Wasteland Wonderland - Part 1 Read online

  Wasteland Wonderland

  Part 1

  By J. L. Harden

  The

  Fall

  of

  Hector

  Ramirez

  Contents

  Chapter 1 4

  Chapter 2 5

  Chapter 3 7

  Chapter 4 9

  Chapter 5 12

  Chapter 6 18

  Chapter 7 22

  Chapter 8 24

  Chapter 9 30

  Chapter 10 32

  Chapter 11 35

  Chapter 12 37

  Chapter 13 41

  Chapter 14 43

  Chapter 15 46

  Chapter 16 49

  Chapter 17 50

  Chapter 1

  I’m somewhere in the Buried City.

  Somewhere below the Wasteland.

  I’m in a bar, drinking what passes for beer these days. I’m in a bar because humans are fucking weird and even though it’s the literal end of the world, we still need to get a buzz on.

  I’ve had ten beers.

  But the beers are just chasers.

  Because what I’m really drinking is something stronger. A fortified brew that tastes like gasoline. But it does the trick. Dulling the senses and memories, making me forget where I am and who I am and what I’ve done.

  The beers are just for chasing away the taste. And to chase away a feeling I’m getting in my stomach. To chase away my nerves, to calm my nerves.

  Because I just met a girl. An angel. An angel who has no business being in a place like this. She came up to me not even ten minutes ago. It was like she was looking for me.

  She knew my name.

  She was friendly.

  And I didn’t ask questions. She told me her room number. She told me the door wasn’t locked.

  Maybe I should’ve asked questions. Maybe I should’ve told her to get lost, to find some other mark. But like I said, this is the end of the world and I’m a lonely son of a bitch.

  She left, begging me with her eyes to follow. I turned back to the bar and finished my drink.

  And downed the chaser.

  And now a tap on my shoulder. A guy. Tall and thin. He has a scar over his left eye and an expression on his face that says he’s all business. That he’s a consummate professional. He’s wearing a poncho, and I can’t be certain, but I think underneath the poncho he’s wearing a thermo suit. I’m thinking he must be a Merc from the nicer part of town, but I can’t be certain because this guy is dressed like he’s hiding something and I’m pretty damn drunk.

  My vision is blurry.

  I can’t be certain.

  This guy has a beer in his hand but he’s not drinking it. Not like you’re supposed to drink a beer. He shows me a picture of a girl. He asks me if I’ve seen her and even though I can’t get her out of my mind… I lie.

  I lie and I say, “I’ve never seen her before.”

  And then I tell the truth. I tell the truth and I say, “I’ve never seen anyone like her before.”

  The man leaves and he leaves his beer on the bar and I’m too drunk and careless and arrogant to even think this could be a problem.

  For me.

  For anyone.

  I make my way to the room upstairs. She’s there. Waiting. And I’m suddenly aware of the heat.

  It’s hot. Because it’s always hot.

  Sweat covers our bodies.

  I ask her what her name is, trying to make small talk because even though I’m drunk and my guard is lowered and my inhibitions are gone, I’m nervous.

  She can tell.

  And she says, “My name doesn’t matter…”

  “It matters to me.”

  She has her arms around me. She wears nothing but a smile. Except it’s not really a smile. It’s not real. It’s a mask.

  She thinks for a second, too long. She whispers, “Ruby.”

  “Like the jewel...”

  “Yeah,” she says quicker. More eagerly. “Just like the jewel.”

  Her skin is soft. Too soft.

  Her hands.

  Her thighs.

  Her lips.

  Everything is soft.

  And smooth.

  And pale.

  She might be an angel. I might be dreaming.

  She inhales sharply as I put my hands on her hips and pull her close.

  I ask her where she’s from.

  And she says, “Wonderland.”

  I laugh.

  She doesn’t.

  I guess she’s running from an abusive husband. Maybe he’s a Wasteland Raider. Those guys are nuts. People think I’m crazy. People think me and my brother are insane. But we’ve got nothing on those guys. Raiders constantly venture above ground, out into the Wasteland, out into the scorching, deadly heat. People say the Red Giant cooks their brains. I’d have to agree with those people.

  So yeah, maybe she’s running from an abusive husband or boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Then again, maybe she just wants some excitement in her life. A fling.

  An affair…

  Maybe she just wants to know that men still find her attractive.

  Irresistible.

  I can vouch for that.

  And now she knows it, if she ever doubted it.

  I kiss her and she shivers.

  In the heat.

  In this goddamn, unrelenting heat.

  I ask her, “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m scared,” she answers, her mask slipping away for the briefest of moments.

  “Why?”

  “Because I know secrets. I know things I’m not supposed to know.”

  “What do you know?”

  She places her hand at the back of my head. She grabs a fistful of my hair. She kisses me and whispers… “I know everything.”

  Chapter 2

  She fell asleep in my arms, covered in sweat, cold to the touch.

  Cold.

  Even in this heat.

  I didn’t think about it. Didn’t think.

  Because I wasn’t thinking.

  Can you blame me?

  She was a goddess and I was in heaven. Drunk and in heaven.

  She was shivering. She was cold. Covered in sweat. No one is cold in this place.

  Not here.

  Not in the Buried City.

  Not in the Wasteland.

  Not on Earth.

  Not anymore.

  I’m still holding her in my arms and I don’t know when to let go. I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to deal with this because I don’t want to acknowledge exactly what went down.

  Ruby… if that was even her real name, she was poisoned. I don’t think she knew she’d been poisoned. Not until it was too late.

  I place her gently on the bed and cover her with the sheet. I stand over her with my head lowered. I don’t say a prayer because I don’t really know any. And I’m not the world’s biggest fan of religion.

  So I just stand over the bed, beside the bed, standing over Ruby, as a mark of respect.

  She said she was from Wonderland.

  She said she knew secrets.

  Maybe she was telling the truth.

  And maybe this is why she’s dead.

  Her skin, her hands, they were so soft. Softer than any I’ve ever felt. And now my instincts are kicking in, survival instincts I was born with and spent a lifetime honing by necessity. To survive in the Buried City, to survive in the Wasteland, hell, to survive on Earth, you need to be stronger than the next person in the food chain. And the next.

  Ruby was not strong.

  She was soft and smooth and pale.

  Her skin had never been kissed by the Red Giant.

  And she was scared. She was downr
ight terrified.

  Of who? Of what?

  There’s no way she was from the Buried City. She was too clean and too nice.

  Maybe she was from the Deep Canyon. I shake my head. No. There’s no way. So maybe she really was from Wonderland. But if she was, then what the hell was she doing here? Why the hell would anyone leave Wonderland?

  Old timers, they talk about nights of passion. They can’t help themselves. Whenever they get together, whenever they get a sympathetic ear, they end up talking about a night, one night, during the last of the Great Wars, before the Truce, before the Arks were built. The old men talk about when they were just boys, child soldiers ordered into battle, into fierce urban warfare in ruined cities.

  They didn’t think they’d survive the night. Or the next day.

  The fear of dying alone is a terrifying one. So they’d share the night with a stranger, and if they were lucky enough to survive the killing, they’d never forget.

  I wonder... was this the same for Ruby? Did she know she was going to die? Maybe she just didn’t want to die alone.

  Then again, maybe she sought me out for protection. She knew my name. She knew where I’d be.

  She found me.

  It’s my damn reputation. A consequence of my actions in a past life, a consequence of my various professions, of years of being me. But if that’s the reason, if she really did seek me out for protection, then I failed her. I failed her miserably.

  Before I can even think about feeling angry and sorry for myself, there’s a knock at the door.

  A loud knock.

  A forceful knock.

  Whoever is on the other side is not going away.

  I’m expecting the door to come flying off its hinges any second now. But it doesn’t. They actually give me a warning. How nice of them.

  “Open up. This is Immigration and Wonderland Border Control. We know you’re in there.”

  And I’m wondering how… how do they know? And I’m wondering what the hell they’re doing here at the crack of dawn.

  In this part of town.

  In this part of the Buried City.

  Wonderland Enforcers never leave the confines of Wonderland. Not unless something big is going down.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my eyes go wide. My heart races and a jolt of adrenalin shocks me wide awake. I’m not a morning person. Never have been. Never will be. But right now, I am awake. My eyes are open. And despite the large amount of alcohol I have recently consumed, my head is clear.

  These guys are up to no good.

  And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be framed for Ruby’s death.

  Her murder.

  These guys want to play dirty?

  Then it’s time to get dirty.

  It’s time to welcome them to the Buried City.

  Chapter 3

  The knocking continues.

  Louder and longer than I expected.

  I’m guessing they’re trying to make a show to the neighbors, to whoever is around to witness this. They want everyone to know that they, the Wonderland Enforcers, they did things by the book. That they gave ample warning before they crashed the door, before they opened up. That they’re good guys.

  They were hunting down a fugitive, bringing down a bad man.

  A bad man who killed a nice girl.

  It’s a good story. It’s airtight. It’s bulletproof.

  And I don’t mind. I don’t mind being the bad guy. I’ve been the bad guy my whole life. So if they want to take their time and give me a verbal warning. Fine. It gives me a chance to say goodbye to a girl I didn’t really know.

  “Open up, Hector. We know you’re in there. We’ve got a dozen witnesses saying they saw you with the girl.”

  No, they don’t. They don’t got shit.

  But they know my name.

  They know my history.

  And they’ve got a story.

  It’s perfect.

  I kneel down and touch Ruby’s hand. I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. I kiss her hand, her cold, soft hand. I make a promise. And I still can’t figure out what the Enforcers are doing here. The only person they answer to is the Lord of Wonderland. Or maybe the Collector. We regular folk try and buy them off with food and water. Booze and drugs. But they can’t be bought. They are untouchable because they can get all of that and more from behind the walls of Wonderland.

  Which is one reason why they rarely leave.

  Wonderland is a paradise, a utopia. The last stop before the Arks, before Salvation from the Red Giant. The other reason the Enforcers never leave Wonderland is because it’s just too damn hot in the Wasteland. You need to be tough to survive out here. Even with all the tech these guys have. Enforcers have the latest and greatest thermo regulator suits. These suits do an amazing job of regulating your core body temperature. But if they break, if the battery runs out, that suit will be the suit you’ll be buried in. It will become a wearable coffin.

  So the question remains, what the hell are they doing here?

  Who sent them?

  Was it the Lord of Wonderland?

  Or was it the Collector?

  The knocking continues…

  “Hector? It’s the Sherriff. Come on, buddy. Open up. There’s a squad of Enforcers here and more Mercs than I’ve ever seen in one place. Come quietly and you won’t be harmed.”

  The Sherriff is a good woman. Well, she’s still a girl really. Young and naïve.

  Full of hope and energy.

  I’m not even sure how she got the top job. It’s not that she’s not capable, she’s plenty capable. She’s the best damn Sheriff this city has had in a long time. It’s just that there were other people, hard men, old and crusty men who had paid their dues and served their time.

  And then the Mayor goes ahead and names little Zoe Harrison as the sheriff.

  With the stroke of a pen, the nod of a head, the Mayor pissed off a lot of people. I personally think he chose Zoe so he could manipulate her, so he could groom her.

  He has had no such luck.

  Anyway, right now, Zoe is giving me the heads up. Giving me a run-down of what is waiting for me out in that narrow hallway of this sleazy hotel.

  A squad of Wonderland Enforcers.

  A bunch of desperate and hungry Mercs.

  Thank you, Zoe.

  I owe you one.

  The door flies off the hinges and it’s time to get down to it.

  I’m expecting the Enforcers to open fire. But guns are rare. Bullets are rare.

  Rare and expensive.

  So they send in the Mercs first and their weapons of choice are wooden batons.

  Knives.

  One lucky bastard has a sword.

  I throw these Mercs to the floor, breaking arms and hands. I stomp on their faces, making sure they stay down.

  And they do. They stay down.

  I’m pretty sure they’re all dead.

  I can tell within seconds that the Enforcers are regretting their decision to not use deadly force, to save their bullets, to try and take me alive. But I know it won’t be long before some hero decides to draw on me and open fire.

  So I keep moving.

  Most of the Enforcers and the rest of the Mercs have fallen back to a lower level of the hotel. I see some of the Mercs are armed with guns. None of them are drawn. None of them are aimed at me.

  Zoe is nowhere to be seen. Smart girl.

  Only two idiots remain.

  Two elite soldiers from Wonderland.

  They die quickly. Easily.

  Their guns are still in their holsters.

  Two dead Enforcers.

  If I wasn’t in trouble before, I sure as hell am now.

  Chapter 4

  I make my escape. I leave the building.

  I know the Enforcers and the Mercenaries are waiting for me. I know they have blocked off all the exits. But they don’t know all the exits. They don’t know this place like I know this place.

  So I l
eave this seedy hotel. I leave Ruby, dead and cold, covered by a sheet.

  I escape unseen.

  I move quickly because I know it won’t be long before they get sick of waiting, eventually they’ll figure out that I’ve given them the slip, eventually they’ll come looking, eventually they’ll tear that building apart in a desperate search for me.

  And when they don’t find me, they’ll come hunting, chasing.

  So I don’t have long.

  I need to keep moving. I need to speak to the only person I can trust right now. I need to talk about Wonderland Enforcers and murdered girls. I need to say these things out loud and get these crazy thoughts out of my head. Basically, I need someone to tell me that I’m not fucking insane, that the scene back in that seedy hotel room was real. That I did the right thing. That I’m fully and totally justified in getting my revenge and killing a whole lot of people in the process.

  My brother lives in one of the nicer parts of the Buried City. By nice I mean the water is usually flowing, the power is usually on, and the roaches and the rats aren’t so damn big. He chooses to live in the nicer part because he can. He can afford it and no one was going to tell him otherwise. And now that we’re both essentially retired, he’s got no use for hanging out in the rougher parts. He’s got no use for fraternizing with the rougher people.

  I make my way to his apartment. The door is locked but it makes no difference to me. I’ve known how to pick a lock before I could throw a punch.

  My brother is awake, sitting in a chair, drink in his hand.

  He was waiting for me.

  Or for someone.

  He turns a lamp on and I look away so as to not ruin my night vision.

  “You armed?” I ask.

  “Should I be?”

  “Probably.”

  I look over, initially blinded by the light. He shows me a hand held gun. A relic. An antique. A treasure worth more than our lives combined. Hell, the bullets contained within the magazine alone are worth more than our lives combined.