The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  As I’m thinking, the gunfire starts.

  Raiders pour out from behind the barrier, three on each side. Only two of them have guns, which they fire wildly at the car; the rest run straight at us, shouting and swinging blunt weapons. I duck my head, slam on the gas, and turn the wheel sharply. The car rams right into two of the approaching raiders, sending one of them rolling over the windshield and crushing the other beneath my tires. The car whines and shudders, but keeps going. I drive out into the wastes, leaving the raiders and their guns behind.

  I’m not sure whether this thing is equipped to handle off-roading, but I don’t have a choice. There’s no way to know how much of the road those raiders have claimed as theirs, so it’s best to avoid it. Luckily, the wastes here are flat and empty. The car rumbles along; it’s a bumpy ride, but it holds together, and seems undamaged other than some bullet holes in the windshield.

  “Ooh,” Jedediah says, sitting up in the passenger seat with his eyes bright. “What an adventure.”

  I suppress a sigh. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with.

  Our path is much more difficult to trace without a road to follow on the map. After driving for a couple hours, and taking additional detours to avoid possibly occupied buildings and trash heaps, I find myself uncertain of our location. I keep the map stretched out across the dashboard and continue glancing at it, but there are no landmarks to look for. Just flat, empty wastes, nothing but occasional shells of buildings.

  After almost an hour of total uncertainty, I see a town on the horizon. I slow down, tracing a finger across the map. Based on our approximate location, there are two options: This town is either Lefton or Bramble. I gnaw my lower lip, considering my options—but really, there aren’t any feasible ones other than stopping. I’ve heard towns around here can be rough, wary, even worse than the east. But I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle.

  “What’s this?” Jedediah asks when we stop, craning his neck to look out the window one way and then the other, finally focusing on the town ahead. “Are we here?”

  I ignore him, shutting off the engine.

  “We’re stopping?” he asks. For the first time, something like alarm crosses his face. “Here? A town? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  I’m not. I’ve heard that western towns can be just as dangerous as raider crews. But I need to find out where we are, make sure we’re headed in the right direction.

  I get out of the car and move around to grab Jedediah. I’m tempted to throw him into the trunk while I’m in town, but I’ll probably need to get in there for supplies if the townies want to trade. Bringing him along still tied up could lead to some unwanted attention … but I definitely don’t trust him free. I settle for gagging him again, despite his protests. He digs his heels into the dirt, but I’m more than strong enough to drag him along behind me.

  “The townies will stone you to death if they know who you are,” I say as we approach. “So I’d suggest laying low.”

  At the edge of town, we’re greeted by three men armed with shotguns. I resist the urge to grab my own gun, though my mind is busily calculating how to survive this if it comes to a gunfight. I could always use Jedediah as a meat shield, though that would make the whole trip here pointless. Better to avoid violence, if possible.

  I stop and raise both hands in the air. It’s almost physically painful to move my hand away from my gun, but I do it, banking on the bet that the townies won’t shoot me unprompted. It’s a risky bet, especially in the western wastes, but I don’t have many choices.

  “Who’re you?” one man barks at us. “What d’you want?”

  “We’re lost,” I say. “Want to know where we are.”

  The townies look at each other, exchanging shrugs, but nobody lowers their gun.

  “Got no business with strangers,” one says, gesturing with the barrel of his shotgun back at my car. “Get goin’.”

  I sigh, lowering my hands and rolling back my shoulders. I guess townies are the same no matter where you are.

  “Tell me one thing and I’ll go. Is this Bramble or Lefton?”

  They continue scowling at me, not relaxing their holds on their guns.

  Goddamn townies and their fear of outsiders. I can’t blame them, especially in this area of the wastes, but this is ridiculous. My pride won’t allow me to turn and leave without getting something. But how can I get them to trust an outsider?

  That’s when it hits me.

  “You guys heard of a man named Saint?” I ask. Hopefully Alex’s information was good, and this place isn’t too backwater and isolated to know who he is. The three men squint at me, but the one in the middle lowers his gun just a little.

  “What about him?” he asks.

  “I’m headed his way,” I say. I grab Jedediah by the arm and haul him forward. He tries to scoot backward, but I hold him in place, and his feet scramble uselessly in the sand. “Following the broadcast. Got a present for him.”

  There’s a long pause. I wonder if maybe I made a mistake telling them this. Maybe not all the towns support Saint, or maybe they’ll get the notion to take him in themselves. I almost reach for my gun, but one man lowers his weapon to his side, and the other two follow.

  “Well, if you’re doing Saint’s business, you can’t be too bad,” the man in the middle says, almost grudgingly. “You got anything to trade?”

  I have to stop myself from scoffing at the idea. As if these townies have anything that would be worth my precious food and water. I’ve got enough—which is more than a lot of people in the wastes can say—but barely so.

  “No,” I say. “I just wanna know where I am.”

  Their scowls are back in an instant, though thankfully their guns stay lowered.

  “Surely you’ve got something to make it worth our while,” one of them says. “Seeing as you’re heading across the wastes to Saint an’ all, and got them nice guns.”

  Noticing their hungry eyes on the pistol at my hip, it takes all of my resolve not to draw it on them. I take a deep breath and let it out. Goddamn townies … I really don’t want to hand over any supplies, but I guess I don’t have a choice.

  “Fine,” I say. “Might be able to spare a couple cans of food.”

  Just one more day till Saint, I tell myself as I grudgingly hand two cans of food in exchange for a bottle of dirty water. Once I reach him and claim my reward, I’ll have everything I need and plenty more. Still, I hate wasting supplies, and will likely have to throw this water out rather than drink it. But these townies are stubborn as hell about trading. At least they finally give me what I’m really here for: the name “Lefton.” I dodge the question about where I’m coming from, avoid giving a name, and make damn sure not to breathe the name Jedediah Johnson. I’m not so dumb as to think that I’m not recognizable if someone is looking for me, but once I reach the safety of Saint’s tower it won’t be an issue.

  Just one more day. Then Jedediah will be out of my hands, and this whole business will be over and done with. I keep telling myself that as I finish haggling with the townies, letting the conversation drag just long enough that I hopefully won’t offend them. Once we reach a deal, I head back toward where I left Jedediah with some townies to watch him, ready to get out of here.

  But Jedediah isn’t there. I pause, staring at the spot in the dirt where I left him.

  Alarm bells ring in my head. Maybe I was right before, in thinking that telling these townies too much was a bad idea. Or maybe one of them had the bright idea of removing Jedediah’s gag, and he convinced them to free him …

  Heat spreads through my chest and simmers there. My hand finds my gun. I grip it tightly and turn to look at the townies. I don’t want to hurt these people, but if they’ve turned against me, I have no choice.

  I’ll take the armed men first. Then I can use one of the younger women as a hostage. Hopefully, that will minimize the casualties and allow me to get out of here with Jedediah.

  “Somethin’ wrong?�
�� one of the men asks, nervously eyeing my gun.

  “Where,” I ask in a soft, dangerous voice, “is my prisoner?”

  I survey the townies, looking for signs of guilt. One young woman turns an alarming shade of red. I focus on her, taking a step closer so I tower over her.

  “He asked for a drink of water,” she says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger and shrinking down. “So, um, we took him inside to give him some and—”

  “Where?” I ask. She jumps, and points a finger at the nearest building. I shove her out of the way and step inside. I try to stay calm, but my pulse is racing as I think of all the things Jedediah could have gotten into. I guess these townies haven’t intentionally turned against me, but they are apparently dumb as rocks, which is almost worse. Clearly they don’t know what Jedediah is capable of. This is the man who conquered the eastern wastes, kept an iron grip on the towns there; the man who burned down an entire town for one act of rebellion. He could have gotten free, found a weapon. He could’ve taken out half the town and been long gone by now. He could’ve …

  Been sitting on the floor of a house, surrounded by a ring of children. I stop as I catch sight of him. The first thing I notice is that some idiot did have the bright idea of removing his gag, which he’s taking full advantage of at the moment, telling some kind of ridiculous story that involves a rocket launcher and mutant bears to the small collection of townie children. He gestures wildly—an impressive feat considering his wrists are, thankfully, still bound—and the kids around him squeal with laughter. Frowning, I make my way closer. A couple of the children turn to me as I approach, and the laughter dies out quickly as they see my scowling, burnt face. Jedediah is the last one to notice me. He pauses midsentence, looks up at me, and grins.

  “Oh, hi, Clementine,” he says, using his limited hand motion for a small wave.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest and glaring down at him. I’m trying very hard to restrain my temper right now, both at him and at the townies who were dumb enough to let their kids near him. Not that I’m much a fan of children—I find them kind of creepy, really—but still. It’s the principle of the matter.

  “Telling them a story,” he says, all smiles and innocence. As if he’s the kind of person who genuinely enjoys sitting around telling stories to small children.

  “The legend of Jedediah Johnson!” a young boy says. I stare at him. Though he’s dirty and stick thin, his eyes are wide and sparkling at the moment. “He’s a really famous hero!”

  “Really famous,” Jedediah agrees, nodding. “Also very smart, and strong, and handsome.”

  “And born from radio garbage!”

  “Radioactive waste, actually, but close,” Jedediah says.

  The children all nod excitedly, and I relax a bit. Clearly, they know nothing about the real Jedediah Johnson, only the bullshit that the man is currently spewing about himself.

  “Finish telling the story,” a young girl pipes up. “I wanna hear about how he saved all the towns!”

  “We-ell,” Jedediah says. “First he—”

  “Where I come from,” I say, cutting him off, “they say Jedediah Johnson eats children who trust strangers too much.”

  The children all turn away from Jedediah to stare at me, their eyes huge in their little faces, mouths gaping. Jedediah gapes along with them, as if he’s also shocked by the news that Jedediah Johnson is a horrible person. I nod, struggling to keep a straight face. “Then he wears their teeth as a necklace.”

  This stuns them all into silence for a solid few seconds. Jedediah is the first to recover, his expression shifting from shocked to affronted.

  “That,” he says, “is simply not true. How dare you slander the name of Jedediah Johnson—”

  I grab him by the front of his shirt and haul him up before he can continue. I yank him toward the door, but he turns to do one last final wave at the children, many of whom look on the verge of tears now.

  “Bye!” he says cheerfully, and I pull him out the door.

  “What the hell was that?” I hiss at him, ignoring the goodbyes of the townies as we march back to the car. “What did I tell you about laying low?”

  “Oh, come on,” Jedediah says. “I was just having a little fun.” He eyes me, still smiling in the face of my wrath. “Got a lot more fun when you made the kiddos cry, though.”

  “I just gave them a dose of reality.”

  “Me eating children is not a reality!” he says, seeming offended by the notion. “Not enough meat on them, anyway. I don’t see what the point would be …”

  “More tender, I’d imagine,” I say without thinking about it. Jedediah’s head turns sharply in my direction, his eyebrows rising. I open my mouth to say something to defend myself, but before I can, he lets out a delighted laugh.

  “Did you actually just make a joke, Clementine?” he asks. “Or was it just a creepy slip of the tongue? Either way, I support it.”

  I grit my teeth. I shouldn’t be engaging with a prisoner. It’s a slippery slope, associating with people like him. It’s already fucking with the way I think.

  Just one more day, I tell myself. One more day, and I’ll be rid of him.

  X

  Saint’s Tower

  Though I want nothing more than to speed to Saint’s radio tower the next day, I force myself to be patient and careful. The area nearby is treacherous; there are some larger towns I’d prefer to avoid, as well as a minefield I need to drive around, according to the map Alex gave me. I’m painstakingly careful to ensure that I’m taking the right roads, heading the right direction. I’m not going to come all this way just to die thanks to a goddamn mine.

  Jedediah is quiet in the passenger seat. Maybe he realizes how close we’re getting, how near at hand his judgment is. If this Saint does hold trials, I have no doubt Jedediah will be deemed guilty. Hell, if Saint wants me to, maybe I’ll even stay awhile and testify against him myself, and stay to watch him hang too. Jedediah may not be the man I thought he’d be—he’s awfully cheerful and very talkative for a ruthless dictator—but it changes nothing about what he’s done.

  Finally, the radio tower appears on the horizon. It’s a sight to behold, tall and prominent, shiny metal in a dusty world. Saint’s headquarters are in the building beside it, according to the map, but I can’t see it from where I currently am, heading up the side of a hill. I jam the pedal, eager to have the end in sight, and the car huffs and puffs its way up the rest of the hill.

  Once we reach the top, Saint’s headquarters come into sight—and I slam on the brakes. Jedediah yelps as he’s thrown forward, but I ignore him, completely fixated on the sight ahead.

  Someone drove a fucking truck into Saint’s headquarters.

  One wall of the building is completely destroyed, a huge semitruck sticking half out of it. Smoke still rises from the wreckage.

  “What the fuck?” I ask the air. I reverse down the back side of the hill, stopping the car in a spot where it shouldn’t be visible from Saint’s headquarters. I reach into the back for one of my bags, grab my binoculars, and climb out of the car. As an afterthought, I drag Jedediah out as well, and haul him behind me as we head for the top of the hill.

  There, I fall to a crouch, pulling Jedediah down beside me, and scope out the building below. I scan it, searching for any signs of what’s going on down there. It’s easy enough to see that this was an attack. But more importantly, who’s winning? Should I get down there and try to help Saint, or will it be suicide?

  Soon enough, my question is answered.

  They pour out of the building—or rather crash out of it, violent and sudden, like a wave with a grudge against the shore. Raider, after raider, after raider emerges from the doors. They keep coming until it becomes a mob, huge and boisterous and rowdy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people together in one place, let alone raiders. I never imagined it would be possible for so many of them to get together without killing each other.


  And these aren’t the kinds of raiders I’m used to, not the well-equipped, well-trained, purposeful ones that make up Jedediah’s crew. These are scarred and pierced and tatted, clothes shredded and bloodstained, armed with rusty knives and baseball bats and iron pipes. They boil and seethe with restless energy. Some are busy—loading up vehicles, arguing with each other, prepping for some kind of journey—while others stand around. But all of them are angry, restless, ready for something, radiating bloodlust. The air brims with the promise of violence. It’s only a matter of time before it erupts.

  I don’t understand what’s happening here, why there are so many raiders or where they came from, but I know a bad situation when I see one. Fuck the Saint plan. Even a huge bounty for Jedediah, and the life-changing effects it could have on my reputation, is not worth getting caught in this crossfire. Especially out here in the west, raiders are wild, and ruthlessly violent. I’m sure they’ll tear us apart if they find us, just for kicks.

  I lower my binoculars and take a deep breath. In, out. Panic surges in my chest, but I force it down. Now is not the time to lose control. I think I’m doing a decent job of covering it up, but Jedediah is looking at me out of the corner of his eye, very still and very quiet, like he expects any sudden motion or sound will make me snap.

  “We need to go,” I say after a moment of collecting myself. There’s no time to waste. Some of those raiders have vehicles, and vehicles a hell of a lot bigger and more powerful than the piece of shit I’m driving. We need as much of a head start as possible if we want any hope of making it to safety. Thankfully, Jedediah nods and keeps his mouth shut.

  I edge backward down the hill before climbing to my feet, and stay crouched even then, moving slowly. When I pull Jedediah off the ground, he follows my lead. He’s quiet for once. I’m grateful for that, though it’s also concerning. Considering his cheerful, blasé attitude even when he was being kidnapped and had a gun to his head, the fact that he’s taking this so seriously means that we’re in some real deep shit.