The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  I launch myself at the person, bellowing out a war cry, and sink the glass shard into soft flesh. It doesn’t cut deeply or easily, but it does its job. I feel the skin break and the glass sink in another few centimeters. It gives me a thrill of victory—until I realize the person I just stabbed wasn’t Saint at all.

  He yells.

  I scream.

  “Did you just fucking stab me, Kid?!” Wolf shouts, looking down at the shard of glass sticking out of his arm.

  “I thought you were Saint!” I say, still frozen in my just-stabbed-a-guy stance.

  “How fucking dumb are you?”

  “How the hell was I supposed to know it was you?” I shoot back, refusing to back down.

  “Fucking shit God damn—” He grits his teeth, growls under his breath, and yanks out the glass. A gush of blood rushes to escape. Luckily it doesn’t seem like I hit anything important. Wolf presses a dirty hand to the wound to stem the flow, glaring at me like he wishes it was my throat he was constricting. “You’re lucky I didn’t blow your head off.”

  Considering he’s wielding a shotgun, I do consider myself pretty damn lucky. I give Wolf a once-over. He’s looking pretty worse for wear. The pillows are gone and his shirt has been torn to shreds, leaving only the ragged-looking bulletproof vest. Scrapes and bruises decorate his arms, and there’s an ugly gash across his forehead.

  “You look like shit,” I say.

  “So do you, but that’s normal.” He scans the bare room with growing confusion. “What the hell were you doing in here?”

  “Some guards brought me up. Saint wanted to talk to me.”

  “Saint? He was here?” He turns in a circle rapidly, pointing the barrel of his gun at each corner of the room as if expecting to find him hiding.

  “Yeah, he left a couple minutes ago and—wait, Wolf, listen!” I grab his arm as he turns to leave again. “This guy, Saint, he’s not at all like he’s pretending to be. He’s trying to recruit us for some big raider army of his.”

  “Raider army?” Wolf stops and squints at me, processing the information. “And that’s why he’s taking people. Huh.” He nods slowly. “That makes sense. I knew one of the assholes I killed looked just like this guy Big Ben. So Saint is just tricking everyone into thinking he’s the good guy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Man, that’s fucked-up. Knew he was an asshole.” He chews on his lip. A second or two passes, and his eyes widen, as if some big realization just hit him. “Wait … so Saint is actually the bad guy.” He presses his lips into a firm line, nose wrinkling in distaste. “Does that make us the good guys?”

  I pause, mulling it over, and slowly nod.

  “Yeah, I guess it kind of does?”

  “Damn.” He shakes his head, looking seriously annoyed. “When this is over and done with, we better ransack the shit out of all the nearby towns so no one gets the wrong impression.”

  “Good plan. But first, let’s kill this guy.”

  “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

  Part of me wants to ask if he knows where the others are, but I know the answer will be more of a distraction than anything. If we lost someone … I don’t want to find out now. I want to hear it later, when I have time to grieve. If I’m the only one that made it this far, Wolf needs me, and I’m not going to let him down.

  XXX

  The Good Guys

  The building is surprisingly quiet except for the occasional muffled gunshot from below. Aside from a few bodies, presumably Wolf’s handiwork, this floor is empty. It’s almost eerie to be so alone after all the chaos. My body is still convinced it should be in fighting mode, my senses at their peak and my heart pounding despite the lack of action. I jump at every sound and check every corner for danger. Meanwhile, Wolf strides ahead with his typical lack of fear. We reach the stairwell without incident and start the climb to the top floor.

  “You really think we can take him?” I ask. My whole body is sore, but I have to keep pushing forward. If I stop to rest, I’ll crash. I can’t afford to be tired or hurt right now. I wait for an answer, but none comes. “Wolf?”

  “’Course we can,” he says finally. He stops and turns to face me, and I see what delayed his answer. He’s breathing hard—really hard, each deep breath punctuated with a wince. Beads of sweat run down his grimy face.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, knowing he’s not.

  “Fucking fantastic.” He clambers up the last stretch of stairs. I frown and follow more slowly. One foot slips on the stair he stopped on. I grab the handrail and look down to see a pool of blood. My gaze drifts up the stairs, following the red trail Wolf’s leaving behind him.

  “Wolf …” I follow him to the top. He leans against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. “You’re hurt.”

  “No shit. I was stabbed by a small, ugly girl about five minutes ago.”

  I feel a twinge of guilt, but it’s easy to see that the wound on his arm isn’t the real problem here.

  “You got shot,” I say. “Where?”

  He looks as if he wants to argue, but stops himself. He lifts up his shirt, wincing as the fabric peels off the wound. Breath hisses through my teeth. It’s a bullet hole all right, and an ugly one, right through the fleshy part just above his hip.

  “That bad?” he asks.

  “Pretty bad.”

  “Well, can’t do nothin’ about it now.” He lowers his shirt and steps closer to the door, resting a hand on the knob. “You coming?”

  I raise my eyes to his face, now recognizing the pain beneath the hard set of his jaw.

  “I think you should stay behind,” I say, the words popping out before I have much time to think about them. He lets out a startled laugh, the sound echoing off the walls of the stairwell.

  “You’re screwing with me, right?”

  “No. I’m serious. You’re hurt.” I bite my lip, struggling to maintain my newfound confidence. “And I can do it on my own.”

  “We don’t even know what’s in there.” Despite the words, he takes his hand off the door handle and turns to face me. My heart jumps—he’s listening. He’s taking me seriously.

  “When have we ever? And we’ve done pretty good up till this point.”

  “That was different.”

  “I can do this,” I say. “On my own. Let me prove it.” He doesn’t look convinced. “Come on, give me a chance to be the hero for once.” I pause. “Or … the villain? I’m still a little confused about where we stand as far as that goes?”

  “Don’t think about it too hard, you’ll hurt yourself,” he says. But he isn’t saying no. He takes a deep breath and wipes the back of one hand across his forehead. “Look, Kid, you don’t have to do this. Me, Tank, Dolly, we wouldn’t make it in a normal world. We ain’t never gonna settle down in some town and live a peaceful life. We’re too fucked-up. That’s why we’re here, see? It’s our way of life at stake here. Good guy, fake good guy, whatever he is, this Saint wants to change the wastes, and that would mean we’re done for. But not you, Kid. You’re different. You can still make it.”

  “And just leave you guys?”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” I ask. “I haven’t had a home in a long time. But you guys, you’re …”

  “Don’t you get all choked up on me,” Wolf says, but without the usual biting tone.

  “Sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “It’s just … I wouldn’t want to live in a world without you or Dolly or Tank, even if it means my life is a whole lot shorter because I’m with you. I know I don’t have to do this, but I want to.” Ignoring the burning feeling behind my eyes, I try to shape my face into a fierce expression. “And I’m one of you now. I got this, Wolf.”

  Wolf scrutinizes me silently. I do my best to hold it together. I know Wolf hates this kind of emotional talk, but I can’t think of any other way to get through to him.

  “Fine,” he says finally. “But it ain’t �
�cause of that sappy shit you said. It’s just ’cause I know you’ll charge in like an idiot even if I say no.”

  “Thanks,” I say, smiling despite my best attempt to conceal my emotions. Unable to help myself, I step forward and wrap my arms around Wolf in a hug. He stiffens, but rather than pulling away, pats me awkwardly on the back.

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go thanking me yet, you’ll probably get shot up the second you go in there,” he says. I step back and nod, readying myself with my gun again.

  “Time to go kick some ass,” I say cheerfully.

  “Not with that gun,” he says. “Give me that.”

  I hesitantly hand over my pistol. He pushes his sawed-off shotgun into my hands.

  “Much better,” he says, although I feel a bit ridiculous carrying it. “If anything’s gonna get your skinny ass through this, it’ll be that baby. But remember, only two shots, all right? So make ’em count.”

  “Got it,” I say. “Thanks, Wolf.”

  “Go give ’em hell.”

  He opens the door for me and I step through. As the door swings shut behind me, I feel utterly alone.

  The top floor is as silent and empty as the last one. As soon as I step out of the safety of the stairwell, all of my senses are on alert. Blood pumps overzealously through my veins. My hands shake, making the barrel of my gun wobble. Just because I’m willing to die doesn’t mean I particularly want to, and despite my big words I’m scared. This is it: the final showdown. All the fighting, all the struggle, all of it has led up to this. Despite my anxiousness, I don’t let my steps falter. Teeth clenched and gun raised, I swing into the first doorway—and stop. It’s empty.

  I break through another two doors and find both as empty as the first. The floor doesn’t seem to hold anything other than old furniture and cobwebs. It makes me wonder if Saint is even up here. That’s when I notice the room at the end of the hallway. The door is open, and it looks like there’s a light on inside.

  I guess I probably should have checked that one first. There’s a very high possibility that it’s a trap—but what am I supposed to do, back off? No way, not after giving that cheesy speech. I’m not gonna run back to Wolf with my tail between my legs.

  I walk toward the room, barrel pointed at the doorway, and step inside.

  Saint is waiting for me. He’s surrounded with some kind of machinery I’ve never seen in my life, all alive with light and sound. Like I noticed, he even has a light on. Real electricity. I’ve heard some towns have it, but I’ve never seen it before. It’s like magic. I find it hard not to gawk at the sight, but remind myself why I’m here and focus on Saint instead, keeping my gun trained on him.

  To my surprise, he’s unarmed, holding his hands palms out to display his lack of a weapon.

  “You?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you to walk in here alone,” he says. “But that’s fine. I want to talk. Work out a deal. Decimating each other’s forces doesn’t do any good for either of us. Look: no guards, no guns. Just me, ready to be reasonable.”

  I sweep my eyes around the room, searching for any good hiding spots. I don’t see any.

  “Okay,” I say, not lowering my gun. The situation seems safe for the moment, but I don’t want to let my guard down. “So, say we join you. What exactly does that look like for us?”

  He eyes the gun, looks like he’s considering saying something about it, but then smiles instead. He leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, his posture relaxed.

  “You’ll continue working together as your own individual crew,” he says. “Only thing that changes is that Wolf answers to me. I’ll tell you what towns to hit. Sometimes you’ll work alone, sometimes with other groups. You carry out raids like usual, and then give me a percentage of the loot.”

  “A big percentage?”

  “A fair percentage. And you can trade supplies with me or the other crews if you need something.”

  I turn my attention back to his plan, and try to envision the world he proposes. An army of raiders would sweep through the wastelands easily. With the Queen gone, Saint is the only powerhouse left; maybe he even planned on her dying. The townies won’t stand a chance.

  “So, your army takes over,” I say slowly. “And then you’re in charge of everything.”

  “That’s the plan,” Saint says. “In a way, I really will be bringing peace to the wastelands.”

  “Okay, one last question,” I say. “Is the rest of my crew okay?”

  Saint leans forward, hands on his knees, and smiles broadly.

  “They’re all perfectly intact and alive last I heard. Now, about our deal—”

  Bang.

  Saint’s face slowly changes from surprised to baffled to angry. He looks down at himself as a red stain spreads across his chest. I lower the barrel of my gun.

  “That’s all I needed to know,” I say. “Thanks!”

  His eyes are still wide open and full of hate. He opens his mouth to say something, but the attempt produces nothing more than a bloody gurgle. I wince.

  “Umm, this is awkward. I thought for sure that would kill you.” I raise the gun again, point it right at his extremely pissed-off face this time. “Well, here we go again.”

  Bang.

  “And that’s it?” Wolf asks as we head down the stairs. His wound slows him down, and I walk ahead of him with a bounce in my step.

  “Well, yeah. Then I banged up the radio equipment as best I could and left. I thought about using the explosives, but it looked pretty broken already.” I grin and whirl to look at him. “Seriously, though, you should’ve seen the look on Saint’s face.”

  “No epic speech, no nothing?” Wolf asks, frowning. I sigh, disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm.

  “Nah, I already got the speech out of my system. Figured I should just end it quickly.”

  “Honestly, I’m kind of disappointed.” He shakes his head. “All of that buildup for nothing.”

  I sigh as we reach the bottom of the stairwell. Regardless of what Wolf thinks, I think I did a damn good job. I reach for the door, pull it open—and nearly jump out of my skin as a burst of gunfire comes from the other side. I slam the door shut, pressing my body against it to hold it closed.

  “Oh shit,” I say, my eyes wide. “I kind of forgot there’s still the whole ‘army of raiders’ issue.”

  “Yep,” Wolf says, looking more resigned than startled. “I don’t really have a plan for this part.” After a moment’s consideration, he yanks his shotgun out of my hands, hands me my pistol, and leans against the wall beside the doorway.

  “Saint said Dolly and Tank are fine, so maybe if we meet up with them …” I trail off, realizing it still seems unlikely that this turns out well for us. Even with Saint gone, there are so many raiders remaining. My gut twists. Could this really be the end of the line? After we came all this way, took care of Saint and his radio, did the job we came here to do—are we just gonna die like this?

  “Well,” Wolf says. “At least we’ll go out with a bang.” He faces the door with his shotgun. “On the count of three, you open it and we go in, guns blazing. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I swallow back nerves and grab the door handle with one hand, my gun in the other. I look at Wolf.

  “One,” he says. “T—”

  “Wait, on three or after three?” I blurt out. Wolf sighs, lowering his gun.

  “On three, dumbass. C’mon, you’re killing my adrenaline rush here.”

  “Okay. On three. Right.”

  “One … two … th—”

  The door slams open from the other side, smacking me in the face and sending me stumbling backward. I hit the floor on my ass. The door separates me from Wolf for a moment, and when it closes again I see three of Saint’s raiders on him.

  Cursing, I scramble to my feet and throw myself at the only one with a gun, sending both of us crashing to the floor in a heap. I end up on top of him—and my pistol skitters across the
floor, out of reach. Shit. I grapple with him for his gun, struggling to keep the barrel aimed away from me. When it becomes clear I’m never going to overpower him, I free one hand and jab him in the eye with a finger. He howls in pain, and I successfully yank the gun out of his grip and turn it on him.

  An arm wraps around my neck from behind. My captor lifts me up, away from the man beneath me. I struggle to break free, my feet barely scraping the ground as he pulls me off my feet, and fire the gun wildly in an attempt to hit whoever’s holding me. He lets out a grunt of pain, but the arm around my neck only pulls tighter. My breath is cut off; stars dance in my vision. Desperate, I aim at the man still on the floor below us. If I can at least take out one of them, then maybe—

  “Hold up!” Wolf shouts, and I stop, my finger freezing where it was about to pull the trigger. I can’t move my head, but I shift my eyes to the side to get a glimpse of Wolf. He’s face-to-face with the third raider. I now recognize her as the woman who captured me before, the one with the Mohawk and meat cleaver—which is currently raised above her head like she was just about to strike. Wolf is staring at her intently; she’s staring at the shotgun in his hands, currently pointed right at her face. “Aren’t you Betty?” he asks. “From Big Ben’s crew?”

  The woman starts, raising her eyes to Wolf’s face and squinting.

  “Wolf?” She pauses for a moment before grinning toothily and lowering her weapon. “Ahh, I remember you. So you’re the asshole crazy enough to attack Saint’s headquarters. I should’ve guessed.”

  They grin at each other, shotgun and meat cleaver both lowering. I let out a choked gurgle, since they seem to have forgotten I’m still being strangled over here. Betty glances over and jerks a hand. The pressure eases up as the man releases me. I take a deep gulp of air and glance at the guy, satisfied to see that my wildly fired bullet has taken a chunk out of his ear. I shoot one last glare at him and grab my pistol from the floor before moving over to Wolf’s side.

  “So,” Betty says. “I’m hoping you guys have realized that Saint’s not really Mr. Law-and-Order?”