Wasteland Rules: Kill or Be Killed (The World After Book 1)
Read Wasteland Rules: Kill or Be Killed (The World After Book 1) Online
Authors: J.G. Martin
Wasteland
Rules:
Kill
or Be Killed
(The
World After #1)
November
2013
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my awesome wife, without whom I never would have
written this book. The ideas had been swirling in my head for years; but she is
the one who encouraged me to write it, and who edited it even though this isn’t
her chosen genre of books.
Table of
Contents
The crop virus started in China. They covered it up for a while, but when massive food riots broke out they couldn’t
contain the news. Videos of fields and fields of wasted crops caught
international attention. China accused the U.S. of a biological attack and that
seemed plausible given that it only seemed to affect China’s crops. But the U.S.
gave China surplus grain to try to help avoid a crisis of gigantic proportion
and to bribe them not to attack their neighbors. This calmed the situation for
a month.
Then the virus spread to neighboring countries and
all attempts to stop it met with failure. The virus seemed to adapt itself to
avoid any countermeasures. No one could figure out how it was spreading. It
only affected food crops and there was no airborne pathogen anyone could
detect. It was theorized that birds and insects were carrying it, but migration
patterns didn’t seem to bear that out.
Nations started closing their borders and
mobilizing troops to keep any carriers out and in preparation for the possible
impending war or wars as nations struck out for desperately needed food.
Despite their best efforts the virus continued to spread. It reached into
Eastern Europe and Russia within a month and continued to spread in Asia. Countries declared martial law and troops roamed the streets to enforce curfews and
strict rationing.
The U.S. Navy withdrew to the Americas and formed a strict blockade around all of North and South America. The virus hadn’t spread
there yet and they were determined to prevent it. It became very obvious the
virus was a deliberate attack when it popped up in the U.S. and Brazil simultaneously. Panic and hoarding ensued and martial law was declared throughout
the Americas. Rioting and fighting spread throughout South and Central America. The U.S. sent troops to the borders to prevent entry of refugees and shot
anyone attempting to enter.
After six months with no relief, China acted. They launched an invasion of Taiwan and Japan to seize hoarded food supplies
they believed to be there. North Korea followed suit and invaded South Korea. When the U.S. didn’t intervene, other nations became emboldened and Russia struck into Europe and the Caucasus. Without the intervention of NATO and the now defunct UN,
wars broke out all over the world. Simmering feuds exploded into open conflict.
India and Pakistan, Turkey and Greece, the Arabs and Israel, and hundreds of ethnic and tribal conflicts broke out into open warfare. The world
started to burn. Then the satellites went dead.
Every satellite in the world stopped functioning
simultaneously. Global communication ceased almost instantly. Blind, panicked
and fearing they were under attack; the developed nations all launched every
missile and bomb they had. Nuclear fire, chemical weapons, and viruses stored
for decades were unleashed. Fifty percent of the Earth’s population was wiped
out in the span of twenty four hours. The electromagnetic pulses from the
nuclear weapons fried most of the world’s electronics. Cars shut down, planes
fell from the sky, and ships became dead in the water. Computers went dead all
over the globe, and since they controlled almost everything most systems
stopped working. The power plants went quiet and some of the nuclear ones
melted down. Power failed almost everywhere and the globe slowly went dark.
Survivors scrambled to take what they could, fires rampaged unchecked, crime
was rampant, and epidemics broke out due to the unclean conditions. Then it got
bad.
Whether it was radiation or mixing with chemical
or biological weapons is unknown, but the crop virus mutated. It started
attacking all plant life on the planet. Within a year almost all trees, bushes,
grasses, and flowers were dead. Only the hardiest plants survived, mostly scrub
trees and weeds. This created a catastrophic ripple effect on the environment.
Animals died as their food sources disappeared. Fertile plains became desert.
The weather changed due to the nuclear strikes and the resulting storms washed
huge swathes of land out into the oceans without the trees and grasses to
protect the coastline. The temperature dropped at least twenty degrees across
the world, even more in the tropics.
The apocalyptic chain of events left less than
twenty five percent of the world’s population alive. The chaos and anarchy that
followed the complete collapse of civilization eliminated another ten percent.
Only the toughest fifteen percent of the world’s population survived the
Collapse. They inherited a ruined world covered in wastelands ravaged by harsh
storms and polluted by radiation and chemical poison, with little food and no
power. Powerful factions control the remaining cities. Raiders and worse roam
the desolate wastelands. How do you survive in the World After? You have to
follow the Rules.
June 6, 2029
Near the Colorado-Wyoming Border
The harsh sunlight beat down on Derek Storm’s
head as he walked out of the wastes onto the side of the old Interstate 25.
After the Collapse the Interstates had not been maintained but they were still
in good shape. Since eighty five percent of the country’s population had died
within ten years of the Collapse they had minimal usage. They were also
targeted by raiders and biker packs making travel on them dangerous and causing
most travelers to avoid them.
So it was odd that there was a car and three
classic Harley Davidson motorcycles pulled off to the side up ahead. But that
was good for him because he needed transportation. As Derek neared the vehicles
he could see that three bikers had a small family cornered next to their SUV.
He could tell they were from the Death Angels pack by the black leather cuts
they were wearing with a black angel holding a scythe on them. The Death Angels
were an ultra-violent off shoot of the Hell’s Angels. So violent and vile in
fact, that the other Angels had kicked them out. They were the worst of the one-percenters.
The three bikers were all scruffy and dirty,
hygiene not being a requirement to be a member. Really, as Derek pondered it
for a minute, it seemed to be a pack requirement to live up to the scumbag
title. They were all over six feet tall and in decent shape. All of them wore
dirty blue jeans, filthy white long sleeve t-shirts, and worn black leather
boots, like they had all looted the same store.
One had the father by the throat, pinned up
against the back of the SUV while the other two were pawing at the mother. A
seven year old boy and a twelve year old girl stood to the side crying and
shaking in terror. Both the father and the mother looked unarmed and helpless.
They were clean and well dressed and the SUV was an expensive one from before
the Collapse. They had once been a family of privilege and education.
Derek walked over to the three bikes and cleared
his throat. The bikers turned around slowly and looked surprised to see anyone
else. Which made sense since they hadn’t heard a vehicle approach and who could
possibly be out in the middle of nowhere without a vehicle? As soon as they
realized he could be a threat, the three bikers dropped the father and mother
and spread out to face him.
The leader of the three, a tall rangy man with
long dirty brown hair and a short beard trimmed in a neat vee addressed him.
“This ain’t your business. Move on.”
The other two just smirked. The one on the right
was big, almost six four, but trending towards fat. He had the ex-jock look
about him. He had curly blond hair, was unshaven, and tattoos all over his
wrists, and from what Derek could see his chest. The one on the left was wiry
and had a crazed look in his eyes. He sported a crew cut and had a short brown beard.
His hand hovered near a semi-automatic pistol in his belt. He also had a large
knife sheathed on his belt which he stroked unconsciously. Derek decided he was
the more dangerous of the two and obviously a psychopath.
After a moment of silence he responded. “I need a
bike.”
The three bikers stared at him with
incomprehension. They quickly glanced at each other. Derek knew what they were
thinking. Who was this guy who wandered out of the desert and demanded one of
their bikes? They were Death Angels, their reputation alone should have gotten
rid of him. To them, he didn’t look anything special. He stood just over six
feet tall and was scruffy himself. His long brown hair and unkempt beard with
spots of gray concealed most of his features. He had on an old style camouflage
jacket over a red t-shirt with Born to Fight stenciled in black on it and faded
blue jeans tucked into worn combat boots. A knife and pistol were still
holstered and he didn’t have any other obvious weapons. He was turned sideways
to them with his left side facing them so it was hard to see what he might be
holding in his right hand. Plus it created a smaller target.
He repeated himself more firmly. “I need a bike.”
The leader replied somewhat nervously, “You can
have the car when we are done with them, you can even take a turn if you like?”
While the other two started to draw their weapons.
Derek didn’t even hesitate. He rotated towards
them and fired one barrel of the sawed off shotgun he had been concealing. He
had slowly been moving closer as they talked and the effect of the shot was
devastating on the thin biker on the left. He dropped dead with a big hole in
his chest. Derek fired the other barrel between the other two aiming at their
faces. They went down screaming as the blast sent pellets into both of their
faces probably blinding them. Their faces were a crimson mask with dozens of
pellet holes leaking blood.
The leader managed to draw a pistol and began
firing blindly. Derek calmly walked up and knocked the gun from his hand. He
then casually slit both of the bikers’ throats as they rolled helplessly on the
ground writhing in agony. Rule #5, don’t waste ammo. There had once been
billions of rounds of ammo in the U.S., but the Collapse and the fighting that
followed had burned through a lot of it. The U.S.T.G. also made a point of
collecting and storing as much ammo as they could get their hands on. People
with reloading skills were scarce so ammo had become a commodity. He always
collected his spent shells if he could for the possibility of reloading them in
the future.
He began going through their pockets and taking
any valuables and weapons. Screaming from the family distracted him and he
looked up at them. The father was staring at him with a stunned look on his
face. The little boy was screaming in fear. The girl was just watching him
intently with a blank expression on her face. But the mother was walking
towards him yelling.
“How dare you kill them! Murder is a sin!” She
screamed. “You should be ashamed of yourself killing them in front of the
children.”
“You’re a MONSTER!” She screamed, practically
spitting on him.
She continued screaming at him, becoming almost
incomprehensible. It took Derek a minute to realize the woman was yelling at
him for killing the bikers. He was surprised that she was mad at him for saving
them, but he remembered people like this from before the Collapse and the
Aftermath. Pacifists who believed no one should own guns and that all violence
was wrong. Easy to believe when the police and military are around to protect
you. But he had assumed all of them had died in the chaos after the Collapse.
Pretty lucky to have survived so far, and he guessed it was due to the “monstrous”
efforts of those like him.
Sighing to himself he stood up and held up his
hand to stop her ranting. “I just saved you and your family. They would have
raped you, your daughter, and probably your son and then killed all of you…”
She ignored him and began ranting again. Derek
grabbed her and put his hand over her mouth. “Kill or be killed. That is the
first rule of the wasteland. If you don’t start following it, you will all be
dead. Now get in your car and get out of here. You make me sick.”
The husband must have had some common sense
because he came over and dragged her back to the car. They shoved the little
boy into the car and began to get ready to leave. He could hear the woman still
ranting in the car. He started to turn back to the bodies but he noticed the
girl still watching him. She didn’t seem scared or upset, just curious?
He took out a .38 revolver he had taken off of the
thin biker and reached out to her with it. She glanced at the car and then took
the revolver. She nodded to him and stuck it in her jacket pocket. She then
turned and got in the car. Derek smiled to himself. At least one them might
make it. He hoped she had the courage to ignore her parent’s idiotic philosophy
and use the gun when necessary.
He turned back to the bikers and finished going
through their belongings. He took all their weapons, ammo, and supplies and
consolidated that onto the nicest bike of the three. He assumed it to be the
psychopath’s. They always had a good attention to detail. Not a bad haul; two
9mm semi-automatic pistols, neither nicer then the Glock 22 he already had but
still worth something if he sold them; 51 rounds of 9mm ammo; 3 bowie knives,
his combat knife was much better; 5 canteens of what looked like clean water;
some energy bars and a few cans of food; 2 extra cans of gas, maybe six
gallons; a bedroll, dirty but usable; and the big winner, a small mechanic’s
tool set. He also stripped the other two bikes of spare parts. Spark plugs,
carburetors, gas, oil, nuts and bolts, even a couple of road flares. Rule #9.
Take everything you can, you never know what you might need. The last thing he
took was all three biker’s cuts. He might be able to collect on a bounty and
earn some extra cash.
The Brotherhood of Justice, commonly known as
Regulators, paid bounties on bikers and other scum. Founded by local and state
law enforcement officers who banded together after the Collapse, they attempted
to bring some law and order to the wasteland. You had to be former law
enforcement and be able to prove it to join. They were similar in organization
and function to the Texas Rangers of the Wild West and similar in attitude. Due
process and excessive force were two terms they knew little about. But they
were honest and otherwise law abiding so many villages and small towns welcomed
their presence.
They were a good distance away, being based out of
the Republic of New Texas, but they did have satellite stations throughout the
surrounding area. Maybe he would head that way once he got paid. It was a
relatively stable nation state and nowhere near as oppressive as the U.S.T.G..
Several years ago when he had hunted bounties actively they had paid one
hundred New Republic dollars for each cut turned in. It had been fairly
profitable for him.
Derek collected his backpack from where he had
dropped it just off the road, mounted the bike and roared off heading east.
With no cops anymore he was free to enjoy the ride and the wind in his hair as
he whipped down the interstate at around ninety miles an hour. He was on a
deadline and he had already lost time hiking out of the wastes. Living in an
isolated homestead had its advantages, but convenience to transportation was
not one of them.
He flashed back to two days prior when the black
helicopter had flown overhead. It had circled his camp several times and then
thrown something out. The helicopter circled a few more times as if to make
sure he got it and then headed away. He had waited about an hour and then come
out from under concealment. He made a quick sweep of the area to make sure
nobody had gotten off the chopper and was sneaking up on him. Then he had gone
to see what they threw out.