. also made a point of collecting and storing as much ammo as they could get their hands on. People with reloading skills were scarce so ammo had become a commodity. He always collected his spent shells if he could for the possibility of reloading them in the future.
He began going through their pockets and taking any valuables and weapons. Screaming from the family distracted him and he looked up at them. The father was staring at him with a stunned look on his face. The little boy was screaming in fear. The girl was just watching him intently with a blank expression on her face. But the mother was walking towards him yelling.
“How dare you kill them! Murder is a sin!” She screamed. “You should be ashamed of yourself killing them in front of the children.”
“You’re a MONSTER!” She screamed, practically spitting on him.
She continued screaming at him, becoming almost incomprehensible. It took Derek a minute to realize the woman was yelling at him for killing the bikers. He was surprised that she was mad at him for saving them, but he remembered people like this from before the Collapse and the Aftermath. Pacifists who believed no one should own guns and that all violence was wrong. Easy to believe when the police and military are around to protect you. But he had assumed all of them had died in the chaos after the Collapse. Pretty lucky to have survived so far, and he guessed it was due to the “monstrous” efforts of those like him.
Sighing to himself he stood up and held up his hand to stop her ranting. “I just saved you and your family. They would have raped you, your daughter, and probably your son and then killed all of you…”
She ignored him and began ranting again. Derek grabbed her and put his hand over her mouth. “Kill or be killed. That is the first rule of the wasteland. If you don’t start following it, you will all be dead. Now get in your car and get out of here. You make me sick.”
The husband must have had some common sense because he came over and dragged her back to the car. They shoved the little boy into the car and began to get ready to leave. He could hear the woman still ranting in the car. He started to turn back to the bodies but he noticed the girl still watching him. She didn’t seem scared or upset, just curious?
He took out a .38 revolver he had taken off of the thin biker and reached out to her with it. She glanced at the car and then took the revolver. She nodded to him and stuck it in her jacket pocket. She then turned and got in the car. Derek smiled to himself. At least one them might make it. He hoped she had the courage to ignore her parent’s idiotic philosophy and use the gun when necessary.
He turned back to the bikers and finished going through their belongings. He took all their weapons, ammo, and supplies and consolidated that onto the nicest bike of the three. He assumed it to be the psychopath’s. They always had a good attention to detail. Not a bad haul; two 9mm semi-automatic pistols, neither nicer then the Glock 22 he already had but still worth something if he sold them; 51 rounds of 9mm ammo; 3 bowie knives, his combat knife was much better; 5 canteens of what looked like clean water; some energy bars and a few cans of food; 2 extra cans of gas, maybe six gallons; a bedroll, dirty but usable; and the big winner, a small mechanic’s tool set. He also stripped the other two bikes of spare parts. Spark plugs, carburetors, gas, oil, nuts and bolts, even a couple of road flares. Rule #9. Take everything you can, you never know what you might need. The last thing he took was all three biker’s cuts. He might be able to collect on a bounty and earn some extra cash.
The Brotherhood of Justice, commonly known as Regulators, paid bounties on bikers and other scum. Founded by local and state law enforcement officers who banded together after the Collapse, they attempted to bring some law and order to the wasteland. You had to be former law enforcement and be able to prove it to join. They were similar in organization and function to the Texas Rangers of the Wild West and similar in attitude. Due process and excessive force were two terms they knew little about. But they were honest and otherwise law abiding so many villages and small towns welcomed their presence.
They were a good distance away, being based out of the Republic of New Texas, but they did have satellite stations throughout the surrounding area. Maybe he would head that way once he got paid. It was a relatively stable nation state and nowhere near as oppressive as the U.S.T.G.. Several years ago when he had hunted bounties actively they had paid one hundred New Republic dollars for each cut turned in. It had been fairly profitable for him.
Derek collected his backpack from where he had dropped it just off the road, mounted the bike and roared off heading east. With no cops anymore he was free to enjoy the ride and the wind in his hair as he whipped down the interstate at aroun
d ninety miles an hour. He was on a deadline and he had already lost time hiking out of the wastes. Living in an isolated homestead had its advantages, but convenience to transportation was not one of them.
He flashed back to two days prior when the black helicopter had flown overhead. It had circled his camp several times and then thrown something out. The helicopter circled a few more times as if to make sure he got it and then headed away. He had waited about an hour and then come out from under concealment. He made a quick sweep of the area to make sure nobody had gotten off the chopper and was sneaking up on him. Then he had gone to see what they threw out.
Chapter 2
June 4, 2029
Rocky Mountain National Park
It was a red plastic case about the size of a large briefcase. He had circled it and then poked it with a long stick. You could never be too careful, it could be a bomb or some other device intended to disable or kill him. He had a number of enemies, although few would have been able to locate him or come up with something sophisticated like this, or had the resources to send a helicopter. That left really only one possibility, one he wasn’t sure he liked. Someone in the United States Territorial Government or U.S.T.G. was trying to contact him. The amount of resources needed to locate him and send a helicopter out to him seemed far too great given his small role working for them before his exile.
With great reluctance, his curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the case. Inside, cradled in foam, was a single device that looked like a very small smartphone and an earpiece. When he picked it up, it immediately started vibrating indicating an incoming call. The caller ID displayed simply “The Voice”. Unsure what else to do, Derek answered it.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end was smooth and cultured. The speaker sounded middle aged and well educated, but technology could fake anything. “Major Storm, we have never met but I am a big fan of your work. The attack in Savannah was impressive and I wish I could have been there when you punched the General.”
