Wasteland Treasure

by Eve Langlais

  “And how is that working for you?”

  “Pretty well if you ask me. After all, I was rescued and am now being ministered to by a beautiful woman.”

  She snorted. “Far from beautiful, I assure you.”

  Did she think herself unattractive? He found that hard to believe. She had such a honeyed voice. A firm manner that bespoke confidence.

  “Everyone is beautiful in their own way, sweetheart.”

  “My name is Sofia.”

  He wouldn’t forget it this time. “And I’m—”

  “Gunner. You already said. Such a violent name,” she remarked. “Step up, we’re almost there.”

  “My parents named me. Said it would make me tough.”

  “They might have overdone it. You’re rather large.”

  His lips quirked. “My mum liked to make sure I was well fed. Then there’s the fact I was raised in the Wastelands. When I was born, my first breath was toxic air. It changes a man.” To survive required strength.

  “There isn’t any dust here, and yet, I am stronger than before,” she admitted. “Which means you’d better not stick around too long, or you might become a giant.”

  “Think that’s what happened to Kitty?” Speaking of which, he’d not felt or heard the giant feline since their visit to the river.

  “I think,” she said, pulling him past a threshold onto a solid flat floor, “that is very possible given her size when I found her. Hard to believe she used to fit on my lap.”

  “And she carried me to your house?” Surely, he’d misunderstood that part, waking as he had with his mind jumbled.

  “Kitty likes to collect treasures.”

  “I’m a man.”

  “And your point is? Sit down.” She pushed him onto something hard.

  Feeling with his fingers, there was a flat, smooth rock under his ass and, beneath it, a chunk of wood forming a makeshift stool. Simple furniture, but at least it showed her innovative nature. She might have begun life in a dome, but she’d adapted.

  “Is there anything else out here that is larger than normal?”

  “What’s normal?” she asked.

  “I guess that is subjective.” He heard the crinkle as of dried foliage being crushed. “What are you doing?”

  “Mixing up a paste to ease your injuries.”

  “You know how?” he asked.

  Oliander was always complaining they needed to find themselves an alchemist. He claimed it would make his healing treatments more effective. The only one they knew lived in Emerald City and sold illegally—and very carefully—via a roving vendor who moved between the Wasteland camps. Meaning they paid a pretty penny for some of his wares.

  “I was trained to make all kinds of remedies. Although the ingredients here are different. I had to devise new mixtures.”

  “Smart.”

  “Necessary,” was her brisk retort. “I’m going to put the paste on now.”

  “And how do I know it’s not some poison or acid meant to kill me?”

  “Can’t give me a baby if you’re dead,” she declared.

  “You could be a little more reassuring.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought a big tough Wastelander like yourself would need to be coddled.”

  His lips twitched. “If I do die, can you at least promise to not eat me? I really don’t want to end up digested by somebody. Or something.”

  She chuckled. “You don’t have enough fat to tempt me.”

  He might have retorted but instead gasped as the cream went onto his skin. It felt cold and wet when she smeared it on his face. Smelled kind of earthy, too. It didn’t hurt. Didn’t burn.

  “Don’t move. I’m going to put some over your eyes.” She covered his entire face before declaring, “Done. How do you feel?”

  He shrugged. “Gooey.”

  “Is it hot or cold?”

  “Warming up a little now.”

  “Don’t move.” The heels of her hands suddenly dug against his sockets and she whispered, “Soothe.” The cream heated, hot enough he almost yelped.

  The discomfort began to ease, and he sighed instead. “That feels better. I didn’t know you were a healer.”

  “All apothecaries can ease symptoms. It’s in the combination of the ingredients.”

  He frowned. “That’s not what happened. You used magic.”

  She snorted. “Magic isn’t real.”

  It was, but he let it go for now. “Thank you. I am feeling a hundred times better than when I first woke.”

  “Hmmph.” She made a noise. “We should bind your eyes so you don’t accidentally open them and do more damage. Let me see if I can find a cloth to spare.”

  He heard ripping, and then some fabric wrapped around his head, bringing her close to him. Her scent was floral and fresh.

  It seemed normal to put his hands on her waist. She stepped out of reach and moved behind him, holding the bandeau over his eyes taut.

  “You speak a lot about fighting. Are you a soldier for this Haven?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I fight for what’s right. To help my friends. Resisting whenever I can.”

  She finished his bandage before saying. “Resisting what?”

  “The Enclave of course. I am against their tyrannical ruling of the people in the domes.”

  “Why? You’re not a citizen.”

  “And I thank the Wasteland every day that I was born and bred outside a dome. No offense.”

  “You really prefer living outside, don’t you?” she said musingly.

  “Me and everyone I know like our freedom.”

  “There are many Rats?” she asked, pulling the knot tight.

  “Rats.” His lips twisted. “That’s the name the Enclave gives us, trying to make us into bad guys. In reality we’re no different than any other citizen of the domes.”

  “Aren’t you, though? You said it yourself that living outside has exposed you to the perils of the Wastelands.”

  “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”

  “Or it festers within until it explodes out of you and takes a few lives before it can be torched into ash.”

  “That was a little too specific. Care to explain?”

  “No.” She moved away from him.

  “How is it that you ended up living here?”

  “I told you, a wind stole me.”

  “But how? The domes protect, which means you went outside. Are you a soldier?”

  “No,” she scoffed. “I am an assistant apothecary.”

  Which he’d expected from what she said before. “Were you outside collecting ingredients when the storm hit? Or did you just decide to run away?” A few of the people who ended up in Haven had chosen to leave. Freedom had a way of luring folks.

  “I was banished actually,” she said tersely.

  “For what?”

  “According to the Court, attacking a citizen.” Her words emerged clipped and tight.

  So he asked the most obvious thing. “Did she deserve it?”

  A pause. Then, “Yes. And more. But I never even landed a single blow, not that it mattered at my trial. Because she was related to someone serving the Enclave, they declared her innocent and condemned me to exile.”

  “Then you got off lucky.” His words were grim because he knew all too well what sometimes happened to those who’d earned punishment. More than a few people he knew had scars on their bodies to show how they’d been taught a lesson.

  “Lucky?” She uttered a soft snort as she helped him to his feet. “They sent me out into the Wasteland unarmed, with no food or water. I should have died a hundred times over.”

  “But you didn’t. Because you’re smart.” The compliment emerged with ease and no guile, yet she growled as if he’d called her something rude.

  “Smart. Ha.”

  “You had to be,” he insisted. “You say you were banished and then got kidnapped by some wind and dropped in a strange place. A dang
erous place.”

  “Who said it was dangerous?”

  “New Earth isn’t gentle.” The closest they got was less dangerous. “You never did say how long you’ve been here.”

  “What year is it for you?

  “Three hundred and seventy-two since the Fall.” The fall being the meteor shower that helped reshape old Earth into new.

  “That long?” She sighed. “It will be almost five years then.”

  He whistled without meaning to. “Shit, that’s gotta be lonely.”

  The pity wasn’t welcome given she barked, “You mean peaceful. No one to order me around. No lashings for being slow or impertinent.”

  “I’m sorry.” He apologized even as he understood her request now for his seed. She wanted a child to keep her company. But what if he could offer her something better?

  “You know, there are places, not the domes,” he hastened to add, “that would welcome someone with your skills. You don’t have to live here by yourself.”

  “I’m not by myself. I have—”

  “Kitty,” he sighed. “Yes, so you keep telling me. But what about someone to talk to?”

  “I’m talking to you, and I have to say, it’s not the most pleasant thing I’ve done today.”

  The insult made him bark with laughter. “You know how to put a guy in his place.”

  “And you don’t take offense at anything,” she murmured.

  “Thick skin, sweetheart.”

  “Sofia.”

  “A sweet name, for a lovely woman.”

  “And you’re back to the flirting.” She sounded amused. “Since I’m done with you, I have work to do.”

  “Work? What kind?”

  “The kind that will feed us later. You should rest. You’re probably tired.”

  “Just point me to a spot on the floor.”

  For some reason that made her sigh. “Come with me.” She tugged him by the hand.

  He followed, using his other senses to avoid disorientation. After a short distance, the smell changed, from the wildness of growing things to that of something dusty and dry, yet hinting of her floral fragrance. They’d entered a different space.

  She placed his hand on a spongy surface. “You can sleep here.”

  “I thought you only had one bed.”

  “I do. But since I won’t need it until later, you can borrow it.”

  With those words, she left, a door closing behind her, which surprised him. He’d expected her to possess a simple shelter. Something that resembled a lean-to. Or a cave. After all, she claimed a wind had brought her to some kind of valley and trapped her. That would mean no tools, no ability to purchase goods.

  Yet, she had a bed. How curious. He ran his hand over the mattress, noting the fabric that slid when tugged. A blanket with many seams, as if many pieces of cloth had been stitched together. A firm press of the mattress made a crinkling sound, and running his fingers over top of it, he recognized leather and more stitching. She’d made her own mattress.

  Not bad for a dome citizen. But while she’d created the bedding, she didn’t build the house, he’d wager. This wasn’t some small shelter of hacked together branches and vine. It had presence, shape. It had been built.

  He dropped to his haunches and ran his fingers over the strange bed frame, which emerged from the floor as if carved from it. The floor was tile, the ridges even, the surface pitted less severely than the flooring in the other room.

  “What are you doing?” Her sudden arrival sent him off balance, and he landed hard on his ass.

  “You should knock. What if I was busy getting you that seed you demanded?”

  “Were you?”

  “No. But now that you’re here, would you like to milk me yourself?”

  “Absolutely not!” He heard the hot embarrassment. “I came back to ask for your pants.”

  “I will gladly remove them. I take it this means you changed your mind about how we’ll make the baby?” He intentionally goaded her because it amused him and annoyed her.

  “No!” she huffed. “I was going to hang them with your shirt to dry.”

  Feeling for the bed, he rose and sat on the edge. The mattress sank, and the stuff inside crunched. He nudged off his boots before putting his hands on the waistband of his pants. “What is this place?”

  “Shelter.”

  “Obviously. I know you told me you found it. Long abandoned. The fact there’s anything here is—”

  “Astonishing, I know. It has been here a while, judging by the decay. Partially made of rock and partially of cement with metal bars inside it. It must have been grand once, with many rooms. Now there’s only a few that are safe.”

  “So it’s some kind of ancient ruin.” The very idea piqued his interest. “Is it the only one? What can you tell me about it? How big is the structure? Do—”

  “You talk too much, and I don’t have time for it. Sleep.” A powder entered his mouth.

  The next time he woke was because something was licking his face. Probably readying him for dinner.

  Five

  Sofia managed to shove Gunner the right way when the sleeping powder took effect. He fell over onto the bed, his face slack, his eyes wrapped with a strip from her skirt, his jaw showing stubble.

  Even in repose he appeared wide and intimidating. His body was firm with muscle. His jaw square and strong like him. He’d make her a pretty baby.

  Her gaze strayed lower. He’d kept on his undergarment, form-fitting shorts with a prominent bulge in the front. The rod that would spew the seed she needed. He’d even offered to give it to her from the source.

  Perhaps she should accept his offer. She ran a finger down his fine torso. His skin shivering at her touch.

  Shocked at her actions, she looked away. It wasn’t proper. While technically forbidden by law, sex happened in the city. Not with her. She’d never been with a man, although she’d dabbled with a woman a few times. Someone who stayed at the shop with her when the Master had to leave for a period of time.

  She’d found it pleasant but not worth losing her life over. Yet she knew others went to dangerous lengths to indulge. Babies had been created by accident during trysts. Lives lost over sex with the wrong person.

  Surely that indicated there was something about it she’d yet to grasp that made it desirable. Perhaps it required the right man. She wondered if it was her extreme isolation that saw him as different because being near him did bring a flutter.

  Her cat, finally making a reappearance, nosed into the room and prowled close to the bed. The frame—made of an unfamiliar-shaped material that was smoother than concrete—didn’t move. A good thing, as Kitty jumped up and flopped beside the man, almost crushing him.

  “And where did you go?” she asked, shaking her finger at her cat. “What if he’d tried to murder me at the river?”

  The feline’s nose twitched.

  “Fine. He didn’t. But he could have. I hope you were doing something constructive. Like fetching us some dinner.”

  “Meowr.”

  “No, I did not catch a fish while I was at the river.” She was too busy handling their guest. “Guess I’ll check the traps when I go out. You need to watch him. Don’t let him touch my stuff.”

  Kitty yawned and lay her head on her paws, closing her eyes, feigning sleep.

  While her lazy cat sleep-guarded, she was going to see if the storm had brought anything other than a talkative man. The odd and ends she’d scavenged during her time here had arrived via wind, the dark cloud rising over the mountains, dropping some of its stolen treasure into the bowl formed by the peaks.

  A goodly amount of it proved useless. The sand and dust it carried absorbed by the loamy ground. The furniture it sometimes managed to steal smashing to bits. A shame because she would have dearly enjoyed a real chair. At least she had a few books. A city perk that she’d missed until the first soggy one she found. It eventually dried out, and most of it remained readable. The bucket was scavenged at the
same time she found the single fork.

  She had clothing, an eclectic mishmash, mostly made from found scraps and animal skin. Not that her appearance mattered out here. Kitty didn’t care how she looked.

  And neither would Gunner. He couldn’t see, and she actually didn’t hold out much hope he would. Perhaps had she been in the shop with the highly skilled Master aiding her, they might have managed a concoction strong enough, but it was just her along with whatever herbs and other ingredients she scavenged. But she would do her best, and he would keep his end of the bargain and give her a baby.

  Someone for her to care for like she’d done with Kitty. A reason to live rather than give up.

  She owed Kitty her life. Sofia well remembered finding the small cat, and not that long after she’d arrived, too.

  After the wind grabbed her in the Wasteland, she’d woken to find something nudging her. Opening her eyes, she saw a creature looking back at her and shrieked, sending it scampering.

  It took a moment to take in the fact she lay facedown on something fragrant and moist. She’d lain still for a moment, taking stock of her body, noticing all the aches but no stabbing pains of broken bones. The skin on her face and hands, even her legs, burned, rousing a memory of those flaying winds as they tossed her around and around while all she could do was clench her fists and wish with all her might she didn’t die.

  Someone listened. She lived and quickly realized she wasn’t in the Wasteland anymore. The moistness against her face and the texture, so strange. She turned her head to the side and opened her eyes to see a wall of grass. Long grass, never trimmed, with stalks bending in the light breeze, the flowered heads swaying hypnotically.

  Flowers? Outside the palace gardens? She’d only ever seen them in pictures or the videos they showed the populace. Flowers were for the wealthy. The closest she got was the crushed petals of a few types useful for healing.

  Had the wind dropped her in the palace garden? Impossible. The dome would have prevented it. Its entire purpose was to keep the city safe from peril.

  So where was she then? Sitting up, she took a long look at where she found herself. Then glanced again because it made no sense. The grass extended into a field—a knoll really—dusted with sand. No sign of the creature that nudged her, just one confused Sofia.