Wasteland

Water! He hears it dripping from somewhere near by, can smell it, it's so close. Almost taste it on his tongue, he can, and it's enough to awaken his dry mouth and summon the use of his parched and sore throat. His voice is weak and hoarse in his ears. He's sure his eyes are open, but he can't see anything. The air is dry, but there is no wind and there's a dank smell on the draft that passes over him. The dripping sound echos around him. The rock under his head feels cool and gritty. There's a fine sand at his finger tips like grains of powdered sugar. He tries to sit up, but the pounding and dizziness in his head force him to lay down again. He groans with pain as the nerves in his body awaken. His legs are screaming at him, sending waves of anguish through his body. He thinks of Anne. She set his legs and bound them. Wondering if perhaps she has something for the pain in her pack he calls out for her, but his hoarse voice doesn't carry. Clearing his throat, he tries again. This time his voice echos off the walls he can feel pressing in around him.

'Anne... ANNE!'

He hears a scuffle in the sand and whispers in the dark. He calls out again for his nurse, the only answer is more scuffling and whispers. Someone, or something else is in this place with him. Feeling around for his smg, he finds it a few palms away from his left leg. He checks his waist band, the pistol is still in place. Then he remembers the pack. That is not near, not that he can find. They must keep it with them to protect themselves and him if they should be discovered. At least, he hopes that the whispers and scuffling in the sand is Anne preparing to tend to him. He calls again.

'Anne...? Please...'

But she does not answer despite the obvious discomfort in his voice, so he calls out for Lucy and Scout. He only wants to know that someone is there, that they didn't leave him to die in some hellish hole.

'Lucy? Scout?'

More scuffling and more whispers, then a muffled moan. Rage fills him. He knows the sound like he knows his own hands. He can still hear the sounds when foot steps crunch the sand on their way to him. When he feels the hem of a dress on his face he waits for the girl to kneel down. He hears the pack being sat down, then he grabs at her. He wants to know which of his girls has betray him with Scout. Which one he need to beat when he is able. He finds the knees first, then he paws up her body asking 'Which are ye?' and she answers him 'Anne.' Her soft voice tell him she speaks the truth, but he needs to know for sure. Callous hands find the large, soft suppleness of Anne's bosoms. Twins though they be, Lucy's breasts are smaller and flatter than Anne's. Satisfied that she is not the one to be unfaithful to him, he searches with his fingers until he finds her face. He brings in in and kisses her, a reward for her faithfulness.

'How long 'ave I been out? Wh're are we? Have ye done what yer sista is doin' now?'

He asks her without taking his lips from hers or releasing his iron grip on her head. He can feel her hot breath on his face, her hands steadying herself on his chest. If he were able he might have taken her in the darkness on the sandy floor.

'Only a few hours. Scout foun' a cave in the cliff. We done our bes' t'carry ya h're as gentle as we could. I 'ave vodka to clean, it might help wit' the pain. Th're be pills too, but I don' know what they is.'

Her reply does not please him because she didn't answer his last question. His hands have their strength and he uses one to grab her hair. She cries out, afraid, though he's never hurt her like he has her sister. His other hand finds the hem of her dress and her opening hidden beneath, prodding it to feel if she has changed from what she was or if she's wetter than she should be. She hasn't and she's not. Her quickening breath further arouses him, but he's still angry and still in pain. He pushes her away, growling the question low to prevent it's echo.

'Have ye done what she is doin'?'

'No, Jack. Ne'er been wit' no'ne else no way. Not 'less ye tell me.'

'An' how does I know yer not a lier?'

He hears her scoot closer to him, dragging the pack with her. He hears her rummaging through the supplies in it and push a cold bottle into his hands. The liquid inside sloshes around like water. He removes the cap and the smell of vodka leaves the bottle to sting his nose. He takes a swig and gives it back to her. She pours some over his legs and the new searing pain make him grit his teeth. Then she places the bottle of pills on his lap and pushes a canteen of water in his hands.

'I ain't ne'er lied to ye, Jack. I ne'er ran when ya released my chains, neither. I din' shoot ya when ya gamme a gun. Ye got no reason t'think me dishonest. '

Jack grunts. Lucy din' shoot him either, but she proved to be untrustworthy. He opens the pills, and taps out a couple smooth, round, flat trochies. He dosen't know what they are, but they're medicine if they were in the medical pack. He takes two with the water and puts them next to the rock to find later. Then he feels her hands on him, searching for this paint waist and the fly that will give her access. Her mouth distracts him from the pain until the pills and the vodka set in, which doesn't take long with no food in his stomach. The darkness changes to light in a dream he can't recall when he wakes.

Weeks pass and they all stay in the cave with him. Scout checks on him regularly and brings him food from what he manages to steel from the compound. He tells him there are a few men left, but not many. The spoils of war are easily spirited away due to the lack of eyes to watch. They've gathered enough flammable materials to start a campfire in the shallow cave near him to keep him warm. His legs are healing, but it will take time. Anne helps him walk a little each day, but they stay in the cave. The pills keep coming, Scout brings them from the compound as well as a steady supply of vodka. The medicine, it turns out, was buffout, and he's developed a healthy addiction. He's also well on his way to becoming an alcoholic. But Scout hides the vodka and administers it as an antiseptic himself. Jack let's it slide. When he's well enough to fight, to run, he will deliver justice to his 'friend' who has taken what did not belong to him. He takes care to insure that Scout does not know that he knows what was done. In his constantly narcotized state, Jack cares not about the good that Scout has done. Only about the treachery.

Lucy sits by the fire near him, but she doesn't talk to him or offer comfort. She doesn't try to help him, but she doesn't hurt him either. She was his first, as he was hers, but he feels nothing for her but possession. He cares little more for Anne, though she has all but confessed her love for him despite his meanness or the way she came to be with him. He knows this, but does not return the feelings. She is to him like a good dog that does what it's been trained to do. She performs a job and she's paid by being cared for; feed, clothed and sheltered whenever it can be afforded. The same is true for Lucy, but she is a cur that bites her master's hand. If she were smart, she would run while she has the chance. He will make her pay for her actions against him, just as he will Scout. If she begs forgiveness he may spare her life. Scout will not likely be so lucky.

The day comes when he's strong enough to run, and to shoot. They leave the cave, taking as much with them as they can carry without being over burdened. They fill the canteens and empty vodka bottles with water from the spring and give themselves a dose of rad-away, just in case. Jack finds himself stronger than he should be due to the steroids. Anne's medical pack is stuffed with as many full bottles as would fit inside. They walk for miles, days, weeks and find nothing. They kill off attacking animals, mostly molerats and bloat flies, but nothing really dangerous. They avoid raiders as best they can, succeeding in their endeavor or escaping when they fail.

The evening Scout returns to the camp inside an old home, not unlike the one where he found Anne, with news of a town within a days journey the small bad celebrates with quiet joy. No need to draw attention when they are so near temporary sanctuary. Jack knows this is the time to strike, if he still intends to do so. His resolve is faltering as he looks at his friend who has helped him to survive. He considers forgiving him, letting the matter go, even giving him Lucy. But when he tells Scout he no longer holds a grudge against him and offers Lucy as a gesture of good will, things go poorly. Scout is appalled that Jack still thinks of the girls as belonging to him. He says;

'I thought we was leavin' that shyt behin' us when we's leavin' that hell hole!'

'What's mine's still mine, an' I brought 'em wit' me!'

Jack answers, angry and ready to pull the trigger of the gun still tucked in his pants, even as Anne sits next to him on an old sofa left behind, cuddling up to him like a frightened child and old memories in her eyes.

'I guess I thought wrong, then. I mistook ya fer a man, but yer worse than the slavers 'cause ya was a slave once yerself. Yer not good 'nough fer her or any living thing t'warm yer bed!'

It's the last thing Scout ever says. The bullet through his head lodges in the wall behind him that's now decorated with his blood and brain and bits of skull. Next to him Anne doesn't even flinch, but the look in her eyes isn't the same as it was. It never would be again. She sits there quietly, her eyes averted. He beats her sister nearly to death saving the softer blows for the face, choking the screams before they can draw unwanted attention to their hiding. No need to damage the selling point of his merchandise. When he's done with Lucy he leaves her on the floor to her tears. He dosen't want her any more. Not after what she did to him. He takes the weapons, ammo, food and water and Anne to the upstairs bedroom. He blocks the door with the bed on which he takes his best girl. He sleeps soundly, dreamlessly, through the night until morning light shines in through the hole in the wall and broken window.