Wasteland Treasure

by Eve Langlais

  She stood, and more of the grit shook free, sprinkling the grass she’d crushed when she landed. As expected, the sight of her legs showed them scraped and bleeding in spots, but not as bad as feared.

  Hugging herself, she turned around in a full circle. It only served to perplex her further. Nothing she perceived made sense.

  She stood on a hill. The top was flat and several paces across before rolling away. On one side it dropped sharply into a river. An actual river with flowing water.

  Directly on the other side of the river a sheared chunk of rock rose high enough she had to crane her neck and then wondered how high it reached given the crown was covered by clouds.

  The wall extended left and right as far as she could see. Whereas behind her, down the gentlest part of the hill’s slope, a dense line of trees moved upward.

  “Where am I?” She’d asked the question then, and years later, still had no answer. It wasn’t a dome. Or the Wasteland she knew about. It was a lush example of what she imagined old Earth used to be.

  She wouldn’t call it paradise, not at first. It was much too frightening for one thing.

  All around her, things grew. Thick trunked trees that towered high above her, the leaves fatter than she was, the boles too wide to hug. The blades of grass were wider than her fingers, the flowers, the size of a fist.

  Everything in this place felt larger than normal, and things that were different could be frightening at first. Especially when some of it proved dangerous.

  She remembered the first time she felt a slithery tickle and turned to notice a vine trying to twine itself around her. Since she couldn’t tear it in half, she’d panicked, wound the vine around her fist, and then yanked, pulling it loose. In severing it, she saved her own life.

  She fought off fat bugs that enjoyed feeding on flesh. Almost drowned in the river because of the fat fish that teased her. As if to taunt, they would flip out of the water, showing off their meaty bellies before flopping with a splash. Tastier than anything she’d ever eaten in the dome, especially once she discovered how to cook them. But she didn’t catch her first fish. Kitty was the one who gave it to her.

  The night they met started with a plaintive meow that woke her. She slept sitting on a branch, leaning against the trunk of the tree, the vine she’d killed wrapped around her to keep her from falling. She learned her lesson the first time she nodded off and pitched to the ground. Right after the lesson on not sleeping on the grass. Like the vines, it tried to grab hold of her. Only at night, though. The daytime sun made the grass lethargic and safe for her.

  She untied the knot and crouched, listening.

  “Mee-uuu.” A sharp, sad sound, the first since her arrival that wasn’t a buzz. She knew there was life out there. She remembered those eyes when she first woke. Could hear it rustling in the underbrush. She kept a stick with her just in case. A whacking stick. She only hoped she could whack when her life depended on it.

  The sound was familiar. A cat. Maybe the same one she’d seen before but had been too frightened at the time to comprehend.

  Cats were considered nuisance animals in the dome. Yet, for all the attempts to rid themselves of the felines, the city always failed. Their ability to disappear into the sewers kept them from complete extinction.

  If a feline found itself here in this place, it must be scared. She understood the feeling.

  “Hold on, kitty. I’m coming,” she muttered as she climbed down the tree in the dark, trying not to miss a foot- or handhold.

  She made it to the ground and held her huffing breath to listen. Buzz. Rustle. The regular noises then a snuffling meow.

  She moved toward it, the stick waving out in front. Not the most elegant method, probably why her foot caught on a root and she tripped. Fell flat on her face, bouncing off her healing cheek, scraping it anew.

  She yelled, “Seriously!” Was she fated to have ill luck forever? She’d sighed into the loamy ground and the grit of the protruding root.

  Realized the meowing had stopped, but she knew what it meant. She wasn’t alone. She’d not realize until that moment how terrified she’d been of being the only living thing around.

  The next day, when she went to splash herself with river water, she found a fish lying on shore. She eyed it. Was it edible? She poked it with a finger and found it still damp and cold. Fresh.

  Belly rumbling, she couldn’t wait to eat. Having no knife, she used her teeth, biting through the scaly skin, tearing its flesh into chunks she could chew. And chew.

  And gag.

  Good thing she had little to bring up. The first raw piece emerged, as did the second, but the third stayed down, and her belly stopped protesting. She found herself unwilling to eat more than a few mouthfuls.

  The sun beat on her, hot enough to bake. Her eyes popped open as she wondered…Can I cook it?

  She dug her fingers into the flesh and laid some thin strips on a flat rock by the river, using the heating rocks to cook the fish.

  As it went from raw to possibly edible, the meowing started again. This time, more surefooted in the daylight, she followed the sound. It appeared to come from close to the edge of the woods.

  “Where are you, kitty?”

  “Meow.” The sound came from overhead.

  Sofia tilted her head to look. The scraggly little feline sat on a branch, its green eyes huge, whiskers trembling. Its fur was a tawny brown and spotted.

  Since it looked so cute and small, she stupidly reached for it. The bloody scratches across the back of her hand were the proof it wasn’t defenseless.

  She sucked the torn skin and glared at the cat as it climbed higher. “Idiot. I was trying to help.”

  “Meow.”

  “Whatever. Save yourself,” she grumbled.

  Returning to her camp, she was pleased to see her fish had changed color. Tearing at a piece, it flaked. Tasted better, too, if a bit dry. She let it cook a bit and went back to the woods, for the first time truly paying attention to the foliage. Just because she didn’t recognize any of the plants didn’t mean they weren’t useful.

  She collected them, being careful to not grab the strange plants with her bare skin, not until she’d observed them more. Something grown in the wild could have toxins she wouldn’t expect. Seeing a bird plucking at berries was the only reason she dared try any.

  The tartness shocked. Made her eyes water and her mouth gasp. But the flavor… In a flat rock with a hint of a depression for a bowl, she crushed them into a paste, added some water then an herb she actually recognized, a kind of mint.

  She let it cook too, hiding in the vee of the trees and watching over it during the hottest part of the day. The humidity made her filthy gown cling to her.

  When the sun finally dipped past the edge of the mountains and the heat died, she returned to the river and her evening meal. Her mouth actually watered but, first, a bath.

  She found the shallowest part of the shore, only knee high. She’d seen too many things floating in the deep parts to trust going any farther.

  Kneeling, she bathed herself as best she could, even her gown. She emerged, shivering, and walked quickly to the warm rocks and her dinner. A dinner being stolen by a cat!

  “Drop that!” she yelled, running across the pebbles, feeling the sharp sting as they cut her feet.

  The cat bolted for the trees, and she grumbled, but not for long, seeing it had taken only one strip. The rest of the fish and the berry mush she’d made more than filled her belly. She slept deeply that night, tied in her tree, knees tucked to her chest, and only woke when something with a bit of weight was dropped on them, meaning fur tickled her nose.

  She opened her eyes to see a carcass.

  With a scream, she shoved it from her and scrambled to untie herself. She almost fell out of the tree but finally managed to make it to the ground where the dead thing had fallen.

  There was a mocking,” Meowr?” to her left.

  Sofia saw the kitten sitting nice as you please,
head cocked. It eyed the dead creature then her.

  “Did you bring that for me, kitty?”

  To this day she would have sworn the cat nodded.

  “Would you like some?”

  Apparently, that was a yes. She tore at the creature and discovered it wasn’t like a fish. It was messy and hairy. The cat liked a few of the organs, hissed at others. Those she tossed away. Rinsing her rock first, she then lined it with some fragrant moss she’d found, and placed the raw meat on it. It cooked all that day, along with the new batch of berries she harvested.

  She and Kitty dined like rich Enclave citizens that night.

  When night fell, the cat left, and she tied herself to her tree branch and wondered if the cat would return in the morning. She hoped it did. It was nice to not be alone.

  She awoke that night to hear hissing. Startled, she opened her eyes and, through the scant starlight filtering through leaves, saw the cat on the branch with her, standing sideways, its back arched and fur bristled. Kitty made a strange noise. Growling and hissing.

  She saw the glint of amber eyes in the dark. She wrapped her hands around the stick she always kept handy and swung. A few times.

  Then breathed hard for a moment longer before swallowing and saying, “Dinner’s on me today.”

  That night, kitty curled herself around her neck as she slept.

  They’d been inseparable since. Until Gunner appeared. Now her traitor cat was sleeping with him.

  Which was fine. She didn’t need Kitty to help her scavenge. She knew these woods. Knew them to the sheer edge of the mountain and every pace of the embankment along the river.

  She’d had time to mentally map every part of it. Which meant she could guess where Kitty found Gunner. Given they both arrived dry, she hadn’t forged where the river split the land, meaning the wind had dumped Gunner somewhere on this side of the river.

  Eyeing the area outside her house, she then took note of drag marks coming from the right. From the outside, the building appeared as seamless stone, melted and shaped from the rock it rested on. She wondered how it was created. Who created it?

  By the time she’d stumbled onto it, not much remained inside other than the bed frame that didn’t move and part of a table, its pedestal rising from the floor, almost half of the flat top sheared away. She’d found the other sections in pieces in a far room.

  The house proved the best thing she’d found, after Kitty. It meant she didn’t have to wake cramped from sleeping in a tree.

  Knife in hand, the blade pitted with age, Sofia strode through the woods. It gave her a sense of security, especially because it felt familiar. She used it for everything, cutting, killing. She hoped to find another one before it snapped in half.

  She used it now to whack a trail through the underbrush. It seemed thicker of late, maybe because the moisture in the air had gotten so heavy, more humid than she ever recalled. Even the river flower wider and faster than before, yet there hadn’t been a single rain to account for the change. Sunny days and windstorms, that was all she ever got.

  As she moved farther away, she saw signs of a recent wind drop—dust lingering on the leaves, some of them twisted and bent. Her toe nudged something that moved, and she bent to find a pair of goggles, the lenses intact. She put them around her neck.

  Moving on, she found a wheel, twisted and unusable. Then a gun, the barrel cracked. She still removed the cartridge with bullets and kept both parts. The knife embedded in the tree—the metal hilt caught her eye—proved to be a nice surprise. After a lot of cursing and groaning, she heaved it out and tucked it into the sash at her waist, keeping the weapon she knew in hand.

  She doubted anyone else was out here. Five years, over a hundred storms, and only five other people had ever been dumped. Six now with Gunner.

  The appearance of a bike, the kind with an engine and not pedal power, took her by surprise, especially given it looked intact. Did it belong to him?

  She dropped to her haunches and ran her fingers over the compartments on its sides. She undid clips and opened them to find a treasure. A map that did her no good. A canteen, which would prove useful. Rations, dried meat of some sort, and something wrapped in an oiled cloth that looked soft. She tucked it into her pouch with everything else. Having emptied the storage bag, she struggled to pull the bike upright to get to the other side.

  She found more items that excited, and she’d just finished emptying it when she heard a noise. She pretended as if she didn’t, standing and acting nonchalant even as her nape prickled. While these woods were home to many creatures, very few of them were dangerous. Unless the wind brought something new.

  Surely if there was danger, Kitty would have warned her. Another rustle, straight ahead. She crept forward, the fingers holding her knife sweating.

  Rustle.

  She whirled suddenly, brandishing her blade, and noticed nothing behind her. Which seemed strange. She could have sworn she sensed something.

  Thunk.

  The sharp blow to her head sent Sofia to her knees. She remained conscious, if stunned. But not too stunned to act.

  Snarling, she slashed with her knife and scraped over metal.

  A robotic chuckle sounded. “You ain’t cutting through my suit with that.”

  The words brought fear, fast and quick. The sight of the green armor made her heart pound. Not the red she was used to seeing but still the right equipment indicating an Enclave soldier.

  Danger!

  She shoved at him, and he didn’t budge even as she whirled to escape.

  “You can’t outrun me.” The robotic claim brought a wheezing cry to her lips.

  She ran through the woods, away from her house because the soldier was in her path. She angled, cutting around, hearing only her panting breath, the pulse of pain in her head where he’d struck her.

  Rushing always brought out the clumsy in her. Or the forest conspired. Whatever the case, she snared her foot and dove forward, hands and knees digging into the forest floor, scraping and scratching.

  The panicked breath rushed out of her, especially as she expected to roll over and see him coming for her.

  There was no one there. Perhaps she’d outrun him in his metal suit? Getting to her feet, she ran again until she emerged onto the shore of the river, its surface higher than this morning, the ground getting softer as it rose. She raced across the strip of shore, not sure what reaching her house would accomplish. An Enclave soldier in full armor wouldn’t be beaten by a stick.

  Unless…

  The gun in her bag? Could it be used?

  A quick glance behind her showed no one following, and she slowed and ducked her head to rummage in her bag, pulling out the gun and then the clip. She slammed the pair together just as he stepped out from the woods.

  The green robot mocked, “Is that for me?”

  “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll shoot.”

  “I wouldn’t. Split barrel like that you’re more likely to lose your face. Which would be a shame. It’s a pretty face.”

  “You’re lying.”

  It was odd to see the big metal armor shrug. She’d only ever seen them as emotionless monsters before. They didn’t talk much, only ever showed up to arrest those the Enclave deemed guilty.

  “Lying is for those who don’t hold all the power.” The soldier took a step.

  She waved the gun. “Stop.”

  “Make me!”

  The soldier dove, and those mechanical hands gripped her, ignoring her struggles. When she tried to scream, he tore her shirt, ripped it clean from her body, and stuffed it into her mouth.

  Because who else but a he would then fondle her breast and say, “This day is finally getting better.”

  Shoved to the ground, she rubbed her wrists and glared.

  He removed his helmet and showed off a handsome visage made ugly by its leer. Blond hair cut short, bright blue eyes, full sneering lips. “You and I are going to have some fun, right after you tell me who else is he
re.”

  “No one. It’s just you and me,” she lied.

  He must have suspected, because his gaze narrowed. “You can’t be living here by yourself.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because no one lives alone outside the domes. Not even the Wasteland Rats. Where are the others? Tell me. How many are you?” He reached and twined his fingers in her hair, tugging sharply, drawing a cry of pain.

  “None. Leave me alone, damn you.” Clawing at his arm did nothing.

  “You yelling to try and warn them?” He slapped her, hard enough to split her lip and cause a deep throbbing in her face. “Stay quiet, or I’ll rip your tongue out.”

  She didn’t doubt he would. She lay on the ground as he shoved his helmet back on, making himself impermeable to most harm. The surface of it was dented and scratched. Dusty, too.

  Obviously he’d arrived on the same storm as the man already in her house. “Are you a friend of Gunner’s?”—asked in the off chance it might make a difference.

  “Is that who I have to kill?” The soldier kept his grip in her hair as he hauled her to her feet. “Let’s go see who else is here.”

  Sofia expected him to demand she show the way. Yet, the soldier easily followed the trail she’d created going back and forth from the water’s edge, which was clear to see.

  As the house came into view, with its left side leaning lopsidedly and the layered patches of fat leaves she’d made on the roof showing someone cared for it, she opened her mouth to shout. Kitty would already have sensed the danger, but she should give Gunner some kind of warning. Maybe he could offer some help, even if only in the form of distraction.

  The soldier backhanded her before she could make a sound. Dark spots danced in her vision, and she wavered on her feet. The hand in her hair began dragging again, and she clung to his wrist, trying to ease the painful pressure.

  The soldier’s robotic voice called out before they reached the entrance. “Come out, come out wherever you are! I have something of yours. Now you may scream.” He shook her, the yanking of her hair painful.

  A cry ripped out of her. There was no answering snarl.