Wasteland Wonderland - Part 1

Wasteland Wonderland

Part 1

By J. L. Harden

The

Fall

of

Hector

Ramirez

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.”

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 downright
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.

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.”