The Wasteland Series: Books 1-3 of the post-apocalyptic survival series

by Jon Cronshaw

  Second Bob frowns. “It dead, mister.”

  Abel rubs the back of his neck and looks past Second Bob at the other residents moving cautiously towards him.

  “That one big bird you got there,” a voice says from the crowd.

  “That's right. It's an owl.” His free hand twitches near the handle of his pistol.

  The residents look around with confused expressions, whispering to each other.

  “I brought it here for Big Ned. Is he around?”

  “Where your wizard friend, mister?” Second Bobs asks.

  “I've not seen him. Has he been by?”

  “Pa!” Second Bob calls out, looking back over his shoulder. “Pa! The dog man back. He got a critter.”

  The residents turn in unison as Big Ned emerges from his shack, pushing aside a sheet of flapping blue polythene. “Why you back?” he asks, spit flying from his mouth.

  Abel looks down at the bird. “I've brought you an owl. I was hoping we could trade.”

  Big Ned squints and stares at the bird. “I don't know about no owl.” He clears his throat and grunts. “I like your critter. We trade?”

  Abel looks between the owl and Big Ned and smiles. “Sounds good.”

  “Pa, the dog man was asking about that wizard. We seen him?”

  Big Ned eyes him up and down then offers a toothy grin. “Yeah, I see the wizard.”

  “Oh, right. What did he say?”

  “He say about pond critter. You was there. You help him.”

  Abel frowns. “So, you've not seen him since?”

  Big Ned shakes his head and looks down at his filth-encrusted hands. “He do real magic.”

  “Yep.”

  “I know he got Mister Fluffy to live. He got magic. He got our boys back.”

  Abel smiles and looks around at the faces — all of them virtually identical. “The kids from the Family?”

  Big Ned nods. “Our boys. They say Mister Fluffy save them.”

  “Yep. That's right. I was there. We didn't manage to save all of them.”

  “You save ours,” Big Ned says, meeting Abel's gaze, grinning.

  “I just wish we could have done more,” Abel says.

  He flinches when Big Ned slaps him hard on the shoulder. Pip's tail stands erect and Big Ned laughs. “You get our boys. We give you hootenanny.”

  “A hooter-what?” Abel asks, his voice drowned out by the sound of cheers and whoops.

  Big Ned looks around, raising his fists. “What you standing round for? Go get some eats and go get tunes.”

  ABEL SALIVATES AT THE aroma of cooking meat. He sits cross-legged on a blanket, nodding his head to the syncopated rhythms a group of young men beat on plastic drums and steel pots. The other residents dance and twirl in time with the music. A pair of young men take turns blowing into an instrument consisting of a pair of animal bladders and lengths of rubber hose. The instrument lets out a rasping, rumbling drone.

  Pip lies next to Abel, watching the drummers with curiosity as she gnaws on a bone.

  Big Ned stands before Abel and drops a steel bucket on the ground. “These your eats,” he says, pointing a stubby finger.

  Abel leans forward and looks into the bucket. He takes out the leg of a small mammal, perhaps belonging to a squirrel or a mole, and raises it in a cheery gesture towards Big Ned. “Thanks.”

  He bites into the meat and smiles as the hot fat courses down his chin. Big Ned goes away for a few seconds and returns with a plastic petrol can.

  “What's in there?” Abel asks, raising his voice so he can be heard over the music.

  “Moonshine.” Big Ned's eyes grow wide with excitement. He throws back his head and lets out a snorting laugh. “This make you tough, like we.” He takes a swig and hands the petrol can to Abel.

  The alcohol smells volatile. He looks at Big Ned, who nods encouragement, and takes a sip. He shudders at the concoction, the alcohol stripping his throat as he swallows. “That’s strong,” he gasps. Big Ned slaps him on the shoulder and lets out another laugh. They pass the can back and forth until they empty its contents.

  Abel staggers to his feet and wobbles drunkenly towards the drummers. The other residents dance around him, their faces swirling and blurring against the alcohol haze. When the drumming stops for the musicians to change places, he shuffles back to his blanket and flops down next to Big Ned.

  “This is so great,” he says, slurring his words. He leans to his right and rests his head on Ned's shoulder. “You don't have to answer this if you don't want, I understand if you don't answer it.” He lets out a burp. “Sorry if I’m rambling. Not used to drink.”

  “If you got to get asks, get asks.”

  Abel lifts his head and rests his weight on his left hand, leaning back as he stretches out his legs, his elbows spiking into the ground. “Just think. I just...” He takes a deep breath, focusing on Ned's face. “I just think...” He makes a gesture with his right hand, searching for the words. “Where are your women?” The other residents stop and everything goes silent. They stare at him. He shakes his head. “Not wanting to offend,” he manages.

  Big Ned gets to his feet and stands over him. “Why you care about our women?”

  Abel stares up at him and looks around. “You think it was bad, right? It was bad when the kids were taken, when the Family had them.”

  “Yeah. That bad.” Big Ned folds his arms.

  “It was bad because they trapped them, because they...because they weren't allowed to do what they wanted. They kept them inside that van. They weren't allowed out.”

  Big Ned's eyes narrow. “What you ask?”

  “I just think your life and the women's lives will be better if you didn't stop them doing things.” Abel swallows.

  Second Bob moves next to Big Ned and stares down at Abel. “Pa, we can't have outsider tell about our women.”

  Big Ned shakes his head. He takes Abel's hand and yanks him to his feet. “You got nerve, but you right.”

  “But, Pa,” pleads Second Bob.

  Big Ned raises his hand, threatening his son. “Get the women. They same as we now,” he declares. He looks around at the other residents, their gaping mouths snapping shut when Big Ned meets them with a glare. “Anyone get problem?” The residents shake their heads and exchange glances.

  Second Bob returns with a dozen or so women in tow. The women look identical, except their skin ripples in ghostly white.

  “Why you drum stop?” Big Ned asks, turning to the drummers. “Get this hootenanny back.”

  After dancing into the night and through the early hours, Abel falls asleep on the ground, curled up next to Pip on a blanket, embers dying at his feet.

  “YOU WANT EATS?” A VOICE asks through a haze.

  Abel opens his eyes and cringes at the thumping in his head. When his eyes come into focus, he sees Second Bob leaning over him. He shakes his head. “Sorry, what?”

  “You want eats, mister?”

  With a groan, Abel pushes himself into a sitting position and looks around. A dead fire rests at his feet and a cluster of plastic drums lie haphazardly on their sides. “I could eat.”

  Pip licks the wound at the back of her leg as he strokes her ears. She looks at him for a second and licks his hand before turning back to her leg.

  A few women wander between the shacks, glancing surreptitiously at Abel and whispering to each other. He offers them a smile. They giggle and scurry away.

  Big Ned strides over to him and drops a bucket on the ground between them. “We share eats.” He takes a half-cooked rat out and rips away the fur.

  “Thanks,” Abel says, reaching for a charred chunk of meat.

  “You green today,” says Big Ned.

  Abel groans. “I'm not used to moonshine.”

  Big Ned looks around and watches the women. “You right about women,” he says, gesturing. “Good hootenanny.”

  Abel nods, chewing. He swallows and smiles. “I really needed last night. It was good to see I hadn�
�t completely failed.”

  “Where they takers at?”

  Abel shrugs and picks a piece of meat from his back teeth. “The Family? They'll keep doing what they always do, I suppose. The ones who took your boys are all dead now.”

  Big Ned nods approvingly. “That good. They got to get got.”

  “If I can avoid having anything to do with them again, then that will be fine by me.”

  “You do good. But they still do bad.”

  Abel gives a half-smile and reaches for another bit of meat. “Yep.”

  Big Ned turns to him and raises his chin. “You got to get them. They got to get got.”

  IT'S STILL EARLY MORNING when Abel leaves Town. He hugs Big Ned, the slaps to his back almost winding him. “I want you to have this,” he says, holding out the owl.

  Big Ned takes it and cradles it in his arms like a newborn baby. “I call you Mister Feathers,” he says, staring lovingly at the owl. He looks around. “Second Bob, where you at, boy?”

  Second Bob runs over. Big Ned turns to him and whispers something in his ear. Second Bob looks at Abel, nods, and runs back to his shack, stumbling over scattered junk as he goes.

  He emerges a short time later carrying a sheet of folded blue polythene. In a sombre, respectful gesture, he takes the owl from Big Ned and places it on the ground at their feet. He takes the polythene sheet and hands it to Big Ned.

  Big Ned turns to Abel. “You have this,” he says. “You always welcome.”

  Abel takes the sheet and holds it under his arm. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and looks down at his feet. “I don't know what to say.” He looks up at Big Ned. “Thank you.”

  23. The Cart

  PIP LIMPS ALONGSIDE Abel as they head west along the highway, the last flickers of sunlight staining the sky in pools of purple and orange. Gusts of wind blow from the east, pushing with force against the back of Abel’s jacket, bringing dense dust clouds. “Come on, girl. We need to find some shelter.”

  Cursing and coughing, he takes the next left off the highway, his eyes squeezed to narrow slits as he raises his arm to cover his face. Pip whines as her back legs quiver. Abel makes out the burnt remains of a cart, lying on its side at the road’s edge. Approaching it, he crawls on his knees, trying to keep the dust away from his eyes. Leaning against the cart, he takes the polythene sheet from his backpack and uses it as a shelter.

  Pip leans close to him, shivering and crying as she rests her chin on his thigh. The sheet flaps and ripples as the storm beats against them. He strokes Pip and whispers words of comfort.

  ABEL WAKES UP AT DAWN, his body stiff and filthy. He lifts the polythene sheet, shaking away a layer of brownish-grey dust. The dust covers everything, coating the trees and the ground like ash. Pip opens her eyes and slowly gets to her feet. She stretches and yawns.

  He folds the sheet, stuffs it into his backpack, and stops. Swirls of peeling gold and blue paint emerge like islands along the scorched wood. He recognises some of the junk scattered around the cart — his pans, a smashed television set, a broken fish tank, and a toy car, resting on its side, half-submerged in the dirt.

  Crouching, he picks up the remains of his copy of Moby Dick, its cover scorched around its edges, the last third torn away along the spine. He stares at the image of the white whale, half-blackened by flame. An explosion of dust billows into the air when the book hits the ground.

  Gritting his teeth, he looks around. He takes the pans and drops them into his backpack. Pip sniffs at one of the cart's wheels.

  He walks around the back and forces one of the doors open, turning his head away from the stench and the buzz of swarming flies. He takes out his torch and turns the handle. As it starts to glow, he sees a dead rabbit crawling with flies and maggots. He spots his goggles resting nearby and grabs them, shaking away a couple of flies scurrying across the left lens. He stuffs a few pieces of packing foam into his backpack along with the petrol can, still half-full, and slams the cart door shut.

  There's no sign of the wizard when he searches the area. A dried piece of dung lying near some trees marks the only sign of the mule. He takes in the scene one last time and lets out a long sigh. “Come on, girl. Let's go.”

  24. Cigarettes

  ABEL STOPS ON THE ROAD leading to Trinity. He looks back at Pip, lagging behind. “Come on, girl,” he says, patting his thigh.

  She trudges forward, her head hung low, paying no attention to the places where she usually sniffs. Instead, she gasps and makes loud gagging clicks when she breathes.

  Abel walks over and crouches next to her. He pats her on the side, feeling her ribs as they expand and contract, her breath rattling in her throat, her eyes glassy.

  Legs buckling, she collapses on the asphalt, her head flopping against the hard ground. He touches her neck and frowns at the heat emanating from her and the dryness of her nose.

  “No,” he says, wincing as he clenches his fists. “Keep with me, girl.” He scoops under her chin and stomach, taking her in his arms.

  When he reaches Trinity, he scans along the fence and looks up at the towering crucifix to his right. “Hello?” he calls. “Sal?”

  Pip breathes tight and shallow in his arms. “Come on, girl,” he whispers. “Just a bit more. Just a bit longer. Stay with me. Please...” He swallows.

  Taking a few steps backwards, he calls over the fence through his parched throat.

  The fence slides open, rattling and screeching along the ground as it drags across. He's greeted by a skinny woman wearing a brown robe.

  “Is Sal around? Jacob? I need help.” He looks down at Pip.

  The woman steps aside and lets Abel through. She closes the fence behind them. “I'll take you to Jacob,” she says.

  They march across the settlement without speaking, following the twisted path between shacks. His forearms tense and spasm, aching with Pip’s weight.

  They pass chicken coops and pigpens, vegetable patches, the communal hall, and the water tower. They reach the door to Jacob’s surgery. The woman knocks and walks away.

  “Thank you,” Abel says, watching her go. He turns to the door. “Jacob?”

  The door opens. “Abel,” says Jacob. “What happened?”

  “She's hurt.”

  Jacob looks at Pip and shakes his head. “Bring her over here.” He signals towards the bed, flush against the right-hand wall. Jacob’s desk lies to the bed's left. A line of books stands on the shelf above.

  Abel crosses the room and places Pip on the bed, carefully rolling her onto her side so Jacob can examine the wound.

  “She looks like she's got an infection. I don't know if I can help, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Please,” Abel whispers.

  Jacob takes some rubbing alcohol and pours it onto a cloth. He cleans in and around the wound. Pip doesn’t flinch. The cloth becomes streaked with dried blood and festering pus.

  Abel turns away.

  “You should go,” suggests Jacob. “Leave the dog with me. Get some food. Sal's around at the communal hall. We’ve not long eaten.”

  Abel nods and looks at Pip. “Okay.”

  ABEL STARES AT THE lines of dirt embedded in the cracks and creases along his palms. He shivers as an icy chill courses down his spine, the hairs on his arms and neck prickling. Pools of light from the setting sun glimmer along the water tower. Lines of smoke rise from shacks, swaying like ghosts in the dying light.

  He enters the communal hall. The tables lie empty, the air dense with the smell of boiled cabbage.

  Stepping over to the nearest bench, he pulls it from beneath the long table, its legs scraping against the wooden floor. He slides along to his left and then hunches forward, taking his head in his hands.

  “Abel?”

  He looks up as Sal approaches him along the other side of the table.

  What happened?” she asks, sitting on the opposite bench.

  He bites his fist and shakes his head. “It's Pip. She's hurt.”


  “What happened?”

  “Wild dogs. It didn't look too bad when it happened. Jacob thinks it might be infected.”

  “Well, she’s in the best place,” she says, placing a hand on his right forearm.

  He sighs and looks down at his hands. “I know,” he manages. “She's been there for me, you know?”

  Sal nods and smiles.

  “I know she's just a dog, but I need her.”

  “You rely on each other. It's understandable.”

  “It's more than that. She's always there, always supportive. I’m never alone when I’m with her. I’m scared about going backwards.”

  “You’re never alone with God,” she says, smiling.

  He shakes his head and raises a hand in frustration. “Don't start with that God stuff,” he says, raising his voice. “You know how I feel—”

  “If you open your heart to faith, you wouldn't feel so alone.”

  “Damn it, Sal,” he says, getting to his feet.

  “Please don’t get angry. Sit. Please.”

  He lowers himself to the bench and slumps over the table. He looks up at her. “You’ve got your way of doing things and I've got mine. God doesn't figure into that.”

  She shakes her head. “God is there for you, whether you acknowledge Him or not.”

  “Look,” he says, rubbing his beard. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You've always been good to me. It's just...”

  “It's just Pip. I know.” She offers him a warm smile.

  “Thanks, Sal.”

  She gets to her feet, brushing her dreadlocks over her shoulders. “You hungry?”

  He nods. “I could eat.”

  Sal returns with a tin plate piled with slices of bread and a cold chicken thigh. She shuffles onto the opposite bench and gives him a concerned look. “What happened to your face?”

  Raising a hand to his cheek, he touches the bruise beneath his right eye and flinches. “I had a run-in with the Family.”