The Wastelanders

by K. S. Merbeth

  “Well, he sounds like an asshole to me, calling himself a king,” Wolf says. “If we run into the guy, I say we kill him.”

  I bite back a curse. I knew Jedediah’s crew was drawing near to this area, but I didn’t know he was quite that close, and didn’t think the raiders might intentionally start shit with him. If that happens, our plan of hiding among the army will fall apart. And if it comes down to that, I wonder, will Jed side with me, or his father? I glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction to Wolf’s words, but he shows none except for a small twist of his mouth.

  “Anyway,” Tank says, “if I can make a suggestion to lighten the mood …” He reaches into his bag, pulls out a plastic bottle, and holds it up triumphantly. “Got a surprise in town.”

  “Oh, damn,” Wolf says. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Pretty sure it’s vodka,” Tank says, squinting at the unlabeled bottle. “Or moonshine. I dunno. Something that smells like rubbing alcohol. I bashed a guy’s head in to grab it.”

  Wolf whistles under his breath and holds out his hands. Tank tosses the bottle to him.

  “Ugh,” Kid says, her nose wrinkling. “I’m not touching that stuff again.”

  “Suit yourself, kiddo,” Wolf says, unscrewing the top. “More for me.”

  What he should’ve said is “more for Jed,” as it turns out. Soon enough, my companion is unsteady in his seat and talking much too loudly, with plenty of over-the-top hand gestures that throw him further off-balance. He spouts off story after story, spinning some ridiculous yarn about how we ended up here. The crew doesn’t seem to suspect it’s a lie, or if they do, they don’t care. Tank and Wolf laugh uproariously at each of his stories, and he even earns himself one small smile from Dolly, though Kid still seems wary of him.

  As for me, I keep a careful eye on Jed. I didn’t expect him to actually get drunk. I haven’t taken a sip myself. I’m not usually one to turn down a drink or two if the opportunity arises, but it seems too risky in this situation, surrounded by people who would kill both of us if they knew the truth. But Jed seems to have no reservations, taking eager swigs every time he gets ahold of the bottle, getting progressively drunker and messier. I don’t like the way he’s letting his guard down, or the way he’s talking so much as a result. It seems like it’s only a matter of time before some little lie causes suspicion—or even worse, he lets out something true.

  I try to act like I’m just relaxing by the fire, but I listen very carefully to every word out of his mouth. More than anything I want to knock the bottle out of his hands, or drag him away to shut him up, but I know that will only arouse suspicion. We have to keep acting like we have nothing to hide. And Jed’s constant chatter does do that job … as long as he can keep pulling it off.

  “Really, though,” he says, holding his hands up to get everyone’s attention, which he clearly already has. “Let’s talk about Jedediah Johnson. The man, the king, the legend—”

  “All right, well, I think my partner here has had more than enough,” I say, cutting him off. He’s spewed out a lot of bullshit tonight, but we definitely don’t need another conversation along those lines. I grab Jed’s arm and haul him upright. He sways on his feet, murmuring slurred protests. “It’s time for bed,” I tell him firmly. He pouts at me, but he shuts up, and doesn’t resist as I pull him away from the fire. I grab the blankets we looted from Fort Cain and throw them over my shoulder as we head for the edge of camp.

  “Not gonna sleep by the fire?” Tank shouts after us.

  “Nope,” I yell back. My skin is still crawling from the blaze earlier, and I have no desire to sleep anywhere near flames. Plus, it’s risky being around the crew with Jed like this. As we leave the warm glow of the fire he pulls back, digging his heels into the sand.

  “But it’s cold out there!”

  “Should’ve thought of that before you downed half a bottle of moonshine and started running your mouth,” I say. “I knew your scrawny ass couldn’t handle the liquor.”

  “I’m handling it fine,” he protests, right before tripping on a rock. I turn and grab him with both arms to yank him back upright, and we end up face-to-face. It’s dark now that we’re not by the fire, too dark to see him clearly. He sways toward me, and I place a hand on his chest. The plan was to push him away, but instead I end up resting it there.

  We stand still in the darkness for a few moments, breathing quietly, and eventually something dawns on me. I frown and pull Jed closer by the shirt; he initially leans in, and then back when I give a loud sniff.

  “Uh, Clementine? What the hell?” he asks, startled. I scowl at him, and release the handful of shirt I was clutching. He stumbles back and falls to the ground.

  “Woah there,” he says. “Be kind to the poor drunk man.”

  I fold my arms over my chest and glare down at him.

  “You’re not drunk,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Not a whiff of alcohol on you.” With the amount he supposedly drank, he should’ve reeked of the stuff. Yet just a few inches away from him, I couldn’t smell even a hint of it on his breath.

  Jed throws back his head and laughs.

  “All right, you caught me,” he says, holding up his hands to admit surrender. “I had you fooled for a while though, didn’t I?”

  “Hmph.” I silently watch him climb to his feet. Once upright, he spreads his arms and bows, gesturing with one hand as if to encourage applause. But the only audience he has is me, standing with my arms folded and a scowl on my face. After a moment he peeks up at me, grins, and straightens back to his full height.

  “I can’t tell if that’s your genuinely-pissed-off scowl or your I’m-secretly-pleased scowl,” he says thoughtfully, squinting at me. “It’s a little too dark.”

  “I only have one. It’s my shut-the-fuck-up-Jed scowl.”

  He laughs, and I roll my eyes and turn away from him, spreading a blanket on the ground. I toss three of them to Jed and arrange my own two into a makeshift bed. I have a sinking suspicion even two blankets won’t do much to ward off the cold. I’m still not used to sleeping out in the open … but even knowing that Jed isn’t drunk, I refuse to sleep near the fire, surrounded by raiders. Just the distant crackle of their fire and murmur of conversation is enough to make me feel uncomfortably vulnerable.

  I settle into my blankets, and turn to see Jed setting up his own several feet away on the ground.

  “What are you doing over there?” I ask, my brow furrowing. He pauses, looking up at me with a blanket clutched in his hands.

  “Huh?” he asks. I sigh, and point at the ground beside my own nest of bedding.

  “Get over here,” I say. He stares at me for a moment longer, and slowly his face splits in a grin.

  “Oh,” he says, dragging the sound out with a ridiculous waggle of his hips. “What’s this, hmm? I thought you’d never a—”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” I say, cutting him off. “I’d just rather not freeze my ass off. We need the body heat.” Before this trip to the west, it had been a long time since I slept outdoors. The blistering heat of the wastes can make it easy to forget how bitterly cold it gets when it’s dark, but the nights where I was trailing the poachers were a good reminder. I’m not planning on spending another night racked by shivers.

  “Oh, right,” Jed says, his obnoxious grin fading. But it doesn’t faze him for long; soon enough, he’s right at my side.

  He pulls his blankets on top of us both and burrows himself snugly against me. I grumble at the touch of cold skin and the uncomfortable closeness, attempting to find a comfortable position. It doesn’t prove easy, especially since Jed seems to be made of pointy elbows and knees. The worst, though, is his face, looming up way too close. His breath is warm on my cheek.

  “Turn around,” I say gruffly.

  Jed laughs.

  “No need to be shy.”

  “I’m not being shy,” I say. “I just don’t want you breathing on my face.”

 
; I firmly grab him by the shoulders and turn him over. He doesn’t fight it. I pull him against me, curving my body around his, one arm ending up wrapped around his torso because it doesn’t make sense to put it anywhere else. We finally settle into a position that doesn’t involve being awkwardly tangled in each other, or elbowing each other in the stomach. Finally, I admit to myself that this is actually pretty comfortable, and definitely warmer. I relax, listening to the sound of our quiet breathing, glad that the crackling of the fire is far away.

  “Knew you’d wanna be the big spoon,” Jed mutters, and I jab him in the side.

  “Shut up, I’m sleeping,” I mumble against his ear.

  “Good night, Clementine.”

  “Good night, Jed.”

  XX

  Crewmates

  In the morning, Jed and I sleepily untangle ourselves from the blankets and each other at first light. We pack up camp quickly and quietly with the raiders, and set off.

  We move with the horde.

  Wolf’s crew keeps their distance from the others, but they keep pace with them and move in the same direction. I wonder if there’s a plan, a reason they’re headed this way, or if they all just follow the first crew to move.

  Alone, the wastes always seem endless, empty of anything but a huge and vaguely threatening silence. Alone, it’s easy to remember that this isn’t what the world is supposed to be like; this is what happens after the world ends. We’re merely survivors who weren’t meant to be, clinging to life when we rightly shouldn’t. Maybe this world is so harsh because it’s trying to get rid of us, the last of the infestation. Those are the kinds of thoughts that creep up on you when you’re by yourself. They’re the kind of thoughts that can kill.

  With company it’s different. The wastes seem much less empty, much less dead, much less threatening. But perhaps that’s because I’m surrounded by much louder and more immediate threats.

  Jed certainly seems at ease among the raiders, talking and humming as he walks, once even breaking into song, though that’s quickly silenced by a chorus of groans and boos and a smack to the head from Wolf. After that he quiets down for a few minutes, but he’s back to his cheerful self soon enough. It all seems so easy for him. Maybe that’s just the way he is. He adapts, and charms, and weasels his way into peoples’ hearts with his smiles and disarming small talk.

  Talk that never seems to end, especially with an audience. After last night, I’m not worried about him slipping up and revealing that we’re lying to them. Despite his antics, he’s not an idiot, and I trust him now to handle himself. I’m content to tune out his chatter and retreat to my own thoughts.

  But my thoughts aren’t exactly a welcome retreat right now. Surrounded by raiders, hatred still seethes and boils at the back of my mind—and I know that’s the real enemy to our façade, not Jed’s chatter. I just have to hope that I can keep myself from snapping until we reach safety.

  Now that I think about it, maybe it won’t be quite so long after all. The close proximity of Jedediah Johnson’s crew could be a blessing in disguise. If we pass each other soon without violence erupting, Jed and I will be free to go wherever we please, with his father still searching for us closer to Saint’s tower. We could steal some supplies, sneak away at night—maybe even head back east, if Jedediah’s crew is busy over here.

  Stewing on that, I glance around at the other raider crews around us. Though Wolf doesn’t seem concerned, I’m not so stupid as to believe there’s any real honor code among raiders. Cat and Bird proved there’s sure as hell not one among bounty hunters, and raiders are even less scrupulous. Though they seem peaceful for now, I know any of them could turn on us the moment we show weakness. There’s a particularly nasty-looking group of men about a dozen yards to our left. They don’t seem to be paying attention to us, but I catch occasional snippets of their conversation, usually revolving around their dwindling food supplies. I keep an eye on them, just in case.

  I’m so focused on the nearby crew that it takes me several seconds to realize someone is walking beside me. When I do I jolt to attention, my hand moves to my gun. Her hand does the same, and we end up staring at each other, both on the verge of drawing. It’s Dolly, with the red hair and the strange staring. After a tense moment, I slowly remove my hand from my weapon. She does the same, and keeps on staring at me.

  “Nice gun,” she says, her eyes wandering there. I scowl automatically, unsure if the statement is some kind of threat, but she says nothing else.

  “Yeah,” I say. I eye her. The pistol on her belt is nothing special, but the sniper rifle she carries on her back—which I’ve seen her holding like a child—is possibly the nicest gun I’ve seen aside from my own. I’m almost jealous of the thing. I nod my head toward it and let my scowl soften. “Yours too.”

  She nods.

  “You’re a good shot?” she asks. At least, I think it’s a question; it’s hard to tell, sometimes, with the monotony of her voice.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Me too,” she says.

  I hesitate. That statement could be a brag, a threat, or a simple attempt to build rapport. Her face gives no hints. I decide to say nothing in response. We walk next to each other for a couple minutes, both silent after the quick exchange, before she pulls forward to walk alongside their leader. I watch them, trying to see if she’s saying something to him, but she’s as silent as usual.

  Jed pulls back from the rest of the crew to walk alongside me.

  “She’s a weird one, for sure,” he says quietly, jerking his head at Dolly. She glances back at us, as if she could hear the comment, and Jed gives her a bright smile that she doesn’t return.

  “I dunno,” I say, watching her and half-smiling myself. “I think I like her.”

  After a long day of travel, we make camp again. It’s a much quieter affair than last night, with none of the yelling and post-raid revelry from the mob. There wasn’t much to loot from the half-burnt Fort Cain, so the dwindling water supply leaves little to celebrate. At least there’s plenty of food to go around—for anyone but a “vegetarian” like me, that is. There’s only one can of normal food left. They reluctantly hand it over to me, and I make myself eat slowly for once. I’m not sure when I’ll eat again. And I wonder, if it comes to starvation, how long will I be able to keep turning down the meat? Honestly, I don’t want to find out.

  After eating, I’m content to sit cross-legged beside the fire, my shoulders sagging, letting weariness overtake me. I’m thirsty, dusty, and worn-out, but it feels good to rest my bones for a while, as the heat of the day gradually wanes.

  I’m not aware that I’ve dozed off until a loud sound wakes me again. I sit up, reaching for my gun, my heart racing—but it’s only a disgruntled-looking Wolf dropping a bag on the ground near me. I shake off my grogginess, mentally kicking myself for letting my guard down.

  “Well,” Wolf says. “The bad news is that nobody wants to trade for meat, ’cause everyone’s already got plenty.”

  “What a surprise,” I mutter under my breath.

  “The good news,” he continues, “is that everyone’s sayin’ we’re gonna hit the next town tomorrow.”

  My stomach flips.

  “So that means—” Kid starts.

  “That means it’s raiding time!” Wolf says, cutting her off. His formerly somber attitude disappears in favor of a fierce grin. “And we’re gonna do better this time. Gonna get some good loot, not be the poor stragglers pickin’ up scraps. You got that?” He points at Kid, who nods, and Tank, who gives him a thumbs-up. He seems content to see Dolly cleaning one of her guns, and then looks at Jed and me. “Are you two in?”

  “Of course we are,” Jed says—thankfully, since my own tongue seems to be tied up in my thoughts. I swallow, and muster up a nod and a stoic expression when Wolf glances my way.

  “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Two more bodies will be nice to have.”

  “Bodies?” Jed repeats.

  “He doesn’t mean it l
ike that,” Kid says, though Wolf ignores him. “Two more guns. That’s what he means. Right, Wolf?”

  “Meant what I said,” he says, grabbing a hunk of meat for himself.

  “Well, that’s slightly concerning,” Jed says. He does a double take upon seeing my face, and scrutinizes me. “What’s wrong?”

  My insides are a mess of feelings right now—fear, anger, nausea. These people are talking so nonchalantly about raiding a town tomorrow. Do they understand that they’re destroying peoples’ homes? Their lives? And they talk about it with such excitement. Not that I don’t feel the same urges—every wastelander knows those urges, that drive to steal, fight, kill, do anything to stay alive another day—but at least I try to control them.

  Our little hero, I think, and suppress the harsh, manic laughter that bubbles up inside me at the thought. What would my townspeople say if they could see me here with these raiders?

  “Clementine?” Jed asks, reaching for my arm. I flinch away from the touch.

  “Nothing,” I say. When Jed opens his mouth, getting ready to argue, I grit my teeth. “Later.”

  He nods and drops it.

  I spend the rest of the evening stewing in my thoughts. After a couple attempts to draw me into the conversation, the crew gets the message that I’m not in the mood to talk. Jed keeps glancing at me, but he leaves me alone as well.

  Eventually, the conversation dies down and the others prepare for bed. Like last night, Jed and I grab our blankets and leave camp to find our own spot out in the wastes.

  “You nervous about the raid tomorrow?” Jed asks, once we’re a fair distance away. I glance back at the others, just to make sure they’re not within hearing range.

  “No,” I say.

  “Well, you don’t need to be,” Jed says, in a soothing voice, as if my answer was the opposite. I glare at him, but he blathers on. “I’ll be with you the whole time, and anyway, should be a piece of cake for you. They’re just a bunch of dumb townies.”