Eighteen Wheels Of Vengeance (The Wasteland Chronicles)

by Makarov, Ian

  Eighteen Wheels Of Vengeance: The Wasteland Chronicles © 2016 Ian Makarov

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in Trinidad by Psi.Raise Creative Studios. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Psi.Raise.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Psi.Raise Creative Studios

  http://www.psiraise.com

  Cover Art by Ian Makarov

  Edited by Ian Makarov and Jedaiah Ramnarine

  First Edition – 2/16/2016

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Business As Usual

  Pump Hill

  Death Takes A Stroll

  A Moment’s Respite

  Unexpected Revelations

  Hauler’s Code

  Walker

  On The Prowl

  The Roadhouse

  Ambushed

  Family Matters

  Brotherhood Of Evil

  Fond Farewells

  Catching Up

  Vengeance

  The Wasteland Chronicles

  18 Wheels of Vengeance

  It didn’t happen all at once. The world didn’t end overnight. It took decades upon decades of greed, short-sightedness and folly. We were all too busy indulging in every pleasure money could buy to pay attention, but once it started, there was no stopping it. First came the financial crisis. The collapse of the hollow tower we built on the sand of our artificial wealth. Tensions rose. Social unrest broke out and spread like wildfire. The desperate became the furious. The streets ran red with blood. Then came the war. The Final War. With resources like water and fossil fuels dwindling fast and overpopulation out of control, the superpowers of old lunged at each other’s throats playing for keeps. Pulling all stops. In the escalating brutality of the conflict, someone pushed the button. By the time the first nukes hit their targets, hundreds more were already in the air. Major cities were wiped off the map in an instant. Our proud bastions of civilization evaporated in the madness of war. The final act of the Final War swept away everything we’d ever achieved, marking a new low in the history of our species. The few of us that survived had even more brutal tests to overcome in order to prove they are worthy of continued existence.

  Dust and airborne debris, launched into the atmosphere by hundreds of atomic blasts, darkened the sky ushering in years of nuclear winter. The settling dust and constant rain contaminated whatever was left of the surface. Disease and mutation reaped millions more. Mutated predatory wildlife emerged, with humans as its main diet, as if, instinctually, the Earth herself knew the devastation was our fault, visiting the consequences upon us. Humanity’s wretched remains sought refuge in regions hostile and uninhabited, trying to escape contamination. Only the deserts, only the barren mountains would have our cursed kind. Despite everything, we took this last chance, this last safe haven. We made our lives, simpler lives, in the few pockets of only lightly irradiated soil. Talismans of the old world we brought with us, eventually building a semblance of society from the ashes. This land, however, is far from peaceful. Our lives far from serene. Only the strong, the quick and the cunning survive in this Wasteland as new legends rise, their stories inspiring and horrifying us. These are the stories of this blighted land.

  Business As Usual

  The heavy, armored semi came to a stop blocking the last of the day’s light. Its long shadow put Ray in the dark, cutting his last bit of warmth before the desert became too cold for a nap. Frowning at the intrusion, he looked at the big hulk of steel, the edges of its massive body shining in the last rays of the dying sun. The engine's roaring purr died as he stood up and walked there, taking a small package and a chubby envelope out of his satchel.

  The woman who climbed out of the cab, his first cousin on his father’s side, greeted him with a smile that made him uneasy. He couldn't exactly pinpoint the reason, but that smile wasn't at all benevolent, not a chip's worth of friendliness in it. He shrugged a chill that crept up his spine. Her features were easy to look at, but that didn’t put him at ease one bit. Lean and athletic, she was covered in padded leather armor. Not the best protection, but it afforded her great mobility, while at the same time accentuating her curves, which Ray thought were something he could gawk at all day. The few bits of skin visible here and there were smooth and uncontaminated, save for a very notable scar just below her left elbow and a few smaller ones, a bit more faded, undoubtedly souvenirs from her time in the Wasteland. Topping that off was the face of an angel, with finely cut features and bright green eyes, almost perpetually covered by a scowl, far less unsettling than the smile she was wearing right now. Her shoulder-long fiery red hair was flowing loose in the evening breeze, unmarred by the dirt and gunk of the desert. He wondered how she kept it in that near-perfect state. Of course, she was a Hauler. If anyone had access to any sort of actual dye, it was her kind. Haulers could find everything you desired, transport anything across the dangerous wastes, no matter how rare or exclusive. If it could be found, they’d track it down for you. If it could be known, they’d learn it for you. If it could be killed, they’d put a shiv in its back for you. As long as you could afford their services of course, which often came with a hefty price tag. Her entire image, a diamond in the rough, was the best advertisement of her services. It was rare to see someone so well-groomed in a world where even soap was now a rarity.

  “You're late.” He said.

  The woman, Nukkie, pointed her thumb at the side of her trailer.

  “I ran into some thugs. Nothing out of the ordinary, but they got one of the tires.”

  He looked at the bullet holes, and the naked axle under the trailer.

  “You sure you can make it to Pump Hill like that?”

  “It’s nothing. Now where's the package? I want to be there before dawn.”

  “Here. Deliver it to the hands of Reggie and Reggie only. Don't lose it, don't open it.”

  Nukkie looked down at the package in her hands.

  “I didn't get into this business yesterday. And you know there's no one better to do business with. As for your package, it will get there as it should. If you have the chips for it that is.”

  “Yeah, yeah, always about the chips ain't it?”

  He handed her the chubby envelope; she took a peek in it, satisfied by the sight of old world casino chips, which had become the Wasteland’s currency, and stuffed it in her jacket.

  “It's all there.”

  “I’m sure it is, Ray. You'd know better than try to screw me over.”

  “Yeah that rib still hurts when the weather changes.”

  “Too bad the weather around here doesn't change that often.”

  She took the package and tossed it on the driver’s seat, through the still open door.

  “Hey be careful with it. It's...”

  “AH!” She hushed him with a gesture. “I don't wanna know.” She turned around to climb back in the cab.

  “You be careful now. It's important.”

  “Yeah, whatever Ray”. She turned the ignition, and the still warm diesel blo
ck roared back to life.

  Ray watched as she pulled out of his yard, then turned towards the sun that had already disappeared below the horizon and felt the unease go away. What was it about her that gripped him like that? He sat back on the ground, leaning against the porch's support. That smile. Definitely. He now realized why that smile had made him so nervous. It had never reached her eyes...

  Pump Hill

  The stars started to fade. A red glow in the distance, marking the beginning of yet another day in the desert, made the houses in the fortified town of Pump Hill look like sleeping giants, just before the many inhabitants headed to work. The town, by no means a big one, was the home of yet another faction that had carved a slice of the Wasteland in the desert formerly known as Arizona for themselves, the Enginemasters. Built on top of a naturally fortified hill, home to one of the few remaining oil wells in the region, it was by far the most civilized, with the Enginemasters themselves restoring and maintaining the last traces of old world technology. And while the faction itself, consisting mostly of engineers and scientists wasn’t very apt at fighting, between the universally recognized value of the tech they were providing and their alliance with the Lawmen faction, Pump Hill was only occasionally threatened by the chaotic bands of roving savages commonly known as the Scavs.

  The only light burning was in Jet's machine shop.

  Jet looked at the naked axle on the trailer carefully.

  “You know you're lucky the blowout from the tire didn't damage any more than the rim. Finding truck parts is a real pain. But I should have it ready in a couple of hours.”

  Nukkie lit the cigarette she had just rolled and took a long drag.

  “Take your time Jet.” She said exhaling. “ I'll be in town for a while, have some goods in the trailer for Johnny and Sabrina, it should take all day to unload.”

  “Damnit girl, don't light that up in here, you wanna blow us to little tiny bits? Look, there's a lot of stuff in here that doesn't react friendly to fire. And I, personally, am allergic to being blown up. So why don't you hit the saloon and let me work here, eh?”

  She dropped the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it, blowing out the last of the smoke.

  “Alright, alright... I'll go.” She turned to the large warehouse doors.

  “Thanks... OH! You didn't bring my stuff along did you?”

  “Oh right” She opened the driver's door and let her hand search behind the seat. She pulled on a switch which popped open a small compartment on the side of the cab. Of course, she didn’t forget. Jet was a good friend, and on top of that he was the one who had restored this rig, and the one to carry out the numerous repairs every time she was back in town. The least she could do was remember to bring his stuff. She took out the box and brought it to him. He opened it, removed a bottle from it, and looked at it against the light.

  “Looks clear enough” he said.

  “This is grade A moonshine buddy. Not like that piss old Jake cooks up in his dump.”

  Old Jake, the innkeeper, had made the finest moonshine around in the back of his saloon for years, but this one was a class of its own. The class that only a boss would put in his mouth, and extremely hard to come by.

  “There's also something else I found, thought you'd find it interesting. Some kind of plastic disc from back before the Fall.”

  Jet took the disk in his hands.

  “My, my... this must be a DVD... Or CD… Can't really tell the difference from the outside. But isn't it beautiful? Look at all these colors on the surface!”

  “Right Jet, whatever, I'll just hit the hay for a couple of hours.”

  She turned around and walked through the large half-open doors into the cool morning. It was still quiet, although one could now see more lights on the windows, people here and there starting the day's work. The Enginemasters in particular, were a bunch that put their work above all else, so one would be hard-pressed to find one who stayed up all night, skipping sleep. She walked through the streets, slowly being lit up by the coming sunrise. A two-headed cat looked at her from her vantage point before jumping to another roof. It was tiring to drive all night through the desert, but heck; it wasn't the first time. It was tiring. But also safe. She went through her plans for the day as she was walking through the saloon doors. Man this would be a long day. She should get some rest before that. The saloon was not the cleanest, nor the tidiest. A couple of men out-of-towners by the looks of it, still halfheartedly singing on a table after a long night of getting shitfaced, another one sleeping on the bar, but mostly empty. Travellers and people passing through were this establishment’s bread and butter. And in Pump Hill, there were always enough people from out of town. She headed straight to the bar, where old Jake was cleaning up.

  “Hey Jake”

  “Hello gorgeous. Long time no see. Can I fix you up with something?”

  “I just need to crash for a couple of hours. Got a room?”

  “Been driving all night again?” He turned around, fetching a key from the wall and

  put it on the counter. “Here you go. Number five.”

  She left a few chips on the counter and headed to the stairs.

  “Later.” She called.

  Jake shrugged as he went back to cleaning. He paused for a second. He had seen a lot of strange people come and go in his years as an innkeeper. And she had been coming and going for quite a long time, but he couldn't help an unsettling feeling every time she came. Something about her was definitely creepy.

  “Oh well...” he thought and focused his attention back to his countertop.

  The town was slowly awake...

  Complications

  The midday sun was burning high in the sky. Shining for everyone, no exceptions. The sun didn't care if you were an Enginemaster, or a Scav, or a Hauler looking to make some chips. The sun didn't care.

  It was a weird concept to ponder while walking through the streets of Pump Hill. The wares had been unloaded; the rig had been fixed and all that was left was Ray's strange package.

  The deal was no questions asked. The less you knew about your package, the more you got paid, and she had some clients who were all secretive like that every now and then.

  Finding Reggie's place wasn't hard. He was known around town for the “special deals” he cut. The rarest and sometimes most illegal stuff your heart could desire, you could talk to Reggie about. Of course, due to the nature of his wares, it wasn't a good idea to do business in the open, but his customers were the inquiring types. A few chips here and there to find the place were a minor expense, considering the payment she had received.

  The place itself was a small inconspicuous house at the edge of town. She walked up to the door and started to knock, but the door swung open with a creak at the first knock. The lock was in a bad shape, but the inside was even worse. Someone had been through the place rather quickly. Nukkie pulled her sidearm, while clutching the package to herself with the other hand. As slow and quietly as she could, she went through the rooms, only to find no one. Her gaze went gradually over the living room, then fell on a trapdoor ring in the corner. She went over and slowly pulled the hatch open, trying to look inside.

  The basement was dimly lit, and she couldn't make out any detail, so she slowly descended the old, creaking steps. The light coming from a tiny window fell on the center of the room, barely illuminating the walls. All kinds of stuff were stacked here.

  “Not a shabby stockpile Reggie” she thought as she was moving towards a corner where something had caught her eye as it was laying there, but as her eyes got accustomed to the dim light she realized what it was.

  Or rather who it was.

  The unmistakable click of a cocking handgun came mere inches behind her head.

  “Drop it.” A low voice demanded.

  She slowly lowered her sidearm, laying it on the floor.

  “Now I'll have the package if you don't mind” the voice continued.

>   “Whoever you are buddy, you're making a big mistake”

  “Let me worry about that. Now hand over the package.”

  “Alright, alright, you can have your damn package” she said, doing her best to sound scared.

  “Turn around slowly and give it to me.”

  Nukkie started turning, but as soon as she could make out where the man's head was in the corner of her eye, she made her pivot a lot faster, using the solid package as a blunt instrument to the man's face. He stumbled a few steps backwards, as she let the small box fall and lunged onto him. The both fell struggling on the wooden floor, the man trying to point his gun back at her. She grabbed his hand, and tried to push it away. He pulled the trigger, trying to shoot her in the face, but the bullets went right past her ear. Her left ear ringing, she used her head to deliver a head-butt o his face. Two, three times, and the man stopped struggling. She put her fingers on his jugular. He was out cold. Nukkie stood up grabbing her forehead, trying to balance herself.

  “Better get out of here before the Lawmen show up.” She told herself aloud.

  She quickly picked up her gun and the package, and did a hasty body search on the man. Just his gun, a few chips, and a piece of paper. Stuffing everything in her pockets, she quickly moved up the steps, and out of the house.

  A Lawman, coming around a corner to her right, probably investigating the sound of the earlier gunfire stopped startled for a second, then pulled up his rifle.

  “You, there! Stop!” he shouted.

  She made a run for the next street to her left, as the guard opened fire, and jumped around the corner as the bullets planted themselves in the wooden wall. Grabbing a hold and pulling herself up to the building’s roof, she laid flat on the corrugated sheet metal, perfectly still to avoid making any sound or drawing attention. The guard chasing her rounded the corner and kept running down the road in pursuit, expecting that she had kept going. As soon as Nukkie made sure he was out of sight, she jumped back down on the dirt street, making herself scarce. Carefully avoiding any more confrontations with the guards, through numerous detours through the town's buildings and workshops, she headed for Jet's place.