Vile Wasteland (A Post Apocalyptic Novel) Read online

  Still, she remained obedient, giving him a thumbs up in return, even knowing he probably couldn’t see it. The moment between them was short, and it caused her to nearly miss the sight occurring behind Grent.

  A red flap lifted and from out of it one of the freakishly painted and rage-laced Viles stepped. Almost as soon as he was out though, her lover spun about. He must have heard the thing before it saw him, for the seasoned hunter leapt and was upon him. It all happened so fast, she could barely make it out. The flash of Grent’s strawberry-blonde ponytail in the air, the crash of his body into the Viles', then the two of them tumbling into the building he just came out of.

  She was some distance away, but no sound carried to her. With the silence of the valley it was eerily quiet. If the Vile had screamed she’d have been able to hear it, wouldn’t she? It was hard to say from so far away.

  Her heart practically stopped. The more practical concerns for her safety tried to edge into her mind, but she was already moving. Dropping the binoculars around her neck, her ponytail hidden behind her green hat, she clutched onto her rifle. It wasn’t the normal way, however. She was holding it like a club and looked ready to use it.

  Charging straight on at the building, she arrived nearly in time as another Vile emerged. She had him, with the speed and tenacity of her run she’d be upon him in a second before he had a chance to do a thing. It was all happening so perfectly then just before she could get there, it all went so wrong.

  Two Viles, or at least two–she didn’t know for sure–came out from the buildings on either side of her. With the speed she was barrelling at and how quickly they caught her, it was hopeless. She toppled to the ground and all was black.

  Chapter 14

  Hours later–was it hours?–she awoke. Her head pounded. No, not her head. It sounded like drums. It was. It was musical, though menacing and almost maniacal, but it was drums. Clear and loud, they boomed in the night air.

  Opening her eyes her vision came to, and she could see it was night, and little else. She was in some enclosed space, probably one of the round homes of the smaller variety. The only light was what seeped around the edges of the curtain blocking the entry way, tattered and old as it was.

  Before she had a chance to move, however, it was yanked aside. The dark silhouette of a Vile blocked her view, but she could see the light outside was from a series of torches that lined the roadway outside. Lunging for her it grabbed her long blonde hair and yanked her, forcing her to her feet.

  Any struggle was useless, she found herself helplessly shackled. Even standing at the painful yank of her hair was a trial. More than that, she discovered she was naked as she was dragged out into the cool night air, helpless and unarmed.

  "Fuck off," she bit out angrily, trying to slap herself free despite the futility of it.

  The Vile, unsurprisingly, responded only with an anguished scream as he pulled her along the main roadway. It was red. Painted like the terrifying drawings on the buildings which were illuminated by torchlight. And upon closer inspection now that she was in the city, she could see all those scraps of crimson fabric had the same designs upon them, marked in some gold hue, as if the Viles had their own flag.

  Pulling her along, he took her up the main roadway towards a large central building. This seemed to be at the heart of the old colony itself. Perhaps some important bureaucratic facility of old New Atlantia, now looking like a hideous fortress, adorned with sharp jagged spikes of metal and wood all along the outer edges.

  Even though her body prickled with pain, she still spat out, "Yea, that’s fascinating," in an anguished tone, feeling his hand tugging her along. She didn’t even feel any shame at the nudity, though there was a stockpile of fear resting right underneath the anger.

  Passing by some of the other buildings she had time to analyze her surroundings. It was mostly the same thing, those hideous freaks and the white of the old buildings smeared with red. Though she saw something that stuck out of it all; a procession of nude men and women, looking not at all like the Viles. They very calmly walked through the street as if oblivious to their nudity and the horror of their surroundings.

  Even as a couple of the Viles came up and grabbed one of the women by the hair, yanking her out of the procession and forcing her down to her knees, none of them reacted. The victim didn’t even scream as the disgusting former-human forced his hard cock upon her, rutting her in the street like an animal. Instead, the woman took it upon hands and knees with such placidity, her face contorting, but only barely, as she was fucked before all.

  Passives. It came back to her. The other side of the coin. When some turned to Viles, others became the shells of humans known as Passives. Amenable to anything asked, obedient to a fault.

  Well she certainly wasn’t passive. Even in her quieter study of her surroundings, she was anything but passive. Every step that the Vile made her take was hard won, though it was barely a battle. Not as she was, naked and exposed, stripped of her weapons. She was trying to calculate her next move, yet found it almost impossible to think through the blinding pain and anger.

  She could see a few others of the raging monsters outside the main building that seemed to be her destination, though they only looked at her and cried their outrage in wordless menace, allowing her and her captor to push on through unmolested. Upon entering the great dome-like structure she was struck by the strangeness of it.

  Like outside, the line of torches continued up the main walkway. The chamber was mostly empty, except at its center. There, amidst a great ring of red flags, sharp pikes and the grotesque collection of human skulls, sat some great monstrous throne.

  It was illuminated, though not only by torchlight. Above she could see a great circular opening that must have once been a window to the stars, though now only jagged shards remained. Instead, moonlight poured down upon the sight before her. A collection of chained people, nude as she was, whimpering or unconscious around the over-sized throne.

  Last of all was the freakish man who sat amidst that grotesque display. Massive, the man was even bigger than Grent. Bulging muscles all over, he was ripped, probably outdoing even Bren from the caravan. Unlike the other two men though, he was hairless. His head bald, freakish tattoos all over him.

  She couldn’t help but notice one thing in particular about him before being dumped before the raised platform: he wasn’t that sickly, inhuman pale colour the rest of the Viles were.

  For some reason her mind skipped past the muscled men in her past and went right to a more suitable comparison in her mind. The doctor. Her eyes narrowed at the man, defiant even in spite of the odds against her, "What, so you lead these assholes I guess?"

  The Vile that dragged her in punched her in the back of the head, her vision blanked out and the world went fuzzy. She could swear for a moment she heard a familiar voice, as if Marim were calling to her from the past. When things cleared, the large man was out of his throne and halfway down the stairway, but a dozen meters from her.

  He wore little, nothing but two bands around his wrists and a torn and tattered garment that dangled from his waist that did little to cover him. The frail captives at his throne were cowering as the imposing man loomed near enough for her to see the freakish lines of intimidating tattoos that formed bizarre almost lightning-like markings, leading from his arms across his shoulders down his torso.

  "Ow," she groaned, glaring up at the Vile that hit her. Fuck, she figured of all people they’d appreciate some aggression. Still, her eyes quickly went back to the more imposing man. She didn’t know enough yet to cower; she wasn’t yet beaten or undone, and she straightened herself to the best of her abilities, though the dizziness was an issue.

  "Can you tell this guy to fuck off, sir?" she stared the leader in the eyes.

  The Vile was already leaving, her moment of lapsed awareness causing her to already miss out on its dismissal. Standing there in quiet as the raging beast left, something occurred to her: the people at the throne we
re chained, similar to her. The Passives outside didn’t need that kind of restraint. She’d seen ample proof of that for herself when one savagely took a Passive, never even managing to wipe the placid look of contentment from her.

  The well-tanned man approached her further, and she could feel the tremor of his steps through the hard floor.

  Fuck, she was not going to be this guy’s concubine. Her eyes were hard, but she could feel the fear winning out against anger as she realized just how large he was, and her throat suddenly felt very dry. Licking over her lips, she almost went to take a step back before forcing herself to remain still.

  When he was nearly upon her she could smell the man strongly. It was the musk of raw masculinity, sex and blood. His smooth body showed no signs of hair, and despite his own near nudity he had a sheen of perspiration that left his bulging pecs, abs and biceps gleaming in the heat of the torchlight.

  Towering over her, she saw his face. Rather, she saw through the freakish tattoos to the face beneath. It was impossible to tell his age, but though scarred, he bore a powerful jaw and a handsome face beneath his stern expression. More than that, he looked somehow familiar.

  Her reverie was shaken when he spoke, a deep voice that boomed out but was strangely refined, "You’re new to the world," he stated rather than asked. Though the silence suggested he expected some response.

  "Not... really," she said, her rage subsiding for just a second before resurfacing. "Would hate to intrude on your party though. Just... let me go and I’ll just..." even to her it sounded unconvincing and she quickly shut herself up.

  When he reached out a hand and smoothly took hold over her jaw, she had to marvel at the size of that mitt. It dwarfed even Grent’s giant paw. "What’s your name?" he asked in that smooth, yet loud, voice of his.

  One of her eyes squinted in suspicion, "Alex." She quavered with a mixture of fear and confusion, and her gaze darted back to his slaves.

  The large man blocked her view of most of them, and she could only make out one cowering woman who seemed happy for the distraction.

  "What’s your full name?" he insisted in that same steady, loud tone. Curiously, the man’s hands, though so large, and obviously so strong, didn’t hold the same hard calluses’ of Grent’s. His digits were tough, but undoubtedly smooth to the touch as he slowly turned her head, as if eying a sculpture rather than a person’s face.

  She groaned just a bit, though didn’t resist his strange touch. "Alexandra Wright," she sighed. She was trying not to talk too much, tremors of fear rushing up and down her spine, and she could smell him so close to her. She was afraid at any moment something terrible would happen. Was happening.

  The response wasn't one she had expected. A curious expression passed over the massive man’s face, a sort of knowing look. She recognized that look from other men; he knew something she didn’t. "From Bunker Omega," he intoned in a quiet, low voice.

  Her face screwed up, "What, so you’ve been taking all my friends? Fuck man, people are dyin’ ‘cause they–" she stopped herself, physically biting down on her lower lip. Her face burned hot beneath her pale skin and her dark eyes moved away. "Yes, yea, that’s me."

  The large man gave a low, hearty chuckle though never released her jaw. "Come with me," he said at last turning and indicating towards a side passage. "I have more interesting things to share with you than await those here," he said, implying the captives around his throne as he began to lead her away.

  "Fantastic," she muttered under her breath. Upgraded from throne concubine to something new and reserved for a select few. The fear made her skin crawl and her gallows humour erupt into several snide, sarcastic, and thankfully unspoken comments.

  Pushing through the curtain that separated the entrance, he took her up a long spiral staircase. Oval shaped windows showed her the valley outside as they climbed higher.

  Seeing the trouble she had, he stopped and bent down. She couldn’t make out what exactly he did, but with a snap the metal restraints came away and he asked, "Better?" before continuing on up.

  "Yea, surprisingly it’s easier to walk when you’re not physically restrained," she sighed, the words barely even audible before she spoke up, "Yea, thanks!" It was forced, but still she followed, looking around. "So you seen my buddy Grent?"

  The unknown man furrowed his brow and looked down at her, "Grent?" Leading her up and up he took her at last to a doorway that opened to a large balcony with a spacious sofa, a table and some chairs. "Describe for me this Grent, and how I would know him," he said.

  "I was coming to gallantly save his life when some asshole clocked me out. Big guy. Blondish red hair," she looked over the room, then back to the other man. Somehow being several levels above the exit was more comforting to her than being treated like one of the other captured humans, though not by much.

  The look he gave her before gesturing her to the couch said it all: he didn’t know who she was talking about. If Grent were captured or killed, the Viles hadn’t informed him. Assuming they could inform him, of course.

  "I will check into that later," he said in that same cultured voice that so did not befit the looks of the fearsome man. "How long have you been out?" he asked.

  She just stared at him, her eyes narrowing a bit, "Uh... I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. Long enough to be stripped and chained. How long’s it take one of them to do that?"

  With another one of his booming chuckles he rested a hand upon her shoulder, pressing down upon her and making sit upon the couch. "I meant, out of the bunker," he said with a toothy smile.

  She made a small sound of annoyed protest, finding the act of sitting bare against the couch to be unpleasant and she gave it a sceptical look over. "Guess it’s useless to ask if it’s clean."

  Returning her eyes to him, she took in a deep breath and gave a bright smile that did not match the situation, "I came out a couple days ago to save my bunker from death. Then one of your little minions stole my trade goods. I would like it back, please."

  Seating his large bulk down on the table before her, his legs parted wide, the shredded garment that passed for his kilt did nothing to hide the thick cock between his thighs, nor the heavy pair of balls they rested upon. Shameless as before he just looked to her, leaning his hands on his knees. "You and I have much in common," he stated in his cultured yet booming voice.

  "Yea," she murmured, her eyes avoiding his form, "Both our junk is on display." She couldn’t help it. Fear just made her more and more sarcastic, and it just kept building. "I guess you have something else in mind, though, considering everyone’s junk is on parade here."

  With another hearty chuckle he reached out, violating her personal space as he touched one of his thick digits to between her inner thighs, "Yours is cuter," he said.

  She jerked her leg away, clamping her thighs closed as she glared at him. There was scrutiny there, shielded by her anger.

  "But no, more than that," he continued, smiling toothily at her still. Unlike most of the Viles she’d seen thus far, he was missing none of his teeth and showed no signs of damage to them. They were as healthy and white as hers. "We both come from Bunker Omega, and are now free in the world. Though," he gestured to her, "you came so late."

  It took her a long few moments before she finally spoke., "You’re going to have to start at the beginning. I don’t follow."

  Arching one of his hairless brows at her, he shrugged and continued. "I lived there for much of my life," he explained. "When the bunkers inhabitants went to the surface to start their colonization, they left me behind. Locked up. Not to see the surface world." With a chuckle he added, "But then when they ruined paradise," he gestured down to the devastated colony below them, inhabited by his own Viles, "and retreated back to the bunkers... I was cast out. Funny, no?"

  "I don’t know. I kind of feel like there might be more to this. Besides, almost anyone your age is dead now, so congratulations, you win this round." Her brown eyes were locked to him, growing bolder
without his rebuffs for her behaviour.

  Returning her gaze he seemed to grin wider. Her words pleased him, rather than earned his rebuke. "Exactly," he said, "I win." Lifting himself up off the table, he sat down on the couch, and before she could shuffle away the man’s immense mass caused her to sink towards him, and he put his arm about her onto her shoulder.

  "You are afraid, I understand. You saw the ones below," he gave a shrug. "I won't lie. I get no pleasure from fucking the mindless ones. None at all," he smiled to her, "they don’t scream. Or protest. And I like that. But," he said, dragging out the moment, "if that was what I wished for you, I’d have done it already. Your first awakening would’ve been to me," and he touched her thigh again, "claiming you like you never imagined a man could or would."

  A cold chill traveled her spine and she could feel her mouth begin to water in that strange way it does just before vomiting. Even swallowing it back made her feel ill, yet she didn’t try to move away, though her legs did clamp shut once more. Her eyes darted around the balcony, scheming before resting back on him.

  There was nothing there, nothing to turn to her advantage. Except, that is, what lay on him. Strapped to one of his powerful caves was a long knife, sheathed and held in place against his darkly tanned skin.

  "Thanks for that." She inhaled sharply, "So you have super special plans for me, then. And they’d be?" Alex was not good at subtle conversations.

  Rubbing his hand against her shoulder he said, "Maybe. Like I said, we have much in common. But first– are you thirsty?" Before awaiting an answer he barked out, "Wine!" Though she had no clue to whom he might be calling to.

  "I have something for you," he said with a smile, "a gift. And if you accept it, and like it, you can keep it, and we will get along in time, I think." He reminded her of Anagio’s leader alright, though strangely, as bizarre and fake as the man looked with his tribal appearance and cultured voice, his words didn’t seem false. "Have you ever wondered why we all live like this? What happened to make you have to flee back into the bunker after? Nobody ever told you, I suspect."