Origins (The Wasteland Chronicles, #2) (2 page)

The front doors banged open. I turned to see a grizzled man, probably in his fifties, enter.

“Makara,” he said, his voice gravelly.

There was no mistaking the man’s air of command. He was Char. He was tall with broad shoulders and a shaved head. Two guards flanked his either side, holding rifles. His sharp blue eyes surveyed us all calmly. He wore green camo pants and a thick black leather jacket. A tattoo of a snakelike dragon eating its own tail was emblazoned on his forearm. But his most striking feature was his face. A deep burn wound scarred his right cheek. That wound had happened long ago and would never fully heal.

No one said anything as the man stepped forward.

“I am sorry I was not here to greet you,” he said to Makara. “Politics.”

The girl glanced from Char to Makara, not sure what to do.

“Stand down, Anna,” Char said. “I appreciate your drive to protect me, but Makara is a friend.”

Anna pulled the blade back, sheathing it immediately. Those beautiful eyes stung with hurt. “Char, no one let me know of Makara’s arrival.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, but Makara is to be treated with the same respect you would give to any of my guests. More, in fact. But we don’t have time for hurt feelings, do we?”

He faced Samuel, who lay on the ground between Makara and me.

“Lay him face-up,” Char said. “I need to see the wound.”

We laid Samuel on the ground. Char walked forward and knelt beside him. He placed two fingers on Samuel’s neck.

He glanced sideways at Makara. “Is the bullet still in?”

“Yes. It happened about ten hours ago.”

“Humph.”

Char retrieved a knife from his belt and cut Samuel’s white tee shirt open at the shoulder. He pulled the fabric back tenderly to reveal the wound. Fresh red blood trickled out. The surrounding skin was black, purple, and green.

“He’s out,” Char said. “But he’ll be dead if I try to pull it out of him like this. He needs morphine.”

“You have that, don’t you?” Makara asked.

Char grunted. “A bit. I do not want to use it on an outsider.”

“My brother is not an outsider,” Makara said. “He is family, as much a Raider as anybody here.”

“Don’t worry,” Char said. “I wouldn’t let you bring him all this way to tell you no.”

“Good. You had me worried.” Makara’s eyes went up to Anna and narrowed, as if willing the katana-wielding girl away. Anna merely stood, meeting Makara’s stare without blinking.

“This is Anna, my bodyguard. You noticed her katana, I presume. She lives by the Bushido Code.”

“Are you a samurai?” I asked.

Anna gave a single nod, but no word for answer.

“I thought samurai were supposed to be Japanese,” Makara said. “And men.”

Judging from the look in Anna’s eyes, she stood ready to draw her blade again.

“Honor and principle go beyond the confines of gender and race.”

“She is deadly with a blade,” Char said. “Where she learned to use it like that, I don’t know. She’s most of the reason why I’ve stayed Alpha so long. Especially these days. But all this is idle talk. Your brother needs my help.” Char motioned to the Raiders nearby. “We’re taking Samuel to the clinic.”

The men gathered around. Together, they lifted Samuel up.

“Follow me,” Char said to Makara. He noticed me for the first time. “Who’s this?”

“Alex,” I said.

“He’s from Bunker 108,” Makara said. “Once we take care of Samuel, we’ll fill you in. It’s a long, long story.”

We followed Char and his bodyguards through the dark corridors and into the clinic.

***

C
har and his men set Samuel up in a hospital bed. After washing his hands, Char found an IV and filled it with a dosage of morphine. He inserted it into Samuel’s arm. Samuel gave no reaction.

Slowly, Char pushed down on the syringe.

“The morphine’s in,” Char said.

Char took a pair of forceps and began to dig into the open wound. Samuel was completely out. If he had been conscious, that pain would have been near unbearable.

“Do you have medical training?” I asked.

“My training is more of the school of hard knocks than anything else,” Char said. “I’m the best in Bluff, that’s for sure.”

Samuel was still. It was as if he were already dead.

Makara watched, biting her lip. More blood oozed from Samuel’s wound, staining his shirt, the sheets. Char dug around, using his fingers to widen the puncture. We watched as he searched for the bullet.

A minute later, Char pulled it out.

“It didn’t fragment,” he said. “Your brother’s lucky.”

“Will he live?” Makara asked.

“There’s no reason why he shouldn’t. I just have to clean the wound and stitch him up. Obviously, he’ll need to stay in bed for a while and take it easy.”

“How long?” Makara asked.

“We can tell better over the next few days,” Char said. “The wound could have been a lot worse. If he’s lucky, I’ll let him out in two weeks. But that’s on the short end. It might even be months.”

Months? Samuel would never stand for that. He would be out of that bed the next day if it was at all possible.

Char applied some sort of cream to the wound, which seemed to slow the bleeding. He began stitching it shut. Then he grabbed a bottle of clear liquid and daubed a bit of it onto the wound. Next, he wrapped the wound with a bandage. Done with that, he washed his hands once more and went to the cabinet. From it he retrieved a sling. He placed it over Samuel’s neck and gingerly pulled Samuel’s arm through.

“He’ll need to wear that for a while. Months, likely, before I’d trust taking it off.”

“He’ll be fine though, right?” Makara asked.

Char gave a reassuring smile. It did little to soften his hardened face. “He should be. I’ve seen men live through much worse. He should come around in the morning. He’ll be in a lot of pain – but the worst of it is over. He just needs to eat, rest, and sleep.”

“I hope so,” Makara said.

“I’ll have Anna stay and watch him,” Char said. “You and Alex need to rest. You both look exhausted.”

“No need,” Makara said. “I can sit with Samuel.”

“No, I insist. I have guest bedrooms in the east wing. They are more comfortable than anything you will find in the city.”

“What about the Recon?”

“It’ll stay safe out there,” Char said. “No one can drive it, anyway.”

Makara waited for a minute. She didn’t want to leave Samuel with Anna. She and the samurai had gotten off on the wrong foot, that was for sure.

“Come on, Makara,” I said. “He’ll be fine.”

Makara relented. “Alright. I could do with a rest, anyway.”

“Anna,” Char said, “show them to the guest rooms.”

She looked at us. “Follow me.”

We left the clinic and walked the empty stone halls. We said nothing more as she led us to the east wing. We stopped before a door.

“This is it,” she said. “There’s another room just like this one across the hall. You’ll find the bathroom and showers down that way.”

“Showers?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Be sparing with the water. It’s a pain to bring up here.”

She left me behind, walking back the way she had come. She disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

“Don’t even think about it,” Makara said.

I looked at Makara innocently. “What?”

“You know what. I saw how you were looking at her. She’s crazy.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She gave an exasperated sigh, then turned for the door and placed a hand on the knob.

“Get some sleep,” she said. “We’ll be out of here before you know it. You’ll see.”

She stepped into the room, leaving me alone in the hallway. I opened the door to my bedroom and slipped inside. I set my pack on the floor, took off my clothes, and set my Beretta on the nightstand nearby. I wanted that weapon always close. It felt right in my hands and had saved my life multiple times.

I meant to take a shower, but I really wanted to rest for a moment. I was asleep in seconds.

I
woke up with every bone in my body aching and every muscle sore. The last week had been sheer madness. I had lost my home, my entire life, and everyone I cared about. I had wandered alone in the Wasteland and had been chased around by both Raiders and monsters. Somehow I had met Makara and Samuel, and ended up here.

The fact that I was lying in a bed after a week of hell was surreal. It was as if all the sleep in the world wouldn’t be enough to melt the weariness from my body.

I fell asleep again, and awoke sometime later. I needed to get up. I had to check on Samuel and find some food. The thought of food set my stomach growling. I hadn’t eaten since the morning of the day before.

I got up, both my legs stiff and sore, as if I were sixty rather than sixteen.

I stepped into the hall and headed for the bathroom. I found it on the left. It was an open room made of gray stone. I stood under one of the two shower heads and let the cold water flow over me. Though the water was cold, feeling the layers of sweat and filth washing off made me feel as if I were a new person. I used a nearby bar of soap to scrub the grime off. Once done, I toweled off, grabbed my dirty clothes, and headed back to my room, suppressing shivers.

In my room, there was a mirror beside the door. I looked into it. I had lost weight. I had been skinny before, but now I was near skeletal. I hoped while we stayed here I could get some food in me.

I changed into a clean set of clothes – desert camo pants and a white tee. I would’ve put on my hoodie, because the air was cool, but the clothing was matted with dirt, and worse, from the horror show that had been Bunker 114. I decided to go without. Hopefully someone would clean it.

I wandered down the hall toward the clinic because I didn’t know where else to go. I looked around at everything. The stonework must have taken forever to shape and put together. The interior was dim, even though it was morning. Torches gave off dancing light at regular intervals along the hallway. The entire building was U-shaped – there were two parallel wings, one of which I was in, connected by the entrance hall. I could walk from one end of the wing to the other in about a minute. It obviously wasn’t just Char living here – it was his personal guards, cooks, slaves, and guests. It was a massive facility. Part of the building, if not most, had to have existed pre-Ragnarok.

As I made my way to the clinic, I passed the compound’s occupants – Raiders with guns, slaves hurrying to clean. It was very different from what I was used to, and it was hard not to feel guilty that slaves were needed to keep a fortress like this running.

I passed by an open window to see Anna practicing the sword in the courtyard under a tall pine. Her movements were quick, fluid, and repetitive. I could hear the blade whirring even from my distance. Her skill was amazing. It was hard not to stand there and watch. Her constant workouts had honed her body of any extraneous fat. Though small, she had curves that made it very difficult to look away.

I turned from the window to walk to the clinic. When I entered, I found Makara already there.

“Is he awake?” I asked.

Eyes heavy, Makara shook her head. It looked as if she hadn’t slept at all.

Samuel’s eyes flickered open.

“Sam?” Makara asked.

“Hey, Makara.”

His voice was parched. Makara reached for a glass of water nearby and held it to his lips.

“How are you feeling?” Makara asked.

Samuel took a swallow of water. He took too much, though; he coughed and winced in pain.

“Easy,” Makara said. “There’s no rush.”

“Where am I?”

“We’re in Char’s compound,” Makara said. “We made it to Raider Bluff. He saved your life.”

Samuel closed his eyes. I could not tell if it was out of relief or dread. He opened them again, and turned his head for the window. He stared at the red clouds outside.

“Are you hungry?” Makara asked.

“Yeah, I could eat.”

“I have a servant getting us food, so she should be back with it soon.”

Samuel closed his eyes again. “It hurts.”

“I’m sure,” Makara said. “That was a nasty hit you took.”

“I just hope it doesn’t keep us here long.”

“We need to get our strength back, anyway.” Makara stood and stretched. Her eyes looked distant for a moment.

“We got to leave as soon as we can,” Samuel said. “Maybe sooner.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Samuel’s eyes drifted to me. “I don’t remember the exact date, but it’s already October. The first snows will have fallen in Cheyenne. A month from now, the land will be impassable.”

“It’s that cold there?”

“Colder than you realize,” Samuel said. “The world is much colder than it used to be.”

Samuel coughed, and Makara put more water to his lips. He drank.

“Don’t strain yourself, Samuel,” Makara said.

Samuel settled back into his pillow. “If anything happens, you will have to go on without me.”

“Don’t say that,” Makara said. “That’s not going to happen. We’d be useless without you.”

Samuel didn’t respond. He only closed his eyes.

A middle-aged woman with dark brown hair walked in, carrying a tray that held a large pot of stew, wooden bowls and spoons, and a plate stacked with flatbread. The steaming pot gave off a spicy, savory aroma that set my stomach growling. She set the tray on an end table. After giving a forced smile, she left the room, her footsteps fading down the hallway.

I tried to pretend that she was only a servant, and was getting paid for this work. But I couldn’t. I knew the truth. She, along with all the other “servants” I had passed in the hallway, were slaves.

“It’s awful,” I said.

Makara took a bowl, and filled it with stew. “It is what it is.”

“I know I can’t change anything. It’s just that the world is harsher than I thought.”

Makara took the bowl of stew, not for herself, but for Samuel. She pulled up her chair beside him.

“Makara, no,” he said. “I can handle this.”

“Samuel, don’t be stubborn. You only have one good hand, so you’ll spill it.”

“No, I won’t.” He glared at her. “Hand me that bowl.”