The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  I open my mouth—and freeze, racking my brains.

  “Uhh,” I say. “Well … it’s …” I can feel color creeping into my face.

  Pretty Boy grimaces.

  “She’s, uh, the special sibling,” he says.

  “Oh, cut the crap,” the townsman says. “I know you’re not siblings, and you’re not traders, either. You’re a good actor, kid, but she’s definitely not.” Pretty Boy starts to say something, but he cuts him off. “Did you really think those disguises were fooling anyone? It’s obvious you all are trying to hide something, and I’m not so stupid I can’t put two and two together, especially not after that transmission about your escape yesterday.”

  Pretty Boy is starting to look trapped. I notice him glancing around, making sure no other townies are closing in on us. His hand sneaks toward his gun.

  “Uh-uh. Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Rat-face juts his chin at the towers. “Snipers all over town.” He takes another step toward us and grins his slimy grin. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”

  “Then what are you waiting for, exactly?” Pretty Boy asks. “You trying to cut some kind of deal with us?”

  “Oh, no, no.” The townsman shrugs. “I don’t care about Saint, or the Queen, or any of this political bullshit. You’re trading us essential supplies, and that’s all I really give a rat’s ass about. I’m a businessman. I’m not interested in making friends or enemies.”

  We both stand there, not sure what to say, and the townsman laughs.

  “Just don’t cause us any trouble, or I really will kill you.”

  “We won’t, sir.”

  “Good. Then I have no problem doing business with sharks.” He gives one final unnerving smile and walks away.

  I unconsciously hold my breath as he leaves, expecting the snipers to start shooting any second, but nothing happens. The townsfolk all seem as friendly and helpful as before, and continue carrying goods back and forth.

  “You trust him?” I ask Pretty Boy.

  “Not a bit,” he says. “We need to get out of here. I’m gonna go talk to Wolf. You make sure we didn’t leave anything in the room.”

  I hate taking orders from Pretty Boy, but it’s a good idea. I run back to the tower, dodging townies and trying not to attract too much attention. I slow down every time someone seems to be staring at me, and speed up again when I’m alone. Once I’m inside the tower, I try to sprint up the stairwell but run out of breath after a couple of floors. I know it didn’t seem that urgent for us to leave, but still. If something happens, I don’t want to be split up.

  Once I reach the room, I hurriedly gather the stray belongings. There’s nothing much, just a few cans of food, my backpack, and some half-empty bottles of water, but anything is worth saving. I shove it into my pack and, on second thought, also grab one of the blankets we used. Before heading back down I peek out the window—and notice, with a feeling of dread, a stream of vehicles approaching the town. They’re all painted black and have a design painted on the side. I squint; it’s a crown.

  I take off running again. The staircase moves by in a blur as I stumble down. All I can think about is how I have to warn the others before the Queen’s men arrive. They’ll recognize everyone instantly, and I doubt this seedy mayor is going to help us. Maybe he even called her here …

  As I round the corner and start down the last stretch of steps, I plow right into someone heading up. He falls backward and we both tumble down a few steps before coming to a rest at the bottom. I find myself on top of Pretty Boy, both of us wide-eyed and breathing hard.

  “Kid,” he says in between breaths. “The—”

  “The Queen is coming!” I blurt out as soon as I get my own breath back.

  “Yeah. We saw.”

  “So where are you going?”

  “To hide.”

  “Pretty Boy!” Of course he would run and hide. I try to get up, but he grabs my arm and holds me there.

  “No, no, listen. We can’t go out there; if she sees our faces it’s over. Dolly’s moving the truck, and Wolf said he had some kind of plan, so …”

  I keep struggling for a few seconds as his words sink in. Wolf has a plan. I hesitate.

  “Is it a good plan? Is it going to actually work?”

  “I don’t know. He looked pretty excited, though.”

  “So … explosives?”

  “Presumably.”

  He releases my arm, and I scoot off as I realize I’m still on top of him. We move on our hands and knees over to the nearby window and poke our heads up to get a better view.

  The Queen’s squad of vehicles is pulling into the town. There are four big trucks, all with the Queen’s obnoxious and rather poorly painted golden crown on the hood and sides. Guards pour out of the trucks, dozens of them, all with guns at the ready. And then the Queen herself emerges. Her leg has a fresh cast. Despite the injury, she moves as grandiosely as possible.

  Our truck is gone, and Dolly and Tank with it. Wolf, however, is standing right out in the open, arms folded across his chest. The town’s mayor is beside him, twitching nervously. Everyone else has vacated the area. I suck in a sharp breath.

  “What is he doing?” I ask. “The Queen is gonna see right through that disguise!”

  “No idea,” Pretty Boy says in a low voice. “But it is Wolf. He must have something batshit crazy up his sleeve. And, against all logic, his plans usually work.”

  “Usually?” That’s not very comforting.

  “Usually,” he says firmly, and I notice sweat running down the side of his face.

  I tense at the sight of the Queen approaching Wolf. All my instincts scream at me to do something, but I repeatedly assure myself Wolf wouldn’t do something this suicidal without a plan.

  I can’t hear what they’re saying to each other from this distance. All I can do is watch the Queen’s extensive hand gesturing. The mayor talks to her, while Wolf stays where he is.

  “What’s happening?” I hiss at Pretty Boy.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know?” He studies the scene, biting his bottom lip. I turn away from the window and creep toward the doorway.

  “I’m gonna get a closer look,” I whisper. He notices me moving away and his eyes widen.

  “No, Kid, just stay here—” He reaches out to grab me, but I scamper away on my hands and knees.

  “I got it, don’t worry!”

  I rise to a crouch once I’m in the doorway. I can’t see Wolf and the townsman from this angle, but I can see the Queen’s escort of vehicles and several guards. I scoot out of the doorway and move toward the building across from me in a slow, awkward shuffle. About halfway there I realize there’s really no benefit in doing this when no one’s even looking this way, and break into a sprint. I reach the doorway and find it locked. My heart sinks, but to the side I spot a window. It has no glass, just a thin blanket covering it. It’s a low window, about even with my chest, so it’s easy enough to squeeze myself through it.

  But the makeshift curtains wrap around me, and I end up fumbling and falling to the floor. With a loud rip of fabric, I land on my back. Only when I’ve managed to sit up and escape from the blanket do I realize I’m not alone.

  Sitting in the corner of the dim, dingy room are two children, a boy and a girl. They’re tiny and thin with eyes too big for their gaunt faces, and they’re both staring at me in sheer terror. I completely forgot this little squat was probably someone’s home.

  I wave at them tentatively, but they only shrink farther back into the corner.

  “Umm, hi,” I say, keeping my voice as quiet and soothing as possible. “I’m not here to hurt you, so—”

  Something hard and metal slams into my skull. I stumble and fall, ears ringing and brains all shook up.

  “Ow! What the—” I turn around just in time to see the frying pan swing toward me a second time. I duck out of the way and scramble across the floor. The woman is skinnier than her kids, practically skin and bones,
but there’s a fire in her eyes that makes her scarier than Tank at his worst. She advances on me, frying pan held above her head. She pauses at a thump behind her, and we both turn to see Pretty Boy climbing through the window.

  “What are you doing here?” I hiss at him. The woman looks back and forth between us, quickly determines who the bigger threat is, and flies at him.

  He grabs her wrists before she can hit him and struggles to get the makeshift weapon out of her grip. Seeing their mother in potential trouble, the two kids run to her aid. The boy attaches himself to one of Pretty Boy’s legs while the girl beats on him with tiny fists.

  “Uh, Kid, a little help?” he says, struggling to keep them all off of him.

  As amusing as it is to watch him get beaten on by little kids, I’m worried about the children getting hurt by all of his flailing around. I grab the girl under the armpits and pick her up. She struggles and yells in my grasp, so I hold her as far away from me as possible and deposit her in a corner. By the time I run back to grab the boy she’s already back again, this time attacking me with her pitifully weak punches. I ignore her and grab the boy, prying his tiny fingers off Pretty Boy’s leg. The boy reattaches to my arm and bites me, hard. I yell and recoil, but he clings to me. Meanwhile, the girl grabs me by the legs and pulls. I flail for a moment before dropping to the floor. Both of them jump on me, hitting and scratching and biting.

  A loud clang echoes through the room, and everything stops. The mother stumbles and falls to the floor. Pretty Boy stands there, breathing hard, frying pan in hand.

  “Mommy!” the girl wails, rushing to her mother’s side. “You killed her!” She starts to sob.

  “Mommy?” The little boy lets go of me and sits there, openmouthed.

  “Pretty Boy! You killed their mommy?!” I yell at him, horrified.

  “I didn’t kill her!” He looks baffled by the reactions. “She’s just knocked out; calm down. And what the hell are you freaking out about, Kid?” He walks over, pulls me up from the floor, and drags me over to a window on the other side of the room. “We’re here to see what’s happening, aren’t we? So stop wasting time.”

  “Stop trying to yank me around!” I slap his hands away, but I know he’s right. I stay low, pull the ratty curtains aside, and look out. We’re a handful of yards away from Wolf now, and I can hear bits and pieces of their conversation. I can see some of the guards, too, standing around and surveying the area. As one looks my way, I duck down lower.

  “Then take off the head-wrap,” the Queen says demandingly. She has her hands on her hips and looks seriously displeased. The townsman is shaking his head; he takes a few steps back from the two of them. Wolf gives a big, theatrical shrug and raises both hands to the cloth wrap. He pauses for a moment—then raises one hand and waves wildly. I’m confused for a second before realizing it must be a signal.

  The Queen backs toward her guards, who are instantly up in arms. They all look around wildly, trying to find whoever Wolf is waving at.

  Nothing happens.

  Wolf drops the hand, then raises it and does it again, this time making the gesture even more over-the-top.

  “Seriously?” he yells. “You tryin’ to make me look stupid or something?”

  “Are we supposed to do something?” I whisper to Pretty Boy.

  “No clue,” he whispers back.

  Then I hear it: a sound like rushing air, growing louder. Those outside all hear it, too. Wolf and the townsman back away from the Queen and her guards. Some of the guards panic and run, while the rest rush to cover the Queen.

  “What is that?” I ask, and just barely see something hit in the middle of the cluster of the Queen’s men before Pretty Boy tackles me to the floor, just in time for the explosion.

  XXIII

  Queen’s Gambit

  The roar of the explosion is deafening. Heat leaks in through the window, followed by smoke. I pull my shirt up and cover my mouth with it. My ears buzz.

  “What was that?” Pretty Boy asks between coughs.

  “A bazooka, I think,” I say, remembering Wolf’s excitement over finding it.

  “Of course. A bazooka. Should’ve known.”

  I look over at the two children and their unconscious mother. I can barely see them through the smoke.

  “You two should stay here, okay?” I say, and move toward the door.

  “We should stay here!” Pretty Boy protests. Nonetheless, he follows me. I push aside the dresser barricading the door, inch it open, and warily peek out the crack.

  At first only the cries of the injured come from the smoke, rising up like the eerie howls of ghosts. But gradually the smoke clears away to reveal the carnage. The explosion took quite a chunk out of the Queen’s escort, leaving bodies everywhere, although there’s still a handful left unharmed. Mayor Rat-Face is gone, likely hightailed it out of here the second he realized a fight was erupting in his town square. The Queen seems unhurt, thanks to a few of her men shielding her. She pushes them away and straightens up. Her expression shifts from fear to simmering rage as she sees the explosion’s aftermath.

  With the last wisps of smoke clearing away, Wolf finally emerges. He’s laughing, of course. He tears off his head-wrap and points at the Queen.

  “Yeah!” he says triumphantly. “Motherfucking bazooka! That’s what I’m talking about!”

  The Queen turns to him, face contorted in rage, and pulls out a gun.

  Before he can even open his mouth, she shoots him in the chest.

  For a second I’m too stunned to move or speak. Then Wolf hits the ground, and I lurch forward.

  “Wolf!” I try to run to him, but Pretty Boy holds me back.

  “No, Kid, no—you’ll get yourself killed.”

  “She’s gonna kill Wolf!”

  “He’s dead already, Kid! Point-blank to the chest, there’s no way—”

  I ignore him and try to squirm free. I break out of his hold and dash forward, only to be tackled into the dust after two steps.

  “Why are you being like this?” he hisses as we fumble on the ground.

  “Why are you always like this?”

  “I’m trying to save our asses!”

  “Well, you’re not helping!”

  I backhand him. He lets out a low hiss of frustration and grabs both of my wrists.

  “Is this about me kissing you?” he asks, contemptuous. “Because if it is, get the fuck over it. It was nothing.”

  Even in my frantic state, that stings. Not just that he’s downplaying the whole incident, but that he thinks being kissed is what I’d be upset about. I didn’t even want to be kissed. I furiously blink back tears.

  “Like I give a shit about that! This isn’t about you! Let me go!”

  After some more back-and-forth scuffling around in the dust, we realize at the same time how quiet it is. I look up to find the Queen staring at us from a few yards away. Her eyes light up upon sight of Pretty Boy.

  “Get them!” she screeches. She’s lost all semblance of composure and elegance. Her eyes are wild in a sweaty face, her white dress torn and dirtied. She looks crazy, and her scowl deepens when her torn-apart group of guards fails to respond immediately. She heads toward us in long, determined strides. A handful of her men straggle after her.

  Pretty Boy and I scramble to our feet, tripping over each other in our hurry to get up, and run in the opposite direction. We squeeze through a narrow alleyway between two buildings, Pretty Boy shoving me forward and frantically whispering at me to hurry up, and keep running. The town is empty, all the townies holed up in their dens. We weave between buildings and piles of garbage and scrap metal. The Queen’s shouting and her men’s footsteps gradually fade away as we lose them. We find a small, doorless hovel and dash inside.

  I drop to a crouch, panting. Pretty Boy stands near the doorway and steals worried glances outside, but it seems we’ve lost them for now. Even as the immediate danger wanes, I feel a deeper fear growing inside me. Thinking of Wolf brings up a
raw, painful flood of emotion, but I force it down and clench my shaking hands at my sides.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask, staring at Pretty Boy. Of course, out of everyone to be stuck with, it had to be him. He’ll probably just run off and leave me alone, and then … and then, what will I do?

  “I don’t know.” Pretty Boy looks even more frightened than I feel, and checks every few seconds to make sure no one is outside. He fiddles nervously with his gun.

  “Well, you said they had a plan, right? Wolf must have something—”

  “Wolf got shot!” he says. I ignore him and keep babbling in an attempt to calm myself down.

  “And someone had to shoot that bazooka, Dolly and Tank must be around—”

  “We don’t know that! And even if they are … with all the Queen’s men, there’s no way the townies will help us …” Pretty Boy finally stops checking out the doorway. He slumps down to the floor with his back against the wall. “Maybe we should turn ourselves in to the Queen.”

  “Don’t be stupid, she’ll hand us over to Saint!”

  “So we should run.”

  “Of course you would say that,” I say. My voice comes out harsher than expected. “That’s all you ever do.”

  “Kid … Kid, listen.” He leans toward me, eyes wide and earnest. “You and me, we aren’t like them. You know that. We’ll just get ourselves killed if we keep doing this. There’s nothing wrong with running away.”

  “There ain’t nowhere to go, Pretty Boy,” I say. “And we’d never last in the wastes on our own.”

  “We’ll figure something out!”

  “No!” I take a deep breath and push my fear back, forcing up anger and determination instead. “You know, you’ve had plenty of opportunities to run off. Every night, every town, the Queen … and you haven’t!”

  “That’s because—”

  “It’s because you’re too scared to even do that!” I’m practically yelling now, but I can’t stop myself. “Because you’ve never actually been on your own! You’ve always had a family or a crew or somebody to take care of you!”

  He doesn’t try to interrupt me this time, but just stares.