Vile Wasteland (A Post Apocalyptic Novel) (2 page)

In the opposite direction she immediately traced its source. She
could see, silhouetted against the setting sun, the outline of a tall
man. Standing still with a rifle at his shoulder, he wore a long
trench coat with a wide brim hat on. Only her keen sight and fast
reflexes allowed her to see much of anything of him, for the glare of
red, setting sunlight hid him almost entirely.

"Oh, ew," she moaned as she shuffled away from the dead
man, her grip tightening on her blade as she looked towards her
saviour. "There’s another one! If you wanted to keep being
helpful, I mean!" she practically begged as she looked towards
the area she had last seen the thief. She tried to avoid the messy
pile bleeding on the ground, but a morbid fascination kept bringing
her gaze back to it.

There was no sign of the third man, nor her backpack and gun, and
the way her saviour shouldered his rifle and began to saunter in her
direction showed he was in no rush to go chasing after anything.

It took longer than it should’ve to make out the man’s
features due to the glare of the sun behind him. Instead, the first
personal bit of him she experienced was his voice, rich and smooth,
"I didn’t see a third," he stated, then called out
over his other shoulder, "did you see a third Bren?"

From off to the side she saw a large man, about as tall as this
first one, but much, much broader. His voice was deep and baritone,
"Nah boss," and he too carried a gun in his hands. She
could see his dark hair and pale features as his direction kept the
sun on him, instead of behind him. With a short, trimmed black beard,
he was a large bear of a man in a beaten old leather padded vast and
worn pants.

After the adrenaline rush she just experienced, she was
practically hopping from leg to leg, "What, you think I’m
lying? Fuck, I’ll go get my shit back, then. Thanks for that
one," she offered, her eyes opening wide, as if daring them to
let her go alone. She was so cocky she even started moving towards
the door, her sneakers leaving dirty imprints behind as her t-shirt
rolled up over her holster, exposing a sensitive sliver of the low of
her back.

The two men didn’t move after her immediately. Instead they
paused and looked at one another in some silent communication.

By herself, she headed on in cautiously. Luckily for her, the
rectangular building’s windows were all facing the sunset, and
its light poured in illuminating the ancient building; rows upon rows
of old worn, slashed and punctured seats, by battered or toppled
tables. She saw no movement, nor any real sign of habitation.

She didn’t hear the man’s approach until he spoke,
that smooth, masculine voice without a face, "I don’t know
what you think you’re lookin’ for," he said, "but
those fuckers don’t run and hide, miss." Having caught her
off guard she looked back and finally saw him.

His hat was off now, and long, pale-blonde–almost white–,
straight hair spilled down around his ears before going down his
back. His face, however, was a contrasting darkness, smooth and
unblemished but for a single scar at the left side of his jaw. He
peered down at her intensely with dark brown eyes.

Her face was contorted in anger as she spun to look up at him,
"Well he fuckin’ took my bag and my gun, so either it was
a ghost or they do run and hide," she barked. Her eyes were
slightly watery and she brushed her fingers against her lashes as she
started moving in deeper through the building. "A bag of shit
doesn’t just get up and walk off my back."

The larger man, Bren, backed into the old diner, gun at the ready,
obviously watching their rears. The tall slender man, however,
followed along quietly, his gun ready but otherwise not seeming too
alarmed despite the circumstances.

There were a couple doors leading from the long, main room, but
one was barred by trash that hadn’t looked disturbed in quite
some time. Heading through the other door, however, she kept on the
lookout, gun at the ready. Alexandra and the slender man made no
noise as they advanced, him treading silently behind.

When the attack came, it took her by surprise once more. A
scrawny, pale woman lunged out with a piercing scream, though before
she could hit either one of them, the tall man struck out, the hard
butt of his gun striking into her face with a loud crunch of
cartilage, sending the attacker back into the closet she’d
pounced out of into a heap.

"Ulg!" Alexandra stumbled just from the shock, before
she straightened herself. "Fuck, that’s not him," her
eyes moved around what she could see of the thief or her bag, before
finally resting her sight upon the man towering over her, "You
been ‘round here long? Where would they go if they all of a
sudden decided they wanted to hide?"

Having encountered more trouble, the tall, handsome man slipped
past her, and she could see he moved–even in his bulky trench
coat and large boots–with a rather generous helping of grace
and aptitude. Moving ahead of her he went by the door at the end of
the hallway. It was barred over–nailed shut in fact, though the
work looking done many years prior–then took the only
accessible door, pushing it open and peering in cautiously.

"Nothin’," he said at last, and then stepped on
in. The room was mostly filled with metal fixtures, obviously a
kitchen, though there seemed nowhere a man–let alone a man with
a large pack–might hide inside.

"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.

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.