Wasteland Wonderland: Part 2 Read online

  I see that dream and I see it all vanishing.

  So I take out my gun and I load it.

  Time to make myself a new future. Time to make things right.

  Chapter 3

  I make my way through doorways and turnstiles, through security checkpoint after security checkpoint.

  I make my way towards the girl.

  Running from Wonderland.

  She’s on our side.

  I come to a vault door. Biggest damn door I’ve ever seen. Made from metal. From steel. Polished and refined and tempered.

  Impenetrable.

  Near the door is a body. A corpse of a man. Tall and thin. Long arms. Long legs. His neck is broken and mangled. He has no face, barely a head. Someone did quite a number on this guy.

  His throat is wrapped around his spine. And his face is just gone, completely gone.

  I nearly throw up.

  “Do not move a goddamn muscle,” she says.

  I raise both hands. I still have a hold of the gun.

  “Drop the gun.”

  I drop it.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “My name is Zoe Harrison. I’m the Sheriff of the Buried City. I’m here to help.”

  “Like hell you are. You’re working with them, aren’t you? Where’s Hector?”

  I don’t get a chance to tell her who I am and where I stand and what side I’m on. I don’t get a chance to tell her I know Hector and I know his brother.

  The vault door opens. It swings open slowly and silently.

  I dive, picking up my gun in the process. I take cover.

  The girl does the same.

  Enforcers pour out of the vault. A squad full. What the hell are a squad of Enforcers doing hanging out inside a vault? I guess I’ll never know. But they come out, guns blazing. They knew we were there. They knew she was there.

  I’m hiding and taking cover behind a pipe made of solid iron. A seemingly endless barrage of bullets smash into the pipe. The noise is deafening.

  I keep my head down.

  I wait.

  Bastards have to reload at some point.

  Even an extended mag will run out eventually.

  At some point.

  I hope.

  The bullets stop. For just a second. But it’s all I need.

  I take my chance. I take my shot.

  I fire, killing two Enforcers.

  A third.

  I aim for their necks, the most vulnerable part, the least armored. And now they’re done reloading. I take cover.

  They open fire again.

  A bullet ricochets off the cylindrical pipe and catches me in the shoulder, in the side of my arm. I muffle a scream. I clench my jaw. My teeth. I tell myself it’s nothing. I inspect the wound. I see blood. But there’s no hole. No entry point.

  The bullet has grazed my skin, my arm, cutting me open. But it hasn’t gone through.

  It’s just a flesh wound.

  I tell myself, it’s just a flesh wound.

  I repeat this to myself so I don’t go into shock.

  “Zoe, it’s just a flesh wound.”

  It’s just a flesh wound.

  The firing has stopped. The bullets smashing into the solid iron pipe have stopped.

  The plant falls eerily silent.

  “Hold your fire…”

  The girl screams.

  Has she been shot? Am I too late? Was this all for nothing?

  I sneak a peek, careful not to get my head blown off. The Enforcers are crowded around a man wearing a dark robe. He’s holding a gun. And that gun is pointed at the girl. She’s no longer holding her rifle. She’s completely unarmed. The Enforcers are more concerned with protecting this guy, and as a result, they’re no longer interested in shooting at me, in killing me.

  I take this as my cue. I open fire, killing Enforcers where they stand. The rest of them ferry and shuffle the man who is now holding the girl around her neck, holding her and taking her hostage. They are moving back into the vault. And if they get inside, if they lock the door, I’ll never see her again and I won’t be able to save her and this’ll all be for nothing.

  An Enforcer is trying to close the vault door. I take the shot.

  He goes down.

  I make my move, jumping over the solid iron pipe. I run across the clearing and I move inside the vault.

  But it’s not a vault.

  It’s a tunnel.

  A very, very long tunnel.

  It is endless.

  Right now the tunnel is lit up with candles. The candles show a path that disappears into a single vanishing point of orange light. Parked right near the door is a massive tank.

  A Spider Tank.

  An old war machine that I’ve never seen up close like this before.

  Its cannons are aimed at the door, at me.

  I scan the tunnel, looking for Enforcers.

  But there are none left. I have killed them all. Killed more than I thought.

  There could be more inside the tank. But for the moment, it’s just the man in the dark robes. He’s holding the girl around the neck. Pointing a gun at her head.

  “Stay back!” he shouts.

  “I’ve come this far, you bastard. I’ve killed these Enforcers. Your men. I won’t hesitate to kill you. Let the girl go.”

  “You are in no position to tell me what to do. No position to make demands of me. This girl, Angel, she is mine. I am reclaiming her.”

  I aim my gun. I cock the hammer. There’s a risk I could hit the girl if I miss.

  But I won’t miss.

  Not even with blood dripping down my arm and my ears ringing from the fire fight, I won’t miss.

  “You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asks.

  “No. But I’ve got a pretty good idea. You’re a messed up son of a bitch who likes to rape girls.”

  “I am the Collector. I am your superior.”

  The name… just the name… when he says it, it’s like a bomb going off, like a shotgun, a cannon being fired at point blank range into my gut.

  The Collector.

  The goddamn Collector.

  He’s wearing a heavy and dark robe, made from silk, from something very rare and expensive. He had a squad of Enforcers protecting him, more than protecting him, shielding him. Playing the role of human shields. The men, his men, were prepared to take a bullet for him, because the alternative, because not doing your job and your duty would guarantee a fate worse than death.

  Worse than death…

  Anyway, this girl, he has collected her because he is the Collector.

  He sees the look in my eyes and the shock on my face and he says, “So you have heard of me? You are not a total half-wit. You are not completely uneducated.”

  “No. I’m not completely uneducated. I think I know what’s going on.”

  “Good. Now, drop that weapon and run along back to the Wasteland.”

  “And where are you going to run off to? Where are you going to take her? Where does this tunnel lead?”

  “Like I said, you are in no position to talk to me, to ask anything of me. But if you must know, this tunnel leads to Wonderland. And if you do not do exactly as I say, I will make it so you are never allowed access, so you are never allowed to board a Shuttle. You will die in the Wasteland. I will make it so.”

  “You must be a very powerful man.”

  “You have no idea. Drop your gun.”

  If I miss, I’ll hit her.

  But I won’t miss.

  I fire the gun. The gun I was given by the Mayor on the day I was sworn in as Sheriff.

  It does the trick. Its aim is true.

  The Collector flies back and Angel is tossed to the side.

  I step forward and kick away his gun. It slides deeper into the tunnel, disappearing in the darkness.

  Angel has hit her head on something. Train tracks maybe. She’s holding the side of her head. “Are you crazy? You could’ve shot me!”

  “I could’ve. But I d
idn’t.”

  I stand over the Collector and he’s struggling to breathe. The gunshot wound is dead center. Blood is bubbling up and out of his chest. I think I’ve punctured his lung.

  He is dying and struggling to breathe and struggling to come to terms with everything that just went down. The look on his face is priceless.

  He says, “I am the Collector. The Collector. Don’t… don’t you know who I am?”

  And I say, “Sure I do. You’re a goddamn son of a bitch, a rapist who got what was owed to him.”

  I aim the gun at his head and his eyes go wide and Angel shouts, “NO!”

  And I think… No?

  And my world turns upside down. There’s this bright flash. Stars. I lose my vision. Just for a second.

  And then I’m on my knees. And I’m dizzy and I can’t think straight.

  Where’s my gun?

  Where’s my fucking gun?

  I look over at Angel and her eyes are big and she’s afraid. She’s looking at something or someone behind me.

  I turn around slowly, awkwardly. Mike is there. Cursing me. Swearing at me. Telling me it didn’t have to be like this. But I’m not worried about him and I don’t think Angel is worried about him either.

  I’m worried about the guy standing over me with a closed fist. He is tall and thin. He has a scar over his left eye. Another made man.

  And from behind me the Collector says, “You have no idea, little girl. You have no idea what we are capable of. But you will find out. You will know… very shortly… very soon…”

  I can’t believe the Collector is still talking and still making threats. Bastard has a hole in his chest, in his lung, and he’s still talking.

  “This is the Scarred Overseer of Wonderland,” he says.

  An Overseer.

  Hector’s brother was right. The rumors were true. Wonderland sent an Overseer into the Buried City. I guess they mean business.

  “You will now pay a heavy price for your dissention,” the Collector says. “Your life belongs to me. I own you. Your life… is over. You hear me? Over!”

  Chapter 4

  Another squad of Enforcers pile out of the Spider Tank and make their way into the tunnel. They tend to the Collector, patching his wound, pumping him full of painkillers and antibiotics and some other kind of magical medicine.

  Another squad of Enforcers enter through the vault door. They walk on by, carrying a stretcher. Carrying Hector.

  Is he dead? Did the Mayor kill Hector?

  Impossible.

  What are they doing with his body?

  And then I realize the answer to this question is… they will do whatever they want.

  They will do whatever they want because they are Wonderland.

  And I am surrounded. Outnumbered. I am so screwed.

  They got Hector.

  They took down Hector fucking Ramirez.

  How?

  I am so screwed.

  And Mike is telling me as much. “For fuck’s sake, Zoe. I warned you. Didn’t I warn you? I gave you ample fucking warning. I tried to save your life. Do you understand that? I tried to save your goddamn life!”

  My head hurts. I’ve got blood in my eyes.

  This guy, the Scarred Overseer of Wonderland, he just cold clocked me, sucker punched me, king hit me from behind with his bare hand, a closed fist. Son of a bitch dropped me like I was nothing.

  And now I’m bleeding and I can hardly see straight.

  I say to Mike, “I appreciate you trying to save my life.”

  He shakes his head. He can’t believe the sass I’m giving him. He can’t believe it.

  He is indignant. He is outraged.

  To contrast Mike’s emotional state of outrage, the Overseer is standing completely still, standing over me, calm as calm can be.

  “Angel,” I say. “If you can, if you’re able, you should run. You should run like hell.”

  No response from Angel. I think she knows it’s over.

  “There’s nowhere to run to,” Mike says. “You have sealed your own fate. I tried to save you. Could’ve worked it all out. Could’ve sent you to the Deep Canyon. Out of mind, out of sight. But you had to be a stubborn, ignorant, unappreciative little brat. You had no idea how to play the game the way it was supposed to be played. You’re so fucking good and clean. Clean and righteous. Just like your old man. Your old man. And look where that got him.”

  I know Mike knew my father. But I’ve never heard Mike speak like this about him. Always suspected though…

  “You say one more word about my father and I will…”

  “What? What the hell are you going to do?”

  The Overseer grabs me by the throat with one hand. He picks me up, holding me up high. My feet don’t touch the ground and I can’t breathe and I can’t speak. With his other hand he finds the gun hidden in the waist of my pants. He finds it quickly, like he knew it was there.

  “Your father got himself killed,” Mike says, ignoring my threat. “And now you’ve gone and done the same thing. Like father, like daughter. Can’t believe it. Serves the Mayor right for choosing you over me, over every other goddamn candidate.”

  And I’m choking and I think maybe I’m dying. I’m definitely passing out.

  But I manage to look past the Overseer. I make eye contact with Mike. Red hot, white hot eye contact. And I say, I choke… “How old are you Mike? You served in the Last Great War. How old does that make you? You a fucking vampire or some shit? Sure you are. You’re a vampire and I’m going to run a wooden fucking stick through your heart. A big fucking stick. Right through your heart. And then I’m going to remove your head from your shoulders.”

  Mike is outraged. He wants to kill me right now. But he can’t. He can’t because he’s not in charge of this situation.

  And the Overseer smiles. He smiles.

  And then he tightens his grip around my throat and the whole world goes dark. And I hear Mike saying that he can’t believe it.

  He can’t believe it.

  It’s unbelievable.

  The Overseer drops me like a sack of shit and now I’m only vaguely aware of what’s happening around me. I’m lying face down in this tunnel… this tunnel that leads to Wonderland.

  My hands are cuffed behind my back…

  “Take the Collector back to Wonderland,” says the Overseer. “He needs immediate medical attention.”

  “What about the girl?” Mike asks.

  “She has forfeited all rights to Wonderland. She has lost all privileges. Take her to the Buried City. Do what you want with her. Use her as you see fit. And then kill her. Make sure she talks to no one. If she talks, kill anyone who listens, and cut her tongue out.”

  “The Collector won’t like that.”

  “The Collector has other things to worry about now. He will be lucky to survive.”

  “And the Sheriff?”

  “She is a fool. And she has also sealed her fate. You will execute her. Publically. You will show the people of the Buried City her corpse. You will show the people what happens if they rebel against Wonderland. And when she begins to rot, when her eyes turn cloudy and her mouth is frozen in a scream, you will take her outside, and you will put her body on a spike in the Wasteland.”

  Chapter 5

  They take me back to a prison cell.

  A holding cell.

  Not sure where. I’m not familiar with it.

  Never seen this place…

  Why have I never seen this place? How did I not know about it? I’m the goddamn Sheriff.

  Was.

  I was the Sheriff.

  What am I now?

  I’m fucking dead. That’s what.

  You heard what they’re going to do to me, what they’ve got planned. They’re going to execute me in public. Display my corpse. Take me out into the Wasteland and put my body on a spike. They’re going to show the good people of the Buried City what happens when they rebel against Wonderland, when they get out of line, when t
hey kill Enforcers and damn near kill the Collector.

  I hope that son of a bitch is dead. I hope that bullet I plugged him with has done its job.

  I can’t believe I didn’t know about this cell. I can’t believe I know nothing about it.

  Didn’t know it existed.

  But I know it is more than just a cell.

  I know this place is a dungeon.

  I know people have been tortured down here. I know people have died down here the wrong way.

  Painfully.

  Full of pain.

  Wrongfully…

  Full of wrong.

  Horribly.

  Full of horror?

  Does that make sense?

  Don’t know. My mind isn’t working. Still concussed.

  Heavily concussed.

  Cold clocked and king hit by the Scarred Overseer of Wonderland.

  Bastard.

  Don’t know where Angel is. Haven’t seen her. Can’t hear her…

  “We call this room the waiting room,” someone says. A man. “Do you want to know why?”

  I can take a pretty good guess.

  The back wall, the back corner of the cell has crumbled. It is broken and cracked. It is a rat hole. Biggest rat hole I’ve ever seen. I could walk through it. No need to duck or crouch or hunch over. I could stroll through it. I could do this if I was insane, if I had a death wish, if I wanted to commit suicide.

  Because on the other side of this hole is darkness.

  Eternal Darkness.

  “We call it the Waiting Room because we leave you here, right? And you wait. You wait for something to come out of the dark. For someone to come out of the dark. You might wait a day. You might wait a week. But eventually, something will come for you.”

  My captors leave me.

  I’m alone.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been locked up for.

  Two days or three?

  Time has lost all meaning. It has slowed right down. It has almost stopped.

  I’ve read books, countless books from the Great Library, down in the basement, buried deep in the law stacks. I’ve read case study after case study about isolation torture. About locking people away in a concrete box of a room. Alone. Isolated. No contact with the outside world.

  For days.