Wasteland Ronins

The world became the dystopian future we talked about. The Third Great War finally happened. Society had finally collapsed. Earth became a wasteland and these are the lives of the people who survived.

1.

The world became the dystopian future we talked about. The Third Great War finally happened and the outcome was too much for the starting nations to handle. Society had finally collapsed. The dream or nightmare that we read in comic books, watched in seasons and seasons of TV shows had finally dawned upon mankind. Mad Max, The Walking Dead, The Book of Eli, you name it. Each of these fictions and bits of another ones lived now on some part of the wasteland Earth became.

…

The dreadful desert road was occupied only by the man riding a worn-out black Harley Davidson bike. They called him Nip Grisham then. Nip rode fiercely through the barrens, looking for a ruined gas station, a run-down restaurant or any kind of shelter. The sky was that of a plain dull gray, overcast. The road now was paved on the sides by wreckage of cars as Nip slowed down to watch out for anything useable. A wry smile opened on his face. It amused him to think that Harleys were supposed to be bikes for wild rides and reckless people. Well, this was as wild as it could get.

Or so he thought, at the time.

He kept moving. The road was allowing him to fully unleash the bike’s motor. As he drove down the road, the vision of a bar or saloon of some sort appeared on the left, in the horizon. As Grisham moved, there were fewer wrecked cars on the road, to the point where there were only six that formed a circle on the entrance of the saloon, a barricade to harden the access to the club or to serve as cover. Clever, Nip thought.

Out of politeness and good manners, he parked the bike outside the perimeter of the barricade, took the half helmet off and strapped it to the handle. Checked the classic Colt .45 Pistol his grandfather gave him and his knife also. All in position, Nip walked towards the entrance, noting the windows on the second floor were a good advantage point, but there was no one watching anything from there.  No one guarding the entrance either. Maybe this place had been run down or set up to be a trap.

Only one way to know.

The door was from a cowboy movie, the saloon doors that come and go. He entered to find the main room lit by daylight, light creeped in from the open windows on the sides and front. The room itself was pretty organized, everything in its place, tidied up. An older man sat behind the counter, shotgun at hand. Long silver hair completed the full white beard that accompanied blue eyes. He looked curiously at Grisham. A radio behind him was turned on, the transmission almost unintelligible.

“Morning, sir,” Nip said.

“How many are with ya?” said the old man. His eyes looked through Nip as a rhinoceros looks to a lion. A formidable foe.

“Just me.”

The old man looked into his eyes and he stared back. Silence followed.

The man lowered the gun and smiled thinly. He grabbed a bottle from below the counter and two glasses.

“Sit.”

Nip grabbed the bar stool and sat, looking over to the empty saloon. It was neatly organized, given the circumstances and quite a large space. Didn’t look that big from the outside. The saloon was dead silent, silence that was only broken by the humming the bottle made when pouring down the drinks. The old man offered him a glass.

“To the lost,” he toasted, grimly.

They drank. It had been a while since Grisham had tasted alcohol.

“Fine whiskey,” he started. “What’s your name, sir?”

“James Whitaker. Jimmy. Yours?”

“Nip Grisham. Where is everybody?”

“Left or died”, James drank.

Whitaker put the glass on the counter and the sound was a very loud mid-tone thud. The sound and the words echoed through the four corners of the saloon. James poured another glass for both of them.

“Strange time to be alive, mate. How are you handling it alone?” asked Whitaker.

“I was born into chaos already. Just living it through. Riding through this world, all alone. It gets easier, as you know. You’re on your own.”

“I suppose. There was this group here. We barricaded, worked to maintain this place.”

“What happened?”

“One of them lost it. Killed others. I had to do some s**t. The rest left.”

Silence creeped in. Nip looked around. Wooden walls, but sturdy. He was still amazed by how neat the place was. The walls looked clean enough when contrasted to the ravaged landscape outside.

“I guess you are not taking anyone in, then.”

“Actually I’m thinking about leaving. Not the safest location. Things changed a lot in the beginning, but now they don’t change at all.”

Again, the silence fell over.  

“Clever idea, the barricade. I’d do it differently, but clever still.”

“Where are you headed to, Grisham?” Whitaker asked, staring into Nip’s dark eyes.

“See… I stopped by to see if I found the answer to that very question,” Nip said, confused. The second glass was almost empty and he already could feel some numbness.

“They say things are better heading north. There’s this place, a village.”

“Not interested. I’ve been to a large settlement. Bad move,”, as Nip says this, he drinks what was left in the glass. “The leaders of the place I was in found a wicked sense of order. Not my style.”

“I can see that. There are no common men anymore.”

“Do you mind if I park the bike inside the fence?”

“Do as you please.”

The rattling sound of motor came to their ears. Whatever it was, was moving to the saloon. The men, gun in hand, ran to the window. The sound was getting louder and Nip guessed that it could be something big. James looked at him, menacing. The sound was getting louder and closer now, but whatever it was, slowed down its pace. Nip peered out from the window. He saw this huge hulking vehicle moving in their direction. That did not look good. When Nip came out of the window, James was pointing the shotgun at his face.

“Your friends, Grisham?” James shouted above the noise, his face getting red.

“F**k no, Jimmy! I have no friends, least of all any that owns that f*****g beast.”

“You better be telling the truth!” James angrily said, face redder.

“Jesus Christ, lower that gun! I have no one, I told you!” Nip tried to rationalize. He did not aim back, fearing it would panic the old man. “I don’t have time for this.”

Nip peered out again as Whitaker lowered the shotgun. The vehicle was a type of Abrams war tank, with green military coloring. It had been modified to amplify the cannon size, it looked twice as big as the normal one. The wheels were modified too in a manner that they had a chain around them that allowed it to move faster.  The cannon was in the middle of two machine guns mounted by people he could not plainly see yet. Nip hid again, looking worrisome. The tank halted in front of the barricade. Inside the saloon, Nip and James looked at each other in silence. On the road, silence was the only thing they heard.

“Follow me!” Grisham hushed.

Grisham was the first to move. He stormed out of the saloon, one hand holding the Colt .45 and the other one really close to draw his knife. The picture he saw was interesting. The machine gun on the left was mounted by a muscular male, shirtless but wearing a grenade belt to the chest, desert camo trousers and boots, pistol strapped to his waist. The cannon, which was hulking from close-up, was manned by a skinny tall man, wearing t-shirt and glasses, all that Grisham could see. The vision that amazed him the most was the person who was mounted on the right machine gun. A woman, dark long hair, shirtless too if not for the top bra that could not hide her large breasts. She was in very good shape, tanned. The lady wore the same desert camo trousers as the man to the left, but armed with an AK-47 rifle that he could see the point from her back. The three of them looked down on him, since the tank was almost four foot tall.  The tank was 10 meters away from him and Whitaker, who left the bar also, shotgun aiming to the tank.

Tension filled the air.

“No need for trouble, boys!” The big guy said from above.

“Who are you?” Grisham asked, holding aim.

“That pistol won’t do much damage, mister. Take it f*****g easy.” The big guy responded.

“What do you want? What’s the deal with the tank?” Whitaker prompted, angrily.

“Jesus. People have no manner for conversation these days.” Blurted out the lady on the right.

The woman stood up and jumped from the tank, landing graciously below. She moved to enter the barricade, but as soon as she had crossed the first car, a warning shot came from high up and hit the ground, centimeters away from her boots. Nip looked up to find that the windows were observation points, after all. A girl, probably ten or eleven years old, holding a sniper rifle. Another hit to the ground and Nip leaned to see the other window, a man the same age as his, holding another rifle. Whitaker did not move a muscle, aiming still on the tank.

“This came as a warning. State your purpose or get back to the hell you came from.” James said, in a cool, firm voice.

Nip smiled. The thin man stood up, hands high.

“Mister, I think we started off on the wrong foot.” He said, as he got up in the tank and walked down its way to below. “My name is Andrew Jackson, like the president. This big fellow here is called David Astoria and the lady goes by the name of Amber Smith. We have another one arriving soon, his name is William Torrance.” He jumped from the tank to the floor. “This beautiful vehicle is called Cottonmouth,” he said as he gave a cheerful tap on the huge vehicle. “We are a rogue squad from what was left of the military and we roam the Wastelands fighting off the big bad guys. Nowadays, there’s plenty of them.”

Nip examined Jackson. Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, glasses, desert camo and boots. Thin, tall, white. Didn’t look the best the army had to offer, but there wasn’t much to offer in the first place. Nip liked Jackson and his team. He looked over to Whitaker. Whitaker took his blue eyes off Jackson and looked to Grisham, looking for a reaction. Nip nodded and lowered his gun, slowly. So did Whitaker. David Astoria left his position, climbing down the back stairs of the Cottonmouth, to greet Grisham and Whitaker with his group.

“If it is not asking too much, I’d suggest we come inside to talk. There’s a storm coming,” Andrew Jackson said, calmly.

“I’m Nip Grisham. This is James Whitaker, the owner of the bar”, Nip said as he shook hands with Jackson.

His colleagues were similar in that calm manner to him, though David looked as ready for combat as he could be and Amber kept glancing the windows of the second floor now and then, analyzing the windows and weaknesses of the place.

James looked over and made a gesture with the hand. Nip followed him, as did Jackson and his friends. They entered the saloon and sat in a round table. No one spoke until James came back, still alone, with a jar filled with water and 5 glasses. He filled and distributed. Nip like the idea, it would help to wash down the numbness he almost felt of the two whiskeys. Whitaker sat. Whoever was guarding the windows must have kept doing that.

“So, begin,” James said and gestured for Jackson.

“Well. We explore the land to find people in need of help, as I told you. We’ve done quite good work up north and came descending, helping as we can. We clean wreckages, help families, fight bandits for settlements. Stuff like that. I’m sure you have been listening to Rogue Radio. They talk a lot about us and our efforts,” Jackson explained. His fellow members were dead quiet, enjoying the water.

“So, you are mercenaries”, Whitaker stated, fast.

“I don’t see it that way. People need help, whether they like it or not. We’re the helping hand, the last hope. We’re quite good at that and Cottonmouth does most of the convincing, really.”

“How long have you two been here?” asked Amber.

“Actually, I just came in. James here was kind enough to offer me a drink and a place to park my bike”, Grisham was set to see north for himself, but he would not leave Whitaker to the mercy of a strange group. “Where are you guys headed?”

“We were thinking to group with our other member at this point. There’s some planning we need to do so if James doesn’t mind, we could all dine together. There’s plenty of food in the tank and we will explain it all.”  

James looked over to Nip, who, again, nodded back.

“Fine,” he said, calmly.

“Lemme ask you something first,” Nip started. “What the heck is the storm are you talking about?”

When he finished his sentence, he heard the sound of a car approaching. Andrew stood up, smiling.

“This must be William.  Later, at dinner, we will explain it all to you. Now we have to take Cottonmouth out of plain sight and start unpacking supplies”, Jackson said as he knocked twice on the wood table.

The others stood up as well. Amber and David went outside with Andrew and Nip helped James cleaning up.

“Turns out you weren’t alone,” Nip said.

“No. I didn’t tell so you didn’t get your hopes up or whatever. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I understand it, actually. Who are the snipers?” Nip said, finding fun in the situation.

“My son and his daughter. They’re the only ones left, really.”

Whitaker and Grisham were at the counter now. James washed the glasses and Nip sat on the bar stool, watching. From behind him, he heard something, and when he turned to see what it was, there, at the bottom of the stairs that came from the second floor, there was the girl. Probably eleven or ten, she looked at him, defying. There was no fear of the strange people in her eyes. He greeted with his head.

“I’m going up in a minute, sweetie. I’ll be right there”, James said in this tender voice.

“Nip, can you finish this up for me? I’ll freshen up and tell my son about what has happened.”

“No problem, Jimmy. Leave it to me.”

…

An hour or more passed. Nip was sitting on the front of the bar, relaxing.  His bike was parked near him. He had cleaned the bar and now he was watching the squad work around the Cottonmouth, the hulking tank. Astoria cleaned the wheel chains, Amber was inside. Jackson and William Torrance were near on a table they set, talking and pointing to a map laying on the table. He heard sounds from inside the bar and when he turned, James was coming down with his son and granddaughter. He came to them.

“Nip, this is Alexander Whitaker, my son and Clara, my granddaughter,” he presented, smiling.

Alexandre was a younger, short-haired, version of his father. He had the same blue eyes and the squared face, but he did not own the full beard, had dark brown hair as Nip’s and was a bit taller. He was wearing jeans and a worn-out shirt. Clara was a little dirty, but a very beautiful child. She had the blue eyes and blonde hair to her shoulders. She was wearing a pink t-shirt and jeans. This was no regular kid, her eyes, the same blue as her father and grandfather, they were sharp and fast. She looked angry… all the time.

“Hello, Alexander. My name is Nip Grisham,” Nip said as they shook hands.

“Nice to meet you, Nip. Sorry that I was not there to greet you earlier, but this is our system,” Alex told him, glancing at Amber quickly.

“I understand. And this is Clara? Nice to meet you, kid. You do well with the rifle.”

“Thanks.” She nodded.

“Let’s get this party going, dad, it will be dark soon” Alexander said and he was right, Nip hadn’t noticed the sky had started to darken by the hour.

“Okay. Clara, go upstairs, do your thing. As soon as we’re done, I’ll call you.” Whitaker walked towards the Cottonmouth.

The windows of the saloon were closed now. The cowboy doors had been replaced by a sturdy door that was mounted only at night, James explained. They were at a larger table now. James at the head, with Nip and Alexander at his sides. The other seats were occupied by Amber, David, William and Andrew, at the opposite head of the table. They had set the map they were using outside at this table. The smell of cooking meat filled the room, coming from the oven filled by the gas tanks on the back of the saloon, as James had shown Nip earlier. Andrew got the full dinner cooking: meat, rice and beans, even potatoes and lettuce. They let it cook in the oven as conversations began.

“We’ve been chasing this group called The Settlers”, William began. “They’re former colleagues of ours that have chosen killing, raping and stealing to f**k up this already fucked up world.” after no answer, he kept going. “We have been on their track since a month ago. We can use all the help we need, so Andrew and I want to formally invite you to join us.”

Alex, Nip and James exchanged glances. Andrew stood up.

“I know it is a lot to ask and you may not feel compelled to do it. But I sensed in you the need to do what is right. We want you to help us defeat them and in exchange, we offer you weekly supply. We have food, weaponry and clothing to share and we always find more in our runs.”

Out of the blue, they heard the roaring sound of a thunder in the sky. It started to rain. The squad all stood up and hurried nervously to the windows.

“Uh-oh. This is not good,” Amber said, anxious. “We need to get inside Cottonmouth. They’re here.”

“What is it, fellas? Afraid of rain?” Alexander mocked.

“The Settlers have a Raincaller amongst them, Alexander. Today was no rain climate. They must have found us. Let’s move,” Andrew ordered, opening the window.

It had been a while since Nip had heard about a Raincaller. Since the bombings that happened in the end of the Third Great War, Some of the survivors mutated and began to show stranger powers. The Raincallers were one of the groups that survived. They had the gift to call rain at will and choose its intensity. The last he heard they bandied together into a tribe, far East. Nip had known some of them, but that was a long while ago.

And then, it started to rain.

“S**t.”

Alexander ran upstairs as James hurried to the counter to get his shotgun.

“Everybody, get down!” Andrew shouted.

As soon as he shouted that, bullets started flying into the saloon. Nip dove to the ground, taking James with him. Whitaker followed crawling to the counter and Nip couldn’t hear a thing, his ears full with the deafening machine gun noises. He looked around to find the squad all lying down and the non-stopping bullets kept flying inside, destroying the wood that made the front walls. From upstairs, he heard Clara’s sniper rifle shoot and a scream from upfront. She had hit someone and the Settlers ceased to fire unexpectedly. One second of silence followed, and that was all Nip needed. He stood up and ran to the window, opening fire on their attackers. He hit one of them on the neck and other on the shoulder before ducking down again. Six shots left in the magazine. Nip looked around. The squad was on the floor, crawling to the front. Silence fell over the area.

“Jackson, hurry through the back door there and get inside that f*****g tank!”, James hushed in a voice as low as he could.

“I’ll make for a distraction”, Nip stated.

Nip stood up and opened fire again. He didn’t even aim, just started shooting at the car blockage. When his gun clicked empty from the magazine, another thunder came down, this time hitting the house. The whole structure of the saloon shook and a smell of burning wood came to Nip’s nose. He ducked again and then someone kicked down the front door. Three men entered the room as Andrew, William and Amber left through the back door. David Astoria jumped on the men, knife in hand. Nip intended to help but another man jumped inside from the window, wielding a cleaver. Nip clashed his army knife against a cleaver hit that intended to hack his head off. He kicked the bandit but it didn’t seem to affect him. Another swirl of the cleaver, this time ducked. As the man was reading the third blow, James knocked him down, burying a glass on the back of his head.

“Nip, hurry upstairs and get Alex and Clara out of here. I’ll meet you outside! Hurry, this fire cannot reach the gas tanks with us inside this place!”

Nip run through the stairs just as David Astoria broke a chair on one of his enemies’ backs.  He handled three foes skillfully, Nip noted. He heard shouting from the upstairs floor and climbed the stairs, feeling the heat. He looked up and saw the ceiling burning. It was a matter of time before this place came down. He entered the only room to find Clara against the corner and Alex trying to manage his foes, a women clad in leather and a man using a mace. Nip hurled him onto the man, knocking him down, but when he looked up, the woman managed to cut Alexander’s chest, ripping his shirt and finding blood. He stepped back and Nip tried to stand up, but the man was ready to attack again and landed a swift punch, hitting his nose. Disoriented, Nip jumped up and gave a stomp to the man’s knee, probably breaking it.

“Grisham, get my daughter and leave!” Alex said, chest bleeding, but ready to attack the woman again.

Clara tried a run for the woman but the woman just grabbed a hold of her hair and threw her at the wall. Alex, enraged at this, hurled him onto the woman, both of them hitting the floor into a brawl. The fire spread to the door Nip had entered and the walls, turning the heat in the place almost unbearable. The man started a blow with his mace against Clara but was stopped by Nip’s Colt .45, a bullet through his heart. Grisham got a hold of Clara and ran to the balcony. The Cottonmouth was at a reasonable distance, speeding away. The cannon fired against military vehicles almost out of Grisham’s sight. These Settlers had sieged the saloon without them never noticing. He saw armored cars and bodies everywhere. Some of the bandits were trying to leave. He looked for his bike from above, finding it a little far from the blockage, one of the bandits lying next to it, in a pool of his own blood. He looked back and the upper part of the saloon was completely on fire.

“Kid, you won’t like this. Hug me.”

Clara looked to him in confusion, but hugged him fiercely still. Nip grabbed a hold of her and aimed the car blockage and jumped down from the second floor.

He landed on his back, on top of a car to the left, as he intended. Clara looked into his eyes with terror.

“What? It was the only way. Now get out, my f*****g back hurts.”

Clara jumped from the car and so did he. They got to the bike and boom, the saloon exploded in a ball of fire. The heat was hellish. He could just hope Whitaker had come out in time, for there wouldn’t be any survivors from the explosion.

Nip Grisham looked north. He could not see the Cottonmouth anymore. He hopped on his bike.

“What now?” Clara asked.

“Now? Now we keep moving, kid. Hop up.”

Nip started the engine and they drove north, into darkness.