15 Years Later: Wasteland Read Online Free Page A
Author: Nick S. Thomas
a halt about twenty yards from the edge of the gas station. The two men on top of it just watched and waited, as if they didn't want to draw any nearer. Zed looked back inside to see the shadows of the feral young men inside glaring at the vehicles in front of him. There was some kind of feud or understanding here that he wasn't privy to. Nobody said a word, but all eyes were on him now.
Just beside the truck the old cop cruiser had drawn up. The roof had been cut back into a pickup, and the rear doors were missing. A man stood in the back with a dust infused Mohawk. He wore an old police issue Kevlar vest over his bare skin and carried a powerful looking compound crossbow. Across the way to the truck, one of the men in the back carried three javelins, the other a ball and chain. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, and yet it didn't make it any less real.
It was a standoff. Nobody would approach him, and he couldn't go to either group, as both appeared to want him dead or worse. He looked back to the city. The nearest buildings were less than a mile away now.
Could I make it?
It didn't seem likely, but he didn't have any choice. He leapt into action and got to almost a sprint. His will to survive kept him going even when his body wanted to stop.
At his back he heard the engines of the two vehicles roar and the wheels spin as they tore off in hot pursuit. He could hear the excited screams of the men on the back of the vehicles chasing down their prey.
What have I done to deserve this?
He ran with all the strength he had left. Every ounce of his reserve of energy went into his sprint. For a moment he believed he could make it, but he felt the impact of the ball and chain on his left shoulder blade as the truck raced past.
The iron ball threw him forward so that he went face first into a tumble. Had he been going any slower, it would likely have shattered his bones, but that was of little relief as the pain spread through his shoulder. He tried to land on his feet, but he had been thrown too violently and landed face down in the sand. He tried to get back up and managed to get to his feet. The vehicles slid to a halt around him, and the two from the truck approached. He turned and kept trying to run, but he could only manage a jog now.
"Come on, please, just a little longer," he whispered to himself.
He could hear the war cries of those at his back and their heavy breathing as they closed the distance. They barely seemed human. They certainly weren't treating him like one.
I imagine this is how the fox must feel just before the hungry pack of bloodhounds tear it apart while their masters cheer triumphantly. Is this a sport to them, too? Does my life have any value in this nightmare I have awoken in?
Somehow he had summoned enough strength to make some distance from the two barbaric lunatics at his back. But once again he heard the roar of an engine. He was close now, almost within spitting distance of a building. He felt that would maybe grant him some safety. He had made that his target, and he was going to make it. But he could hear the roar of the engine once more. It reeked of oil where it clearly wasn't running well. That clung to his lungs.
He had made it. There was a floor to ceiling window ahead for what used to be a furniture shop. The window was badly broken and weakened, and he could see the dust covered products still left inside.
Just a little longer .
But at the last moment the crossbow wielding man on the back of the old cruiser pulled the trigger. Zed expected to feel the pierce of a bolt in his back any moment, but it didn't come. He jumped to break through the glass, but as he struck it, a heavy net encompassed his body and completely entangled him.
He shut his eyes to protect them, as he knew now he had no control left at all. He barrelled through the window and landed on the edge of one of the sofas as glass showered all around him. As it began to settle, he was relieved to see he wasn't
Just beside the truck the old cop cruiser had drawn up. The roof had been cut back into a pickup, and the rear doors were missing. A man stood in the back with a dust infused Mohawk. He wore an old police issue Kevlar vest over his bare skin and carried a powerful looking compound crossbow. Across the way to the truck, one of the men in the back carried three javelins, the other a ball and chain. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, and yet it didn't make it any less real.
It was a standoff. Nobody would approach him, and he couldn't go to either group, as both appeared to want him dead or worse. He looked back to the city. The nearest buildings were less than a mile away now.
Could I make it?
It didn't seem likely, but he didn't have any choice. He leapt into action and got to almost a sprint. His will to survive kept him going even when his body wanted to stop.
At his back he heard the engines of the two vehicles roar and the wheels spin as they tore off in hot pursuit. He could hear the excited screams of the men on the back of the vehicles chasing down their prey.
What have I done to deserve this?
He ran with all the strength he had left. Every ounce of his reserve of energy went into his sprint. For a moment he believed he could make it, but he felt the impact of the ball and chain on his left shoulder blade as the truck raced past.
The iron ball threw him forward so that he went face first into a tumble. Had he been going any slower, it would likely have shattered his bones, but that was of little relief as the pain spread through his shoulder. He tried to land on his feet, but he had been thrown too violently and landed face down in the sand. He tried to get back up and managed to get to his feet. The vehicles slid to a halt around him, and the two from the truck approached. He turned and kept trying to run, but he could only manage a jog now.
"Come on, please, just a little longer," he whispered to himself.
He could hear the war cries of those at his back and their heavy breathing as they closed the distance. They barely seemed human. They certainly weren't treating him like one.
I imagine this is how the fox must feel just before the hungry pack of bloodhounds tear it apart while their masters cheer triumphantly. Is this a sport to them, too? Does my life have any value in this nightmare I have awoken in?
Somehow he had summoned enough strength to make some distance from the two barbaric lunatics at his back. But once again he heard the roar of an engine. He was close now, almost within spitting distance of a building. He felt that would maybe grant him some safety. He had made that his target, and he was going to make it. But he could hear the roar of the engine once more. It reeked of oil where it clearly wasn't running well. That clung to his lungs.
He had made it. There was a floor to ceiling window ahead for what used to be a furniture shop. The window was badly broken and weakened, and he could see the dust covered products still left inside.
Just a little longer .
But at the last moment the crossbow wielding man on the back of the old cruiser pulled the trigger. Zed expected to feel the pierce of a bolt in his back any moment, but it didn't come. He jumped to break through the glass, but as he struck it, a heavy net encompassed his body and completely entangled him.
He shut his eyes to protect them, as he knew now he had no control left at all. He barrelled through the window and landed on the edge of one of the sofas as glass showered all around him. As it began to settle, he was relieved to see he wasn't
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