The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  “I don’t know,” Tank says. “Last town was ready for us, too. Something’s going on.” He continues to pace. The whole thing gives me a headache just to think about—but more important than that is the problem currently at hand.

  “So what are we going to do?” I ask, raising my head to look at him.

  “I don’t know,” he says again. He stops pacing and sinks onto the cot across from me. “I just look scary and kill people, I don’t make plans.”

  “Shit,” I say. Plans have never been my strong point, either. I pull my knees to my chest and hug them, trying desperately to think of something. I’m stumped, and evidently so is Tank; we sit in silence as time ticks onward.

  “We should eat,” Tank suggests. His stomach rumbles as if to second the notion. “Maybe it’ll help us think better.”

  We dump out the contents of our bags. Along with the dry remains of the food we took for traveling, we each gathered a few cans from the bomb shelter. Some of them were labeled, not that it’s much use to me. Tank can read at a very basic level, bits and pieces he was in the process of learning before the bombs dropped, but after scrutinizing some of the cans he admits the only word he knows is beans. We each take a can.

  Without any utensils it’s hard to eat, and I have to drink from the metal container. I end up spilling an unfortunate amount down the front of my already-dirty shirt. The beans are cold and bland, but they fill up my stomach. Tank adds some townie-meat for taste, which bothers me less than I’d expect. He gulps down another couple of cans after I’m done.

  With my belly full and a bed beneath me, it’s difficult to resist the urge to pull out my blanket and sleep my troubles away. My brain is so tired it hurts to think.

  “Got any ideas?” Tank asks.

  “Not a clue.”

  “Me neither.”

  I sigh and lean my head against the wall, picking at the peeling paint with one idle hand. I wish Wolf was here with his wild ideas that always seem to work out in the end.

  “You know,” Tank says, “maybe we shouldn’t do anything.”

  “What?”

  “It might be impossible to save them, and we would just be risking our asses for nothing.” He shrugs. “Might be better to just cut our losses.”

  “No way!”

  “You’re being stubborn, Kid. They’d do the same.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “I mean … the water issue was one thing. They would’ve died if they had waited for us. But, when there’s a chance … I think they’d give it a try.” I think about it. “Okay, maybe not Pretty Boy.”

  “Definitely not Pretty Boy,” Tank agrees. “I mean, he and I get on all right, but I know he’d never risk his ass for me. For any of us.”

  “Why does he stay with you guys, anyway?” I ask. “Couldn’t he just leave one night?”

  “He’s …” He pauses and searches for the right words. “He’s, you know, one of us. He may not act like it sometimes, but he is. Just like the rest of us, probably too screwed up to make it with everyone else. He’s just better at hiding it.” His face hardens suddenly. “You remember that, Kid, all right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is …” He sighs and shrugs. “What I mean is even though he’s my friend and all, that doesn’t mean I trust him. None of us do, and you shouldn’t either. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, though I don’t quite get it.

  “Anyway, back to the rescue plan, if you’re sure about that.”

  “Ah, yeah.” I scratch my head. “Do we even know where they’re keeping them?”

  “There was a building near the noose with a few guards outside. It could be a jail,” Tank says.

  “How many guards?”

  “Two or three.”

  “Think we could handle them?”

  Tank shrugs.

  “If we take them by surprise? Probably. But gunshots will bring others running.”

  “Aw, shit, you’re right.” I sigh and press my palms against my eyelids, trying to ward off a steadily building headache. “What if we just hit ’em over the head with something?”

  “Could do. I think I packed a crowbar.”

  “And I could get a … a rock or something,” I say. “And then …” Then, who knows. I try to picture it: the two of us, knocking out the guards and busting into the jail. We would need a key, but one of the guards would probably have it. We’d grab the key, release the others, and fight our way out. I wouldn’t be so scared of taking on the guards with the others on our side. It seems like a decent plan to me.

  “Well, do you have any better ideas?” I ask Tank.

  “Nope.”

  “So I guess that’ll have to do.” We don’t have the time to construct anything more concrete. The guard said the hanging would be at dawn, and I’m guessing we should hightail it out of here before the whole town is awake.

  “We have to take care of the guard here, first.”

  “Oh, right. Shit.”

  “Go distract him, and I’ll come do what I do,” Tank says. He sifts through his bag and pulls out his crowbar. The metal is stained with rust and what looks like old blood.

  “Oh … you mean, like, right now?”

  “When else?”

  I guess he’s right. Still, I feel nervous. I try to fight back my fear as I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head over to the doorway.

  I glance at Tank, take a deep breath, and walk out.

  The guard is leaning against the wall across from the doorway. He stands at attention as the door opens and fixes a pair of mean eyes on me. I smile nervously.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

  “I … gotta piss,” I say. I move out of our doorway, leaving it partially open, and take a few steps toward the stairwell leading out of the building. I try to act nonchalant, but my movements feel stiff. The guard turns to follow me, putting his back to our door.

  “Oh.” He almost loses interest, but regains it after a second glance. “So why are you bringing your bag?”

  “Uh,” I say. I try to think of something smart, but my mind fails me. “In case of …” I start, and then stumble over my words. “In case of trouble?”

  “Won’t be any trouble,” he says. “We have this place on lockdown.”

  “Right, well, umm,” I say. I can feel my face turning red. “I still need it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  I gape like a fish. He stares at me.

  “None of your business!” I blurt out, not knowing what else to say.

  “Actually, it is,” he says. “I’ll come keep an eye on you.”

  “No!” I say quickly. His hand is now resting on the holster of his gun. “It’s … I need the bag for …” I pause, stutter, and finally come up with something. “It’s … girl stuff, you know?”

  “Girl stuff?” he repeats incredulously. We stare at each other in silence. His face changes as he understands, gradually shifting from fierceness to embarrassment. “Oh,” he says. “You mean … Oh.”

  “Yeah,” I say. My face is probably purple by now, and his is reddening as well. “So …”

  “Fine, fine, off with you then. Hurry up or I’ll come looking.” He makes a shooing motion at me. Out of the corner of my eye I see our door sliding open, and Tank’s bulky form emerging. Realizing I have to stall a bit longer, I try to grab his attention again.

  “Where should I go?”

  “Oh. Right. If you leave this building, the latrines are that—” He turns to point, and comes face-to-face with Tank. “Way?”

  Tank grabs the guard’s head and slams it into the wall. He crumples to the floor without so much as a cry.

  “Let’s go,” Tank says. I nod, exhaling a breath I hadn’t known I was holding in, and follow him outside.

  We make our way toward the execution square, dodging behind buildings whenever someone approaches. It’s hard to shake the feeling we’ll be surrounded by guards at any moment. I try to stay c
alm and follow Tank’s lead, moving when he moves and waiting when he waits. Eventually we find ourselves around the corner of the building Tank mentioned.

  “Can you tell if it’s actually the jail?” I ask. He shrugs. I shrug back.

  “As good a bet as any,” he says. He fishes his crowbar out of his pack. I search around on the ground until I find a decent-size rock. “I’ll take the guard on the left,” he says.

  “Got it,” I say, straightening up. As my arms shake I wonder if I should have picked a smaller rock, but it’s too late.

  Tank holds up three fingers and counts down as I try to steady my grip. Three. Two. One.

  Tank turns the corner and charges at the guards. I raise the rock above my head and follow. The guards are too surprised to pull their weapons. Tank plows into one of them and knocks him off his feet, and I fling my rock at the other before he can react.

  It falls short of its mark. Very short.

  The guard turns toward me with an incredulous look, and I curse and fumble for my knife. As soon as I get it out of my boot I run to attack, but it’s not fast enough.

  “Intruders!” the guard bellows, his voice echoing as loud as a siren in the quiet town. “In the execution square!”

  “Sh-shit!” I plunge my knife toward his stomach, but he grabs my arm and twists it, making me cry out. The knife falls. I desperately kick at his shins as he reaches for his gun.

  “Heads up!”

  I duck. The crowbar whistles through the air above my head and slams into the guard’s chest. His grip on my arm goes slack as he falls.

  I scramble to pick my knife up and turn to Tank, panting for breath.

  “Well, so much for secrecy,” he says, and reaches into his pack for a gun. I shove the knife back into my boot and do the same, retrieving the handgun that Wolf gave me. It feels strange and unfamiliar in my hands, and I fumble to find a way to hold it that doesn’t seem awkward.

  Tank and I bust through the door to the building, guns ready.

  We find a small, bare room which is very clearly not a jail. There’s only a table and a chair, with a lone woman sitting behind it. She’s middle-aged and plain-faced, and her expression upon seeing us is more skeptical than afraid.

  There’s an awkward pause as we all stare at each other. It’s hard to say who is more surprised by the situation.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the woman asks.

  “Uh,” I say. “This … isn’t the jail, huh?”

  She stares at me.

  “’Fraid not, hon,” she says. “This is the mayor’s office.”

  The door opens behind us and the room floods with guards. I look around and count three, seven, nine guns total pointed at us.

  Tank and I simultaneously let our weapons drop and raise our hands in surrender.

  The woman, who I now assume is the mayor, lets out a derisive chuckle at our expense.

  “Oops,” she says, grinning. “Looks like someone made a mistake.”

  “We really should’ve thought this out better,” I whisper to Tank.

  “Tell me about it,” he mutters back.

  “Now, let’s get you two to that jail you were looking for.” The mayor motions to the guards. “Take ’em in with the others, boys.”

  The jail, as it turns out, is the place next to the mayor’s office. It’s a stout building that smells like sweat and piss. The guards jeer at us as we’re marched down a row of cells. Many of them are full. Some prisoners beg for release as we pass by, some rattle the bars and shout vulgarities, and others stare at us with dead eyes. I’ve never seen a jail this full. The town I came from shot troublemakers on sight, so the jail only held the occasional drunk who needed to cool off. Chaining people like this somehow feels worse. The sight of so many prisoners makes me angry in a way that surprises me. I suddenly find myself wishing we had taken down a few more guards before ending up here, and hoping we’ll have another chance to crack some heads.

  They lead us back to the very end of the row, a dark and lonely corner where most of the cells are empty. One, however, is very much not so.

  “Please let me out of here!” a familiar voice says. An arm reaches through the bars, clutching at a guard’s leg. “I don’t belong with these psychopaths, I swear, this is all just a big—” Pretty Boy turns his pretty, pleading eyes to us and cuts off abruptly. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Hey to you, too,” Tank says grimly.

  “Mayor’s right,” one of the guards says. “Looks like this is the big guy who was supposed to be with them.”

  “What about this one?” Another one of them points to me.

  “Dunno. The broadcast didn’t say anything about an ugly little boy, did it?”

  I sigh.

  “Nope. Ah, well, might as well toss ’im in. If he knows them, reckon he deserves a hanging.”

  They open the door and shove us inside. Wolf, Dolly, and Pretty Boy are all sitting on the dirty floor, the latter as far from the others as he can manage to be. With Tank there, the five of us can barely fit. As the door slams behind us I squeeze into the corner next to Pretty Boy.

  “Oh, it’s a miracle, you guys are alive,” Wolf deadpans. “Thank the Lord, we’re saved.”

  “Don’t start,” Tank says. He sits with a groan. “We tried.”

  “No, really. I’m thrilled. Now we can die together, a big fucking happy family.”

  I sigh and let my head rest on the cold metal bars, staring up at the ceiling.

  So much for our big rescue.

  XII

  Prisoners

  When I wake up, sunlight is streaming through the bars on the window.

  I blink at the light and slowly regain my bearings. I realize I’m slumped against Pretty Boy’s shoulder and quickly sit up. He looks at me with hollow eyes.

  “You drooled on me,” he says.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, my face heating up. “On the bright side, we’re not dead yet.”

  “Clearly,” he says. He squints at the window. “I stayed up all night, thinking they would be here any second.”

  “You didn’t sleep at all?”

  “No. I figured if I was about to die …” He chokes on the word, his eyes watering. “I want to at least be awake for my final moments.”

  “Yeah …” I say, trying to think of something meaningful enough to redeem myself for drooling. Nothing comes to mind. I attempt a joke instead. “Wouldn’t want to wake up dead, right?” He gives me a completely unamused look. I sigh. Something about Pretty Boy always turns me into a bigger idiot than usual. And some stupid part of me still desperately wants him to like me, despite his issues and the fact we hardly know each other.

  “Say, Pretty Boy,” I say as that sparks a thought. “Would you mind telling me your real name?” If there was ever a time for it, it’d be now.

  He looks over at me, stares silently for a long moment, and shakes his head.

  “What’s the point?” he asks dully.

  Before I can respond, the door to the jail opens and the mayor enters with a handful of armed guards. They come down the dim and cramped hallway directly to our cell. Pretty Boy sits up straighter next to me, and Dolly awakens at the sound of footsteps. Wolf stirs soon after her, and wakes Tank with a kick. I find myself scooting closer to Dolly for protection.

  The mayor glares down at us behind the bars.

  “Well, looks like it’s your lucky day, sharks,” she says. “Your execution has been postponed.”

  Nobody speaks. I hold my breath, unsure if I should be grateful or if this will be a new, worse development.

  “Turns out you’re wanted at the radio tower,” she says. “Alive.”

  “Where the hell is that?” Wolf asks.

  “You’re not in a position to be asking questions,” she says coldly. “All you need to know is that you’re being transported.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “I said you’re not—”

  “And who wants us?”

  “You—”
<
br />   “How are we getting there?” he asks. “How long will it take?”

  The mayor stares at him, unblinking. Wolf breaks into a grin.

  “Aw, I’m just fucking with you. Let’s get going, I’m tired of sitting around.”

  She turns a stiffened back toward us and gestures to the guards. They unlock the door with a creak. I recoil, but there isn’t enough room to make it far. A man grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet.

  “Tie them up,” the mayor commands.

  The guard forces my wrists behind my back and binds them with rope, pulling it so tightly I can barely wriggle my fingers. The others get the same treatment. Pretty Boy whimpers pathetically as they tie him. At least I’m holding it together better than him.

  They push us along in front of them, a line trailing out of the cell and through town. A small crowd has gathered around the execution square. Disappointed by the lack of a hanging, they jeer and throw things at us as we’re herded past. Wolf shouts insults back at them, far too entertained by the entire situation.

  Just outside the gate, a truck waits. It’s a bulky, durable-looking vehicle with a sizable back compartment, probably used for transporting goods.

  “Well, hell, looks like we got ourselves first-class treatment,” Wolf says. “Mighty kind of you. It’ll be nice not having to walk everywhere.”

  The guards ignore him. They push us forward and into the back. I’m not tall enough to climb in without the use of my arms, so one of the guards lifts me up and tosses me inside. Once we’re all in, they shut the doors. It’s nearly pitch-black inside. I can only see silhouettes of the others.

  When my eyes adjust, I see the compartment is filled with crates of supplies: food, water, and other goods. I guess that includes us. If Blackfort is willing to comply, they must be trading for something valuable. The thought gnaws on the corners of my mind, and I think back to when we were attacked by raiders. They mentioned a reward, too. Someone’s definitely out to get us, but who? And how is it that wandering raiders and the town of Blackfort both know about it?

  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” I mumble, looking at Wolf for answers.

  “Don’t look at me,” he says with a shrug.