Wasteland by Jeremy TeGrotenhuis

8/14/2019 Wasteland by Jeremy TeGrotenhuis

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Wasteland

by Jeremy TeGrotenhuis

It had been a beautiful valley, once. Full of green hills, exotic plants, wondrous animals. All

that was gone now. This place was no longer a haven for the rich and elderly. There were no more golf

courses, mini-malls, natural parks, or hospitals. There was not a single blade of grass, or any other

kind of vegetation, aside from the blast cactus; a prickly, red plant, growing flat along the ground like a

vine. For one month a year the blast cactus flowered, giving forth an edible, if somewhat bitter, fruit.

One of these small, astonishingly non-toxic orbs could stave off hunger for a day if one found himself

without food in this blasted land that had once been called Florida.

A lone figure wandered through this wasteland. He was dressed as anyone traveling in these

parts. A long tattered coat, buttoned up the front, covered his face. The figure had the hood of the coat

pulled over his head, over which he wore a wide brimmed hat. The man wore goggles over his eyes,

and the presence of several cameras and strange switches and knobs on the goggles betrayed their

militaristic nature. A plaid scarf wrapped around the man's nose and mouth, and his gloved hands hung

loosely in his pockets. This outfit did little for the heat, but it kept the wind and the poisoned dust off.

A large assault rifle was slung over his shoulder next to a small bag, containing a water bottle and some

meager food provisions.

He continued his lonely trek across the desolate earth for the remainder of the day, stopping

only once to obey the call of nature. He walked even into the night until he found a place suitable for

sleep; a tall, stone shelf jutting up from the greenish-gray sand at just less than a right angle. It wasn't

particularly large, but it provided enough shelter to protect the man from a sandstorm on the other side

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of the rock, though it would do little should one such storm come up on the side where the man slept.

The traveler set his pack down beside the rock and withdrew a small device. It looked like a

dull silver dollar, only a little thicker. Setting it on the ground, he pressed the center of the disk. With a

click the center of the device suddenly sprang up, telescoping until the coin had transformed into a cone

about 1-foot high. The cone would start blinking and beeping erratically if it's long-range sensor

detected a sand-storm. This modified version of the sensor doubled as a perimeter alert. If any living

organism passed within 30 feet of the cone, its reaction would be only slightly more intense than to a

sandstorm.

With his defenses set, the man reached back inside the bag. He withdrew a small, cylindrical

canteen from the bag along with a small tube of nutrient-paste and two thin, round biscuits. He

squeezed the tube and dabbed the paste on one of the biscuits until one side was covered with the paste,

and then proceeded to pull down his scarf and pop the small wafer into his mouth. After swallowing

the first biscuit, he repeated the process with the second one. When he had finished his meager meal,

he took three sips from the canteen. Not because he was thirsty, the waste had beaten thirst out of him

long ago, but because without water he knew he would die.

He replaced the paste and the canteen in his bag as he pulled his scarf back over his mouth, then

withdrew a small syringe and steel vial from the bag. He pulled up his coat sleeve and the sleeve of the

skin-tight shirt underneath to just below his wrist, drew a small amount of the liquid inside the vial into

the syringe, and injected the liquid into the large vein in his wrist. Two shots a day, one at waking and

another when going to sleep, and one could survive in the desolate waste without the poisoning and

mutation it caused.

When he had administered the shot he placed the syringe and vial in his bag and lay down flat,

leaving each bit of his clothing on, even the goggles and hat. He set the rifle next to him and drifted

quickly into the shallow sleep known only to men in desperate situations.

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When he awoke everything was exactly as he had left it. He immediately grabbed his bag and

pulled the syringe and vial out of the pocket in which he had kept them since entering the waste. He

repeated the injection process of the previous night before placing them back inside their sacred place.

Still swallowing his breakfast, consisting of the same stuff as his dinner the previous night, he

condensed the sensor cone into it's coin shape and dropped it into his bag. After he had completely

repacked, he got up and withdrew a small compass from his coat pocket. A compass here would not

point truly north, but slightly west of north. However, it could still be followed when only a vague

sense of direction was needed. The Event which had caused the decrepit state of the waste had created

a small magnetic field, causing this false-north the compass detected.

The man walked south. He walked for most of the day, through the harsh wilderness, with the

sun beating down on him, its color bleached pastel-red by the ruined atmosphere, until he came upon

something strange. Something that should not have been. A small village of men.

He first noticed it on the horizon, a grouping of tall structures that could not be standing. He

changed his course to get a better look. When he got closer he saw that it was a large cluster of

buildings, some made of materials available here only before the Event; like steel and plastic. None

were tall, and those roofs that had been removed during the Event had been replaced by wooden

planks. There were over 300 structures, all in a state of decay and dis-repair. The man switched on his

goggles' infrared camera and identified no more than 50 organisms, 30 were humanoid. While he was

still surveying the village, the sensor in his bag began to beep.

He reached into his coat and whipped out a large handgun as he spun around. Only a few feet

away stood a tall human man dressed in a ragged flannel shirt and torn denim jeans, holding an atomic

blaster in his hand. The blaster was too small to be a high-powered weapon, but it's humble 1-foot

pistol style body had enough power to completely remove a man's head.

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You shouldn't be here! The man with the blaster exclaimed.

Neither should you. stated the traveler.

You...why are you here? asked the waste-dweller.

The traveler explained monotonously. I was sent to this area of the waste to decimate,

preferably eliminate, a large group of mutants. The group is getting too big and, therefore, too

dangerous. If they decided to attack the civilized areas they would cause huge amounts of destruction,

so their numbers must be reduced, for security reasons. Now tell me, what is this place? Why were

you not killed in the Event, or by the aftereffects?

If by the Event you're talkin' about the nuclear missile that blew up this place 10 years ago,

then all I can say is we weren't here when it happened. We were from farther south, near Tampa.

When the missile hit, we started goin' North, trying to get out of the waste before we were too infected

by the radiation. Turns out that wouldn't have been possible. When we realized we'd reached this

place and found that it had been hit along with Orlando, we stopped running. There was no where left

to go. Who knows how much of the country had been blown to smithereens?

You shouldn't have that blaster. Every time it's fired it releases more radiation, which adds to

the pollution in the already damaged atmosphere. the traveler explained offhandedly.

If you don't want me to blow your head off, you won't tell me what to do. There ain't any

mutants here, just people. We found a whole refrigerated warehouse full of anti-radiation shots, so

we're safe from mutation. Now, you're going to call your boss and tell him to send a helicopter or

whatever is used for rescues these days to come pick me and my people up.

I can't do that without assurance that you aren't radioactive. If you are, we can't take you out

of here. If you aren't, we can. It's a simple test, but I'll have to perform it on all of your people.

NO! Call in a 'copter! We're getting out of here, we can barely survive, and you can save us!

You have to save us!

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The traveler looked the man up and down. There was a crazy look in the waste-man's eyes, but

he did appear purely human. The traveler grudgingly pressed a button on his goggles. Evac, I need

three transport 'copters at my current location. Needed for immediate evacuation of atomic survivors.

Bring radiation testing equipment. Do you copy? Good. Is your read on my position saved? Good,

send the helicopters here. I will proceed with my previous mission.

The waste-man lowered his blaster. Good, good. I'll bring the people out here.

Do what you want, I have an assignment to finish.

The traveler placed his handgun back in the holster on his belt. Good luck. he said, as he

resumed his course south. The waste-man began running towards his village. Less than 2 minutes

after the two parted ways, the traveler was jerked from his thoughts by a bright flash of red light, the

blast from a light-atomic weapon, like the atomic blaster the waste-man had been holding.

The traveler spun around and raced back towards the village. More red flashes accompanied the

first. He switched his goggles' infrared camera back on and discovered that he had found his target.

The 30 humanoid shapes that he had first observed in the village had multiplied more than

tenfold. Over 300 humanoid shapes raced about the cluster of buildings, and each time one of several

atomic blasters erupted with its flesh-searing bolt, several of the figures vanished.

The traveler dropped to his knees and unslung the rifle from his back, balancing it so that he

could look down the rifle's long targeting scope. He switched off the heat-vision camera and scanned

the village through his scope. 24 or 25 truly human figures raced frantically to the place where he had

encountered the blaster-armed waste-man. They were pursued by the hideous monsters known only as

the mutants. The mutants had, apparently, gotten hold of the group's livestock and several of its

members, and were devouring them with their disturbingly human mouths.

The humans were set apart from the mutants by their appearance and nature. The mutants were

bigger, stronger,and faster than the humans, who ran in one group with five men at the back, each

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holding a small atomic blaster. The men with the blasters would fire whenever their respective

weapons were charged, eliminating a small grouping of the mutants and wounding others. Even with

the frequent atomic bursts, the humans would soon be run down by the inhuman monsters.

The traveler switched the safety on his rifle to off.

He maneuvered the long firearm until the cross hairs on his scope intersected on one of the

mutants foreheads. He squeezed the trigger, and the mutant's head erupted as the massive slug tore it's

twisted brain from its body.

His face stone-hard, the traveler took aim at another of the freaks, blasting its neck open. Then

another, this one took a glancing shot to the chest, but it was still enough to remove the monster from

the chase. He fired again, and again, and again, each time bringing down one of the radioactively

corrupted beasts.

A grouping of the creatures had deviated from their pursuit of the waste-dwellers and had begun

charging towards him, but he did not switch his target from the cluster chasing the refugees. He

continued his barrage of fire, cutting down monster after monster, until he had emptied his clip. He

pressed the release button and jerked the empty case from the rifle, pulling another one from his belt

and ramming it into place. He pulled back the bolt on the rifle and resumed his monotonous

decimation of the mutant horde.

Most of the creatures had deviated from their course toward the waste-dwellers to charge at this

man who believed he could single-handedly save these people from their inevitable fate. The last

pursuers of the people were cut down by atomic bolts, and the traveler finally switched targets to the

mass charging him.

Half of the horde had already been eliminated. A few less than 200 remained. The traveler

snatched a grenade from his belt, pressed the activation button, and hurled it. The resulting explosion

slowed the progress of the monsters, and killed a few of them. After throwing another he resumed

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firing. Slug after slug found its home in the body of one of these beasts. When they quickened their

pace, he threw a grenade, then fired and fired and fired. So many of them. He replaced his clip again,

and fired. They were far too close now. Perhaps a hundred remaining. He stood up, bracing the rifle

against his shoulder, and resumed his barrage of slugs.

Why hadn't the helicopters come yet? The evac base was only 4 minutes away from here by air.

There were 75 of the beasts left. They would reach him.

Then something unexpected happened. A barrage of red lighting struck the horde's flank. Three

of the men with atomic pistols had turned back and come to the aid of the traveler. They were just

within range of the horde, not a valid distraction from their chosen target. They weren't doing enough

damage, weren't aggravating them enough.

The slugs and atomic bolts kept striking, incinerating or tearing apart the beguiling freaks of

man's indirect creation. They numbered 25 when they reached him, grabbing and tearing with their

long-nailed hands. He had dropped his rifle and now held a Desert Eagle in each hand, blasting

massive holes through the monsters heads at point-blank range. He was spattered with their blood.

The atomics had stopped firing, there was too great a risk the traveler would be struck by a wayward

bolt. Even as he fell under their grasping claws and biting teeth, he fought them. He was covered in

lesions and abrasions, his ribs were cracked. He heard the beating of 'copter blades as the world went

black.

Three massive transport helicopters came floating down from the clouds. Marksmen on board

began putting bullets through the last 8 mutants' heads. They slumped off the traveler's unmoving

body.

The 24 remaining members of the waste village were gathered onto the helicopters, as was the

traveler. The man who had first met the traveler refused to be placed in a separate craft. He sat there,

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beside his savior's unconscious body, now hooked up to life support and stabilized.

One of the soldiers in the traveler's helicopter confronted the waste-man. Why did he go that

far? He asked. Why wouldn't he run? Why did he let himself get attacked like that? If he'd moved

back, surely he could have avoided the attack and still saved you.

The waste-man shook his head. No, that wouldn't have happened. You don't understand the

waste. You've never fought these things before. We have; he had. If he'd run they would have

redirected their attack towards us, the slower-moving less defended group. He stood there to anger

them. His show of indifference towards them was what pissed them off, not his attack in itself. He had

to give himself like that. If you'd come one second later, they would have killed him. He gave his life

to save us, and it was the only way it could have happened.

The soldier turned uncomfortably from the waste-man, who had continued to stare down at the

still form of the traveler, even as he had made his speech. The traveler stirred, and reached out,

grabbing the waste-man's arm with more force than one would have thought him capable.

Did they make it? Did it work?

Yes, it worked. After you came back, not a one of us was caught and slain. You saved us, and I

thank you, and I am forever in your debt.

No, you aren't. No one is in my debt. Part of my mission was to find any radiation-free

humans, and, should any such humans come under any form of danger, to protect them. I was only

following orders. I did what I had to do to save you and complete my mission. You don't owe me

anything for that.

The waste-man stared into the traveler's eyes. That doesn't matter. You didn't have to go that

far to protect us, but you did. You risked your own life to save us, and I am forever grateful.

The 'copter blades whirled on, beating out a melancholy tune for the now-barren land created by

the foolish acts of humans, and on this day, had been stopped in it's pursuit of retribution in human

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blood by a mere man who was only following orders.

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Wasteland by Jeremy TeGrotenhuis

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Transcript of Wasteland by Jeremy TeGrotenhuis