The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  “So, where are you and Wolf headed, anyway?” I ask, trying to distract myself from my nerves. Neither of them has told me anything about themselves or why they’re here. They haven’t asked about me, either. Come to think of it, I don’t think they’ve even asked for my name. Maybe I’m supposed to assume those are the rules of our temporary relationship, but my curiosity is getting the better of me.

  “Nowhere,” Dolly says. I frown.

  “So you’re just … driving around randomly? Isn’t that kind of …” Pointless? Dangerous? A waste of precious gas? I don’t even know where to begin. “Are you traders?” Traders are the only people I can think of who would have any reason to wander like that. Well, and myself, but I have my own reasons.

  “No,” she says. I wait for her to continue. She doesn’t.

  “Okay,” I say. When I was young and my papa left me in our bomb shelter by myself, I used to play a game that involved bouncing a ball off the wall. It always just came bouncing back, but I would keep doing it like I expected something new to happen, or thought a friend might materialize. Trying to carry on a conversation with Dolly feels about as productive as that did.

  I shut my mouth and keep walking. I should save my breath, anyway. Even though I’m only carrying half as much as Dolly, the bags are heavy, and the exertion is making me more aware of the hunger in my belly and the tired ache in my bones. Despite that, it’s nice to feel helpful. Back in my old town it was always Get out of the way, girl and Don’t you know how to do anything right? One of the many reasons why braving the wastes alone sounded better than staying.

  As we pass one of the rickety buildings, the door bangs open. A woman comes out, dragging a young boy behind her. I guess there are children here after all; they must just keep them hidden away when strangers are around. The woman stomps her way over to a group of men sitting on the hood of a rusted, broken-down vehicle. She speaks in hushed whispers to them, saying something that involves a lot of head shakes and hand gestures. She releases the hand of the boy as the conversation seems to grow more heated. The boy’s gaze wanders over to us. As our eyes meet I shoot him a friendly smile.

  My smile drops as the kid takes that as a sign to start walking over to us.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no,” I mutter. As much as I like children, somehow I don’t think this kid is supposed to be near us. I don’t want to give the townies any other reason to distrust us. But it’s not easy to wave him away with my hands full, and I don’t want to raise my voice and draw attention.

  I slow down as he gets closer. It’s hard to see the kid around the bulky bags I’m carrying.

  “Careful, little guy,” I say, stepping around him. “This is heavy stuff.”

  Apparently he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, because he moves away from me and steps directly into Dolly’s path. He stares up at her with wide eyes and doesn’t move. Dolly stops in her tracks.

  “Can I touch your hair?” the boy asks.

  “We’re kind of busy here,” I say. Dolly doesn’t seem like the kid-friendly type, and I don’t want to see her go all ice queen on this poor kid. But instead, to my surprise, she drops her bags and crouches down, bringing herself to eye level with the young boy. With several inches between their faces, they scrutinize each other with an apparently shared sense of awe. He raises a hand and touches the ends of her hair with small, chubby fingers. I’m sure his hands are filthy, but Dolly doesn’t pull back from his touch. I catch a glimpse of something oddly soft in her face, a crack in her blank expression. She almost looks sad for a moment.

  “Mommy said you were bad people,” the boy says, “but I think you’re nice.” He smiles. His two front teeth are missing. Dolly leans close and whispers something in his ear.

  A surprised expletive alerts me that the boy’s mother has noticed his disappearance. She looks around frantically, homes in on us, and rushes over, her eyes wide and fearful.

  “Jimmy,” she hisses, grabbing the boy by the hand and yanking him away. She pulls him behind her and backs away from us. Her suspicious eyes flit back and forth between Dolly and me. Once she’s apparently decided we’re not going to attack her, she turns her back and hurries away, tugging her son along. “What did I tell you about talking to strangers?” she scolds him.

  With another loud bang, she disappears into the building she came from. The men near the jeep are watching us with a renewed and obviously unfriendly interest. I frown, and glance at Dolly to see if the interaction bothered her, but her face is back to its usual blank slate. She stands up, takes her bags, and resumes walking. I hurriedly follow, trying to match her long strides.

  “You like kids, Dolly?” I ask, not really expecting a response.

  “Yes.” A straight answer, to my surprise, and when I turn to look at her there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. It disappears immediately when she notices me looking.

  “Me, too!” Finally, some shared ground. I smile at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “What’d you say to him?”

  “To listen to his mother.”

  I nod slowly, automatically assuming it to be good advice before I remember what his mom said.

  As the day grows later, the townies invite us to share a meal with them. It’s good hospitality, especially for a place this small. The idea would have been laughable where I came from. Even after living there for a couple of years, I wouldn’t get fed unless I got enough work done during the day.

  I’m grateful for the generosity, and yet something about this place is definitely rubbing me the wrong way. Nobody says anything openly, but everyone gives us these weird sideways glances and dirty looks. It’s gotten even worse since this morning. Part of me wonders if it’s Wolf and Dolly specifically they’re suspicious about, but since I arrived with them and have stuck with them since getting here, it’s a little late for me to try to distance myself from them.

  Since Dolly is watching the jeep, Wolf and I are alone. The townies light up trash can fire pits, place sheets of metal over the tops, and set aluminum cans of food on top of those. They cluster around the trash cans as the sun sets and the day’s warmth slips away. Wolf and I stand apart from them. I can barely feel a hint of heat from this distance, and have to rub at my arms to keep from shivering. However, the smell of the meal cooking reaches us just fine, and my mouth waters at the distant memory of hot food. I haven’t eaten anything but cold beans for days.

  But the looks from the townies sour my stomach. They all look incredibly pissed off as soon as they catch me looking. I can read the accusations in those stares: strangers, untrusted, unwelcome. I’m particularly familiar with the latter. In the wastes, you have to fight for your right to exist.

  “Are you sure we were invited?” I ask, turning to Wolf and trying to ignore the stares. My stomach churns with a familiar discomfort. I didn’t leave my last town just to become an unwanted mouth to feed again. At least Wolf doesn’t seem to mind my presence.

  “’Course I am.” He continues staring at the food. He pulled his goggles down around his neck when the sun set, and his eyes are sharp and intense without them. I shrug and look down at my boots.

  As the townies start passing out cans, clumps of people shift into a messy line. I watch as Wolf walks up and completely ignores them, bypassing the line and snatching a can of food without a moment’s hesitation. I attempt to follow in the wake of his bravado, but only make it two steps before someone bumps into me and sends me stumbling.

  I look up to see a gaunt-faced townie scowling down at me. His eyes are hard, his lip curling derisively.

  “Sorry,” I say automatically, as my brain tries to work out where the hell he came from. All of the other townies were by the fire pits, so why was this guy behind us? Was he watching us? My uneasiness deepens, and I swallow hard.

  “You ain’t supposed to be here,” he says.

  “Huh? Wolf said—”

  “Not him. You.” He jabs a finger into my chest. I back up, rubbing at the spot and staring at him
. “What are you doing with them?” he asks me.

  “Umm, well, it’s kind of a long story—”

  “Scrawny little thing like you,” he says, stepping closer and bringing his face down to mine. I’m uncomfortably aware of how much bigger than me he is. Would the other townies step in if he tried to hurt me? I doubt it. “Think you can just wander into town and help yourself to our food?”

  “I thought—”

  “You thought wrong.” He puts a hand on my chest and shoves, sending me stumbling right into Wolf.

  “Is there a problem here?” he asks.

  I never thought I’d be so happy to see his crazy grin. I scamper behind him and stay there, eager to have a shield from the townie. The man stares at Wolf for a long few seconds. Wolf barely looks at him; he’s focused on the can of food in his hands, which he’s slowly opening with a knife much too big and sharp for the task. Metal grates harshly on metal as he peels it open. The townie’s jaw is clenched, a tic jumping in his cheek. He looks like he’s dying to throw a punch. But just when the tension seems taut enough to snap, he shakes his head and walks away.

  I let out a low whoosh of breath and step out from behind Wolf.

  “Well, I’m sure glad I didn’t show up here alone,” I say, forcing a laugh. Wolf shrugs nonchalantly, raises his can to his mouth, and takes a big gulp. My mouth fills with drool at the sight, and I realize with a sad twist of my stomach that there’s no way I’ll be brave enough to get food for myself now. Wolf lowers the can and notices me staring.

  “What?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What is it? Why aren’t you eating?”

  “Oh, uh, I’m not that hungry,” I say. “I just ate … the day before yesterday.”

  Wolf rolls his eyes.

  “Do I gotta do everything for you?” he grumbles.

  Before I can protest, he shoves his can into my hands.

  “Let me show you somethin’, kid,” he says. He walks over to the townies and casually cuts into the front of the line again. He grabs a can, grins at the man passing out food, and saunters back to me. “See? It’s that simple.”

  Apparently he doesn’t notice the death glares and murmurs that follow. Though, at this point, it’s probably more accurate to say that he doesn’t give a shit.

  “Well, that’s easy for you to say. You’re—” I pause before the word scary leaves my mouth. “Umm. You have a really big knife.”

  “Oh, this?” He looks down at the knife, which he’s currently using to pry open the second can of food, and chuckles. “This ain’t nothing. Now eat your damn beans before they get cold.”

  Of course it had to be beans. I suppress a sigh and take a sludgy gulp of the familiar food. At least they’re hot. I scarf them down as quickly as possible and swipe a finger around the can to collect the last remnants.

  Once I’m done, I watch Wolf. He eats slowly, which is strange. Most wastelanders eat as quickly as possible, not only because we’re starving half the time, but because we’re afraid someone might take our food. The way he eats shows that he’s not worried about either of those problems. It says a lot about him, and raises more questions, too. I can’t help but wonder about him and Dolly. Who are these people? Where are they from, where are they going, and why did they stop to pick me up?

  When he finally finishes eating, he notices me looking and exhales an exaggerated sigh.

  “What do you want now?” he asks.

  “Oh, I, umm.” I consider the whirlwind of questions in my head, but bite my tongue. “I just wanted to say thanks. You didn’t have to do that. Get me food, I mean.”

  “’Course I did,” he says. “I took your last can, didn’t I? Fair’s fair.” He shrugs. “Anyway, you’re with us—for now. And we look out for each other.”

  I’m not really sure what being “with them” means for me, and the pointed “for now” is a little worrying. Still, I guess it’s going pretty well so far, seeing as I’ve got a belly full of warm food and avoided getting shoved around by that townie.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Good. ’Cause you’ve got first watch tonight.”

  He turns and walks away. I smile at the back of his head before setting off after him.

  III

  Sharks

  “No idea what you’re flapping your gums about.”

  I awaken to the sound of a voice nearby. It’s just past dawn, judging from the light. I’m sprawled out on the ground, twisted up in my papa’s blanket, but the spot Wolf slept in is now empty.

  “You sayin’ this is all coincidence?”

  There’s another voice. Both are marked by open hostility, and gradually rise in volume.

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Wolf’s lazy drawl alternates with the low rumble of the townsman. They must be only a few yards away.

  “Stop bullshittin’ me.”

  A heavy silence falls. Even though I’m not involved, I can taste the tension in the air. Several seconds of silence pass, and a new sound fades in: footsteps, headed in my direction. Wolf’s face enters my line of vision, his dreadlocked head bending down toward me.

  “Eavesdropping?” he asks.

  “Well, kind of, I guess.” No sense in being dishonest.

  “Heh. So you know we’re leaving?”

  “Now I do.”

  “Good. Get up.” He prods me in the side with one foot.

  Apparently I’m along for the ride again. I don’t mind at all. As if yesterday wasn’t strange enough, with the atmosphere this hostile, I don’t want to be left here alone. While tagging along with these strangers isn’t a great option, either, I’d rather be out on the road than stuck here. It’s actually nice to have a reason to get up. When I was by myself, it wasn’t always so easy. I’d sometimes lie there for hours trying to think of a reason to keep going, and mostly coming up with reasons not to.

  Not that it’s ever really easy to get up. Even now I feel like I could sleep for another week or so. Being run out of town by pissed-off townies is not exactly how I like to start my day. Plus my feet still hurt, I’m down to one day’s worth of water, and I have absolutely no idea where I’m headed next.

  So?

  That’s what my papa always said on the long trek across the wastes after we left our bomb shelter, looking for somewhere new to live. “I’m thirsty,” I’d say. So? “My feet hurt.” So? And then he’d look at me expectantly.

  “So I carry on,” I mumble, sitting up. Luckily Wolf isn’t paying enough attention to give me shit for talking to myself. Instead he’s staring away from me, sucking his bottom lip between his messed-up teeth. He almost looks worried, which makes me worried. If the guy with a big-ass knife is concerned, that means it’s definitely time to go.

  Despite the sense of urgency, I take the time to carefully roll up my dusty blanket and place it into my backpack before I stand. I have to take care not to step on the bags of meat surrounding me.

  “So why are we leaving?” I ask.

  “Thought you were eavesdropping?”

  “Only kind of.”

  “Well, you did a shit job of it.”

  “Not a lot of practice,” I say with a shrug. Following his lead, I start picking up bags. Today the smell has increased tenfold, and the bags squish against my chest as I lift them. There’s no way this stuff is still edible.

  “S’pose not,” Wolf says. “Well, the gist of it is that there have been an awful lot of disappearances over the last couple weeks, so of course they’re inclined to blame us.” He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “That, and some suspicious strangers showed up a couple days ago. They’re convinced we knew ’em or something.”

  “Oh,” I say uncertainly. “Well, do we know ’em?”

  “And what’s more,” he continues, “the townsman seems to be implying we not only killed the missing locals”—he pauses as he lifts a particularly full sack—“but then we might’ve come and tried to trade with the very town they came from.
” He turns and winks at me, grinning devilishly. “But that would be a fucking stupid plan, huh?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I say. “Yeah, it would be.” Wolf seems way too unconcerned, and the whole thing is starting to feel a bit fishy to me. Still, right now, I just want to get the hell out of this town, so I’ll keep my mouth shut and roll with it. Anyway, I have to get to work picking up our reeking cargo, because Wolf’s arms are already full. He starts walking away as I hurry to finish gathering the rest.

  “Get to the jeep when you’ve got everything,” he calls without turning around.

  I nod, look over my shoulder, and falter. The townsman is standing only a couple of yards away. He’s watching me. His dark arms are folded over his chest, jaw set, body tense. The other townies are gathered in clumps near him. Some of them carry weapons, metal pipes and rusty knives and the like.

  Shuddering, I turn around and speed up my efforts. I need to scram, and fast. But without Dolly there’s more to carry, and Wolf didn’t make up for much of the slack. That leaves me with a hell of a lot to juggle.

  I stack up the bags, forcing them into one big pile, and lift it with a grunt. My scrawny arms can barely fit around it all, and my muscles tremble with the effort.

  One step. So far, so good, although my eyes water and my arms burn.

  I take a second step, and the bag resting on top begins to teeter precariously. I stuff my face into the bags in an attempt to steady them. The stench is overwhelming: rotten and raw.

  I take a third step, moving as carefully as I can, and the bag falls. The wet smack of impact stops me. The rest of the pile doesn’t follow the first one’s tumble, but that doesn’t improve the situation much. What the hell am I supposed to do now? If I want to pick up the fallen bag, I have to set down the rest and start over. A second bag falls as I hesitate.

  “Need some help?” a voice asks, and a chorus of angels somewhere sings to accompany it. It’s the townsman. I crane my neck to see him walking toward me.