The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  The hallway we run through looks completely different than it did last night. The place is utterly destroyed. Most doors are hanging open or ripped off their hinges. Others are closed, and horrible screaming comes from inside one of them. We run past the room where we all played cards and drank, and inside is a complete bloodbath. I narrowly dodge a bottle that flies out of the doorway, and don’t pause to see who threw it. I trip over the body of a poor half-dressed woman and nearly gag when I see her mutilated face. We ignore any jeering challenges or cries for help, and just keep running.

  At the end of the hallway, Wolf throws open a door and we find ourselves outside. We’re behind the building now. It’s completely empty, just an expanse of flat ground and then … a cliff.

  “The only thing back here is the river,” Dolly says.

  “Well, shit, you couldn’t have said that earlier?” Wolf says. He curses, looks around, scratches his head, and turns back to go through the door. The second he opens it, we can see the hallway inside flooding with guards. He hastily closes it again and backs toward the edge of the cliff. “Fuck. We’re fucked.”

  They shoot down the first few guards to exit, but soon a crowd of them rushes through and there are too many targets. We keep backing up as they approach. Tank releases Pretty Boy to focus on shooting. After a moment’s hesitation, he stays with us.

  Soon we’re at the very edge of the cliff. The river roars below as the Queen’s men approach from the front.

  Wolf swings his gun from side to side, unable to decide where to aim. I have only my knife, which I brandish uselessly. Next to me, Pretty Boy is getting the panicked look that usually means he’s about to take off running. This time he has nowhere to go. He takes a step back and the ground beneath him crumbles. As earth starts sliding down the cliffside he pinwheels his arms frantically, trying not to meet the same fate.

  I drop my knife and grab his arm with both hands.

  “Got you,” I say, only to feel my own feet start to slip. I sit down in a desperate attempt to ground myself, and keep sliding. “Oh shit—” I try to dig my feet in, but the dirt slips out from under me. As Pretty Boy’s feet go over the edge his weight yanks me forward. Not a second too late, Tank’s strong arms grab my waist and hold me up.

  “D-Don’t let go!” Pretty Boy yells, his feet dangling off the edge. He looks down at the river far below, and his eyes grow even wider. “Holy shit!” I cling to him as best as I can, but I can feel his hand slipping out of mine. My injured hand hurts like hell, and the bandages make it hard to get a good grip.

  “No! Pretty Boy!” I’m losing my hold. He closes his eyes, whispering what might be a prayer under his breath. “I can’t—”

  A hand shoots out from beside me and grabs Pretty Boy’s arm.

  “I’ve got ya. Fucking idiot.”

  I look up to see Wolf. When he nods, I gratefully release my grip and let Tank pull me back to solid ground. Panting for breath, I hurriedly pick up my knife again when I remember the Queen’s men are still there. Tank and I keep them at bay while the others pull Pretty Boy to safety.

  “Be careful,” the Queen says, looking immensely relieved to see her favorite pet unharmed. She wields a shotgun as she approaches. “No need to panic, I’m not going to kill you.”

  “’Course not. Then you wouldn’t get the reward, ain’t that right?” Wolf asks. “Fucking hell, so much for you being an impartial trader.”

  “I told you before, Wolf. Times are changing,” she says. “Saint is a reasonable man. Maybe he won’t even kill you. I’m sure you can work out some sort of deal.”

  But Wolf has stopped listening. He turns his head to look back at the river, and a thoughtful look passes over his face.

  Next to him, Pretty Boy stands up, chest still heaving after his near fall.

  “Thanks, Wolf,” he says breathlessly.

  “No problem, buddy,” Wolf says, and shoves him off the cliff.

  Silence. Everyone stares at Wolf, who looks remarkably pleased with himself.

  “Man, that felt good,” he says.

  “W-What just …?” I ask, stunned. “What did you—”

  “After that whole mess, now you decide to kill Pretty Boy?” Tank says, his voice shaking. “Jesus, Wolf, that’s fucked-up!”

  The Queen, recovering from her shock, howls in anger. Her men hesitate, awaiting a command.

  I turn and peer over the cliff’s edge, searching the roaring waters for any sign of him. There’s nothing but water, churning white and frothy as it rushes by. Yet after a few moments, I see something: a head, bobbing downstream.

  “Hey!” I shout, watching the figure flail and fight in the rapidly moving river. “He’s okay!”

  “’Course he is,” Wolf says. When I look up at him he has a smug grin, and the realization hits me.

  “Oh, no,” I say.

  “Oh, yes,” he replies. “Here’s our escape route. Hold on to your guns, guys.”

  The Queen’s forces, realizing our plan, begin to tighten around us.

  “Get them!” the Queen screeches, her composure dissolving. Her men are more hesitant than she, seeing as we have weapons and a cliff to shove them over.

  I move backward until I find myself on the edge. Just looking over makes my legs go wobbly. I shove my knife into my boot, taking deep breaths to fight back my panic.

  “I can’t,” I say. “Wolf, I can’t swim.”

  The Queen smacks one of her subordinates with her shotgun in fury, and turns the barrel on us.

  “Tough shit, Kid,” Wolf says, keeping a wary eye on her. “Time to go.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Learn,” he says, “or die.”

  He pushes me over the edge.

  I scream the whole way down, though the sound is swallowed by the roar of rushing air. I remember to close my mouth just before I hit the water—and hit it hard. The surface smacks me harder than a thousand hands and leaves my skin screaming, but then I’m submerged and the cold water numbs me. It churns and roars, the current stronger than I could have imagined. I tumble like a rag doll. The surface is impossible to reach. I can’t even tell which direction the surface is anymore, and when I open my eyes all I can see is murky water. Panic blooms. I flail wildly.

  By some miracle, one of my hands breaches the surface and finds open air. I fight in that direction. My lungs are about to burst. I finally heave my way up to the surface and stick my head out. One gasp of air, and I’m sucked under again.

  I have to struggle not to lose my sense of direction again. A few times I find my way back to air, but it’s always brief and never satisfying. In my bursts of open air I try to spot the others, but all I can see is frothing water all around me. I try to yell for help, but instead I get a mouthful of water and go under again.

  The cycle continues for what feels like hours. My strength wanes away. It becomes harder and harder for me to reach the surface each time, and I feel like I’m getting less and less air. It’s difficult to thrash my way upward with my arms growing heavy and my body going numb. My backpack weighs me down, but it’s tangled around me so I can’t cut it loose. Eventually I can’t do it anymore; I have no choice but to drift underwater, letting the current carry me, fighting the urge to open my mouth and breathe in.

  Just when I think I’m done for, a hand closes on my arm and pulls me upward. I open my eyes sluggishly and find, to my surprise, my head is above water—if only barely. I breathe in panicked gasps and the pain in my lungs lessens.

  “I see the learning isn’t going well for you,” Wolf says, grinning. His goggles are still on and his dreadlocks are slicked down with water. He treads water while keeping one hand firmly around me, holding me up with him.

  I try to say something and choke up some water instead.

  “How ’bout you just keep your mouth shut for a while?”

  Sounds like a good plan to me. I focus on just breathing, and trying to imitate Wolf’s motions to help keep us afloat. The water isn’t roari
ng by so quickly anymore; it’s mellowed out to a slower stream, which makes it much easier to stay above the surface.

  As we drift downstream, the river slows even more, and becomes shallower. Finally it reaches a point where Wolf’s feet touch the ground and the current is reduced to a gentle pull. He drops me, and I splash around clumsily before realizing I can stand up on my tiptoes.

  “What do you know,” Wolf says. “We made it.”

  “And the others?”

  “Well, if you survived by flailing around like a fucking idiot, I’m sure they’ll be just fine.”

  “It’s not my fault I—”

  Wolf shoves me before I can finish and sends me underwater again. I come up a few feet downstream.

  “What was that for?” I ask, spitting out river water that tastes like sewage.

  “Get to shore.”

  “Shore?”

  He points, and I follow his finger. The sight of land makes my heart swell. There’s an embankment here where the river gets shallow, a reprieve from the rapids. I struggle my way toward it at a painfully slow rate. Even this weak current is enough to make it hard to keep my balance. It doesn’t help that my backpack is still wrapped around me and constricting my motion, either. Really, though, I’m just glad it didn’t get lost in the river, even though the straps seem intent on strangling me. Wolf plows through the river at a much quicker rate. As soon as he catches up he grabs my backpack and drags me along behind him.

  He shoves me onto land and I stumble and fall to my knees, grateful to have solid earth beneath me.

  Pretty Boy is already sprawled out on the ground, looking as bedraggled as I feel. He looks at us, coughing up water, wet hair plastered across his face.

  “Have a nice swim?” Wolf asks.

  “Fuck you. You could’ve killed me.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” Wolf says. “Though I probably should have.” He ignores the other insults Pretty Boy spits out and looks at the river. I do the same, and see Tank bobbing along. He doesn’t seem to have much trouble staying afloat.

  “Hey, big boy! Over here!” Wolf yells, waving a hand. Tank swims in our direction. Dolly comes right after him, moving smoothly and gracefully through the water. It looks like I’m the only one who had much trouble with the river, which makes me feel a bit ridiculous.

  I struggle to disentangle my pack and squeeze water out of my clothes as the others make their way to land. I feel like a drowned rat with my clothes plastered slick against my body and my hair flattened. My beanie must have been lost in the river. I feel almost naked without it. It’s something I’ve worn for years now. But I don’t have time to feel sad.

  When Dolly emerges from the water, I notice she’s missing something as well: her hair.

  I stare at her. Where her long, sleek, vibrant blue locks used to be is a plain black bob.

  “Dolly … you …” I point at her as she comes closer. “Your hair … is gone?”

  She gives me a quizzical look and raises a hand to her head.

  “Oh. My wig.”

  “Your wig?”

  “Of course,” Wolf says, giving me an odd look. “You didn’t think her hair was actually blue, did you?”

  “Umm.”

  Wolf laughs, shaking his head.

  “Oh, Kid. You never fail to fucking amaze me.” I duck my head and blush. Thankfully he shifts his attention to Dolly. “So, time for a new color?”

  She nods and bends down, opening her bag, which was tied securely to her waist, unlike mine. She pulls out, to my surprise, three wigs of varying lengths and colors. She eyes each of them critically, and holds up a bright red one.

  “This?” she asks, looking at Wolf. He shrugs, and she looks at me instead. Her eyes bore into me with an intimidating intensity, as if this is an incredibly important decision. I gulp and nod quickly.

  “It’s a nice color,” I say, not really sure what she wants from me. She nods, satisfied, and pins her hair up. When she places the new wig over it, the combination of that and the dress makes her look like a new person.

  “Are you changing out of that?” Wolf asks, gesturing at her dress. She glances down at it impassively.

  “Should I?”

  “It’s a little bit … well …” He actually sounds awkward, maybe even embarrassed, which is something I’ve never heard out of Wolf before. I scrutinize the dress to see what he’s so bothered about, and find that the soak in the river has made the white material practically transparent. Apparently, Dolly doesn’t wear a bra. I blush. Wolf looks away, and glares at Pretty Boy when he notices him staring.

  “I’ll change,” Dolly says, though she doesn’t seem overly bothered. She unpacks her old clothing and disappears behind some nearby rocks.

  Wolf clears his throat and looks around. “Where the hell is Tank?”

  “Here, boss!” a strained voice calls back. I turn to see Tank still struggling to reach land. He’s practically waddling through the shallow water. When he finally reaches shore he flops down on his belly, wheezing.

  “Glad you made it, fat-ass,” Wolf says.

  “’Course, we’re all probably gonna die in a few days anyway,” Pretty Boy says. “Seeing as we’ve all been soaking in radiated sewage water.”

  “Aw, shut up. We’ve been soaking in radiation since birth. A bullet’ll probably get us before that does, anyway.”

  “Or an angry townie,” I say.

  “Yeah, or an explosion,” Wolf says. “See, that’s the kind of attitude I’m looking for. With all of this shit to worry about, what’s the chance the radiation will get us first?”

  “Is that supposed to be comforting?” Pretty Boy asks, looking queasy.

  “No, it’s supposed to get you to shut your damn mouth.” Wolf grins and looks around at the lot of us, still sprawled across the ground and trying to catch our bearings. Dolly emerges from the rocks wearing her old wasteland garb. “So, we ready to go?”

  “Are you kidding?” Tank asks.

  “Not a bit,” Wolf says. He looks up at the cliffs on either side. “The Queen will be after us soon, and we need to find a way out of this damn canyon.”

  “Just shoot me now,” Tank groans.

  “Ten minutes to rest, and then we’re off,” Wolf says. He sits down and starts pulling guns out of his pack, inspecting them for damage.

  My backpack—I almost forgot to check it. I sit up and disentangle myself from the straps, dropping the pack into the dirt in front of me. The first thing I notice is that the zipper is open. My chest tightens. I dump out the contents, claw at the inside to make sure there isn’t anything stuck, and then sit back and stare. The only thing left is my dress from the Queen’s, which only survived because it tangled and caught on the zipper. My rations are gone, and my water, and …

  “Shit,” I say, my voice coming out flat despite the hot feeling behind my eyes. “I lost my blanket.”

  “So?” Wolf asks without looking over. So? My chest aches. I suck in a deep breath and slowly let it leak out of me again.

  “It was from my papa,” I say, squeezing the words out of my tightened throat. I press the back of my hand against my eyes, willing myself not to cry. I feel like a child. I don’t want the crew to see me like this. “It was the only thing from him I had left.”

  I lower my hand. Wolf is looking at me, his expression inscrutable. I sit silently, waiting for him to tell me to stop acting like a baby, or that we don’t have time for this shit right now. He sets aside the gun he’s holding, sighs, and stands up.

  “Five minutes,” he says gruffly. I stare up at him. “What are you waiting for? Get off your ass and look. Maybe it got caught on some rocks or somethin’.”

  I wipe my eyes, nod, and scramble onto my feet. Wolf is already wading into the water by the time I’m up. I splash after him and straight over to the nearest clump of rocks. I crouch down and search around with my hands, prodding into every nook and cranny where my blanket could have possibly gotten stuck. I know it’s a long sho
t. The blanket could have ended up anywhere, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping. As soon as I’m positive it’s not here, I move to the next possible place, and then the next. I find a crumpled tin can, and some plastic, and a soggy piece of wood, but no blanket.

  My heart sinks the longer I look, as my optimism gradually fades. Eventually I’m forced to admit I’m not going to find it. I stop my search and stand still, staring at the water rushing by. It’s gone. My beanie is gone. My blanket is gone. The last piece of my papa, gone.

  When I look up, I see that both Dolly and Tank have come to help look as well. Pretty Boy is sitting on the shore with his head in his hands, but at the very least he isn’t complaining about the waste of time. The others are all searching diligently, spread across the width of the river. The tight feeling in my chest loosens.

  Maybe I don’t need memories to keep me going anymore.

  “I think it’s been five minutes.” I cup my hands around my mouth and shout to make sure they can all hear me, because Wolf has wandered pretty far downriver. He turns back and cocks his head to one side. “It’s … it’s gone.” I sigh out a breath and wade back to land. The others follow as I return to my backpack, shove my dress back in, and zip it up. By the time I straighten up, my eyes are dry.

  Dolly’s small hand squeezes my shoulder as she passes by, and Tank stops beside me as he reaches land.

  “Sorry, Kid. You all right?” he asks, looking down at me. I tilt my head up and manage a smile.

  “Yeah, actually. Yeah, I think I am.” I look around for Wolf, and find him back with his guns, wordlessly shoving them into his pack. “Let’s carry on, then.”

  Wolf slings his pack over one shoulder and nods at me.

  “Right,” he says. “You guys heard Kid. Let’s get going.”

  XVIII

  The Plan

  We soon realize escaping isn’t as easy as we thought. The river is at the bottom of a canyon, so cliffs rise up on either side of the water, with only a few rocky outcroppings on the way up.