Vile Wasteland (A Post Apocalyptic Novel)

by Keep, J. E.

  "Okay, so... this is weird, right?" she frowned, her adrenaline having spiked, leaving her body slightly slumped. "I mean, I had my bag, that guy took it, then those two psychos attacked me. Now he’s disappeared?"

  Stepping back towards her, his cautiousness seemed to slip away again and he was casual, she could even note the sound of broken glass crunching beneath his boots as he approached her. "Like I said, they don’t run and hide," he took his rifle and brought the hoop back up over his shoulder, letting his dark hazel eyes roam up and down her form. "And I never heard of ‘em stealin’ before either. Unless it was a person or meat, that is."

  "Well, there’s a first for everything, I guess. And now I’m just fucked. Great," she slammed her back against the wall, her pale skin flushing an angry red under her light hair. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK," she brought her ponytail to the wall again and again as she threw her tantrum.

  With an arched brow the dark, ruddy skinned man watched her with some curious interest. Bren came in, the sounds apparently alarming him for he had his stubby rifle at the ready, though the ‘boss’, as he was called, held out a hand, assuring him it was okay. The dark haired Bren gave her an obvious once over then left, leaving the two of them alone again.

  "Could’a lost a lot more," was what he said at last. "Most folk know better than to fight back and raise their ire." A smirk took his face, and though it’d look smug on most, he managed to make it appear appealing, "But you took that one fucker out faster than I’ve seen Bren drop a man."

  "Asshole had it coming," she scowled, though there was a twinge of pride in both her words and her expression. "Woulda got the other one, but glad I didn’t have to. Still. Now I’m fucked, so it doesn’t matter. Nearly got killed for nothing."

  With a shrug of his shoulder, that might’ve been to readjust the rifle over his back, or in dismissal of her words he said. "Startin’ over’s something we all get used to out here," and he looked her over again, then once more, as if seeing her for the first time. "You look pretty damn good to be wandering alone." Crossing his arms over his chest he asked, "You an escaped van-girl?" he asked.

  "What?" her face contorted in obvious confusion, as if trying to figure out what any of that meant. "Look, if I don’t get my bag back, a lot of people are going to die," she sighed, exasperated, "So can you help me look through this place?"

  Recoiling just a bit at her claim, the man grinned, apparently finding some humour in the situation she did not. "People gonna die," he said as if her words were comical. "Heard that one before," chuckling he gestured around and said, "Look sugar, there ain't much to look around in here, as you’ve seen. And though you may have people that might die if you don’t get your package of life-savers, I actually got people whose lives I need ta look out for."

  "Well then thanks," she bit back acerbically at him, starting to move into the corner of the room, intending to search every corner of it for a trap entrance or secret door. Her hands moved across the flooring and walls, knocking on it before moving a few steps and repeating the process. She kept her knife ever ready in one hand, her eyes constantly moving around the room as though being hunted.

  The tall man watched her a while, as if he’d not seen anything so entertaining in a very long time. It wasn’t until she’d searched half the room with her meticulous care that he spoke up again, "Hey hun," he began, "what’s your name anyhow?" he had his head tilted, and at some point must’ve ran his hand through his hair, for it looked thicker and better now, and the strange–definitely bleached–blonde look of it was surprisingly appealing on his dark features.

  "Alexandra," she responded, her own blonde hair lacking its usual bounce, the long waves piling down around her shoulder and over her simple cotton t-shirt. Her black jacket was very light and more of a protection against the elements than the cold, and she left it unbuttoned, ending about half way down her back. "Don’t you have lives to save?"

  She was a treat for the eyes, to be sure, and his were feasting on her. "The name’s Jarago," he said, the sound rolling off his tongue so naturally, he made it sound as if it were a delicious snack. "And as for lives ta save, well," he shrugged his shoulders again pulling back his trench coat and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Beneath that heavy coat, he wore a simple vest and black pants, lined with buckles and straps. He looked like a handsome actor done up in the gear of a hard-nosed traveller from a movie. "I could make you an offer. Seein’ as how you’re shit out of luck, and shit out of... everythin’, it seems."

  "What kind of offer?" she asked, still repeating the tapping motions, but she was remaining more and more focused on him, her voice becoming just a bit more hopeful. Happiness and joy befit her face well, though he was only starting to see the faintest traces of it beneath the surface of her panic and fear.

  Jarago leaned back against what once must have been a clean counter, but now was encrusted with rust and a film of grime. "My crew is gonna set up camp here for the night before makin’ our way onwards." Pulling back his collar a bit he sized her up, "That’ll give ya a night to search, and if in the mornin’ ya ain't found yer bag of life-savers, I’ll offer ya a position. Could use a gal like you," he said, a wry smile forming on his face as the look he gave her suggested more than his words alone.

  She stared at him blankly, but the slight colour that rose to her cheeks spoke to her awareness of what he was saying. "Fine, yea, alright. Wait, how many of you are there?"

  Holding up a hand he flashed her four fingers, "Four all told. Bren and me, then the other two, they’re hired hands. Me and Bren though? We’re tight," he said with all seriousness, pushing away from the counter and making his way slowly towards the door, "We’ll be settin’ up for the night like I said. Call out if you find any more of ‘em hidin’ in a cabinet," he said with a smile, though somehow he managed to make the expression look less condescending than his words made it sound.

  "I’m sure you’ll hear me - or him - scream. Promise," she said, going back to her tedious work. She was prepared to hunt every inch of this shithole, because there was no way she was returning back to the bunker just to tell everyone she lost all the goods before the sun even set on the first day. She was not going to deliver them into death.

  Chapter 3

  After a couple hours of fruitless search through the decrepit wastes of old humanity, the sounds of laughter and the smells of cooking food arose. Coming out, she saw sat around the fire the large man Bren, and Jarago, with another unidentified man in the corner seeming to sleep. They were being pretty noisy really, but it seemed the man in the corner was used to it and didn’t budge.

  Turning towards her Jarago bore a big grin, and Bren gave her a stoic but intense look. "Well, look who it is Bren, our little fire-cracker. Y’know," he said, shooting a mock serious look to the other man, "I don’t think I should poke fun, judgin’ by how fast she can down one of those fuckers, it just ain’t smart."

  "I’d say you’re right," she agreed, plunking down on the floor beside him. "Besides, I’m a lot more pissed off now than I was then," she drew her legs out, stretching them and her back for a moment. "I have no idea where that asshole went."

  With a plastic bowl for a dish, Jarago forked something in it that smelled like meat and popped it into his mouth, eating. "Don’t know what to tell you about that," he said seriously, "it ain’t in their nature to run and hide." With a shrug he said, no longer mocking, "If one of ‘em had your stuff and then was gone, he’s either on his way to do somethin’ horrible with it, or he’ll be back for you."

  "Think he belonged to New Atlantia?" she asked, looking at Jarago intently. Her stomach growled, but she rubbed her arms over it to silence it quickly. "Fuck, if he’s off trading it... Might be better going back," she sighed, curling her legs up and resting her chin on her knees, staring at the fire. She was so lost in her own thoughts she barely showed any interest in the men or who they were, which was so unlike her usual, curious self. While she never cared much for learning, she loved learning
about people, watching and talking to them. Especially as these were the first people she’d really met out in the wastes.

  It finally dawned on her just how out of sorts she was behaving, and stared back at Jarago, "Why are you here?"

  She had been so lost in her own reverie she failed to notice the bewildered looks the two men were giving her. They obviously didn’t understand a lot of what she said, though Jarago answered, "We’re a caravan, Alex," then cleared his throat.

  Laying down his tray he said, with furrowed brow, "Just where are you from? And where are you headed anyhow?" Bren looked almost equally as confused, though his stoic face hid it better as he sat, arms crossed.

  "One of the bunkers," she said, her head tilting to the side. It was obvious that there was something lost in translation between them, and she slowly moved her legs to sit more comfortably. "And I’m going... was going... to New Atlantia to get some supplies. But now I don’t have anything to trade."

  This time it was Bren who was first to look to her and speak, "That explains a lot, Boss."

  Jarago nodded, wiping his hands on his pants as he sized up the beautiful young woman anew. "A bunker babe?" he said, a smile returning to his face. "And you were headed to... New Atlantia?" He sounded as if the name was a bit unfamiliar to him, then pointed off out the broken windows of the dilapidated restaurant, "The big white place... over there? Other end of the valley?" he asked.

  "Van girl, bunker babe, what next?" she sighed, though her eyes twinkled with good humour. "And yea. Why, what do you call it?"

  "Hell," answered Bren immediately, the large, stoic man quick to respond once more, a hard look on his broad face.

  Jarago nodded to that, "Damn straight," he affirmed. "And those pieces of shit that attacked you aren’t gonna trade anythin’," he said with certainty. "Oh, it came from Hell–New Atlantia–alright. Or very likely anyhow," he said with a shrug, "but ain't no PERSON who goes there and ever comes out right again," he said sternly. "That’s where you go to die, or have every bit of your humanity stripped from you. Either way, you might as well be dead."

  All the while Bren nodded authoritatively to Jarago’s words, his jaw set firmly as if he was put on guard just by the mere topic.

  Her brows furrowed and they could see her breathing begin to rise. As her posture straightened further, her hands resting at her sides, she looked to Bren, "Why would they steal my tech stuff?" she asked curiously.

  The two men gave her that strange look again, as if she were mad. With a deep intake of breath and a shake of his head he said, "Like I said, the Viles don’t go runnin’ and hiding, and they don’t steal. Unless it’s to steal a person or some meat–they like eatin’ meat." He shrugged his shoulders, "Just not how they do things, sugar. Never has been."

  "Yea, well, that doesn’t change what just happened. Fuck, why would I even make this up?" she asked, frustration creeping into her voice as her fingers went to her hair, finally trying to get the dirt free of the thick waves. "They took my stuff, I don’t know why and you say they wouldn’t have."

  The two men glanced at each other for a moment then Jarago looked back to her, "It’s not that we don’t believe you, it’s just that... it doesn’t make any sense by our accounting," he said. With a jerk of his chin the tall, darker man gestured for Bren to go, "You take watch for now," he said.

  Bren got up, picking up his own rifle and looking over the woman, a glint of curiosity, disbelief and more yet on his face, then turned and left, leaving the two alone with the sleeping man.

  Her fingers ran through the long, blonde hair before she finally gave up trying to fix it, staring up at him with an annoyed expression, "I’ve just pretty much killed everyone I’ve known for the past decade, and it’s sure as hell more than three people in a caravan. How’s that for having to start fresh."

  Arching a brow over at her, the tall Jarago lifted himself on one palm and slid over next to her, speaking lower. "You’ve got a pretty grim outlook," he said, "like I told ya, folks out here–in the light–are used to havin’ to start from nothin’. And you’re fortunate, you already got a job offer," he explained, a wry, handsome smile lighting his ruddy-brown features. "Work for me, I’ll see you treated well, and in time you’ll earn some extra to help your friends."

  She met his eyes, not flinching away, "Yea, about that. What exactly did you want me to be doing? Killing those things full time or just being your adorable little bunker babe plaything, huh? ‘cause I’m not sure either of those really flies with me."

  His smile widened to a smirk and he put up his two hands, "Why not both?" he said. "You got the tenacity for one, and the looks for the other," he said, reaching a hand out, touching his fingers to her knee. "We can come to an arrangement," he said softly. "Not like you’d have to put out to everyone like most van-girls do. I’d keep you to myself. Maybe Bren now and then. If you’re up for it," he offered.

  Her eyes went down to her knee, studying the strong hand before looking back to him, a mixture of unreadable expressions on her face. "Okay, firstly, what the fuck is a van girl? Secondly, how long would it take for me to get some seeds and food for a colony of dying people?"

  Looking only mildly surprised by her statements he gave a light shrug, but left his hand on her knee. "I don’t trade in that sorta stuff," he explained, "but in time along our routes we’d come across the sort of materials you’re lookin’ for, I’m sure." Clearing his throat he added, "And a van-girl is a woman who tags along on a caravan to see to the needs of the caravaneers. I mean, alternatively there’s van-boys too, of course," he explained.

  Her lips pursed to the side as she pressed her hands into the dirt, seeming thoughtful. "What type of stuff do you guys do, then?" she asked.

  The man’s strong hand lingered on her, then slowly began to stroke against her thigh, him leaning towards her rather familiarly, "Weapons," he explained. "Scavenged goods too. We deal in hardware," he said, stressing the ‘hard’ just a bit.

  "God, has it been a while for you or something?" she tugged her thigh away from him, though she didn’t seem upset. "What would I have to do, and how would I get the stuff I need then, huh?"

  He didn’t seem to appreciate her sharp disapproval, though he smoothly took his hand back and placed it on his own knee. "You’d have to keep me happy," was his firm response, "Bren too, now and then, but mostly me. And you’d get what you need by doin’ your job well, like everyone else. When we arrive at town, you’d get a cut of the profits that you could use to buy the shit you need."

  Her gaze turned back to the fire, and she stared deep into its pits for what seemed like the longest time but was only a half-minute or so. A big breath rose her chest and she let it out before staring at him again, "And how hard are you to keep happy, hm?"

  With a light shrug of his shoulders he gave her a look over, "Lookin’ as you do, won't be difficult I don’t think." Testing his luck again he brought his hand back over to her, laying it directly upon her thigh this time as he spoke quietly near her ear. "You’re a real good lookin’ gal, and I ain’t half bad myself," he said with a confident grin, "I’ll make it fun for us both even. And you come along for the ride, paid and no worries."

  "And I can leave whenever I want, right?" she still spoke with such confident determination, even as she appeared to be capitulating to him. "And you and your... caravan won’t hurt me," she added on.

  With a bit of a laugh he nodded, smiling unevenly, "Yeah, that’s right. Leave whenever you like, as long as you keep me happy in the mean time–and I mean real happy–and none of us’ll harm you, I can guaran-damn-tee that," he said, his fingers probing along her inner thigh again brazenly as he lofted a brow and gave her a querying look.

  Despite her calm exterior, she felt her heart beat begin to pick up in her chest and her breathing grow more shallow, despite her best attempts to keep it well paced. Looking back to the fire, her lips were parted and her face conflicted. Still, a thread of excitement was being tugged through her, th
at same familiar feeling that she had when she first left the bunker. That feeling of adventure and risk, of things new and unknown.

  When she looked back at him, her eyes danced with her hidden desires, and she gave a nod of her head, "Subject to revision, I currently agree to your terms."

  His smirk widened further still to full-fledged grin, and he gave her thigh a squeeze. With a shrug over his shoulder he indicated back to the hallway towards the kitchen she’d searched so thoroughly earlier, "C’mon then." He was getting up almost as soon as he said it.

  Chapter 4

  She was a bit slower, though that wasn’t saying much, and she dusted off her behind as she walked. A tentative glance was given to the sleeping travellers, but there was something much more demanding on her mind, and her steps quickened to keep up.

  As far as losing one’s virginity went, it surely wasn’t ideal. But then, no ideal situation had ever popped up, not with how much everyone gossiped in the bunker. Even Marim couldn’t be trusted with her virginity, though the brief thought brought a pang of regret. She probably would have slept with him after she found out she was leaving, if it didn’t feel like it was going to be an emotional event.

  Alexandra didn’t really sign on for that type of thing.

  Stranded out there in the wastes of the old civilization, following after a handsome stranger, it was her best option. Especially if he was going to be her ticket to get to safety. She further justified to herself, she would be saving lives as she did; she certainly couldn’t say she had an opportunity to do that before.

  Jarago had moved so silently and quickly, he was already in the old kitchen, throwing his trench coat over top of one of the less filthy tables, leaving it spread out as sort of a blanket. She could see him now a bit better, even in the dim light of the room, lit only by the small windup lamp he’d brought. The vest he wore was apparently padded with some protection, and he wore nothing on beneath, showing off his dark muscled arms. It was obvious he didn’t sit back on his missions doing nothing.