Wasteland Rules: Kill or Be Killed (The World After Book 1) (9 page)

  An older man with a grizzled appearance limped out
of the back room. Again, he was simply dressed but clean. There must be a dress
code in town or some sort of standard for the shopkeepers. The man made his way
to the counter and inspected the items on the counter. Then he inspected Derek,
looking him up and down. Derek knew he looked a little worse for wear after
their troubles getting here, but he wasn’t sure why the man was checking him
out so closely.

  Finally, the man spoke. “Where did you get this
stuff?”

  Derek was a little non-plussed. Rule #6 usually
prevented people from asking that question. It could be hazardous to your
health but it was also considered rude. As a matter of fact, no one had ever
asked him that question before and he was unsure how to answer it. The owner
obviously viewed his hesitation as a sign it was gained immorally or illegally
based on his next question and how his hand drifted to a pistol in a holster on
his hip.

  “Did you steal it or murder someone to get it?”

  “What?” Derek asked him in surprise. “I’m not sure
how it’s any of your business where I got it, but they used to belong to some
bikers, a few burners, and some raiders. Fair gotten when I defended myself
against their attacks.”

  He opened the other pack to show his trophies. The
woman pulled back in disgust when she saw the tattoos Derek had carved off of
the raiders foreheads. The shopkeeper’s eyes widened when he saw the number of
trophies in the pack. He looked Derek over again and a little fear entered his
eyes when he realized how dangerous a man with so many trophies must be. Rora
had moved towards the counter when she heard the man’s question, but Derek
waved her off and she returned to browsing.

  Derek looked the man straight in the eyes and
asked in a very calm but serious voice. “So are we going to trade or what?”

  “Uh sure…” The man stammered, clearly intimidated.
“What do you want?”

  Derek glanced around the store and then rattled
off a list of supplies including MREs and sleeping bags. The daughter wrote
down the list on a piece of scrap paper and nodded that they had each item. As
he was going through the list, Rora held up a frilly pink shirt and gave him a
questioning look. With a sigh he added that to the list. Maybe she could wear
it once she got to NASA. The brilliant smile she gave him when he said yes made
it all worth it. When he was done, the owner looked over the list and looked at
the pile of gear on the counter.

  “This stuff is worth more than what you are
buying, do you want cash or scrip for the remainder?”

  “Scrip?” Derek asked.

  “Paper money only good in town. You get a better
exchange rate than if I give you New Republic dollars.” The owner explained
patiently as he probably had a thousand times.

  “New Republic dollars is good.”

  Derek didn’t quote a price. He honestly wasn’t
sure how much the stuff was worth and he had a feeling the man wouldn’t rip him
off. The owner went into the back and came back out in a few minutes with a wad
of cash. 225 New Republic dollars in smaller bills to be precise. He shoved the
cash into Derek’s hand and immediately began clearing the gear off the counter.

  “Appreciate your business. Melanie here will get
your order together and you can pick it up in a few hours.”

  Derek nodded, collected Rora, and headed out the
door. He shook his head at the odd encounter and the owner’s questions. Maybe
he needed a bath, haircut, and shave? Cleaning himself up might make him more
likely to get assistance from the Regulator’s when he asked to go into No Man’s
Land.

  June 11, 2029

  Freehold of Nevada, MO

  Derek looked up and down the street checking out
the signs and advertisements. Flush with cash, he needed to get cleaned up,
find some refreshment, and maybe some entertainment. He glanced over at Rora.
She was busy cooing to herself over her new shirt. She took off her jacket and
started pulling the shirt on over her top. He shook his head and reached over
to stop her.

  “Let’s put that away, we don’t want it to get
dirty.”

  “But I want to look pretty.” She whined.

  “You look fine now, if you ruin the shirt you
won’t be able to wear it when we get to NASA. There are no dry cleaners in the
wasteland.” He responded probably a little too sternly.

   She responded with a confused look and then
pouted, but tucked the shirt carefully into her pack. Derek starting walking
down the street forcing her to follow. He headed towards the most brightly lit
saloon with a half-naked neon woman on the sign. When she noticed the sign, Rora
stopped suddenly with a look of disgust on her face.

 “Why are we going in there?” She demanded.

  Derek replied with a grin, “Because I need to get
a drink, get cleaned up, and get entertained.”

 Rora’s eyes narrowed as she processed what he had
said. She glared at him, but he just stared back smiling.

  “I’m sure they have milk and cookies or whatever
it is you were thinking we should eat…” he called over his shoulder as he
turned and entered the saloon.

    Derek entered a large alcove and made for the
double doors that led into the main floor but was stopped by three security
guards that appeared from the shadows. They were all large, well-muscled young
men. They also sported the clean cut and simply attired look all the citizens
here seemed to have. But they wore body armor and carried what looked to be
cattle prods. They moved to block his path and from their stances, Derek could
see they were well trained to deal with any threat.

  “No weapons.” The middle guard announced. “Leave
them in a locker here and you can get them on the way out.”

  The guard gestured towards a wall of lockers that
would have looked at home in a bus station. Half were closed, but half hung
open and had orange keys dangling from them. Derek shrugged and walked over to
the lockers with Rora trailing. He stashed his machete and guns and ammo in the
locker and glanced over at the guards. Realizing they were watching him and
they would probably search him like at the gate, he stashed his combat knife as
well. That left him his ceramic blade which they wouldn’t find. But nobody else
should have a weapon either unless it was like his. He slammed the locker shut
and took the key.

   The guards stepped aside and let them enter the
main floor. They entered into a riot of colors and sound.  The inside was large
and brightly lit with neon and floodlights. It looked like it might have once
been some sort of warehouse. A large stage filled with half naked women
gyrating on steel poles dominated the back of the building. They danced in time
with the heavy metal beats that vibrated throughout the room. A long bar
crowded with men trying to get drinks ran along the right wall. A wide
staircase on the left wall ran up to a large balcony on the second floor.
Circular tables were packed in on the floor in front of the stage. The tables
were crowded with men drinking and hollering at the women on stage. Scantily
clad waitresses wove in and out of the throng barely avoiding grabbing hands.

  The crowd was a wild mix of people. Clean and
nicely dressed citizens were scattered amongst the main clientele of
wastelanders. Dirty and scruffy scavengers sat next to heavily bearded, ball
cap wearing Haulers and grease stained, coverall wearing Wreckers. Bounty
Hunters of all kinds, obvious from their multiple empty holsters, mingled with
heavily pierced Cultists and well attired Traders. Derek even saw a white
suited Preacher in the crowd. There also a few women mixed in with the crowd of
drunken men.

  Derek led Rora down a short set of steps onto the
main floor. He found an empty table in the back and parked Rora there. She only
sat down after she wiped off the chair with a cloth she had gotten from
somewhere. He used his sleeve to clear the cigarette butts and beer bottles off
the table and planted his packs there. He flagged down a waitress and asked
what they had to drink.

  “We have home brew beer, Lonestar bottles, house
whiskey, white lightning, or clean water.” She informed him.

  “No Jack Daniel’s or Maker’s Mark?” He asked hopefully.

  “Sorry honey, that’s too expensive to get shipped
out here. The distillery’s may still be running, but no one distributes it out
here.”

  “Okay, give me a Lonestar then and water for the
girl.”

 He paid the ridiculous charge of $10 for a bottle
of clean water for Rora and $8 for a beer for himself. Clean water could be
hard to come by, so the price for that wasn’t too outrageous. But the cost of a
beer seemed to be rising. The Lonestar Beer Company was based in Houston, Texas
and had a good reputation for making a decent beer without any toxins or
impurities. They had a strong distribution network supported by the government.
Still, last time he had ordered a beer it had only been $5.

 The main beer companies prior to the Collapse,
based in Denver and St Louis, had been wiped out in the Collapse and Aftermath.
The U.S.T.G. had its own breweries owned by government cronies that produced
the only alcohol legal for consumption in the U.S.T.G.. National Brewery and
Distillery in Des Moines, Iowa produced several beers and liquors. But they
were mass produced with little taste but high alcohol content. Advertising
portrayed drink National beer as patriotic. It was really a means of keeping
the masses docile and happy. The upper classes still had access to high end
liquor produced before the Collapse.

  Despite the massive amounts of alcohol consumed by
Americans prior to the Collapse, little had survived. Most of it had been
destroyed or consumed as the country and the world fell apart. The beer that
had survived had gone bad and become skunky. Some liquor stockpiles had
survived and were grabbed by the various factions or sold on the open market.
Small caches of undistributed liquor could still be found and were worth a
small fortune.

  The Jack Daniels and Makers Mark distilleries had
survived and recently been restarted. But they had a limited distribution area
and the costs were high. Limited supplies of grain had driven the prices of
beer and whiskey up as the populations had started to rebound. The U.S.T.G. had
access to large grain supplies from their Iowa farms and could produce more
alcohol more cheaply. But so far they had not exported it outside the U.S.T.G..

  Wine production was nonexistent. The destruction
of the vineyards by the crop virus had wiped out the existing wine industry.
And the change in weather caused by the Collapse made it impossible to start a
new one. Many of the bottles that survived through the Aftermath were soured but
some still remain. A bottle of a good vintage can be priceless.

  The home brew was dangerous to consume since it
often had toxins and other chemicals added for “flavor”, by accident through
contaminated brewing processes, or by using bad water. Moonshine was just as
bad, especially since many moonshiners used old radiators in their stills. That
didn’t stop a lot of people from drinking it. In the wasteland, where life was
cheap and short, a good buzz to help you forget for a while was worth the risk.

  He paid the waitress in New Republic Dollars or
NRD for short. They were probably the most stable form of currency in North
America and preferred by most merchants. Near U.S.T.G. territory they generally
preferred U.S.T.G. Dollars or U.S.TD, but only because the U.S.T.G. only dealt
in their own currency. Outside of the U.S.T.G. almost everyone would accept the
various currencies or gold and the cost depended on the exchange rates.

   Gold still held the allure that it had before the
Collapse, but since demand for jewelry had fallen it was less valuable. It was
a tangible commodity though so it still commanded a high price and was the only
currency that could always be converted and couldn’t be counterfeited. The
supply of gold had shrunk following the Collapse. Actual gold ownership had
been illegal in the United States for years prior to the Collapse, but many
people still owned coins and other valuables made of gold. And there were
always those who hoarded it illegally.

  The U.S.T.G. had looted all the Federal Reserve
stockpiles they could reach following the Collapse, but when they had arrived
at Fort Knox the vaults had been empty. There was no sign of a battle but the
vault doors had been ripped open and the gold removed. It was suspected that
the Collective had taken the gold, but there was no proof. It was well known
however, that the Collective always paid in gold.

  Most big sales took place in gold. It was all
based on weight so all gold was melted down into one once wafers and ten ounce
bars. Currently one ounce was worth five hundred NRD or six hundred U.S.TD.
Confederate dollars weren’t as stable and were worth less so the exchange to
CCDs was over one thousand.

   When the waitress returned with their drinks he
asked her where he could get cleaned up and get more personal entertainment.
She smiled, more of a leer really, and gestured towards the staircase. Derek
noticed a steady stream of men heading up the staircase and returning ten
minutes later with a satisfied grin on their face. He could see several guards
at the top collecting money. He nodded and tipped her. He glanced over at Rora
and could see that she was totally engrossed in the spectacle.

  Her head was moving from side to side trying to
take everything in with wide eyes and a slightly horrified look on her face.
This was more people in one place then she had ever seen and with her sheltered
upbringing it was probably quite an education.

  “What are all these people?” She asked.

  Derek smiled and between sips of his beer he
pointed out a few interesting customers. “The guys in coveralls we saw at the
Express Station. They are members of the Wrecker’s Guild. They tow in damaged
vehicles at a premium price for stranded owners and repair them. They also
scavenge wrecked vehicles for parts or to rebuild and sell. They are based out
of Chattanooga and have shops all over the country, except in U.S.T.G.
territory. The bearded guys wearing orange ball caps with the blue wheel logo
on it are Haulers. They belong to the Hauler’s Guild based out of Indianapolis.
They move cargo via armored big rigs throughout the country. Some rigs even
have weapons and armed guards. But they are generally considered so vital to
survival that only a desperate raider would attack them.”

  “Who are the guys with all the piercings?”

  “Rapture Cultists. They are hedonists who believe
that they may die tomorrow so they need to live it up today. They like to
party, so this place would be like heaven for them, pardon the pun. Most are
heavy drug users and rather mindless. The piercing are some sort of
expressionism I’ve never figured out.”

  “What about the guy in the white suit?” Rora asked
while pointing at him.

  Derek pushed her finger down before answering. “Don’t
point, attracting attention is considered rude and could get you killed. That
is a Preacher. He is a missionary for the Reborn Catholic Church. They travel
around trying to convert people to their faith and reject the ways of sin that
led to the Collapse. It is very unusual to see one of them in a place like
this.”

  As he said it, the Preacher jumped on stage and
tried to cover up one of the girls. That was met with loud jeers and even a few
thrown bottles. The two struggled on stage for a minute before bouncers came
out and dragged him away screaming. Derek and Rora couldn’t hear him over the
music, but Derek assumed it was a hellfire and brimstone speech about how
everyone here was going to hell. He laughed to himself. Weren’t they already in
it?

   After he finished his beer, Derek got up. He was
ready to take care of some of his other needs.

  “Wait here.” He instructed Rora. “I need to go
upstairs and take care of some business. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Don’t
let anyone touch anything. Kick them in the balls if they try.”

  He turned and headed for the staircase before she
could reply. He might have to take her to NASA, but that didn’t mean he
couldn’t have a little fun along the way. It had been awhile since he had been
with a woman. Living alone in the wasteland wasn’t exactly conducive to that. A
shave and shower wouldn’t be too bad either.