Vile Wasteland (A Post Apocalyptic Novel) (3 page)

It finally dawned on her just how out of sorts she was behaving,
and stared back at Jarago, "Why are you here?"

She had been so lost in her own reverie she failed to notice the
bewildered looks the two men were giving her. They obviously didn’t
understand a lot of what she said, though Jarago answered, "We’re
a caravan, Alex," then cleared his throat.

Laying down his tray he said, with furrowed brow, "Just where
are you from? And where are you headed anyhow?" Bren looked
almost equally as confused, though his stoic face hid it better as he
sat, arms crossed.

"One of the bunkers," she said, her head tilting to the
side. It was obvious that there was something lost in translation
between them, and she slowly moved her legs to sit more comfortably.
"And I’m going... was going... to New Atlantia to get some
supplies. But now I don’t have anything to trade."

This time it was Bren who was first to look to her and speak,
"That explains a lot, Boss."

Jarago nodded, wiping his hands on his pants as he sized up the
beautiful young woman anew. "A bunker babe?" he said, a
smile returning to his face. "And you were headed to... New
Atlantia?" He sounded as if the name was a bit unfamiliar to
him, then pointed off out the broken windows of the dilapidated
restaurant, "The big white place... over there? Other end of the
valley?" he asked.

"Van girl, bunker babe, what next?" she sighed, though
her eyes twinkled with good humour. "And yea. Why, what do you
call it?"

"Hell," answered Bren immediately, the large, stoic man
quick to respond once more, a hard look on his broad face.

Jarago nodded to that, "Damn straight," he affirmed.
"And those pieces of shit that attacked you aren’t gonna
trade anythin’," he said with certainty. "Oh, it came
from Hell–New Atlantia–alright. Or very likely anyhow,"
he said with a shrug, "but ain't no PERSON who goes there and
ever comes out right again," he said sternly. "That’s
where you go to die, or have every bit of your humanity stripped from
you. Either way, you might as well be dead."

All the while Bren nodded authoritatively to Jarago’s words,
his jaw set firmly as if he was put on guard just by the mere topic.

Her brows furrowed and they could see her breathing begin to rise.
As her posture straightened further, her hands resting at her sides,
she looked to Bren, "Why would they steal my tech stuff?"
she asked curiously.

The two men gave her that strange look again, as if she were mad.
With a deep intake of breath and a shake of his head he said, "Like
I said, the Viles don’t go runnin’ and hiding, and they
don’t steal. Unless it’s to steal a person or some
meat–they like eatin’ meat." He shrugged his
shoulders, "Just not how they do things, sugar. Never has been."

"Yea, well, that doesn’t change what just happened.
Fuck, why would I even make this up?" she asked, frustration
creeping into her voice as her fingers went to her hair, finally
trying to get the dirt free of the thick waves. "They took my
stuff, I don’t know why and you say they wouldn’t have."

The two men glanced at each other for a moment then Jarago looked
back to her, "It’s not that we don’t believe you,
it’s just that... it doesn’t make any sense by our
accounting," he said. With a jerk of his chin the tall, darker
man gestured for Bren to go, "You take watch for now," he
said.

Bren got up, picking up his own rifle and looking over the woman,
a glint of curiosity, disbelief and more yet on his face, then turned
and left, leaving the two alone with the sleeping man.

Her fingers ran through the long, blonde hair before she finally
gave up trying to fix it, staring up at him with an annoyed
expression, "I’ve just pretty much killed everyone I’ve
known for the past decade, and it’s sure as hell more than
three people in a caravan. How’s that for having to start
fresh."

Arching a brow over at her, the tall Jarago lifted himself on one
palm and slid over next to her, speaking lower. "You’ve
got a pretty grim outlook," he said, "like I told ya, folks
out here–in the light–are used to havin’ to start
from nothin’. And you’re fortunate, you already got a job
offer," he explained, a wry, handsome smile lighting his
ruddy-brown features. "Work for me, I’ll see you treated
well, and in time you’ll earn some extra to help your friends."

She met his eyes, not flinching away, "Yea, about that. What
exactly did you want me to be doing? Killing those things full time
or just being your adorable little bunker babe plaything, huh? ‘cause
I’m not sure either of those really flies with me."

His smile widened to a smirk and he put up his two hands, "Why
not both?" he said. "You got the tenacity for one, and the
looks for the other," he said, reaching a hand out, touching his
fingers to her knee. "We can come to an arrangement," he
said softly. "Not like you’d have to put out to everyone
like most van-girls do. I’d keep you to myself. Maybe Bren now
and then. If you’re up for it," he offered.

Her eyes went down to her knee, studying the strong hand before
looking back to him, a mixture of unreadable expressions on her face.
"Okay, firstly, what the fuck is a van girl? Secondly, how long
would it take for me to get some seeds and food for a colony of dying
people?"

Looking only mildly surprised by her statements he gave a light
shrug, but left his hand on her knee. "I don’t trade in
that sorta stuff," he explained, "but in time along our
routes we’d come across the sort of materials you’re
lookin’ for, I’m sure." Clearing his throat he
added, "And a van-girl is a woman who tags along on a caravan to
see to the needs of the caravaneers. I mean, alternatively there’s
van-boys too, of course," he explained.

Her lips pursed to the side as she pressed her hands into the
dirt, seeming thoughtful. "What type of stuff do you guys do,
then?" she asked.

The man’s strong hand lingered on her, then slowly began to
stroke against her thigh, him leaning towards her rather familiarly,
"Weapons," he explained. "Scavenged goods too. We deal
in hardware," he said, stressing the ‘hard’ just a
bit.

"God, has it been a while for you or something?" she
tugged her thigh away from him, though she didn’t seem upset.
"What would I have to do, and how would I get the stuff I need
then, huh?"

He didn’t seem to appreciate her sharp disapproval, though
he smoothly took his hand back and placed it on his own knee. "You’d
have to keep me happy," was his firm response, "Bren too,
now and then, but mostly me. And you’d get what you need by
doin’ your job well, like everyone else. When we arrive at
town, you’d get a cut of the profits that you could use to buy
the shit you need."

Her gaze turned back to the fire, and she stared deep into its
pits for what seemed like the longest time but was only a half-minute
or so. A big breath rose her chest and she let it out before staring
at him again, "And how hard are you to keep happy, hm?"

With a light shrug of his shoulders he gave her a look over,
"Lookin’ as you do, won't be difficult I don’t
think." Testing his luck again he brought his hand back over to
her, laying it directly upon her thigh this time as he spoke quietly
near her ear. "You’re a real good lookin’ gal, and I
ain’t half bad myself," he said with a confident grin,
"I’ll make it fun for us both even. And you come along for
the ride, paid and no worries."

"And I can leave whenever I want, right?" she still
spoke with such confident determination, even as she appeared to be
capitulating to him. "And you and your... caravan won’t
hurt me," she added on.

With a bit of a laugh he nodded, smiling unevenly, "Yeah,
that’s right. Leave whenever you like, as long as you keep me
happy in the mean time–and I mean real happy–and none of
us’ll harm you, I can guaran-damn-tee that," he said, his
fingers probing along her inner thigh again brazenly as he lofted a
brow and gave her a querying look.

Despite her calm exterior, she felt her heart beat begin to pick
up in her chest and her breathing grow more shallow, despite her best
attempts to keep it well paced. Looking back to the fire, her lips
were parted and her face conflicted. Still, a thread of excitement
was being tugged through her, that same familiar feeling that she had
when she first left the bunker. That feeling of adventure and risk,
of things new and unknown.

When she looked back at him, her eyes danced with her hidden
desires, and she gave a nod of her head, "Subject to revision, I
currently agree to your terms."

His smirk widened further still to full-fledged grin, and he gave
her thigh a squeeze. With a shrug over his shoulder he indicated back
to the hallway towards the kitchen she’d searched so thoroughly
earlier, "C’mon then." He was getting up almost as
soon as he said it.

She was a bit slower, though that wasn’t saying much, and
she dusted off her behind as she walked. A tentative glance was given
to the sleeping travellers, but there was something much more
demanding on her mind, and her steps quickened to keep up.

As far as losing one’s virginity went, it surely wasn’t
ideal. But then, no ideal situation had ever popped up, not with how
much everyone gossiped in the bunker. Even Marim couldn’t be
trusted with her virginity, though the brief thought brought a pang
of regret. She probably would have slept with him after she found out
she was leaving, if it didn’t feel like it was going to be an
emotional event.

Alexandra didn’t really sign on for that type of thing.

Stranded out there in the wastes of the old civilization,
following after a handsome stranger, it was her best option.
Especially if he was going to be her ticket to get to safety. She
further justified to herself, she would be saving lives as she did;
she certainly couldn’t say she had an opportunity to do that
before.

Jarago had moved so silently and quickly, he was already in the
old kitchen, throwing his trench coat over top of one of the less
filthy tables, leaving it spread out as sort of a blanket. She could
see him now a bit better, even in the dim light of the room, lit only
by the small windup lamp he’d brought. The vest he wore was
apparently padded with some protection, and he wore nothing on
beneath, showing off his dark muscled arms. It was obvious he didn’t
sit back on his missions doing nothing.

Brushing his long, straight hair back, he undid the vest and
leaned against the table, watching her. "Fresh from the bunker,
huh?" he asked, "When’d you leave?" His voice
was quiet, not carrying beyond the room with the two of them.

"This morning," she moved towards him, standing just
inches away with her arms folded under her breasts as she looked up
at his face, the shadows dancing across both of them, flattering them
both. Not that she needed flattering lighting to be attractive. Her
features were beautiful and clear of blemishes and scars, and despite
the mess of her long, wavy pony tail, she was still above most any
he’d seen.

With the ample swell of her breasts and rear, it was hard not to
understand why he’d taken an interest.

With his vest undone he pulled it up over his head then tossed it
to the floor beside them carefully. His body beneath was lean and
well sculpted, his skin a smooth, even colour all across, showing his
dark flesh was definitely not the result of a tan. Reaching out he
placed his hands on her hips and pulled her in against him as he
looked down.

"That fresh out of the bunker, huh?" He said, lifting
his lips and shaking his head in some disbelief. "Been years
since I heard of someone climbing out of one of those things,"
he gave a light laugh, leaning down just a bit. "Been about a
decade myself since I came out," he added, so close to her now,
letting her see the fullness of his smoothly chiselled good looks,
lined by the shadows cast with his lamp.

Her fingertips danced lightly against his chest, exploring the
flesh and the muscles beneath, trailing her nails teasingly along his
body. "You musta seen it all, huh?" she asked, her eyes
staring at his chest, transfixed. She took in a deep breath as her
stomach turned, excitement and anxiety brightened her features and
pushed away the dull sleepiness that threatened her. Did she really
want to go through with this?

So daring and never showing a moment's hesitation, his hands slid
up from her hips over her stomach, brushing against her breasts
before he pushed back her coat from her shoulders, sliding it off so
smoothly. "Just about," he said, tossing her jacket atop
his vest on the floor. "Don’t get to be a caravan man for
this long without seein’ and doin’ a whole hell of a lot,
Alex."

"And yet you’ve never seen someone steal a backpack,"
she tutted, her fingers going back to his body and creeping lower
along his abs, finding that treasure trail and gliding down it. Her
fingers were so soft and smooth, saved from hard, manual labour and
difficult living for most of her life. Her skin was so light in
contrast to his, and she enjoyed the scene ahead of her, even if she
was scared.

He sported a glorious male physique, abs so hard and firm, that
little trail of hair so pleasantly soft. Licking along his lips he
gave a soft laugh, "Seen plenty of stealin’, sugar."
He rubbed her shoulders then moved back down, brushing once more
against her large breasts before coming to her waist, fingers curling
in under her shirt, "Never seen a Vile do it though."

"It was a human," she said, a little confused even as
her hands rose up, allowing him to strip her of the light, cotton
t-shirt and exposing the white lace bra beneath. It hoisted her
breasts, the shadows delving between the thick cleavage, skirting
just above her nipples. Her stomach was smooth and flat, though not
to the extent of being toned.