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

by Jon Cronshaw

  Sis turns the dog’s legs over on the fire, the flames hissing as the fat drips down. “Same with your code?”

  Abel licks his lips, his shoulders tensing. “That's not sentimental.”

  “Seems it to me.”

  “The code stays,” he snaps. “Change the subject.”

  Sis looks up at him, tears welling in her eyes. “I didn't mean...”

  Abel raises his hands and shakes his head, arms slumping to his sides. “Sorry, Sis. It's just this stuff with the king. I don't know what to think. I need to hold on to my code.”

  “Okay,” Sis whispers. “Sorry.”

  “Don't sweat it.” He turns to the flames and checks the nearest dog’s leg, raising it to his mouth and sniffing. “It does smell good,” he says with a half-smile. He takes a tentative bite and chews, letting the fat and the meat and the warmth fill his mouth. Swallowing, he hands the leg to David. “One step at a time, kid.”

  David smiles and takes a bite. “It's good,” he says between mouthfuls. “Thanks, Sis.” He swallows, passing the dog leg to Sis, and turns to Abel. “I was thinking about what that king said. What do you think he meant by protected zone?”

  “Who could say, kid?” Abel says, shrugging. “He's crazy.”

  “You think it's where they get all the tins?”

  Abel rubs his beard and takes another dog leg from the fire. “He’s calling Trinity Omar’s Kingdom. I'm sure he’s made up lots of names for places.”

  “I remember the Family used to talk about smuggling plez back to the other side.”

  “To the other side of what? The highway? The Grid? The city? Other side of the water?”

  “I don't know. How did they get that truck working? Where did they get guns? And bullets?”

  “I found mine,” Sis says. “Becca had gun. I got more.”

  Abel nods. “I've seen vehicles working before. It's rare, but I’ve seen it.”

  David shakes his head. “He mentioned a wall.”

  “So? There's walls everywhere.”

  “He made out like there was more. And the other people seem to know what he was on about.”

  “Right,” Abel says, taking a bite from the dog's leg.

  “I'm serious. It's like with the tins. Someone must be making them, right?”

  Abel shrugs. “I guess. Trinity gets them from the caravans.”

  “But where do the caravans get them from? We’ve found tins when we’ve been scavenging and most of them have been rusty. How come their ones are new?”

  “I don't know, kid,” Abel says, frustration edging his voice. “I don't know where the caravans go. Maybe there's a factory somewhere? The Family had a factory, right? Maybe someone is doing the same for tins.”

  David sighs. “Maybe.”

  19. The Cache

  The Grid’s rusted cars spread out before them as the glaring light from the afternoon sun warms their backs. Abel smiles at a group of Trinity’s residents sitting around a campfire, boiling water in tins and buckets. Abel walks over to Jacob's hut and raps on its side. He steps back when the door opens. “You're back,” Jacob says, stepping out.

  Abel looks Jacob up and down, tilting his head at the dark bags beneath his eyes. “You look terrible.”

  “Hardly slept since the Trinity lot arrived.” He stretches and yawns, his eyes wandering across the Grid.

  “You'll get used to the noise.”

  Jacob shakes his head. “It's not that. It's feeding everyone. There’s just not enough to go around.”

  “We’ve got our own food. I thought we could help out. I brought some tools.”

  “I've been running it all through my head, trying to work out how we can make this work.” Jacob bangs his fist against the side of his hut and sighs, his head drooping. “I can’t see a way through this.”

  “You don't have to put all this on yourself. People pull together in times like these.”

  “It's been chaos here. People have already started fighting. We’ve only got enough food for a few more days. The people who were here before are starting to get angry. I'm worried tensions are going to erupt into something serious.”

  “Has anything happened?”

  “Nothing major. A lot of little things. Just a feeling in the air.”

  “That's a real shame. I knew it was going to be difficult.”

  “Trinity should have been better armed. Sal knew about the weapons for years. We could have used them.” Jacob’s lip curls as he glances across the car roofs towards Sal. “None of this would have happened if she’d just listened. She wanted nothing to do with it.”

  Abel tilts his head. “Weapons?”

  “A few of us had to bury them in a cache behind Trinity. Sal said the fence would protect us, that God would protect us.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “And here we are.”

  “And where are these weapons now?”

  “They’re still...” Jacob's eyes brighten. “We should get them. I know exactly where they are. Unless they've been digging around the back of the settlement, they should still be there.”

  Abel nods. “What kind of weapons are we talking?”

  Jacob shrugs. “It’s been a few years. I think a few rifles, mainly. Couple of shotguns. A lot of bullets, too many really.”

  “And you just left them buried?”

  “Sal didn't want weapons in Trinity. She thought it would cause problems.”

  Abel looks around. A group of residents from the Grid stand huddled next to a pickup truck, sending furtive glances towards Trinity's former residents. They whisper to each other, shaking their heads.

  “I'll come with you,” Abel says after a long moment.

  Jacob gives a confused look. “Come with me? Come with me, where?” He looks at Abel, eyebrows raised, throws his hands up, and shakes his head. “No, no, no. I'm not going back there. I've got all these people to look out for.”

  “Exactly. If you’re going to look out for these people, surely it’s better to have Trinity back to who it belongs to? You need to do this.”

  “Can’t someone else do it?”

  “Who else knows where the cache is?”

  Jacob shrugs. “Just Sal, I guess.”

  “You think Sal’s in any condition to be risking her life like that?.”

  “Running into danger is more your thing. I save people, not—”

  “My thing?” Abel snaps, shaking his head, fists clenched. “Risking someone’s life isn’t anyone's thing. When I have it’s been out of necessity, because not doing anything would be worse.” Lifting his chin, he meets Jacob’s gaze. “You can either do what's right, or you can live knowing that you're a coward.”

  Jacob looks away. “That's not fair.”

  “It's perfectly fair. Sometimes you have to do what’s right, even if it’s the hardest thing to do.”

  “I don’t see why I should do this alone.”

  “Damn it, Jacob. I’ve already said I'll come with you.”

  “And me,” says Sis. “I can keep watch.”

  Abel nods. “Okay, you, me, and Jacob. We’ll do this. Tonight.”

  “What about me?” asks David.

  “You should help out here, kid. There's lots to do and the more of us on the road, the more chance we’ll be spotted. If we can get the weapons, then we’ve got a chance of getting Trinity back.”

  The corners of Jacob’s lips twitch. “Fine,” he sighs, folding his arms.

  Abel turns to Sis. “I need you to keep watch. I need you to promise me that you’re not going to kill unless your life is in immediate danger. That sound fair?”

  Sis nods.

  THE LAST RAYS OF SUNLIGHT cast the hills behind them in a fiery glow. Jacob takes a left off the highway, climbing an embankment.

  “Where are we going?” Abel asks, his feet catching on knotted tree roots.

  Jacob pauses for a moment, shaking his head. “We are going to Trinity.”

  “But it’s not for a few miles.”

  “We need
to approach from the rear. We can cut across the farmland.”

  They reach the slope’s top and push through a cluster of birches and oaks, their trunks closely packed and limbs bare. Branches snap underfoot as ferns and nettles brush against their legs.

  After ten minutes or so, they reach the trees’ edge and look out over the farmland. A wire fence snakes across the fields, rising and falling with the landscape. Bales of hay lie stacked at regular intervals along ploughed ridges. A network of irrigation ditches runs along the fence, tributaries branching out into the fields.

  In the distance, Abel squints at a cluster of white dots moving around beneath the emerging moon.

  “What are they?” Sis asks, following Abel’s gaze.

  “They’re sheep,” Jacob says. “It looks like that so-called king hasn’t ventured out this far.”

  “This is all Trinity?” Abel asks.

  “Of course.”

  “I didn’t know it went out this far.”

  Jacob vaults a ditch and climbs over the wire fence, stumbling onto the soft dirt. “We’ve got a settlement of more than two-hundred people...” His voice trails off. “We had.” He shakes his head.

  “We’re going to get it back,” says Abel. “Whatever it takes. There are too many lives on the line here.”

  Jacob stops and rubs his chin.

  “What is it?”

  “I was just thinking about the implications of what we’re about to do. When we get these weapons, we’re admitting that we are prepared to kill.”

  “I am,” Sis says. “You have to.”

  Jacob turns to her. “You may be comfortable doling out death like some Godless raider, but we are not God. We do not have the right to make that decision.”

  “What you doing, then?” Sis shrugs. “You go back. Live at Grid. Feed those people.”

  Abel lets out a sigh. “Sis is right. You’ve got all these fields for Trinity. You’ve got the Grid looking pretty good, but you said it yourself you’ve only got a few days’ food.”

  Jacob looks around and waves his hands in a helpless gesture. “We need to go back. It’s over. I’m not like you. I’m not a fighter.”

  “Damn it, Jacob. I’m not a fighter either. If you go back, you’re splitting your community for good, and that choice will be on you.”

  There’s a long silence then Jacob nods to himself. “Fine,” he says, moving forward.

  AFTER TRUDGING ACROSS the fields for almost an hour, Trinity appears over the brow of a hill. They look down at the settlement, white smoke rising into the sky.

  “What’s the plan?” Abel asks.

  Jacob swallows. “We wait until they are asleep. I’ll go down first, open the cache. Once I’m in, I’ll get the weapons out.”

  “I’m hungry,” Sis says.

  Abel looks around and walks over to a pair of trees, huddled together and bent by the wind. “We’ll wait over there and eat. I’ve got a tin in my jacket. We can share that. It’s going to be cold, but we can’t start a fire.”

  Abel sits cross-legged with his back against the taller tree. He pierces the tin with his hunting knife and flips the lid, sniffing its contents.

  “Is it beans?” Sis asks.

  Grinning, Abel holds the tin up. “Not this time. We’ve got peaches.”

  Jacob gives a relieved sigh. “I can’t abide cold beans. Shall I say grace?”

  Abel shrugs. “You do what you want. I’m hungry.” He dips his fingers into the syrup and pulls out a couple of peach slices, cold and fleshy, and passes the tin to Sis. His mouth fills with the sweetness and he leans back, swallowing.

  When Sis hands the tin to Jacob, he places it on the ground, closes his eyes and mutters a prayer to himself. With delicate movement, he fishes out a slice with his bony fingers. He holds it up and turns it, inspecting it, his lip curling.

  “It’s not going to bite,” Abel says. “Just eat it.”

  Jacob winces then lowers the peach slice onto his tongue. “It’s not bad,” he says, chewing. “I don’t usually care for canned fruit.”

  “If you don’t get Trinity back, you’re going to have to get used to that.”

  “You two sleep,” suggests Sis. “I can watch then wake you when safe.”

  Abel removes his jacket, wrapping it around himself like a blanket. “You sure?”

  “Rest is good. I will watch.”

  “Thanks, Sis.” He takes the switchblade from his jacket pocket and flicks open the blade. Turning it against the moonlight, he gropes around on the ground until he finds a round stone. With his back against the tree, he sharpens the blade, building into a slow, methodical rhythm until drifting to sleep.

  ABEL IS AWAKENED BY a gentle shake at his shoulder. He looks around at the bare branches, shivering.

  “Jacob gone ahead,” Sis says, standing over him, her eyes focused on something in the distance. “We wait then get weapons.”

  Sitting up, Abel looks around confused. “What? Where’s Jacob?”

  Sis points towards Trinity. “He gone. He nearly there. He said we follow and he get weapons.”

  “Right.” Abel gets up and shakes the soil from his jacket. He stretches and rolls his shoulder, tilting his head as bones pop and crack. “Shall we?”

  Sis leads the way towards Trinity, marching over damp soil. She takes her rifle from her shoulder and looks through the sight.

  “What you seeing?”

  “He nearly there. He not good at hiding.”

  “Can I see?”

  Sis nods and hands the rifle to Abel. He raises the sight to his right eye, sweeping it along the fence until he spots Jacob. “Damn it,” he says. “He’s not even trying.”

  He hands the rifle back and pulls at his beard. “We should pick it up a bit. We don’t want him down there for longer than he needs to be.”

  “Okay,” Sis says, jogging ahead.

  Abel follows and they make their way towards Trinity’s rear fence.

  Sis stops when they are fifty or so metres away and takes up her rifle.

  “Where is he?”

  “He looking around for something. He keep scraping at ground.”

  “Can I look?”

  Sis passes Abel the rifle. He cocks his head, gazing through the sight, watching as Jacob paces back and forth, rubbing his chin. He kicks at the ground and stops, dropping to his knees and clawing at the soil in a flurry of movement. “I think he’s found it.”

  “We wait,” Sis says, taking back her rifle. “Then go when he inside.”

  Abel nods. “We should probably get some better cover,” he says, looking around.

  Sis runs towards a hay bale and takes up her rifle. Abel follows, tripping over rough ground. A loud metallic scraping echoes around them. “He open ground. He going inside.”

  “Damn it, they’re going to hear him for miles.” Abel bites down on his bottom lip, sweat pooling around the back of his neck.

  “Crap.” Sis drops the rifle’s sight, turning to Abel with wide eyes.

  “What?”

  “They climb fence. Drop down.”

  “Who?”

  “Men. They got Jacob.”

  Abel shakes his head. He snatches the rifle and looks down at Jacob. A couple of men retrieve weapons from the cache. Another man leads Jacob away. “Damn it. Now what?”

  “Shoot them.”

  Shaking his head, Abel looks away. “I can’t.”

  Sis grabs for the rifle and Abel pulls it back.

  “Don’t,” Abel snaps. “We can’t fight them. We need another way.” He looks back at the settlement, shaking his head. “Let’s go back. Sal needs to know.”

  20. Jacob

  Abel marches along the highway, his fists clenched as the late morning sun shines above.

  Sis lags behind, stumbling.

  “You okay?” Abel asks.

  “Just tired. How far?”

  “Shouldn’t be too long at all. We're nearly there. Just a bit more.”

  Sis nods and adju
sts the rifles on her back.

  “Do you want me to take any of those? I don't mind carrying them the rest of the way.”

  “No. I keep them with me.”

  “Aren't they heavy?”

  “Sometimes. They are now. Just need sleep then I'll be okay.”

  Abel nods. “I guess you didn't sleep last night, did you?”

  “Was watching.”

  Abel gestures ahead as the rocky outcrop emerges to the highway’s left. “Here we go,” he says, smiling. He shakes his head. “Never thought I'd see the day when I’d be glad to be back at the Grid.”

  Sis catches up to Abel, matching his pace. A line of rusted lamp posts stands bent and twisted, their surfaces mottled with moss and stained with streaks of rain-smeared dust. Yellowed vines cling to the highway’s edge, their forms dead and brittle. A sheet of plastic catches the wind, swirling in aimless loops, chased by leaves and rolling twigs. “Why did you stay there?” she asks.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Abel looks up at the circling clouds and sighs. “Was a long time ago.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I was taking plez back then. Didn't really have anywhere else to go. When I was there, everyone was on the stuff. The Family was set up there. It was a really bad place.”

  “Seems bad now. People fighting. Don't like trouble.”

  “Yep,” Abel says. “Different type of bad. At least people are looking out for each other, even if they're divided. Back when I was there, people only wanted one thing, and it didn't matter who they robbed or killed.” He grits his teeth. “There was no loyalty, no friendship. I can't believe I was like that.”

  “You killed?”

  Abel stops and shakes his head, tugging at his beard. “I never killed, but I robbed people. I used to steal things, mug people on the roads. I was a bit of a mean bastard and it was all because of the drugs.”

  Sis staggers to a halt and looks back at him. “You clean now. You don't rob.”

  “People change,” he says. “We can be different people.”

  Sis shifts a rifle from her shoulder and holds it out in front of her with both hands, staring down at the barrel. “Think I can change? I don't want to kill. I don't like to.”