Wasteland Rules: Kill or Be Killed (The World After Book 1) (6 page)

  He looked around. The storm had passed leaving a
coating of dust on everything. There was no sign of the other burners. Derek
assumed that had either been lost in the storm or given up.

  They stood in the back of the hotel which faced
wide open country on this side. There were several outbuildings in the back and
all the windows had similar grating on them. One of the buildings had double
doors hanging slightly open and through the crack Derek could see an old pickup
truck. Even people eaters need a ride sometimes.

  He pointed to the truck and yelled to Rora, “Get
in the truck!”

  She nodded and they ran to the building and flung
open the doors. Inside was an old Ford F-150 pickup truck. It looked in decent
shape. They climbed inside and Derek used the butt of the machete to knock open
the steering column. He pulled the wires loose and started trying to hotwire
the car with little success. Rora suddenly batted his hands aside and said,
“Let me do it.”

  He watched in surprise as she quickly connected
the right wires and started the truck. He stared at her openmouthed for a
minute before he gathered his wits and threw the truck into drive. Derek
stepped on the gas and they lurched out of the garage. As he drove away from
the hotel they could see that the flames had spread to the first floor and the
hotel was well on its way to being fully engulfed. Unless those cannibal freaks
had another way out besides the cellar, they were all going to burn. A fitting
end Derek thought to himself.

 June 10, 2029

 Near Sayre, KS

  Maximillian watched the truck pull away in the
distance, the magnification in his cybernetic eye allowing him to see much
further than the human eye. Who was this man? He had almost singlehandedly
defeated the slavers, apparently outrun the burners, and escaped from a Night
Children lair. Yes, he was battling the scum of the earth, but their sheer numbers
should have stopped him.

  Maximillian turned to the surviving burners. There
were only four of them left from a pack of twelve. Two had perished in the
Night Children lair and six of them had been overcome by the storm including
their leader. The survivors leaned casually against their bikes and gazed
lazily at him. They were obviously unimpressed by his appearance and that of
his drones.

  He wasn’t surprised. Maximillian made a point of
trying to remain innocuous when he was away from Home. It was always better for
people to underestimate you and let their guard down. Also, he didn’t want his
location or identity broadcast to opposing factions like the U.S.T.G.. He
preferred to work in the shadows and manipulate others into doing his dirty
work for him. To that end he wore a long dark gray trench coat with a hood over
a gray shirt and gray pants. His drones wore baggy gray jackets over a gray
shirt and gray pants. At around six feet tall none of them were physically
imposing.

 Before the Collapse and the Aftermath, six feet
would have above average. But only the biggest and toughest had survived the
apocalyptic events that had overwhelmed the world. Being the biggest and
strongest had become far more important than being rich, famous, or connected.
Natural intelligence and cleverness still put you at the top, but being the
best fighter made you the most likely to survive. Natural selection became the
rule instead of the perverted system that had held sway before the Collapse.

  What was not obvious was the heavy body armor they
all wore beneath their coat and jackets. Or the powerful plasma pistols they
concealed. Despite their average appearance both of his drones were genetically
altered and were faster and stronger than even an above average human. Maximillian’s
alterations went well beyond that and he was superior in every way to any
human. But that was something he kept concealed.

   He addressed the new leader, a well-muscled young
black man, “You have failed me. You are worthless.”

  The leader snapped back insolently, “Nobody talks
to us like that!”

  “It is a statement of fact. You did not capture
the man or the girl. You failed.”

  “We got caught in a sandstorm. How is that our
fault?”

  “Why didn’t you stop him when he left the hotel?”

  “We were checking our bikes and looking for our
brothers. That was more important. We can still catch up to him and grab them.”

  “I think not. He is too much for you to handle
with the number you have left.”

  The leader grabbed at the gun slung over his
shoulder and moved forward threateningly, “Are you questioning our abilities?”

  “No, again merely stating a fact. The man is
obviously well trained and well-armed. He has also proven to be very
resourceful. That makes him very dangerous.”

  “We can handle anyone.” The leader postured.

  “Do not worry; I have another task for you. Send
one of your men to the location on this envelope and have them deliver this
message. Return to me with their answer.” Maximillian stepped forward and held
out an envelope.

  “What is the message?”

  “Not your concern. But it is important it gets
there as fast as possible. You are the fastest in the wasteland so I know I can
count on you for that.”

  The burners preened a little at the compliment.
The leader gestured to one of his men and that biker took the message and sped
off. Maximillian watched him leave and waited until he was out of sight. Then
he sent a mental command to his drones. They caught the lounging burners off
guard when they pulled plasma pistols from under their jackets and cut them
down. A look of surprise was frozen on the leaders face as he slumped lifeless
to the ground a gaping hole in his chest.

  Maximillian viewed the bodies dispassionately. The
weakness of humanity never failed to amaze him. How had un-evolved humans
managed to conquer the world and sit atop it for so long? They fought amongst
themselves to the point of destroying the world and would betray each other for
material possessions. Father was right in his crusade to cleanse the world and
remake it into a paradise for the Collective.

   Maximillian stopped philosophizing and ordered
the drones to move the bodies and bikes off the street and burn them. He tried
to never leave any evidence of his passing. If the U.S.T.G. or any of the other
factions knew where he was and what he was up to they would send overwhelming
force to stop him. Nothing could be allowed to stop his mission. Whomever this
man was, he would need to be dealt with quickly. They must get the device.

 June 10, 2029

 Near Greensburg, KS

  Derek and Rora made their way back to main road.
Time was running out. That detour had cost them the better part of a day.
Fortunately they had escaped almost unscathed and had found another vehicle.
One probably better suited to long distance travel in the wasteland. The truck
ran smoothly, it was obviously well cared for despite its outer appearance. The
only problem they had was that it was low on gas. He had seen the signs start
about twenty miles back advertising an Express Station about fifty miles up
ahead.

  “We are going to stop for gas at the Texas
Republic Express Station up ahead.” Derek informed the girl.

  “What is an express station?”

  Derek laughed. “You didn’t get out much did you?”

  Rora just pouted at him in response. “It’s not my
fault we didn’t go running all over the wasteland. Daddy wanted a simple life.”

  “Well, an Express Station is a fortified gas
station and convenience store.”

  When she continued to look at him blankly, he
explained further. “You can get gasoline for the truck as well as food and
supplies at the store. They usually have a wall or barbed wire fences
surrounding the station and armed guards to protect it from raiders. They
popped up about five years ago when gasoline refining got going again. Many of
them are independents who took over abandoned stations. But Texas Republic Oil
started opening their own stations in the last few years.”

  “How do you pay?”

  “It depends. Texas Republic stations take New
Republic dollars and gold or barter. Independents usually just take gold or
barter, but if they are close enough to the U.S.T.G. they take U.S.T.G. dollars
as well. Some in the south take Confederate dollars instead of U.S.T.G.
dollars.”

  “How are you going to pay? You don’t look like you
keep a lot of cash on hand.”

  “Haha…I have some things I have collected that we
can use for barter. Rule #9, take everything you can, you never know what you
might need.”

  “That’s the second time you mentioned a rule. What
is that some sort of personal code?”

  “Sort of. I would say it is the unofficial rules
of the wasteland. Follow them and you have a chance to survive. Ignore them and
you will surely die.”

  “Who wrote them?”

  “Some guy from Atlanta. He apparently had been
working on a book about post-apocalyptic survival prior to the Collapse. He
survived the Collapse and the Aftermath because he and his group followed the
rules. After that they spread by word of mouth.”

  “Do they really work?”

  “So far they have…I’m still alive aren’t I?”

  That reply was met by a not fully convinced
sounding humph. Derek ignored her skepticism. The rules had saved his life time
and time again. That guy in Atlanta must have been a visionary to foresee the
upcoming apocalypse and be prepared for it. He doubted he would ever meet the
guy since he was probably killed during the U.S.T.G. attack on Atlanta.

  Derek’s musing was interrupted by the appearance
of the Express Station on the horizon. He saw the large Texas Republic Oil
sign; their red and blue lone star logo on top of a large steel tower. Texas
Republic was formed by the government of the New Republic of Texas a few years
back. The country had increased their gasoline production beyond their internal
consumption and planned to export the surplus. Utilizing the leadership and
infrastructure of the old Exxon/Mobil, they formed a new nationalized gas
company.

  Someone in the executive suite realized they could
spread their brand and make more money if they built their own express stations
throughout the South and Southwest. Those stations could also provide support
and information to the Regulators and the Texan Intelligence Agency. It was
well known that every station had at least one agent of the TIA and that they
tracked who came and went from the station. Normally that would have prevented
Derek from stopping there, but they needed gas. And it was a safe place to
acquire needed supplies for the long trip. Texas Republic stations were always
well stocked and anything they sold was reliable, versus the independents where
you never knew what you would get.

  As they arrived at the entrance Derek noticed
multiple guards at the gate. The station itself was surrounded by a five foot
high concrete wall with a steel gate at the lone entrance. A single watchtower
rose up from the compound. The gate was closed, which was unusual. As they came
to a stop the one of the guards came to Derek’s window. He was older and very
weathered. He had on a ratty camouflage jacket and a black knit cap pulled down
low on his forehead. He spit a stream of tobacco juice on the ground before he
addressed Derek.

  “All customers have to turn over their weapons
before entering and we search the vehicle.”

  This was new. Derek had never heard of that
happening before. Usually all visitors were welcome and a guard in the watchtower
looked for raiders or bikers. If they saw them coming the gate was barred and
everyone inside helped to defend the station. Curious, he asked why.

   “Raiders snuck inside hiding in a truck and
raised some hell. We had casualties before we could stop them, including the
station master. So everyone going in now gets checked. You can have them when
you leave.”

  Derek didn’t like being unarmed. But, they needed
gas and supplies. A lot of his loot had been in the saddlebags on the Harley
lost in the Night Children lair. So he started handing over his weapons. After
he handed them over, keeping his combat knife, the guard ordered him and Rora
out of the truck.

  “We have to search you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “We’re not takin’ any chances.”

  Derek and Rora got out. The guard produced a metal
detector wand and ran it over both of them. He confiscated the combat knife
Derek had held on to. All the weapons were placed in a box outside the gate. He
nodded to the other two equally scruffy guards dressed in similar fashion. They
opened the gate and he waved Derek and Rora through.

  They pulled into the main yard of the station. It
consisted of a set of old style pumps and a small convenience store with a two
bay garage attached. Behind it, the tower rose about thirty feet above the
building. Already at the pump were two large armored trucks. One was a wrecker
with the Wrecker’s Guild’s gray crossed wrench and screwdriver logo on the
hood. It looked like the commercial size tow trucks they used to haul tractor
trailers. The other was a heavily armored pickup truck with oversized wheels
that looked like something out of a horror movie. A green sport bike was parked
to the side of the building and a dirty white SUV was out in front. The SUV was
lightly armored and stuffed full of junk. Probably a scavenger’s vehicle.

  Derek parked next to the SUV and got out. He
scanned the yard. There were bullet holes a lot of places including in the
glass of the building. A burned out panel truck had been dragged to the far
end. Several more guards milled about. They were all scruffy and those that
didn’t have caps on had bandages on their foreheads. It looked like the battle
had been fierce. Although if their attire was any indication these guards
didn’t look like they were worth much in a fight.

  He gestured to Rora to get out and they headed
inside. They would need to trade for gas and supplies before he could fill up.
Since he had no cash, this could be interesting. The store was mostly empty
shelves. There were a few cans of food and some bottled water on them but that
was it. A short counter with an old cash register was along the back wall.
Behind the counter were shelves with auto parts and tools for sale. A heavyset
man with a Texas Republic work shirt on was working the counter

   At the counter, the scavenger, a thin and worn
looking man was trying to bargain with the man behind the counter for what
looked like a pile of auto parts. When the storekeeper saw Derek enter he
quickly closed the deal with the scavenger. Shoved some New Republic dollars in
his hand and rushed him out of the store. Derek could see the wasteland
searcher had gotten a very good deal by the grin on his face. That was odd.
Express Station owners were known to drive a hard bargain.

  The storekeeper was also scruffy and unshaven. He
looked and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. The Texas Republic shirt he
had on barely fit and his head was bandaged as well. He had an odd look in his
eyes like he was eying them up for dinner. Derek hoped that wasn’t the case,
one Night Children encounter was enough for a lifetime.

   “How can I help you sir?” The man asked
obsequiously.

  “I want to trade for gas and supplies.”

  “Excellent, come into the back room and we can
trade.” As he spoke the storekeeper gestured to a closed door leading into the
back.

  Rora started towards the door but Derek put out an
arm to keep her back. “You first
Dan
.”

  “Who?” the storekeeper asked confused.

  “The name on your shirt says Dan.”

  “Oh right, my shirt was burned in the attack. I’m
borrowing Dan’s.” The man said with a fixed grin on his dirty face. His eyes
narrowed giving him a rat like appearance.

  “After you…” Derek reminded him.

  “Of course.” The man said through gritted teeth.

  The storekeeper turned and headed towards the
door. As soon as his back was turned Derek pulled the ceramic blade he kept
concealed on his forearm and grabbed the man from behind. Covering his mouth
with one hand he slit the storekeeper’s throat with the other. He turned
quickly and covered Rora’s mouth to stifle her scream of surprise.

  “SHHH”, he whispered at her, “There are at least
two more in the back waiting to shoot us.

  “What?”

  Derek answered her as he pulled off the bandage
from the storekeepers head to reveal a tattoo of a curled snake ready to
strike. “He is a raider. The bandage was concealing his tribal tattoo. All of
the guards are raiders as well.”

  “How did you know?”

  Derek searched the man and secured a 9 mm pistol
plus one clip, and a boot knife before answering. “There were a number of
signs. The guards were way too dirty and sloppy to be Texas Republic employees.
They all had their foreheads covered. The bike on the side likely belongs to
one of the burners we encountered earlier and no express station guard would
let them in. But what confirmed it for sure was when this guy gave the
scavenger a great deal. Nobody does that. Plus, he didn’t know the name on his
shirt.”

  “Oh.”

  “You have to follow Rule #7, always pay attention
and follow Rule #2, there are only friends or enemies. He wasn’t a friend so…”
Derek explained.

  “Are you my friend?” she asked quietly.

  Derek laughed, “I am right now. I have saved your
life twice.”

  “It must be lonely treated everyone else as an
enemy.”

  Derek just grunted at that and checked the 9mm to
make sure it was loaded and working properly. He turned to Rora and quickly
dragged her over to a standing position opposite the back door.

  “Stand here and lift up your shirt when they come
through the door.” He instructed.

  “What?” she answered in shock.

  “It’s a distraction. These guys have been out here
so long they probably haven’t seen a woman in months. A clean one anyway.” Derek
explained, “I’ll hide by the door and ambush them when they are distracted.”

  Rora didn’t look happy but she put her hands on
the bottom of her shirt. Derek took up a position flattened against the wall
beside the door with a knife in either hand. He didn’t have to wait long as
three more raiders, all dressed in dirty clothes, burst through the door. All
three stumbled to a halt as Derek could see Rora lift her shirt from the corner
of his eye. They all had a surprised look on their faces which quickly turned
to lust.

  Derek didn’t hesitate. He struck like a snake, his
body a blur as he attacked them. He downed the one closest to him with a strike
of the ceramic knife to the burly man’s throat and a stab of the boot knife to
his kidney. Derek swung around behind him and threw the ceramic knife at the
raider furthest from him. That man dropped with the blade buried in his eye.
Derek finished the move by grabbing the lead raider from behind and slitting
his throat. They were all dead in less than a minute.

  Rora was so surprised; she stood there with her
mouth open and shirt up. Derek gestured at her to cover up while trying not to
look too closely at her. He dropped down to start stripping the bodies of the
now dead raiders. He tried to avoid the pooling blood as he searched them. One
had a cut down pump action twelve gauge shotgun. The other two had the
ubiquitous 9 mms. He checked the shotgun; it looked in good shape and had four
rounds. One of the 9 mms he stuck in his belt with the other pistol from the
“storekeeper”. The other he took out the clip and pocketed it.

  Derek glanced out the store’s front window. He
hadn’t made any sounds while killing the four raiders in the store, but the
others would start to wonder when their fellows didn’t appear dragging his
body. He watched the guards talk to the men in the two trucks. They got in
their trucks and slowly rolled out. Derek noticed that one of the drivers was
still wearing a pistol and that neither truck stopped at the gate to collect
weapons. Then the three gate guards closed it and came inside. They were
definitely being targeted. Maybe they were allies with the burners and it was
about revenge? Maybe someone else knew about the device and thought they had
it?