 
### Three Boys Wasted

### Brendan Borba

Smashwords Edition

Published by Brendan Borba at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Brendan Borba

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Table of contents

Part One

Volumes 1-5

Volumes 6-10

Volumes 11-14

Volumes 15-18

Part Two

Volumes 19-22

Volumes 23-26

Volumes 27-31

Part Three

Volumes 32-37

Volumes 38-42

Volumes 43-46

Volumes 47-50

Part Four

Volumes 51-55

About the Author
Part One

Volume 1

And so it began in a strip club.

It was a seedy joint, bad techno beats, cheap neon lights and cheaper women. But for a small shithole town in the heart of the wasteland, it did the trick. No pun intended.

Hayden leaned back on his rusted barstool, the strippers swaying about lazily - no doubt drunk, but still not as drunk as he was. Pounding his empty glass in front of him, he grinned as he waved for the server to bring him more. She was a slight girl with a cute smile, and he knew damn well she'd be no match for his charm.

He sighed heavily as he reached into his dusty jeans for a cigarette, but a heavy hand on his shoulder prevented him from retrieving one. Turning around slowly he was disheartened at the sight of the club's manager and two burly brutes. They certainly weren't the cute waitress.

"What you tryna' pull?" The pig faced manager scowled, his prickled patchy hair standing on end.

"Huh?" Hayden responded innocently.

"You think you can pull one over us?" He leaned to within inches of his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Your money."

"Hey, I've tipped real well, don't be a dick!" Hayden protested.

"Oh yeah? You've tipped well? Fuck you!" The manager stepped back and threw wads of cash at the 20 year old.

"What the hell?" Hayden jolted to his feet.

"It's fake you little fucker! Now pay up!"

Shit. Busted.

"What? Fake? No way?" He tried to fake sincerity but failed miserably.

"I want my money!" The manager shouted as one of his goons grabbed the youth by his lapel.

"You take an IOU?" Smiling hesitantly he could only hope for some miniscule ounce of lenience.

There was none. His ass was grass and before he knew it he was out cold.

***

There was no sun in the wasteland. The thick dark skies melded seamlessly into the abyss of lifeless gravel that stretched out in all directions.

Wearily Hayden opened his eyes. Sprawled out on his back he stared up into the steel coated clouds above. His head still spun, whether it was the booze, or getting his ass kicked, he wasn't sure. It was more than likely a combination of both. He laughed as he stood to his feet. He drank those jerks out of house and didn't lose a cent. Score one for Hayden.

The world was a large and wild place, but he knew little of it. He was but a child of the wastelands, born into its lawless heat. Its vices had raised him and now they defined him: women, money, booze, gambling. Women. This arid land, void of sustenance and nature, was the only home he had ever known.

He dusted himself off as he reached into his back pocket for a smoke. He groaned, quickly checking his other pockets. Those jerks had taken his cigarettes and all of his counterfeit money too. He was officially bummed out.

Doing the only thing he could, he walked. That was always his only complaint about this place: it all looked the same. You never were quite sure where you were going or where you came from. You would just simply go, and hope that you'd end up somewhere.

After wandering rather lethargically for some time he came across a small stall in the otherwise barren flatlands. From a distance he hoped it was a canteen, but as he drew nearer he realized that it was just a magazine stand.

The strung out dude behind the stand paid Hayden no mind as he leafed through a porno. It wasn't long before Hayden realized that all the magazines for sale were pornos.

"You get much business out here?" Hayden laughed, trying to make small talk.

"No." The wiry man didn't even bother to look at him.

"Then uh... why?" Hayden couldn't even find the words.

"You do what you love and you'll be a happy man."

"Right." The guy had a point. "Hey, you got a smoke?"

"You got money?" He finally dropped the porno in his hands to look at Hayden.

"Uh... no."

"Then no."

Hayden, who had long ago sized up the greasy looking salesman, figured he could probably rip him off something good. But a cough from the man and the muzzle of a shot gun on the table convinced him otherwise.

"Uh, you know where the closest town is?" Hayden backed off.

"No." Adjusting his coke bottle glasses he returned to his smut, "but there's a bus stop that way." He pointed lazily into the distance.

Without feeling compelled to thank the odd porno salesman, Hayden continued in the direction he was pointed. "Stupid, cranky loser, wouldn't even give me a fucking smoke," he groused as he kicked at the mix of gravel and shredded junk beneath his feet.

Sure enough, just as it had been pointed out to him, there was a bus stop. Little more than a rusted post with a faded sign, the bus stop looked eerily out of place in the otherwise empty landscape.

Staring out at the bleak world that engulfed him- his head still pounding- he wondered if there was more. It was a feeling that had always been there. Over time his excessive habits had managed to supress it, but it still remained. Somehow he was sure he was meant for more.

He forced himself to laugh. Back to reality. He was broke, bruised and hung over; his biggest hope now was that wherever the bus was headed would be a decent enough to place to scrounge some food, money and maybe even a good time. Where the hell was that bus anyway?

Volume 2

Hayden scratched at his unkempt hair as the run down bus puttered to a stop in front of him. The dust that swirled around the rusted vehicle clouded the faded, peeling blue paint. Suitcases and cardboard boxes were tied lazily to the roof. If he was lucky he'd swipe one before the trip had ended.

As he climbed aboard a man swore in a language he didn't understand, struggling to keep his chicken from fluttering out the window. The bus driver was a grotesquely obese lady with an eye patch and flat hair.

"Where you headin'?" She croaked.

"Don't matter, wherever." He shrugged.

"100." She stated the price. This was his time to shine. He flashed her a million dollar smile as he reached into his pockets. Fidgeting awkwardly, he gave her the best 'poor old me' face he could muster.

"Get the fuck off my bus." Damn. The broad was a battle axe.

Stepping off the bus and back onto the harsh ground, he scoffed. He wouldn't give up that easily.

The bus chortled, its fragile transmission grinding as it pulled away. He waited patiently, and, as the bus slowly passed him, hopped onto the rear fender. The plume of dust it's overly vulcanized tires kicked up disguised his movements well.

His lungs filled with the toxic mixture of ashy earth and black exhaust. He coughed as he let himself in through the back door, which had been held shut by no more than a piece of duct tape.

Making sure the old hag didn't notice him; he crouched down beside a weathered, ancient looking man. The lines on his face drew an unsavoury portrait. The other bus patrons noticed his arrival, but none cared. Rule number of the wasteland: mind your own business.

Leaning his head back, he stared up at the smoke stained roof above. Smoke. Damn, nicotine fit. He peered sideways to see if anyone nearby looked like a smoker.

"Alright everybody!" A deep voice echoed through the bus.

"What the hell is this all about?" Hayden muttered as he leaned over to get a look at the commotion.

"Give me all your cash and no one gets hurt!" The man yelling was tall and thin, a black bandana pinned around his face. Over his hand was a tattered pillowcase, a pointed object beneath it attracting more than the imagination of the passengers.

"Wonderful." Hayden groaned as the hold-upper collected cash from the complacent riders.

"Hey you! Didn't you hear me? Give me your money!" He prodded his draped firearm at Hayden, who had been trying to ignore him.

"I got nothing man." He scowled.

"Bullshit, cough it up or I'll kill you." He glared at Hayden, his young eyes peering out from behind battered spectacles.

"Kill me? With what? I'll bet that's not even a gun, it's probably just a freaking banana under a pillowcase," he groaned.

"Man, shut the hell up!" He scoffed at the accusation.

"Then shoot me," Hayden mocked as he stood to his feet. What did he care? Die today, die tomorrow: it made little difference.

"Sit down! You're gonna die here!" He shook his cloaked weapon vigorously, so as to hammer in his point. But Hayden didn't back down. He was tired, hungry, and killing for a smoke: he was in no mood for some half-wit bandit.

The bus lurched to a sudden stop, both young men falling forward. Scampering to their feet, a bright yellow banana sat on the ground, a dirty pillowcase only half covering it. Hayden grinned.

"Hey!"

They both spun around, the bus driver cocking a semi-automatic rifle. "Get the fuck off my bus." Her stocky frame shrouded all others onboard.

Hayden laughed.

"You too freeloader."

He stopped laughing.

Back to the wasteland.

As the bus rumbled away into the distance, the robber slid the bandana off his solid, pointed jaw as he stared down at the banana in his hand, the only thing the bus driver had let him keep.

"You're a real prick." He scolded Hayden.

"What the hell did I do? You're the one trying to rob me," he responded indignantly.

"It's a tough life out here man, I'm just trying to get mine."

"Well, you're not very good at it," Hayden spoke with a stinging honesty.

"Screw you." The dark skinned bandit turned and began walking away through the wasteland. "Jerk."

"Idiot." Hayden shook his head as he took a step in the opposite direction. His day had just gotten a whole lot longer.
Volume 3

As his weary feet shuffled through the shards of metal substituting for earth, he stopped. Peering around at the abysmal grey landscape, he inhaled deeply. Shit. He was going the wrong way. He shook his head distastefully; that goddamn wanna be bus robber was going the right way.

It didn't take long for the bandit to notice his footsteps.

"What the fuck? Why are you following me?" He turned around to face Hayden.

"I'm not following you."

"Uh, kinda looks like it to me."

"I want to go this way." He pointed in the direction the bandit was heading, uncaring of the man's discourse.

"Of course you do." He kicked at the terse ground before continuing on. It wasn't long before Hayden began whistling, loudly.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What?" Hayden said indignantly.

"Stop whistling for fuck sakes."

"What are you gonna do about it? Shoot me with your banana?" Hayden mocked relentlessly.

"Whatever." still ashamed, he gave up easily.

The self-proclaimed children of the wasteland made their way through the empty plains in mutual silence.

"You gonna eat that banana or what?" Hayden broke said silence.

"Fuck off."

And thus Hayden was just as begrudged as his unwilling comrade.

So they walked.

A bleak, foreboding twilight had crept over the horizon as the faded light of day cast shadows on a small congregation of buildings in the distance: a town at last. As they approached, they gladly went their separate ways.

Dragging his weary body through the wide, dusty streets he peered around. It was no different than any other wasteland town. A little on the small side, but it would do.

Drab cement buildings with cracks running down their sides lined the unpaved streets. Hayden often wondered why anyone would live in such a god awful place. There was a whole world out there. But aside from the allure of lawlessness and vice, the only answer he could come up with was that it was simply home. Just as it was for him, it must have been for many: it was the devil he knew.

Hunger taunted his stomach with obscene gestures as he was brought back to problem numero uno: he needed some cash, fast.

He got off the main streets, chasing unknown opportunities down dingy, unlit alleys.

"Hey hot stuff," a haggard hooker cat called from a dark doorway. Ew. She was way too old. Like cockroaches, the scum of humanity infested every dark corner of the cramped alcove. He felt right at home.

"Keep walking buddy," a hoarse voice moved him along as his wandering eyes washed over that which they probably shouldn't have.

"Hey cutie." Another hooker, but this one was a little younger, a little better looking.

"Hey," Hayden sauntered to a stop.

"You lookin' for a good time?" She smelled of homemade liquor and expired perfume. Her face was plagued with the harsh realities of a cold, broken world, but her smile was forced with such experience that it almost fooled him.

"Aren't we all?"

"I'll say," she leaned in close, wrapping her frail arm around his back, her bony fingers twirling his unwashed hair. He used the back of his hand to graze what was exposed of her chest.

"fifty." She whispered into his ear with a seduction that was more akin to well washed cotton than silk.

"Fifty for what?"

She pushed him away.

"Wait! You're a prostitute?" His naïve bemusement only drew a scowl.

"Fucking freeloader! Fuck off!"

"Whoa! Whoa! Calm down," Hayden put his hands up in defense, slowly backing away.

"Waste of my goddamn time," she coughed under her breath as he slunk away into the darkness.

Hayden looked back over his shoulder as he turned a corner. A wide grin snaked its way onto his lips as his fingertips toyed with the crumped bills held between them. A useful life lesson he'd learned long ago: Hookers always keep their cash in their cleavage.
Volume 4

Stupid small town. Stupid small town hooker. Hayden grimaced. His stolen cash didn't amount to much, but it was at least enough to grab a bite to eat.

In a manner that lacked motivation he meandered back onto the main street, where paper lanterns cast long shadows over unassuming buildings. Even here, amongst the cleverest disguise of civilization, the wasteland crept in, it's dust and inescapable emptiness a rash for which there was no cure.

His tattered sneakers carried him forward purposelessly until the smell of grilling meat filled his nostrils. Then, he had a purpose. The small roadside canteen was only several blocks up and the chatter of drunken men and the plumes of charcoal smoke seemed a cacophony of noise in this still place.

It was a bit of a dive: a few plastic tables adorned with mismatched lawn chairs and several nailed two-by-fours masquerading as a bar counter. He opted for the bar. It felt nice to sit down as he slid himself onto a crooked stool.

"What'dya want?" The gruff voice of the cook/bartender/server boomed over the sizzle of onions.

"I dunno. You're the chef, chef," he tossed a crumpled bill across the counter. "Keep the change." Grinning pompously he watched as the cook snorted and returned to his grill.

Impatiently awaiting his meal he peered around.

"Hey young man." A drunk nobody slunk his arm around his shoulders. Hayden groaned; he looked like a talker. "You lookin' fo' work?"

"Nope."

Too drunk, or too lonely, the battered old man ignored Hayden's response, "you know there's lots a work down south on the coast, not like here..."

Listening to such dribble was like pins pricking his brain. Hazily, he peered past at the fairly crowded canteen. A cute girl caught his eye, blonde hair, nice tits. But she was with someone, boyfriend?

He leaned forward on his stool to get a better look. "No fucking way," he muttered in disbelief. The hottie was sitting at the plastic table with no one other than the damn bus robber. Jeeze, what was a girl like her doing with a loser like that?

The robber excused himself from the table, presumably to take a leak. Hayden grinned; his time to shine.

Leaving the drunk to converse with himself, he sauntered across the dusty canteen.

"Hi." Smiling seductively, he willingly took the robbers seat.

"Can I help you?" She didn't look too impressed.

"Sure. I've been looking for a girl like you my whole life."

Sighing heavily, she gave him the dirtiest look, "does that line work on a lot of girls?"

"It doesn't need to. It just needs to work on you." He winked.

She blushed. His slick confidence was winning her over quickly and he knew it. This was way too easy.

"Hey, who the hell are..." Returning from the piss-house, the bus robber watched in disgust as Hayden turned to face him, "You!"

It just got less easy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" The bus robber queried, visibly irritated by his presence.

"Nothing, just chatting with this very beautiful girl," he motioned to the blonde. She smiled. "Why? Is she your girlfriend?"

"No."

"Then what's the issue?"

The look of sheer disbelief on the robbers face must have struck a nerve with the girl. She stood up from the table and moved towards him, "look, it was nice meeting you," she smiled at Hayden as she took the robbers hand.

What? No freaking way was he going to lose out to this shmuck.

"You too," he leaned back in his seat, "just watch your valuables around this guy okay."

"Huh?" She stopped, her dark skinned partner trying to whisk her away.

"Don't know how well you know him, but, just thought you might want to know, he's a lousy, rotten thief." His nonchalance dug under the thief's skin like a burrowing gnat.

"I," she stammered, "just met him," she looked from one to the other. "Is that true?"

"It's not like that," he tried to cover for himself, "besides, how about him; I doubt his intentions are pure!"

She looked to Hayden, her lost soul visible only in her pretty blue eyes.

"Hey, this guy wants to rob you blind. I just want to get you into bed."

And she'd had enough. Shaking her head distastefully, she promptly stormed out of the canteen and into the night, leaving both young men behind.

"No appreciation for honesty. None at all."

"Man, what the fuck is your problem?"

"No problem, just you wrecking my mojo," Hayden shook his head, leaning back into his seat.

"I wrecked your mojo? Seriously? You've been screwing me around all day! You're like freaking herpes or something, you don't go away."

"Whatever man, when you lead the life of a no-good bandit sometimes the world catches up to you."

"Coming from you."

"Hey man, I'm an outstanding citizen."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Have you ever heard or seen anything that would point otherwise?"

Before the thin bandit could respond, a very familiar hooker and a grizzly of a man burst angrily into the canteen. "There he is! That's him!" The hooker shouted, "He's the one that stole my money!"

Hayden shrunk into the grease stained lawn chair, "Ah crap."

Volume 5

"Little punk!" Pushing his way through the canteen, the 400 pound pimp lumbered past empty tables and gawking patrons. The hooker hiding in his shadow scurried behind like a smug little rat. Hayden tried rather unsuccessfully to look innocent and at ease. This one, he knew, wasn't going to end well.

"Piece of shit, taking my bitch's money," the pimp growled as he towered over top Hayden, his putrid odour nearly as menacing as his pock marked face. "Her money is my money."

The robber snickered, revelling in Hayden's misfortune.

"Something funny?" The oaf snapped his thick head in his direction, foamy spit flying across the dirt floor. The robber quickly shook his head in the negative.

"This must be some kind of mistake," Hayden pleaded, his eyes glossing over with false sincerity.

"There's no mistake! It's him! It's him! He took it!" The hooker, who looked even more strung out under the canteen's dim light, yelled vindictively. Hayden rolled his eyes: stupid hookers.

"Cough it up punk."

Hayden, knowing full well he'd already spent what little he'd stolen, figured he had two options: one, fess up. Or two, lie. Two it was.

"I really don't know what you're talking about." He threw his hands up in defeat.

"If you don't give me the money, maybe your friend will." He turned to the robber.

"I'm not his friend!" The bus robber protested, instantly backing away from the situation.

"Yeah, sure, of course you'd say that."

"No, seriously, even ask him!" He pointed at Hayden.

"It's true, I don't even know his name," He shrugged, loving that in this case, the truth was better than a lie.

"Right. Whatever. Give me the money he owes, or both of you get hurt." He pounded his fist into his palm.

Now the robber was beginning to sweat. "Look, I don't have money either, I'm flat broke."

"Of course you are." The pimp licked his calloused tongue over his brown teeth.

Lights out.

***

Lying flat on his back, Hayden watched as the busty brunette stripped down in front of him. Her smile was honey and her eyes chocolate brown. Like a serpent she snaked downwards, lifting his foot between her delicate hands. She slid his largest toe between her rose petal lips.

A warmth washed over his body; this can't be for real.

Looking back down at her, his expression suddenly changed. She was tugging and pulling at his foot like a rabid dog. No, seriously, this can't be real.

And it wasn't.

Waking abruptly he bolted upright, a mangy zombie gnawing away at his sneaker. "Holy shit!"

Shit kicked and stuck in the wasteland. Again. But this time, getting his ass going was a tad more prudent.

He kicked hard with his free foot, knocking the rotting corpse, and his sneaker, back to the unforgiving earth. He stared for a moment at his one bare foot; great. But there was no time to mourn the loss of a shoe; he needed to get the hell outta here. Turning over, he made a run for it, but didn't go far, his arm pulling him back to the earth. The zombie? Nope. Peering to his side he let out an exasperated groan. His right hand was handcuffed to that of the bus robber, who was still out cold. Go figure.

The zombie, finally realizing that the shoe was no longer attached to a foot, croaked and wheezed as it rose up from the ground, limping wearily back towards them. Hayden looked from the slumbering robber to the lumbering undead. It sure was stupid looking: limbs flailing uselessly at its side, skin peeling like old paint, grey tongue hanging out of its mouth, flapping against its own decayed cheek.

"Hey, buddy, you gotta wake up." Hayden shook the robber.

"Piss off," he hissed, unwilling to open his eyes.

"No seriously, I would have no problem leaving you here to get eaten by the zombie, but we're kinda stuck together, and I don't want to die, not today anyways." Verbal diarrhea: an unpleasant symptom of an impending death.

"I said, go away!" His eyes flickered open, barely tracing the image of Hayden pointedly showing their conjoined wrists. The zombie growled. "Wait... Did you say Zombie?"

Hayden nodded, smiling grimly.

The bus robber shot to his feet, yanking Hayden with him.

Bolting over the rough terrain, Hayden stumbled and gasped for breath as he was pulled along by his far more athletic counterpart. "Okay, okay!" He protested, "we're safe, we're safe. Jeeze."

They both slowed to a stop, Hayden keeling over, panting for breath.

"Damn, what a shitty way to start the day," The thief peered across the desolate landscape at the vague outline of the zombie, who, given distance, had forgotten completely about its meal and returned to its aimless meandering.

"Yeah," Hayden spoke between shallow breaths, "tell me about it." He looked down at his dusty bare foot.

Volume 6

"They're not too bright are they?" His eyes remained focused on the undead soul on the horizon.

"Yeah, well, they are brain dead. Pun very much intended," Hayden chuckled.

The bus robber shook his head, failing to appreciate Hayden's sense of humour. Over a hundred years since a zombie outbreak threatened man's existence, they had sadly fizzled out to little more than walking corpses banished to an eternity roaming the wastelands.

"So, where you wanna go partner?" Hayden lifted their constrained hands, again visualizing their forced unification.

"Please, we're not partners." He grimaced.

"Okay, Mr. Bus-robber-guy."

"Landon. It's Landon okay."

"See, there you go Landon, now we're practically friends." His sarcasm stung like a dirty needle.

"Let's just get the hell outta here, and hopefully find some way of getting ourselves detached." The shock of the zombie attack now subsided; Landon's displeasure with their situation was truly sinking in.

"You still mad about me messing up your date?" Hayden hated when people held grudges, which, when concerning him, was fairly often.

"Yeah, you know, and the whole getting beaten up and left in the wasteland to get eaten by a zombie thing..."

"Oh yeah, that."

The heat of the wasteland grew from pain-in-the-ass to plain unbearable. But, there was a glimmer of hope, a mirage in the distance. Landon adjusted his glasses. No, it wasn't a mirage. A ramshackle hut sat conspicuously amidst the flat grey. Rusted sheets of zinc and weathered tarps were held together by blackened tape and tetanus infested nails. It was hardly a structure, but they both knew exactly what it was: a smugglers stash house.

They hurried their pace in hopes of finding something to undo their binding. Though neither would say a word, it was something else that enticed them. Stash houses are notorious for having one thing: a stash.

Nuzzling their way through the pint sized entrance; they eyed the sparse, mangled room. It looked like it hadn't been used in sometime, but that didn't deter their frantic search. Peering under dilapidated mattresses and pulling apart ancient cabinets, they tried hard to keep their findings secret while still trying to keep an eye on the other.

"You find anything?" Landon called out, trying his best to keep his attached partner from noticing the small wad of cash he'd found tucked between a bedpost and the wall.

"Nope, you?"

"Nuh uh."

"Oh hey, look at this!" Landon exclaimed, pulling a hacksaw from beneath the bed. But it wasn't the hacksaw that put the change of octave in his voice. He'd found something and Hayden knew it.

"You find anything else?" He pressed.

"I wish man, this place looks pretty forgotten," he fidgeted awkwardly. Fucking Liar.

It took a better part of the day, but eventually they succeeded in sawing their shackles off. Their wrists now free, they left the rusty shed behind and once again embarked into the wasteland. Landon didn't want to seem suspicious, but his hurried footsteps told Hayden otherwise. He kept pace. He wasn't about to let him win. Period.

The thick clouds above grew darker as evening approached but luck turned in their favour as they managed to flag down a passing truck. The truck itself was piece of shit; far too many of its parts were either duct taped on or held together by rusted wires. With half a dozen yaks packed in its rear it was a miracle that the vehicle was even driveable.

The driver looked to be a mountain folk, making the arduous journey south through the wasteland in hopes of a buck or two. In that respect, they could all see eye to eye. After some heated bargaining, the driver agreed to let them hitch a ride, in the back of course, to the next town they came across.

Basking in the foul odour of sweaty mountain yak, they failed to enjoy the rough, uncompromising drive. But still, it was better than walking, if only just.

Landon stared off into the darkening sky as they were tossed about, crashing painfully against dusty metal and the scratchy coats of the burly animals. Hayden looked at his travel companion's battered second hand clothes and worn, longing expression. They were the same, almost. Hayden smiled wryly, he was smarter, or slicker at least.

The bundle of musky cash had slid half out of Landon's jean pocket and, as far Hayden saw it, was begging to be snatched. He waited for the next big bump, which wasn't long, and he launched himself sideways, knocking into Landon full force.

"Whoa!" Landon exclaimed as Hayden's body pressed his into the dirty floor.

"Sorry man, bad balance," Hayden smiled stupidly as he lifted himself off.

"Just watch it okay? Ever hear of too close for comfort?"

"Tell that to these guys," he joked, pointing at the yaks. Landon only rolled his eyes as he returned his gaze to the starless sky above.

Hayden grinned to himself as he slid the bundle of cold, hard cash into his own tattered jeans.

Like fire flies perched on the horizon, the next town finally came into view. At a reasonable distance, the driver pulled over and let them out. Glad to be free from the intoxicating stench they watched as the moustached mountain man barrelled off into the night.

"See ya around," Hayden smiled as they parted ways.

"God I hope not." Landon groaned. He stared as Hayden disappeared into the tangle of uniform buildings and crooked streets. Then it hit him harder than a first time meth user. He reached for his back pocket. It was empty.

"Son of a bitch!"

Volume 7

Stomach full, but still missing a shoe, Hayden slid onto the bar stool. Carefully, so as not to attract attention, he fingered what cash he had left. It was enough to get a drink, and maybe a place to stay for the night, though that would take a little dirty work.

Sliding the money back into his pocket he smiled at a dark skinned girl, who he had very intentionally sat next to. Her black hair was sleek and straight and her nails well-manicured. She smelled of booze and, seated alone in a dusty hotel bar, looked like she needed some company.

He cracked his knuckles; three simple steps to getting with a hot girl:

"Whiskey, neat," he tapped the counter as he popped a cigarette into his mouth. He turned to smile at the girl, winking as she downed another fruit infused something-or-other.

"You smell bad," she grimaced, intoxication trumping tact.

"Don't let the cover fool you honey." He spoke with an air of confidence that demanded respect.

"Cover?"

"Shh," he placed a finger to his lips as he leaned closer, "I'm undercover."

"Undercover?" She slurred loudly.

"Yes, but I really shouldn't tell you." He leaned back on his stool, creating distance.

Step one: create intrigue. She stopped, her glossy eyes pleading for more.

"Okay, but you have to be quiet," his firm, commanding tone kept her enticed, "I'm an agent from the coast, tracking down outlaw fugitives."

"An agent? I didn't even know there were agents on the coast?" She was obviously cultured enough to know more of these things than him.

"Exactly." He winked cleverly.

Step two: Keep bullshitting till she buys it.

She shifted her body position, clearly showing signs of growing interest.

"So you're dressed like this so you can catch criminals?"

"How else can I gain their trust?"

She paused, her inebriated mind pondering the legitimacy of his claim. "Is it dangerous?"

"Very."

Shivers of excitement tingled up her spine. The bar tender slammed the ashy glass of whiskey down on the table, startling her distracted mind. He tipped it back and downed it in one long, guzzle.

Step three: Walk away.

"Well, it's not safe for me here. Maybe I'll see you around. Maybe not." his smile melted her heart as he stood to his feet, tossing a bill onto the bar counter.

"Wait," she grabbed his arm. He looked around the tavern, calmly though with a subtle intensity, before returning his gaze to her. "I have a room upstairs. It'll be safe there."

Hook, line and sinker.

***

His eyes fluttered open as the morning breeze blew through the open window. The morning light cast blue-grey shadows over his naked chest, the dark skinned girl nuzzled up against him, fast asleep.

If he was lucky he'd be able to get out of here before she woke up. Carefully, he slid out from under her gentle arms and shimmied to the edge of the bed.

"Morning." Not so lucky.

"Morning," he smiled back at her, his mind quickly formulating a new, impromptu exit plan.

"You're not leaving already are you?" She pursed her lips together, pulling him back next to her.

"You know, catching fugitives is tough work, but someone has to do it." He puffed out his chest and deepened his voice.

"So brave," she ran her hands through his tangled hair.

"It's not a matter of being brave; it's a matter of doing the right thing."

And, obviously, saying the right thing, as his last comment garnered a blossoming kiss on his cheek. He could probably stick around a little longer.

The intimacy however was shrewdly interrupted as the lock of the door snapped and the door itself swung wide open. The girl shrieked and quickly pulled the covers over her naked body as she pressed herself up against Hayden. He scratched his rough hair, looking curiously at the door. To worry or not to worry, that was the question.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark hall beyond he made out the intruder. He sighed in relief: it was only Landon.

"Give me the money and no one gets hurt," he spat furiously as he jabbed a particularly rusted blade in their direction.

Hayden wasn't sure whether to be worried that Landon had a knife, or glad that this was the perfect chance to get the hell outta here.

Landon's seething eyes bore into Hayden, who sat, rather calmly, taking his time in deciding what to do next. But before he could respond, the girl leaned across the bed to the night stand. "Here, take it, it isn't much, but it's all I have, just please don't hurt us!" She pleaded as she pushed her belongings towards Landon, fear welling up in her eyes.

It took them both a minute to digest her outburst. Her misunderstanding of the situation had clearly not crossed their minds till this point. They looked at the goods sprawled out on the bed, then at each other.

And in a flash of devilish brilliance, both looking at the nameless girl as she offered up all of her belongings, they were struck by the same terrifyingly wonderful idea.

Volume 8

Hayden stretched out his arms, yawning. It couldn't be any later than four in the morning. He was wide awake. The naked girl lying next to him was not. His eyes were drawn to her rather large purse that sat on the chipped nightstand. Soon enough.

"You're awake already?" Her voice, though sweet, had the bitter aftertaste of a late night.

"Just woke up," he lied.

"Oh, let's go back to bed," she nestled herself into his bare chest.

"Sounds good to me." He held her close.

The unlocked door swung wide open, provoking a fear stained gasp from the girl. Right on time.

"Money and valuables, now!" Landon roared; a black bandana draped over his face.

"Hey, fuck off!" Hayden sat up, angrily. He was a horrible actor, but at this hour who could tell. The girl cowered next to him.

"I said money, or I'm gonna kill you both," he pointed his jagged blade at Hayden.

"Man, piss off."

Landon lunged forward.

"No! No! Please!" The girl begged, tears beginning to roll down her cheek, "Just take it, it's all I have, don't hurt him." She shoved her purse at Landon.

"Don't give that to him," Hayden protested wryly. He was getting cocky now.

"Stop it, please," she restrained him, her soft skin pressed against his, "it's nothing, just let him have it," she begged.

"Fine." Hayden scowled as Landon snatched the purse and fled the room.

***

"I don't know man, I kind of feel like a douchebag," Landon tipped back his beer and let the backroom booze climb down his throat.

"Just think of it as surprise prostitution," Hayden joked, finishing off his fifth.

"And you're okay with that?" He looked skeptically across the stained plastic table.

He waited a moment, "yeah."

"You would be," Landon shook his head. "Oh, and I'm still a little pissed at you for ruining my date."

"Well, as I see it, you've ruined about seven of mine now," he waved for the server to bring him another beer.

Banners flapped in the warm breeze as old clunkers choked and chortled past. It had proved to be a fairly lucrative town; larger in size with plenty of old, rat ridden hotels and numerous fairly wealthy, obviously lonely women. Sparked by their simultaneous revelation, their unlikely union had been bound around the simple, crude scheme.

"So, we are friends now right?" Hayden teased.

"I wouldn't go so far. More like associates," he insisted.

"Ah, admit it, you like me," Hayden pushed playfully at him. He was getting a nice buzz going and it showed.

The roar of an unusually deep sounding engine interrupted their drunken banter. They stopped and looked out into the unpaved street as a polished candy apple red convertible passed slowly by.

"Shit, who's that?" Hayden leaned forward, just as entranced by the hot blonde sitting in the passenger seat as he was by the car itself.

The driver was young and well groomed; his slick oily hair fell over his shoulders and silver rimmed sunglasses sat perched on his pointed nose.

"You don't know who that is?" Landon spat out his beer.

"No, do you?" He finally turned his attention back to his comrade as the car sped off into the town.

"That's Tony!"

Hayden gave him a blank stare.

"He's only like the baddest dude in the entire wasteland."

The blank stare remained.

"He's big shit man; he's got his own gang and everything. Man, I'd kill to be him. He's got money, power. He's livin' the good life." Landon leaned back in his chair, his own petty life coming into sharp focus.

"I'd kill to get with his girl," Hayden laughed, graciously accepting his next beverage from the server.

"What's wrong with you? Do you take anything seriously?" Landon peered at Hayden, more than a little annoyed.

"Uhh," Hayden tried real hard to think of something. Anything.

"Don't you have dreams? Ambitions? Don't you ever wonder if there's more to life than... this?"

Hayden pondered his words before answering, "I don't know. Is there more?"

They both sat for a moment, their silence overpowering the brash noises of the busy street.

"I kind of hope so," a long life of hardships plagued his response.

"I'll drink to that," Hayden put his beer into the air.

"Yeah, you better," Landon scoffed, envying Hayden's simplicity, "your next target is right over there."

"What? Man, I don't know, I'm kind of tired," he protested.

Landon raised his eyebrow.

Hayden reluctantly looked over his shoulder at the aforementioned girl. She was cute. "Fine, fine," he sighed, "I'll do it, I'll do it."

Volume 9

Trash lingered along the chalky, desolate street. The afternoon heat sent shimmering waves in the distance. The cracked concrete building that housed the pawnshop displayed a large banner: "NO QUESTIONS ASKED!" Good. Landon didn't like questions, especially when he had two weeks' worth of stolen jewellery to get rid of.

God only knew where Hayden was. He'd told him to meet him here, but Landon wasn't the type to wait and certainly not for that guy. While he couldn't deny that Hayden had grown on him, he still managed to get under his skin more often than not.

Knapsack full of contraband, he entered through the un-oiled door. A bell chimed. He eyed the crowded shop. It was filled to the brim with useless shit.

He tapped his long slender fingers on the counter as the grungy shop keeper slithered out of a back room. A grunt was the best welcome he'd give.

Landon slid his bag out into full view. "How much you willing to give me for all this?"

"How much of it is even real?" The owner poured the contents out over top of the greasy table.

"All of it," he answered indignantly. Of course he was just posturing. Though he'd hoped some of it was real, he knew damn well most of it wouldn't be.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," the man rummaged through the pile of jewels, his face engraved with the blending of scars of past bar fights and youthful acne. Landon swallowed hard; he had to watch himself, these pawnbrokers were as tough as they were slimy.

The man stopped as he came to a single locket. He lifted it up- closed one eye- and inspected it carefully. "Where'd you get this?"

"I thought the sign said no questions?"

"Hm. I guess you're right," he paused, his vision not wandering from the tiny silver necklace. "Sarah! Get in here!"

What the fuck was going on.

A young, pretty girl entered from the back room, her hair tied back behind her head. The pawn broker's daughter, he assumed, but she looked familiar. Too familiar.

"Isn't this the locket your mom gave you before she died?" The man's words cut like a rusted hatchet. Landon's heart sank.

"Uhh," the girl stammered for a second, having obviously failed to recount the story of her robbery to her father. "Yeah, it was stolen, last week." Shit. She was one of the girls they'd robbed.

"Why didn't you tell me bout this?" There was fire smouldering in his words.

"I didn't want you to worry dad." Her voice was shaky. It wasn't the robbery she wanted to hide, but what she was doing when she was robbed.

Then both of them turned their attention to Landon. Whether it was the mask, the dark or just that it had all happened too fast, she didn't recognize him. Phew. He could still work with this.

"I'm a ask you again, and this time you can forget about what the sign says," his hand slid under the table, "where'd you get this necklace?"

"Look man, I got this shit off some bandit, won it in a game of poker." Would he buy it?

"Is that so?" He didn't look too convinced.

"Yeah, look, you can have that one for free, I mean what's yours is yours right?"

He looked to his daughter, searching her eyes for an answer. Was he the one that robber her? Her deep, contemplative pupils gave him nothing.

"I'll give you 2000 for the lot."

"2000?" Landon said in disgust. It was a pathetic offer, but how far could he push this guy? He looked pretty pissed already. "4000."

"2000 firm, boy."

"2500?"

"2000." The sound of a baseball bat tapping against the underside of the table was certainly convincing.

"Fine. Fuck it, give me the 2000." As if things could get any worse.

The bell chimed.

"Wow, what a bunch of junk," Hayden exclaimed as he entered the shop.

Landon's heart jumped right into his throat as his stomach fell to his toes.

"So, you get a good deal on all the jewellery and shit?" He scratched his head as he naively wandered up to the table. "Hey there," he winked at the pawn brokers daughter, noticing her girl-next-door looks.

The girl's eyes grew wide as they traced an invisible line from Hayden, to Landon, then to the locket. Landon raised his palm to his face. This wasn't going to end well.

"Wait, do I know you from somewhere?" Hayden asked. Her face was damn familiar.

Shame and anger boiled inside of her as she leaned close to her father, whispering in his ear. The silence that held a death grip on the tiny shop echoed in Hayden's ears. An unspoken rage was unleashed on the shop keeper's face as his pitted cheeks turned tomato red.

"Wait a second! You're that girl that I... Ohhh... right... well, this is awkward.

Volume 10

"In all honesty, we probably should have seen that one coming." Hayden reasoned as he raised his bruised, battered body from the uneven wasteland floor. He peered down at his two bare feet, "well would you look at that, he took my other shoe. What the hell would you need one shoe for?" First the zombie and now a pissed off pawn shop owner.

"All that work for nothing," Landon griped in disbelief as he too wobbled to his feet.

Hayden shrugged, "eh, what can you do? It was fun while it lasted."

"For you maybe." Landon dusted himself off, visibly frustrated by the turn of events.

They both looked out at the same grey surroundings that they had spent their entire lives trying to beat. But the wasteland always won. Always.

"Well," Hayden turned to face Landon, "It has been good." He nodded his head in affirmation and began his long, shoeless trek.

"What? Where are you going?" Landon was taken by surprise.

"No idea, see you around maybe?" Hayden called back.

"What the hell?" Landon was struck by a sudden sense of abandonment. "What a strange guy," he muttered under his breath as he watched Hayden trudge into the distance. Standing in the barren flats, with nothing else in sight, he was hit hard by the overpowering loneliness that came with a bandit's life. Maybe Hayden was right? There was no real reason for them to stick together any longer. Their scheme had failed, miserably so, and it's not like he liked him anyway.

He sighed heavily before running to catch up. Hayden turned to him, a puzzled expression on his face.

"I'm going this way." His response was flat, his eyes staring straight forward.

Hayden grinned.

***

"You know what our problem is?" Landon, at this point very drunk, slammed his near empty glass on the dingy wooden table, "we're always getting beaten up and thrown back into the wasteland with nothing!"

"That's not a problem, that's just life," Hayden responded. Though just as drunk as Landon, he was by far the more experienced drinker of the two and showed it much less.

"Well, it sucks!" Landon chugged the remainder of his beer with an inebriated vigour.

"I try not to think about it." He scratched at his dark scraggly hair.

The lanterns that lined the street were being lit as day slipped away. The roadside canteen was busy, the uncouth sounds of intoxicated scoundrels hammering the nameless town without remorse.

"No, let me tell you Hayden, we need a plan." He waved for the flustered waitress to bring them another round.

"I don't really do plans."

"What? What do you mean you don't do plans? Without a plan, you're just..."

"Me?" Hayden chuckled. Landon shook his head as the waitress hurriedly placed two more beers in front of them. Hayden winked at her as she left, blushing.

"Keep it in your pants Romeo," Landon chided.

"You worry too much." He reached across the table and placed his hand on Landon's shoulder, which was quickly shrugged off.

The increasingly tense tone from a several table's over caught their attention. They both glanced over at several drunken goons playing poker. A particularly tall bruiser was getting played, big time. They sighed; not their problem.

"Listen to me though, just for a second." Landon brought their focus back to their own table, "we should join a gang."

"What gang?"

"Tony's gang!"

"Tony? Oh, the guy in the convertible?"

"Yeah. Look, he's got it made, and why? Because, there's strength in numbers!"

"So how are we going to go about doing this? Just walk up and ask him?" They both paused for a minute.

"Actually, yeah, that was kind of what I was thinking."

Hayden shrugged, "Sure, okay, he seems like a pretty cool guy."

"Yeah, he does."

Lost in the suds of their beverages they sat in silence, the increasing level of commotion created by the poker guys again catching their attention. Hayden peered over at them; the tree trunk of a man, who with swollen fists and a ten foot chin and looked like he'd taken a few too many hits to the head, was beginning to grow aware of the cheating that was taking place, at his expense.

"Do you have money to pay for this?" Landon stared groggily at the empty glasses in front of them.

"Nope," Hayden turned back.

"Shit, neither do I."

"Don't worry about, I got it covered."

"What? But you just said..."

"Shh, just wait for it..." He raised a finger indicating silence as his ears perked up.

"Mother Fucker!" The man's face turned red as he launched his table, and all its cards and beers up into the air, "Fuck you, you fucking cheating fuckers!" With his inebriated curses, chaos ensued as the canteen burst into flying fists and smashing bottles.

"Time to go," Hayden winked convincingly as they both scurried away from the melee, and their bill.

Volume 11

Nothing tastes better than free. There is, of course, a difference between free and stolen, but it's such a blurry line. Hayden chomped down on the barbeque he'd swiped from an unsuspecting vendor. As the scent of the charred meat filled his nostrils, wind chimes whistled in the distance.

"Hey? Where'd you get that?" Landon's mouth began to water as he approached. Hayden's response was muffled by his overzealous chomping. "Did you steal that?"

Hayden shrugged his shoulders.

Landon shook his head, "no shame this guy," he paused, "give me some." Hunger won him over as he snatched a piece for himself.

Hayden wiped the sweat from his brow as they both leaned on a crumbling brick wall for support.

"So, you figure out where we can find Tony yet?" Swallowing the last of his meal, Hayden turned and asked.

"Sort of, I got the name of some mechanic who supposedly knows something."

"Jeeze, for a pretty famous guy this Tony sure is hard to find."

"Yeah, well, word on the street is he still keeps a fairly low profile, I guess he's the new kid on the block and some of the older guys aren't too fond of him."

"Psh, low profile? In a flashy red convertible?"

Landon laughed, "I don't know man, it's just what I've heard. Anyways, let's get going."

"Alright." His stomach grumbled loudly. The food was something, but not much. Hunger was a tragic side effect of both their lives. "I'll bet Tony eats something good."

"Yeah, probably," Landon pushed himself off the wall. Walking through the unlit streets of the nameless town, their minds were filled with bright visions of their future as gangsters.

* * *

"I told you we should have waited for day, I can't see a god damn thing out here," Hayden whined as they trudged across the open wasteland in the abyss of night.

"What's the point? The sooner we find Tony, the better, right?"

"I guess so."

"The mechanic said to find the train tracks and follow them north. That if we did, we'd come across his hideout."

"You really trust that guy?"

Landon stopped, "what else do we got?"

"Fine. Whatever." Hayden's feet, now only wrapped in plastic bags, were sore and bruised. Traversing the wasteland in the infinite black wasn't exactly his idea of time well spent.

"I don't know why you haven't stolen a pair of shoes for yourself yet. You steal everything else."

"I haven't found a pair I like," Hayden scoffed.

"You ever hear that thing about beggars and choosers?"

"Nope."

"Never mind then, you wouldn't get it anyways."

Only their shallow breaths could be heard above the shuffle of their feet as the hot, dry night air threatened to choke their already exasperated lungs.

"Hey Landon, what the hell is a train track anyway?" Hayden broke the silence.

"They're tracks that are built for trains."

"What the hell is a train?"

Landon pondered the question, "it's like a bus, but it can only go where there are tracks built for it."

"How do you know all this?" Hayden asked, shocked by his comrades knowledge.

"I read books."

"You read books?" He asked in disbelief.

"Of course I read books, don't you?" Even in the thick darkness Landon could plainly see the look of bemusement on Hayden's face. "Of course you don't."

"So, what happened to these trains? How come I've never seen one?"

"I don't know, I guess they just stopped using them."

"Well, they seem kind of useless anyways, like a bus that can only go in one direction," he reiterated what Landon had said, but with a definite condescending tone.

"Just pay attention huh, we need to find those tracks."

"Yeah, right, the only tracks I'd recognize are on a hooker's arm," he joked. A searing pain suddenly jolted from the tip of his toe. He let out a long, emboldened curse as it shot up his entire body.

"What the hell happened?" Landon asked; his eyes wide with surprise.

"Fucking hell, stubbed my goddamn toe on something." He lay sprawled out on the ground, clutching his injured foot in his hands.

Landon strained his eyes to see in the darkness. Mostly covered by wasteland dust and fragmented metal, the gritty steal and wooden boards of a railway lay in front of them.

"Ha, you found it," Landon laughed.

"Found what? The train track? Damn it, I hate it already."

"Wow," Landon traced it as far as he could. There was little left, only pieces jutting out here and there amidst the rubble. "It must have been a long time ago that this thing was actually used."

Hayden, finally regaining composure, stood to his feet.

"Well, let's get a move on," Landon patted Hayden on the shoulder.

"Yeah, only now we gotta figure out which way is north."

Volume 12

"You know what, I'm just gonna take a nap." Hayden promptly dropped to the shattered earth.

Landon let out an impatient sigh, "come on, how much further could it be?"

"Don't care. You can go, but I'm done man." He nestled himself under the shade of a boulder-sized hunk of weathered metal. The day was searing and the permanently thick clouds above did little to shelter the weary travellers.

Landon's determination was nagging him to go on, but his own fatigue and Hayden's almost immediate snoring persuaded him otherwise. Looking down the ancient railway tracks it struck him what a fragmented world they lived in, as if it was but a cracked shell of what once was, and they were just lucky enough to be born into it. Shit, he really was tired. He lay down next to Hayden and, under the rare shade, was out instantly.

***

"Get the fuck up!" The voice was raspy and charred by a lifetime of tobacco use.

Landon jutted awake, the barrel of a duct-taped semi-automatic pointed at him.

"Fuck off," Hayden mumbled in his sleep as he rolled over.

"Wake up," Landon pushed at him mercilessly.

Groggily, Hayden lifted his head. "Oh, hey, who are you?" Yawning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing here? You think you're gonna rob Tony come night fall?" The man spat between crooked teeth.

"Tony?" Landon's ears perked up.

"Hey, we're actually looking for that guy," Hayden thought out loud.

"I'm sure you are." His finger grew ever tighter on the trigger.

"No! No! Hold up!" Landon waved his hands frantically, "We want to join him! We've travelled all night looking for him."

"Join him?"

"Yeah, well, his gang, you know."

"You think you can just waltz up and ask to join a gang?"

"Is there any other way?" Hayden piped up. It may have sounded like a stupid question, but it stumped the bearded gangster.

"Get on your feet," he commanded, the muzzle of the gun still pointed directly at them. "I'll let Tony decide what to do with you two."

They were happy to oblige. Only hours earlier they were lost as hell, now they had an armed escort taking them exactly where they wanted to go.

Their stomachs grumbled and their mouths were left cottony and dry, but at least the walk wasn't far. Actually, their proximity alarmed Landon, who became increasingly aware of how they'd been mistaken for rival gangsters staking the place out. The 'hideout' wasn't much of a hideout, or a base, or much of anything really. Two unassuming buildings stood like towers in the midst of the endless flatlands. Several guys with AK's stood around out front, and parked to the side was the red convertible; an over the top symbol of status in a classless world.

After hushed but hurried conversations, they were shoved inside the larger of the two brick buildings. Seated at a ratty wooden chair in the middle of a plain, empty room was Tony.

He stared down his pointed nose at the two hapless bandits. Running his hand through his long, oily hair, he continued to eye them up and down. He oozed cool. Landon envied his power and strength, while Hayden was left wondering just how easy it must be for this guy to pick up hot chicks.

"Who the fuck are these two rats? And why are they here?" His voice was firm and condescending.

"We want to join your gang," Landon interjected before anyone else could speak.

"Excuse me?" He shot a disgruntled glare directly at Landon, "did I ask you to talk?"

Hayden raised his eyebrows. This guy was kind of a dick.

"Uh, no," Landon slunk back.

"We caught them sleeping a hundred yards out, they say they want to join."

"And you brought them here because?"

"Because, well, look at them, they don't exactly look like assassins."

Tony grimaced, as if their dishevelled appearance disgusted him greatly. "Why were you sleeping out there?"

"Because we were tired," Hayden answered flatly.

"Now you're getting cheeky with me?"

"No, no, no, don't mind him, he's uh, just like that," Landon tried in vain to cool down the situation.

Tony sighed heavily, "what use would you two be to me anyways?"

"We'll do whatever we have to," Landon insisted. Hayden scoffed. This was turning out to be quite the bust.

"Well, fine," Tony spoke with great disdain, "but," he smiled arrogantly, "you can't join a gang without paying the initiation fee."

"We don't have any money," Landon hung his head low, shamefully.

"Then you owe me a favour."

"What kind of favour?" Hayden asked hesitantly.

"You have to kill someone for me."

Volume 13

"Who do we have to kill?" Hayden asked.

"What does it matter?" Tony pulled out a cigarette from the breast pocket of his second hand leather jacket.

"How are we going to kill someone if we don't even know who they are?" His response was purposely arrogant. Stupid questions get stupid answers. Tony took a long drag.

"We'll do it, we'll do it," Landon put on a false smile.

"Good." Tony's eyes remained on Hayden, whose own dejected sight wandered to Landon. "You can go with the other recruit."

"Other recruit?"

"Bring that dumb fuck in here." He snapped his fingers.

The old, bearded man who had brought them in left their sides and ventured deeper into the stale, rotted building.

The sound of heavy footsteps from inside could be heard smacking against the cool concrete floors. Hayden and Landon traded glances.

A big, dumb looking guy emerged like a drooling lap dog from an empty doorway. Damn, it was the same guy that got cheated at poker back at the canteen. Both Hayden and Landon looked at each other, trying to hide their reluctance.

"So, what the fuck is going on? Am I in or what?" Like a bean stock with swollen knuckles, he swayed like a weed in the wind.

"I thought I told you not to drink my booze?"

"Oops."

Lines of impatience were buried deep into Tony's forehead as he agitatedly ran his hands through his dark hair. "There is a town by the Auburn Sea, you'll find a man there; he goes by the name of Steel Leopard. Kill him, and you're all in."

"That's a pretty fuckin' stupid name," the other recruit slurred.

"Tell me about it." Tony tossed his cigarette to the floor with one hand as he waved them out with the other.

Using his rifle like a conductor's baton, the gangster lackey showed the three of them the way out.

"Is he serious?" Hayden whispered to Landon, "I don't want to be around this fuck."

"Hey come on, he looks pretty tough, at the very least, we might not get our asses kicked all the time," Landon reasoned. It was certainly an upside.

"What are you two ladies whispering about?" The brute stumbled up behind them.

"Nothing interesting, just girl stuff," Hayden dead-panned.

"Oh. Okay," he paused, "wait, are you guys fucking with me?"

"Oh lord no," Hayden's sarcasm was obviously beyond their new comrade's comprehension. Landon smacked him in the back of the head.

The lackey coughed to gain their attention. They all looked as he motioned for them to get a move on.

"Hey, which way is the Auburn Sea from here?" Landon asked unabashedly.

The man shook his head and pointed off into the distance.

"You gon' give us a ride or something?" Hayden asked, though he already knew the answer.

The gangster didn't ever respond.

"Bus fare?"

Negative.

"Whatever," Hayden slapped at the air in frustration, "let's go."

As they trekked through the wasteland Hayden couldn't help but feel like he'd been sucker punched in the face. Join a gang; their big, great idea, and yet here they were, back walking like a bunch of nobodies in the goddamn wasteland.

"Well, that was kind of a bust," Hayden groaned.

"Patience," Landon insisted, "we're almost in."

"But that Tony guy was kind of a prick."

"Just be cool," Landon reasoned.

"What bout you big guy? You really feeling this?" Hayden turned his attention away from Landon.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Hayden rolled his eyes, "what's your name anyway?"

"Fuck you," the behemoth of a man spat ferociously.

"Whoa, calm down," Hayden raised his hands innocently, "I'll just keep calling you big guy then, shit."

"Fine by me," he growled.

"Now I want to know what your name is," Landon piped in, his curiosity trumping the other man's menacing appearance.

"No."

"Come on man, we're all in this shit together. My name's Landon, he's Hayden."

His pouty rectangular face remained silent. "You'll laugh." A shade of red squirmed across his cheeks, a sign of humanity from a great stone wall.

"How bad can it be?" Hayden placed his hand on the man's shoulder. His muscles were thin and lean, but as hard as twisted stone.

"Percival."

Landon snickered, trying to remain composed. Hayden didn't try so hard. "That's a terrible name. It doesn't suite you at all," He chuckled.

Percival began to shake terribly, an inner rage boiling up inside of him, his gigantic fists trembling erratically.

"Ah relax," Hayden casually pushed away Percival's fist, "It's just a name. We'll come up with a better one for you."

Percival froze. "You will?"

"Sure. Why the hell not? If you hate it so much, we'll just call you something else."

Somewhere between touched and mystified, Percival stopped dead in his tracks, "wait, what are you gonna call me then?"

Volume 14

"He's not a tommy," Landon rolled his eyes as they made their way down the narrow, crowded aisle of the bus.

"Why not?"

"I don't like it." Percival said adamantly.

The bus creaked and exhaled tiredly as it started off again, ambling its way through the uneven wasteland. Nearly at the back, a lone bench awaited them. Landon went to take a seat first, but was stopped short by Percival's lanky arm.

"I get the window seat." He gnashed his teeth.

"Uh, okay." Landon only smiled as he moved aside. Percival promptly dropped into the mangled plastic seat and slid over to the window.

"Uh?" Hayden questioned.

"Just leave it," Landon tried to quell his comrade's vulgar commentary.

"I like to look out the window." Percival grumbled, not taking his eyes from the grey void beyond.

"Look out the window at what? There's nothing to see."

"I said drop it," Landon hissed.

"I just like it."

Hayden shook his head in disbelief. "Hey, I got it," he chimed as a self-assured smile slid onto his face.

"Got what?"

"A name for you."

He had his attention now.

"Bull."

"Why Bull?" Both Landon and Percival asked. "Because I'm strong as an ox?"

"Nah, 'cause you're full of bullshit," he laughed slyly.

Percival scowled and turned back to the window.

"Actually I kinda like it," Landon admitted.

"Then Bull it is." And Bull it was.

"I dunno," Bull mumbled under his breath, "better than Percival though."

***

The Auburn Sea: A bit of a misnomer. It wasn't so much auburn as it was just a really ugly orange. A putrid mix of stagnant chemicals, left simmering for hundreds of years, it was an inland body of fluid that straddled the far east of the wasteland. It served as an impassable boundary between the dead flatlands and the mountainous highlands beyond. With tributaries that ran south to the coast, its toxic sludge filtered down spoiled rivers and spilled out into the vast Southern Ocean.

"This place fucking stinks," Bull's observation was pointed yet unnecessary.

"You got that right," Hayden could only agree, "let's just find this guy and get the hell outta here."

"Yeah," Landon nodded, holding his nose.

Making their way down a dusty street, the waters of the nearby sea cast an eerie tangerine glow across the typical shabby buildings.

"So, anyone actually put any thought into how we're gonna kill this guy?" Hayden asked.

"I've never actually killed anyone before," Landon admitted.

"Yeah, me neither," Hayden sighed. "Bull, you got any ideas?"

"What?" He stopped dead in his tracks.

"You have any ideas on how to kill this guy?" He reiterated.

He stood for a moment, his vacant eyes staring out over his pug like nose. "I... don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"No one's ever really asked me that before."

"What? If you have ideas?"

"Yeah. I've always just done as I'm told." There was a certain sadness to his words, as lumbering and poorly pronounced as they were.

"Seriously?" Landon asked, the realities of the brute's life coming into focus.

He nodded, "Guess it's 'cause I'm not very smart."

A silence engulfed them. Bull's body was like a mangled wreck of muscle and scars, and his eyes failed to hide how hard his mind had to work to grasp simple logic. But he knew it. He knew his place in this unfair, unjust word.

Hayden and Landon looked at each other. There were no words. There didn't need to be. They both knew: maybe they'd judged him too soon.

"Well, fuck that other shit," Hayden shrugged off the bad vibe, "We're asking you now."

Bull towered over them and all he could do is slump his shoulders.

"Well, have you ever killed anyone before?"

"Yup."

"How did you do it?"

"Kinda like this," he calmly drove his oversized fist into the palm of his other hand.

Landon's eyes grew wide. Hayden pressed the ridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Still better than any plan I've got."

"I could use a drink," Landon shook his head, realizing for the first time that maybe- just maybe- they were in over their heads. "How about you Bull, you want a drink?"

"Oh fuck yes."

Volume 15

Landon sat at the bar, hunched over his drink. The beer suds slid down the outside of the foggy glass mug. At least it was a glass mug. Some places just serve in re-used plastic cups. He peered around. The décor was virtually non-existent, and aside from a beaten up juke box there was little to distinguish this rat-hole from any other in the wasteland, except of course, the clientele. It was a particularly rough crowd.

Hugging the wasteland, the western edge of the Auburn Sea was the fastest route from the Coast to the wild north, making this sea side town a magnet for passers-by and vagabonds alike.

Landon lifted the mug as if it was a solid brick. Sometimes life was so tiring and pointless. He looked over to Hayden and Bull who were on their second and fourth beers respectively. He was thinking too much; again. He tipped the dirty glass back and let the sharp beer flow down his throat.

Sitting amongst the dredges of society, pounding beer after beer, it didn't take them long to get completely wasted.

"This just can't be life," Landon slurred. "Am I seriously meant to spend my entire life running around getting the shit kicked out of me in this stupid wasteland?"

"Pretty much." Bull had downed enough booze to send any normal man into renal failure, but he was no normal man.

"Man, don't think about too much. It makes it easier." Hayden offered up his sage advice.

"Ah fuck you guys," Landon brushed them off, "I'm gonna make something of myself. It's my destiny."

Hayden snickered but was interrupted.

"What the fuck do you think you know about destiny?" A stranger's voice boomed from their side.

"What?" Landon turned his head.

"Destiny. You say it like you know what it means." The middle aged man sipped on something strong and straight, the greying stubble on his face adding a sophisticated grit.

"I know what it means," Landon sneered.

"Who the fuck are you?" Bull's knack for tact once again shone brightly.

"Just an old man."

"Yeah, exactly," Landon eyed him up and down.

"An old man that knows a hell of a lot more about life than the three of you."

Hayden tapped for another beer. This was starting to get entertaining.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Landon's mind swished and swirled with beer suds as he glared at the arrogant stranger.

"I hear you complaining about life. But what are you doing to change it? All you're doing is sitting here, getting drunk like a fool. Destiny is nothing but the culmination of your life's actions."

Hayden took a long drink. He wasn't nearly drunk enough. Bull stared blankly. He would never be drunk enough.

"What's your point? My life is none of your business," Landon shot back.

"You're the one saying you're going to be something, that it's your destiny. What are you doing to prove it? You kids nowadays, bitch about everything but don't want to do fuck all about it."

"I am doing something about it. Don't you worry," Landon sneered. "Let's get the fuck out of here guys," he looked to his friends, "we've got some loser with a dumbass name to kill."

"Ah shit," Hayden groaned, "You sure man?"

"We aren't backing out now."

Hayden rubbed his glossy eyes, "how 'bout you big guy? You still keen on joining that gang?"

Bull shrunk down in size, "yeah."

"Hayden," Landon leaned in close, "this is our chance man. This is our chance to be something more than all this... shit."

Hayden swallowed hard. He knew Landon was probably right. But he hated that Tony guy already. "Fine. Let's find the bitch and kill him."

The mature man chuckled. "Well aren't you a motivated bunch."

Landon's lip curled. The strange old man was a nosy, pretentious prick.

"Next rounds on me," the man smiled broadly.

"Alright," Bull and Hayden grinned. He'd gained their approval.

"To destiny." There was a glimmer in the man's eyes: one part wisdom, one part mischief.

Landon sighed. Why the hell not.

They all lifted their drinks into the air, "today nobodies; tomorrow gangsters!"

They drank with exuberance and a renewed purpose.

"So who's this fool that gets the axe?" the man pried.

They were all incredibly drunk. Even Landon's guard had dropped considerably. "Some joker with a really stupid name, Metal Tiger, Cement Cat, something like that." They swayed on their bar stools. It was getting late.

"Hmm," the man stroked his sturdy chin.

"Why you know him? That would sure help," Hayden joked as the alcohol sloshed about in his head.

"You're looking for Steel Leopard."

"That's it, that's the fucker we're gonna kill," Landon spoke calmly between gritted teeth. "You know him?"

"Yes. I'm him."

Volume 16

"You're Steel Leopard?" Landon's words stank of cold beer.

"That is what I said."

"I still think that's a ridiculous name," Bull mumbled.

"I didn't exactly choose it." The handsome middle aged man tipped his glass back and polished off what remained.

"You knew we were sent here to kill you?" Landon's lip quivered.

"I figured it out pretty quick."

Silence engulfed them, even as the raucous noise of their surroundings rumbled on.

"Well this is awkward," Hayden summed it up perfectly.

Steel Leopard let out an exasperated sigh.

"We still have to kill you." Landon's frosty voice bit like a venomous snake.

"Why?" He stroked his jagged chin with his weathered hands.

"Destiny."

Steel Leopard chuckled half-heartedly before tapping on the stained wooden counter. The bartender slid another glass his way.

"I thought I told you to make your own destiny."

"You did. And I am."

Bull and Hayden watched the uneasy exchange.

"Whose destiny are you really choosing? Yours or Tony's?"

"You know Tony?" Bull's ears perked up.

Landon pondered his question as Steel Leopard turned to Bull, "he wants me dead. Of course I know him."

Hayden leaned back into his seat as he continued to watch with a vested interest.

"Tony said we got to kill you. So we got to kill you," Bull said adamantly.

Steel Leopard took a long, unsatisfying drink.

"Why does Tony want you dead?" Landon interjected.

"Does it matter?"

"No."

Landon and Bull traded glances. "We have to kill you." Landon made his decision.

Steel Leopard let out an exasperated sigh, "what makes you so sure you can?"

"Him," Landon pointed at Bull, who stood to his feet.

Hayden remained seated and quiet.

Steel Leopard sized up the lanky, muscular young man. He polished off his drink. "That Tony is an asshole. You don't have to put up with his shit you know."

"Says the man he wants he dead."

Steel Leopard grimaced lazily. This was not going well. "You could always just say you killed me."

"What?"

"Let's make a deal. I leave the wasteland. You say you killed me. You get your 'destiny' and I live."

"Or we could just kill you," Bull clenched his monstrous fist.

"It's a good deal," Hayden spoke up. They all looked at him. "Who are we kidding? Do we really wanna kill this guy? Just let him go."

Bull shook furiously, "But Tony said."

"Man we all know Tony's a douchebag," Hayden, though incredibly drunk, was very assured in his words.

"This isn't a good idea," Bull grumbled angrily.

Landon looked at Hayden very seriously before turning back to the old man, "As of right now: you are dead. Do you understand?"

"Loud and clear," Steel Leopard responded, unsmiling.

Bull stormed angrily out of the bar, Landon quickly following, his conflicted mind spinning like a centrifuge.

Calmly, Hayden finished off the last of his beer then rose to his feet.

"You won't regret this," Steel Leopard assured him.

"Did we ever have a choice?" Hayden smiled and shook his head as his eyes bore down onto the partially concealed hand gun that Steel Leopard held hidden in the shadows of his lap; the gun that had been pointed at them the entire time. Steel Leopard grinned widely, holding in a hearty chuckle. Damn kid was brighter than he looked.

***

Beads of liquid anxiety clawed down their cheeks like burrowing ticks. The lone electric fan, which looked to be on its last leg, was pointed solely at Tony. The dusty blades wobbled and thumped, the tiny motor sputtering and coughing. It was the only noise that filled the nerve-racking silence of the cement walled room.

"You're all back soon." Tony stared at the red embers of the lit cigarette he held in his well-manicured hand.

"We're just that good," Hayden lied effortlessly.

"Where's his head?"

"We pushed him into the Auburn Sea. Done deal." Hayden wiped his palms together, not skipping a beat.

"Hmm."

Standing in a line, Landon, Hayden and Bull watched as their fate was pondered by a greasy gangster with designer sun glasses.

"One last time, did you kill him?"

"Yeah," Landon answered confidently.

"Yo, dumb fuck, come here," he motioned to Bull. Bull stepped forward and took his place next to Tony's lawn chair. "Did they kill him?"

"I already said we did," Hayden's ferocity bit like a lion.

"I'm not asking you." He snapped at Hayden as he stared Bull in the face.

"No," Bull whispered.

"What the fuck?" Hayden protested angrily. Tony's guerrilla's swarmed them as they stood in perpetual shock.

"You see, big and stupid here isn't a new recruit. He's been with me for a while. I didn't trust you two, so I sent him along to keep you honest."

They stared at each other and then at Bull, who refused to return their gaze.

"Turns out I was right. Once a piece of shit, always a piece of shit. Throw them in the stash house. I'll kill them later." Tony scowled as he turned his back on them.

Hayden let loose a string of obscenities aimed at both Tony and Bull while Landon could only feel the shame of failure as they were dragged out of the decaying building.

Volume 17

"You were right. Tony's a douchebag." Landon pleaded guilty.

"Mhmm." Hayden pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

Locked in a storage shed, they sat amongst the stock piles of ammunition, explosives and contraband that the notorious bandit Tony had taken pride in collecting.

Landon ambled to his feet. Waiting for death wasn't his idea of time well spent.

"What are you doing?" Hayden fumbled for a lighter in the musky, unlit room.

"Trying to find a way outta here."

"Well, good luck with that." Smoke fluttered up from his mouth as the glowing orange-red of the cigarette illuminated his face.

"I can get us out of this." His confidence was reassuring, if only slightly. He found his way to a wall then moved along it, reading its cracks like brail. His fingers graced a piece of cardboard that had been taped to the wall. He ripped it off. The outside light bled through the steel barred window.

"Try again." Hayden continued to lounge.

Landon didn't respond. Peeking between the dusty bars, the sky limped towards the impending night: a cold silver-hued grey. The only colour in the drab scene was the shiny red of Tony's convertible. He sighed. His dreams of fortune and fame would have to wait. "You gonna help me here or what?"

"I guess so." Hayden took a long drag before standing.

There was a creak. The door flung wide open. "Psst, guys," Bull's hushed voice echoed in the cramped shed.

"Bull?"

"You gotta get outta here. Now."

"Whatever. Asshole." Hayden crossed him arms obstinately.

"No, come on, Tony's gonna kill you both!" There was a convincing amount of desperation to his voice.

"Well, I'm outta here." Landon didn't hesitate to take the exit presented.

"Fine. Hold up," Hayden gave in. Taking one last puff on his cigarette, he tossed it aside then left.

"Hurry up!" Bull hurried them as they crept alongside the shed. "Go. Don't come back."

"You're staying?" Landon asked.

"I have to..." he stammered.

"Seriously? Man, just come with us," Landon offered.

"I don't know..."

They both looked at Hayden for approval.

He groaned, "sure, why not."

"Really?" His boulder of a chin and pea sized nose wrinkled like a raisin.

"Shit. There's no time to get all sentimental about it."

Bull coughed, quickly regaining his composure. They were off. Trudging across the tangled earth, they slowed their pace as they rounded Tony's house. This was the last obstacle. Once they passed here, they were home free: nothing but wasteland. They stopped dead in their tracks.

"You can't trust anyone these days," Tony scowled. He stood arrogantly, backed up by several of his paramilitary goons.

Bull slunk behind Hayden and Landon. Landon gritted his teeth and stepped forward. He'd had just about enough of this asshole.

"You know what Tony?" He spat angrily, "you're a fucking douchebag."

Tony swayed with discontent. "What makes you think I care what you think?"

Landon and Hayden didn't answer, but instead stared straight back, their gaze untamed and unafraid.

"Kill them all."

The sound of cocking guns boomed like thunder. But death did not come. A tremendous bang shook the earth and a wave of heat washed over them as they were all knocked to the ground.

Ear drums ringing, they pushed their weary bodies up, looking behind them at the stash house, which had burst into a cacophonous inferno.

Tony's jaw dropped. Along with his collection of arms and goods, his prized convertible was also engulfed by the merciless fire. "Go! Go! Put that fire out now!" He ordered his men as he watched all his possessions burn in front of his very eyes.

Hayden and Landon dusted themselves off as the goons raced past.

"What was that?" Bull looked back in shock.

Hayden and Landon traded glances as it dawned on them, "holy fuck! Your cigarette!"

"You two did this?" Tony's words dripped with an oily resentment.

They looked at each other, trying desperately not to burst into laughter.

"I'm going to rip you two to shreds," he stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves. They swallowed hard.

"You ain't gon' do shit." Bull stepped in between them, cracking his obese knuckles.

"Move!" Tony commanded.

"No."

"You stupid fucking," Tony began but was promptly cut off as Bull pushed him back onto the dusty ground.

"I don't wanna be part of your stupid gang anymore," Bull growled. Hayden and Landon wore looks of smug accomplishment as Tony squirmed uncomfortably. Without a weapon, or his men, he certainly wasn't the menacing leader he had been.

"Fine!" He snapped furiously, "Then fucking leave! Leave the wasteland and don't ever come back! If I ever see any of you again, you're all dead! Dead!" He yelled over the crackling of flames.

His curse laden threats didn't end, but they eventually died out as the three jogged to a safe distance. "You heard the man," Hayden chuckled slyly as he patted Bull on the back, "let's get the hell outta here."

Volume 18

Dust laced the wind that swirled and whipped down the unnamed street as they sat on the crumbling curb.

"Are we really going to leave?" Bull asked uncomfortably. They didn't even raise their eyes from the broken, weathered cement beneath their feet.

"Don't have much of a choice do we?" Hayden tweaked his head upwards. He stared into the mid-morning sky. The tumultuous grey clouds had never looked so safe and secure.

"I've never left before..." Bull admitted.

"Me neither."

"Yeah, me neither." Landon's head lay buried in his long slender hands.

There was a moment of serene reverence between them as they sat in the quiet isolation that only the wasteland could offer. It was a shitless place, but it was the only place they'd ever known.

"Honestly, it's all on you man." Hayden looked to Landon.

"Why me?"

"I don't know. You'd probably know best. You like, read books and shit."

"You read books?" Bull was both surprised and impressed.

The weight of their predicament weighed down upon him. "I don't know guys."

"What choices we got?"

"East is the Auburn Sea, north is mountains, south is the Coast, and west... I don't even know... more wasteland?"

"Ugh." Bull summed up their sentiment perfectly.

"Let's just find a bus. It'll take us somewhere. Anywhere."

"As good a plan as any," Hayden approved.

They sat a moment longer in silence, savouring the bleak world that surrounded them.

"Let's get going then," Landon stood to his feet, "Tony's goons are probably looking for us."

Hayden nodded his head solemnly as he too rose up from the ashy ground.

"Guys?" Bull called.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna miss this place."

"Yeah, us too man, us too," Hayden lamented as he helped their friend to his feet.

***

"How much longer till the bus stop," Bull groused.

"Just outta town." Landon pointed down the barren street.

Hayden slowed his pace. "Or we could not take a bus."

"Huh?" Landon and Bull spun around.

Hayden stood, smiling like a jerk, next to a rusted old piece of shit car.

"Bad idea." Landon shook his head.

"Come on man, no one's gonna miss it."

"Just hold on a sec," Bull interrupted loudly, "what the fuck are you two talking about?"

"He wants to steal the car." Landon laid it out straight.

Bull let out a long exhale of understanding as Hayden tip toed his way around the vehicle. He slid his hand under the door handle. It was unlocked. With a smug look on his face, he slithered into the driver's seat. "No way."

"What?" Landon cautiously made his way back to the car.

"Check it out man: the keys are in the freaking ignition! It's just asking to be stolen!"

"Seriously?" Landon peeked inside. He eyed the vehicle up and down, "I don't know. Seems a little weird?"

"Don't be a pussy," Bull roared as he leapt into the back seat of the once burgundy sedan.

Hayden shrugged innocently. He knew damn well Landon was going to jump in. And who was Landon to argue?

Seated uncomfortably in the ratty passenger seat, he stared uneasily out the window as Hayden keyed the ignition, put it into gear and gunned it down the uneven street.

"Damn, this car is some heavy," Hayden complained as he muscled it into third gear.

They were barely out of town and the vehicle continued to fish tail violently, kicking up massive dust clouds in its wake. Hayden grimaced as he struggled to control the car, its bald tires bouncing over every bump the wasteland had to offer.

"You want me to drive?" Landon dug his nails deep into the arm rest.

"Shut up." Hayden was in no mood. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the dancing wheel. It was no use. He spun out. "Fuck it. You drive." Hayden grumbled under his breath as he shoved open the driver's side door and stormed out of the car. Calmly, and rather smugly, Landon exited his side and rounded his way to the driver's seat.

Hayden crossed his arms over his chest as he stared bitterly out the passenger window. Landon adjusted the mirror and keyed the ignition.

He started off slow and steady, but it was no use. The overburdened tires shimmied across the broken earth as the steering wheel went ape shit under his tightly gripped fingers. The vehicle spun out in dramatic fashion and Landon let the car stall.

"Ha!" Hayden slammed his fist on the dashboard, "you didn't even last a goddamn minute!"

"Fine. You were right. It's really weighed down. But by what?"

"Maybe there's something in the trunk?" Bull noted casually as he stretched his large frame over the back seat.

They all stopped and sat as the symphony of grey dust settled around them. Landon and Hayden traded long glances as their brains put together the pieces. Wasteland town, lone, unlocked car, keys in ignition: what the hell was in the trunk?

They burst out of the car, keys in hand, leaving a befuddled Bull to clamour after them.

"I wish you guys would let me know what the fuck you're doing sometimes!"

Landon ignored him as he jammed the key into the trunk, lifting it up.

They peered anxiously inside. The trunk was overflowing with brick sized, duct-taped packages.

"What the fuck is that?" Bull leaned in closer.

"Fortune." Landon smiled heartily.
Part Two

Volume 19

They stared into the open trunk. Tightly duct-taped parcels lined the inside. Landon had a pretty good idea what it was. Reaching out, he pried open one of the edges. An off-white powder spilled out. Stepping back, he wiped his hands. Yup, he was right.

Hayden leaned in to take a closer look. "Looks like flour." Before Landon could stop him, he took a deep whiff. As it shot up his nasal passage and into his brain, he fell back onto the coarse ground. "Nope, not flour," he coughed and wheezed as he desperately tried to wipe his nose.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Landon shouted in disbelief.

"I don't feel so good." The dark sky above danced around him tauntingly as he struggled to keep his balance. "What the hell is that?"

"It's heroin. Dumbass."

"Oh shit." His pupils dilated as he slipped further and further from reality.

"Get him into the car," Landon instructed Bull as he slammed the trunk closed.

Bull stuffed Hayden under his arm and tossed him into the back before diving into the passenger seat. "Heroin is a drug right?" Bull peered seriously at Landon.

"Yeah," he stared forward as he took the driver's seat, "and that's a shitload back there."

"What are we going to do with it?"

"Sell it." His eyes glazed over with fantasies of profit.

"Sell it? Where?"

"The Coast. It'll be worth a fortune there."

"The Coast?" Bull's response was laced with trepidation. Landon keyed the ignition, and carefully put it into gear. The worn tires and busted suspension made for an uneasy ride.

"How the hell are we going to get to the Coast in this piece of shit?" Bull asked.

"Slowly," Landon chuckled. Dreams of cold hard drug money danced in front of his eyes.

"Guys... I... am... really... fucked up," Hayden sputtered from the backseat.

"Okay. Maybe too slowly," Landon groaned.

***

After hours of vomiting, the shivering had subsided and Hayden lay peacefully asleep in the backseat of the junky car. Landon rubbed his weary eyes. God knows how long they'd been driving for.

Yawning, Bull peered sleepily out the window at their surroundings, as the first visible signs of the Coast began to appear. "What the fuck is that?" He asked bluntly as he stared up at a blinding light that peeked through the clouds.

"I think it's the sun." Landon himself wasn't entirely sure. It was something he'd only ever read about.

"Sun?"

"Yeah, the thing beyond the clouds."

"I didn't know there was anything beyond the clouds."

The dusty, weathered ground of the wasteland slowly gave way to darker, moister earth. The first weed that sprouted upwards looked so foreign and alien to their eyes, but it wasn't long until vegetation surrounded them.

The brilliant hue of the sun cast golden shadows over the tangled brush as the brown earth was replaced by flat concrete. Though cracked and filled with potholes, the endless pavement blessed the weary travellers with a ride smoother than the wasteland had given them.

Landon eyed the fuel tank. It was getting low. He stopped the car. "I need to piss."

Bull leaned back into his uncomfortably stiff seat as Landon disappeared behind a tree. Looking sideways through the window at the dense greenery beyond, something caught his eye. He stepped out of the car and began to move into the hot, humid jungle. Pushing aside branches and leaves, his pace quickened as his curiosity grew.

Then he stopped.

His eyes washed over the spectacle before him. An ancient building, the size and grandeur of which he had never seen, towered in front of him. Overgrown and dilapidated, the grey structure reached ten stories into the sky. It was empty and hollow, like a dead tree, but life had moved on without it, as roots and vines strangled its moulding exterior. Like pores on the back of a toad, vacant windows lined its surface in an orderly and proportioned manner.

"Wow." Landon stepped beside Bull, both equally unable to describe the sensory overload they were experiencing.

"This place fucking creeps me out," was the best Bull could come up with.

"Well, it's not the wasteland, that's for sure."

"Nope, it sure isn't," he paused, his eyes glued to the ruins, "and why the hell is it so damn... wet?!" He picked at his shirt, which clung to his body like shrink wrap in the overbearing humidity.

"No idea," Landon shrugged, "come on, let's go, we need to find some gas. We're running on fumes."

Still in awe of this bizarre new world, they trooped back to the car. Sputtering along the ever narrowing streets, the remnants of a once grand city became visible as more and more towering ruins dotted the dense jungle.

The buildings may have been from a time long past, but they were far from forgotten. Shanties sprung up inside and out of the ruins, as well as in the shade of trees and nestled under gargantuan roots. The further they pressed on the denser the jungle got and the more people they saw living in its cloistered embrace.

Lanterns dangling above and banners waving in the midday heat adorned every rocky crevasse and wilted branch. Children swung from the canopies above and shirtless men smoked cigarettes from the doorways of their makeshift homes. Landon swallowed hard. Where had he taken them?

Then the car gave out.

Volume 20

They puttered to a stop. Landon flicked the fuel gage. Nada. "Shit."

"No gas?" Bull asked.

"Nope."

"So what we gon' do?"

"Find some," Landon shrugged. He had hoped they'd be able to dip their toes into this foreign new world, but, of course, they were being forced to dive in head first.

"You want me to wait here with the car?" Bull offered.

Landon pondered the options, but peering outside at the chaos around them, he quickly made up his mind. "Nah, you can come with me. Besides, Hayden will look after it."

"Hayden?" Bull glanced at their shoeless friend.

"He'll be fine."

Exiting the vehicle, he stood up straight, stretching his back as he adjusted the spectacles that sat on his nose. "Hey buddy," he nudged Hayden as he leaned into the back seat, "we'll be right back, just sit tight and don't go anywhere."

There was no response.

"Let's go, hopefully there'll be a gas pump nearby."

"Yeah hopefully."

Bull continued to pick at his sweat soaked clothes as they walked down the cracked pavement. It quickly became apparent that navigating the Coast alone was a pretty bad idea. They needed directions.

An old man with a worn, longing face, sat crouched at the side of the road. They approached casually. The pungent odour of incense filled the air and several dusty pictures adorned the outside of his shanty.

"You know where we can find some gas?"

The old, shirtless man lifted his finger, pointing down the road. Wasn't quite the details they were hoping for, but it worked.

They left without a word of thanks. The old man coughed. A younger man emerged from inside the aluminum roofed shack. He leaned in close, his ear within inches of the old man's mouth. "Tell the Boss. They're here."

Their pace was unhurried as they soaked in their surroundings. The swelteringly thick tangle of derelict buildings and cleverly twisting flora was punctuated with the most disenfranchised of humanity. Accenting the pulsing, living jungle was the medley of howling monkeys, screeching birds, chortling trucks and the ever honking of car horns.

"What a mess," Landon's head spun as he took it all in. But they had just scratched the surface. Strolling beneath an obscenely large banner, the words 'camp 23' spray painted across it, they soon discovered just how much of a mess this place really was.

It was the people that took them by surprise. The sheer multitude of people was unlike anything they'd ever seen in the wasteland. Cooking, sweeping, herding, driving, eating, bathing, gambling, drinking, laughing, playing, and gossiping: it was a cacophony of human presence.

"Are we really going to live here?" Bull spoke in a hushed voice.

Landon had no answer.

Spotting the closest thing to a canteen he could see, Bull halted. A plastic table under a dingy blue tarp, hardly what he was used to, but it would do. "Let's get a drink."

"No. We need to get the gas."

"I need a drink," Bull reiterated adamantly.

"You go then," Landon just didn't have the energy to argue, "But for the love of god, don't go anywhere. I'll come for you after I get the gas."

"Take your time!" Bull didn't waste a second, his burly frame jogging awkwardly through the patchwork traffic.

Landon carried on, alone. Somehow he figured it would end up this way. He sighed. Still no sign of a gas pump. Crisscrossing through the ever increasing jumble of commuters, he came across an open air market. The merchandise that crammed the tiny stalls that lined the craggy earth beneath the trees was yet another sight that astonished him. Distracted by the rows upon rows of used televisions, vegetables stacked six feet high and fresh cut meat, he had to give his head a shake. Gas. He was looking for gas, and this looked as good a place as any to re-ask for directions.

Then he paused. He had noticed them a while back, but he wasn't entirely sure. Weaving erratically between stalls, he stopped again. They remained. He was being followed. Two jerks had been trailing him since before he parted with Bull. Gas was important, but he needed to lose these goons.

He looked for a quick exit: an empty lane, a moving crowd, a loading bus, anything. But every move he made, they shadowed effortlessly. This was their world. He cursed under his breath. They were probably no more than lousy muggers, preying on an obvious outsider.

To make matters worse, they were closing in.

Darting behind a high pile of marble slabs, he looked about. A crowd of robed men pushed their way through the market. Their chants lifted into the sky alongside the fragrant plumes of the incense they carried. Bingo.

Landon pushed through the peddlers and hagglers till he could nestle his way into the group of marching faithful.

One of them paused, their eyes gracing Landon.

"Got room for one more?" He smiled awkwardly.

The monk returned the smile, and with great warmth responded, "The loving grace of the Esper showers upon us all."

Landon didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about, but he really didn't care. Accepting a stick of incense, he slipped away. The troupe of religious worshippers had provided the perfect cover.

Volume 21

Pulsing, hypnotic chants surrounded Landon as he moved in unison with the crowd of devoted followers. Their calm disposition put him at ease as they meandered through the narrow streets. The sun was beginning to set. The wispy smoke of lit incense rose into the brilliant colours of the evening sky. It was tranquil, yet powerful.

The robed men were the devout followers of a living goddess. Their words were filled with praise and reverence. It didn't make much sense to him.

Quietly, he slowed his pace and separated himself from the group. He watched as they disappeared into the hazy distance. Then it dawned on him: It was nearly nightfall and he had absolutely no idea where he was.

Stepping over a stream that ran between cracked blocks of cement, he made his way to two men playing cards. "You guys know where I can find some gas?"

One of them looked up, his bull frog eyes taking Landon by surprise. "Jus' down th' steet." The man's friend only smiled crookedly.

"Thanks." He spoke with trepidation. They gave him the creeps.

Sure enough, several minutes away was a lone gas pump standing on oil stained pavement. People came and went and vehicles meandered past but no one seemed to be tending to it. He looked around curiously. Just behind the pump an aluminum door had been attached to the crumbling ruin of a much larger building. He knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again.

"What?" A short man with scraggly hair cautiously peered out.

"Is this gas pump yours?"

"Yes."

"Oh good," Landon exhaled, "can I get some gas?"

"No."

Landon's brow furrowed. "No?"

"Closed. Wait till morning."

"Look, it's a bit of an emergency, you see, my car ran out of..."

"Closed till morning." And he slammed the door shut, the sound of a lock and chain echoing in the night air.

Landon's lip curled. What an asshole. He couldn't wait till morning. But he couldn't not wait either. He didn't even know where he was. Back against the wall, he slid to a crouch on the ground. This was not going well at all.

***

"Get up."

A foot nudged his ribs. Landon shot awake. The crow of roosters echoed through the muted violets of the early morning. His neck ached; it hadn't been a good sleep. His glasses had fogged up again. He rubbed them clean then stared up at the two men who towered over him.

Shit. They found him.

"You think you can get away from us? In our camp?" Wiry hair pinned back in a ponytail, the lanky goon picked at his teeth with his finger nails. His partner was chubbier, shorter, uglier and blissfully unaware of it.

"I'm just trying to find some gas." He played coy.

"Yeah, whatever. Boss is waiting for his shit."

"Boss? Shit? What are you talking about?" His heart leapt. He had a pretty good idea.

"Don't be smart now. Just give us our shit and fuck off back to wherever the hell you came from."

Landon sighed. There were two of them and one of him. With his back literally against a wall, they cornered him. He wasn't much of a fighter anyway.

"Where's our dope?" They insisted again.

"I don't know. I'm lost."

The lanky one reached for his gun.

"Relax!" Landon bolted to his feet, "I'm seriously lost. Take me back to where you started following me yesterday, and I should be able to find it. Then you can have your stuff." He winced; his back throbbed along with his neck.

They grunted. Landon dusted himself off and followed them through the dense streets. Even at such an ungodly hour, everything was alive. Birds chirped, bakers prepared their goods, and vendors began to set up their stalls.

He'd hoped to lose them again, but no luck. Flanking him front and back, they were smarter than they looked.

Obviously, some big shit wanted his dope. The car must have been waiting for someone to take it here. He should have known. But, he stole it fair and square, and he wasn't ready to give up on it just yet. But how was he going to shake these two goons?

Hayden. Hayden was still with the car.

"Here. This is where we found you yesterday." They stopped, looking unimpressed at their surroundings.

It did look familiar. "This way." He took the lead. Peering back over his shoulder he remembered Bull. He'd sure come in handy about now.

"Where is it? You better not be screwing around with us," the fat goon groused.

"Relax, it's just up ahead." He reassured them. These guys were getting on his nerves. Hopefully Hayden was functional. He needed his help getting these two clowns under control.

They rounded the final corner, where the car would be awaiting them. Except that it wasn't.

"Are you fucking with us?"

"What?" Landon's eyes grew wide.

The sound of a cocking gun ricocheted off the foliage overhead.

"It was seriously there! It ran out of gas right there!" He pointed frantically at an empty patch of road.

They grabbed his arms tightly, "well, we'll see if that's the same tale you spin for the Boss."

Volume 22

Landon obstinately glared forward as he spat a wad of blood onto the earthy ground.

"We'll ask you one more time..."

"And I'll tell you one more time... I don't know what happened to it." He leaned forward in his chair, his hands tied behind his back. Blood trickled down his face - and mixing with sweat - dripped off his chin. Bound, beaten and panting like a dog: he was really starting to hate it here.

The pug faced cohort that hadn't said much before let his meaty fists do the talking now. "Squeal like a piggy." He was a sadistic prick. Landon found that out the hard way.

"Fuck you."

The lanky goon stepped forward, the muzzle of his AK-47 burrowing into Landon's temple.

"Don't miss," Landon taunted. The henchman scowled sourly, wanting dearly to send a slug into the bandit's head.

"Wait. Stop." A voice lifted from the shadows. A balding man stepped forward, his pot belly protruding from his unbuttoned shirt. A motion of his hand was all it took and Landon's tormentors backed off. It didn't take a genius to figure out who he was.

"You really don't know what happened to my shit?" The Boss crouched down next to him. Landon shook his head. "You want me to tell you?"

"Sure."

"You sold my shit - behind my back - to the highest bidder, and now you're playing dumb." He tugged at Landon's chin, making sure their eyes locked.

"No."

"No?"

"I said; I don't know what happened to it."

"Then why the fuck does that asshole over at Camp 17 have my fucking shit!?" Spit flew onto Landon's face as the Boss yelled furiously.

And that's when it hit him. Hayden must have sold it. That fucking no-good scum bag sold their shit behind his back, and now he was paying the price for it. "I didn't sell it to anyone," he spoke sternly.

"Then why do they have it and not me?"

"It must have got jacked when I went to look for gas."

"If that's the case, then you should have been more careful, no?" His condescending gaze worked his way into Landon's weary mind.

"Shit happens."

The Boss scowled then took a step back, staring up through the cracks in the stone roof. He let out a slow, patient laugh. "You know what kid? I like you."

Landon said nothing.

"I'll tell you what. I'll give you the chance to get square with me."

"If I don't take it?"

"The guy with the AK, yeah, he'll kill you right now," he answered casually.

What a choice. "What do you want me to do?"

"You're going to go get my dope back."

***

The truck bobbed up and down as it sped over potholes and between narrow alleys. The hot sun beat down on him as he vehemently studied the slums that passed him by. But it was no use. The Coast was too vast; it's crooked streets too complex and its density too over bearing for Landon to memorize their route with a single glance.

He sighed heavily as he removed his glasses, wiping the condensation from the lenses. He couldn't even jump ship; the two guys with AK's made sure of that. He was being used: send the outsider into rival territory, steal some drugs, and no one's the wiser. Stupid Hayden. As usual, it was all his fault.

The truck screeched to a halt.

"This is as far we go."

Landon looked from the armed gangsters to the tangled web of shanty's that lay before them. "The stash house should be through there," the goon pointed to an opening in the slums.

"You gonna give me a gun?" Landon asked hopefully.

"No."

It was worth a try.

"We'll wait for you. Don't be long."

Landon grumbled under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow as he darted across a busy intersection. Find the car, make sure the dope is in the trunk, and get it out of there. Shouldn't be too hard, seeing as he still had the keys. Though somehow, he feared, it wouldn't be that easy.

A giant cement wall rose up on one side of him as he walked down the loose gravel pathway. Ramshackle houses jostled for space on top of gigantic tree roots and between crumbling ruins. He only wished he was here under different circumstances. Oh, the stories these walls could tell. Unlike the wasteland, thousands of years of human history, the good and the bad, were cloaked in the veiled secrecy of the towering trees and zinc roofs.

A gun cocked.

"Where are you going?" Two armed men stepped out from behind a car sized boulder.

"This way," Landon pointed forward.

They looked at each other, then back at Landon. "There's nothin' there for you."

"I never said there was." Touché. Landon lucked out. They weren't too bright, and the fact that they were patrolling was a good sign he was on the right track. "I'm just passing through," he added.

"Who are you?" They stuttered.

"Just a bandit lost in the jungle."

Again, they traded blank stares, unsure of what to do. They looked him over. He didn't look like too much trouble. "Fine. Hurry on through."

Volume 23

He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he tread the dense slums of Camp 17. In all honesty, it looked no different than Camp 23, and why they were even called Camps, he wasn't sure. It was a strange place. There was little time to ponder its oddities as he had a mission, and judging by the red hues of the setting sun, precious little time to do it.

A group of children kicked an empty soup can around the narrow walkway.

"Mister!" One of the children yelled out as Landon squeezed past. He ignored them. "Play with us!" Another yelled.

"Uh, no thanks," he tried to shoo them away as he kept his pace.

"Come on!" They chanted in unison as they formed a crowd behind him. Landon gritted his teeth. This was exactly the kind of attention he didn't want.

"No," he reiterated as he brushed past..

Letting out a collective sigh of disappointment, they quickly returned to their game of kick-the-can. He shook his head as he carried on. Children in the wasteland didn't have time to play games; they were more preoccupied with surviving. As the sun raced towards the horizon and darkness began its slow march over the jungle slums, he knew he was running out of time.

His task was simple enough. Get the car. Get out. Every corner he turned, he expected to see the rusting piece of shit car sitting idle, awaiting his arrival. But, he did not. A murmur of voices stopped him in his tracks. Quickly, he ducked behind a pile of discarded tires. Peering over the stacked rubber, he watched as two more armed guards made their rounds. He had to be close now.

Once he was sure they were gone, he started off again, this time with a quickened pace.

He nearly walked right past, but something caught his eye. It wasn't the car. It was a house, a real house; not a crumbling ruin or a sloppily built shanty. It was a simple enough structure: four cement walls, one doorway and several windows. It looked far more like the buildings he was used to seeing in the wasteland, and here, amongst the chaotic mess of jungle, ruins and slums, it stuck out like a sore thumb. Curious, he tip toed up to the open doorway.

He peered inside and his eyes grew large. This was what all those men had been guarding. Stacks of guns, contraband and most importantly, duct-taped bricks of heroin, packed the square room. They must have ditched the car. Made sense, seeing as it had no gas.

His stomach lurched. His plan, his only plan: snag the car and get the hell outta here, was no longer going to fly. The man with a plan needed a new plan, fast.

The children's playful yells echoed through the cloistered slum. He smiled widely: he had a plan.

"Hey kids," Landon flashed a toothy insincere grin as he stood leaning against a worn aluminum wall, "want to play a game?"

They excitedly rushed up to him. "This way," he carefully led them back to the stash house. He'd watched the guards for a short while, and though it wasted precious time, he had a good idea of how long he had before they'd return. It wasn't long.

"We aren't supposed to be here," the kids mused.

"It's okay, it's just for a game right?" He played them with enthusiasm.

"What kind of game?"

"A very fun, very secret game," Landon emphasized as he explained, "you see these here," he lifted a brick of heroin, "you have to hide these in your shirt, then take them all the way out of the camp to the nice men in the truck. The guys with guns will try to ask you what you're doing, but if you tell them, you lose."

"If we get past them, we win?"

"Correct!" Landon had won them over, "now quickly, here, hide these under your shirts." He began to stuff the grey, taped packages under their loose fitting clothes. "Go! Go!" he pushed them forward.

Walking smugly back out of Camp 17, he strolled past the armed guards.

"Hey! You again? Where are you going?"

"I got lost. Turns out I was going the wrong way," Landon faked a chuckle.

"I don't know..." They stared him up and down, but their attention was quickly stolen away by a child running past. "What the hell are those kids up to? That's like the seventh kid I've seen."

Landon smiled.

"Hey! Kid!" The guard reached out and snatched one of the passing children. The kid's eyes grew large with the disappointment of being caught. Landon's smile quickly faded. Then, his heart dropped as a brick of heroin slid out of the kid's shirt and onto the ground. "What the hell?" The guard leaned over and picked it up.

"Oh no mister!" The kid looked directly at Landon, "don't say I lost! I'll go back and get another."

The guards turned to face Landon, who could do little but bury his face in his palm. "You son of a..." Guns were drawn and fingers were racing to triggers.

Landon leapt past them, bolting through the tangle of shanties as gunshots rang out behind him. He didn't dare look back.

There was a great deal of yelling, as an inevitable alarm was sounded and heavy feet rushed after him, but he heard none of it. The pounding of his own heart was all that filled his ears. Emerging from Camp 17, he bounded across the bustling street and dove into the back of the truck, where the Camp 23 guys were still loading up the goods from the kids.

"Get the fuck outta here!" He was barely able to spit out.

"You heard the man," they gave the order and the truck was off. A dozen men emerged from the slum, shooting wildly after them, but it was of no use: they were gone.

Landon lay flat on his back, staring up at the passing night sky, trying to catch his breath. "I hate this place."

Volume 24

Bull sat impatiently on the crooked stool. It wasn't much of a bar. It wasn't even really a canteen. Several pieces of plywood were hastily fastened together and covered by a slanted blue tarp. A lone plastic table stood on the uneven earth. It would have to do. "Beer."

"No beer," the bartender shook his head, "moonshine's all we serve."

"Shine'll do." He relaxed into the dirty plastic chair.

The bartender, wearing a grizzled wife-beater, placed the dusty glass on the table: no ice, just straight. It was more akin to battery acid than whiskey, but it did the trick. Three glasses on, the bartender grew tired of making the trip to the table, and just left the bottle.

Powering through it, Bull sat watching the eclectic mix of passersby as he waited for Landon to fetch him. Only, Landon didn't show. His brute frame and solid face would never show it, but he felt a pang of abandonment shoot to his core, one he was far too familiar with.

The bottle was empty and the sun was beginning to set. He stood to his feet, swaying as the liquid gold squeezed its rough hands around his tired mind.

"You gon' pay for that there bottle?" The bartender barked.

Bull looked at the bottle then at the bartender. He was a pretty skinny guy.

"I asked you a question!"

Bull coughed as he staggered towards the disheveled barkeep, whose mean mug aggravated the obscenely drunk young man. His response was direct and to the point: a sucker punch to the face, and a slow, stumbling exit.

Landon hadn't come for him and he was way too drunk to find his way back to the car. So, he wandered around aimlessly. The smell of spices and dishes foreign to him wafted past in the twilight. His stomach grumbled. Hunger was a terrible mate.

As the chaotic slums circled and spun around him, he began to hum along to a tune that drifted past. The distant chant grew louder and Bull found himself drawn to its rhythmic beat. A group of men, dressed in funny clothes, plodded through the streets, singing and yelling all in a mumbling unison. It all looked slightly silly to Bull, who smiled as he watched them approach.

His eyes began to droop as he staggered slightly.

"Are you okay there brother?" One of them men approached him cautiously. He failed to respond, his liquor tainted mind fading in and out. "Brother?" More of the robed men gathered around. Bull stared at them, their presence pulsing in front of his eyes. Then, falling face first, he passed out.

***

"Brother, brother," a warm, friendly voice echoed in the dark.

Bull struggled to open his eyes. His head felt like it was being pounded with a mallet.

"Ah, there you are," the monk mused as Bull peered cautiously around.

"What the fuck is going on?" He groaned.

"I'm afraid you had too much to drink yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Bull sat up, but quickly wished he hadn't. His mind rummaged through the events of the previous day. He couldn't remember anything after that terrible hooch. Then he remembered it was the entire bottle of terrible hooch. "Who are you?"

"We are the devout: the children of the goddess of innocence and virtue, as are you."

"Uhm," Bull had no clue what they were talking about, "Okay then." He peered around, hoping the man would stop talking. He sat on the ground of a small makeshift room. Plywood and tin rose up around him, a large sheet of zinc serving as a roof.

"Come, you must be hungry," the monk smiled as he exited the narrow doorway. Bull's eyes lit up. He was two things for certain: hung over and hungry. At least these kooks were addressing one of them. He stood to his feet and his toes curled: they were bare. He stared down at his very shoeless feet, trying to remember if he'd lost them the night before.

"Ah, your shoes are outside. We don't wear them in the temple," the monk smiled, as if reading his mind.

Fair enough. He followed the monk out of the room, into the large hall of the ruined building. There was no roof, and the late afternoon sun shone brightly through the branches of trees above. The weathered bricks that made up the outer walls were all adorned by elaborately painted tapestries. A pantheon of lit candles were the only things that stood between the tapestries and chanting monks. Their hymns and the pungent aroma of incense filled the large space. "This way," the monk smiled, guiding him out of the main hall and into a much smaller room.

A single, wooden picnic table sat in the center. He took a seat and waited as several monks served him. Now this was the life. He looked at the deep plate set in front of him. It was easily the most colourful food he'd ever seen: purple hued rice and a plethora of vegetables swimming in a bright red sauce. The monks paid him no attention as he studied the strange new food.

He took a bite. It tasted pretty good. But, wait. His tongue went numb instantly and an odd sensation spread from his throat to the rest of his mouth. Beads of sweat appeared instantly on his forehead: his mouth was on fire.

Standing to his feet, he shouted profanities as he ran around like a mad man, searching for something, anything to take away the burning. The monks peered nervously at each other, taken completely aback by his outburst.

Rushing out of the room and back into the main hall, he desperately searched for relief. He found it in the form of water, sitting still and serene in a shallow pool. Dunking his head inside, he lapped up the water till the inferno subsided.

Exhaling in relief he looked up. Every monk present stared angrily at him. "What the hell is wrong with you? Who eats that kind of food?!" Bull yelled between exasperated pants.

They said nothing.

"Seriously..." he paused, "You guys okay?"

"One cannot simply drink the holiest of waters... The tears of the goddess."

"Huh?" He looked down at the pool, "Oh... Oops."

Volume 25

"Stupid crazy people," Bull groused as he meandered through the slums of Camp 23. "Tears of the goddess? What a load of crap. How am I supposed to know? They were the ones that gave me such stupid spicy food..." he continued grumbling angrily beneath his breath.

Kicked out by freaking monks: how brutal.

Now if only he could find the car, or Landon, or even Hayden. He stopped in his tracks, peering perilously around at the constantly moving, constantly noisy tangle of human refuge. The chances of him finding anything here didn't look good.

"Hey, stranger!" A voice called out.

He looked to his side. Three toothless old men sat around an overturned barrel. "What do you want?"

"You're from the wasteland ain't cha?"

"Yup." He had no reason to lie.

"You're lost as hell huh?" The old men laughed.

"Yup." Again, no reason to lie.

They chuckled amongst each other, obviously at his expense. Bull tightened his fist. He didn't like their attitude.

"You want to drink with us?" They offered, lifting a shot glass of homemade hooch as they cleared a space for him.

"Hell yeah," Bull smiled and joined them.

The hot sweaty day came to an end as the sun said its final farewell and the moon and stars took their place in the heavens. Bull leaned back, stretching his muscular arms behind his head. "So you mean to tell me that water just magically falls from the sky here?" He slurred.

"It ain't magic boy, it's just rain," the old man tried to explain.

"I don't buy it." Bull was drunk as hell. So were the old guys, one was even passed out, but considering how much they drank, he was pretty impressed. They turned out to be pretty fun. The coast was a hell of a place: it smelled bad, it was too sticky, too hot and it made his head hurt. But, everyone he met was pretty friendly. It wasn't that bad after all. If only Hayden and Landon were here with him.

He knew he should probably go and find them.

"Uh, I should get going," he wobbled to his feet.

"So soon?" The old man grinned, rattling yet another bottle of moonshine in his frail old hand.

Bull was tempted. But he needed to find his friends. "Nah, I gotta go."

"One more shot!" The old man shouted vivaciously as his comrade pounded the table. Bull conceded, took one more shot then went on his way.

Swaying like a reed in the early night breeze, he made his way through the dark streets. He couldn't focus his vision, and aside from the occasional flickering lantern, there was nothing to light his way. He wasn't going to find anything.

He wandered, for how long, he didn't even know. He must have gone deep into the sprawling shanties, as it was far darker and a lot less lively. Aside from the clanking of dishes and the distant honking of horns there was little noise. The only light was the half hidden moon that graced everything with a touch of silver.

He considered passing out right there in the street, but stopped suddenly as silent shadows danced across the mismatched walls. His intoxicated mind didn't think fast enough and rather than duck out of the way, he merely stood, staring forward like an idiot.

The shadows also stopped. Rounding a corner and standing directly in front of him, were half a dozen men with some seriously heavy artillery. The sound of guns cocking echoed in the night. The men quickly moved into formation around the burly young man.

"Don't shoot," Bull slurred lazily as he half-heartedly lifted his hands into the air.

"One question. You answer quick. You answer wrong, you die." One of the armed men commanded. Bull tilted his head: damn guy with the gun was talking too fast. "The Boss send you?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Bull took a step forward. His movement wasn't welcomed as their trigger fingers tightened considerably. "What the fuck is going on? I don't even know where I am."

"You take us for fools?"

"Honestly, you do look kind of stupid, sneaking through the dark with those big ass guns, I mean, what? You think people can't see you? I saw you and I'm plastered."

The men looked at each other, shocked by his brutal, fearless honesty. "You're not from around here... are you?"

"Nope. But I'm guessing you're not either."

"We should shoot him now. We can't risk it," one of the men retorted suddenly.

"Man, shut the fuck up," Bull took another step forward. Again their fingers drew ever closer to firing, the muzzles of their guns never leaving Bull's chest.

"Well," the leader of the group dropped his weapon, "what would you propose we do?"

"Tell you what," Bull swayed slightly, "I'll keep going that way, and you keep sneaking around, or whatever the hell you're doing."

"Try again."

Bull grimaced. It was going to take a little more to get out of this one. "I'll go with you."

"With us?"

"Sure, I ain't got shit else to do anyways."

The men traded glances, trying desperately to read each other's expressions in the scant moonlight.

"Fine. But one fuck up, and we shoot you. Got it?"

"Got it."

They lowered their weapons and quickly crept back into the shadows where Bull joined them. His vision wavered as they silently hurried through the dark maze of Camp 23. "Where the hell are we going anyways?" Bull whispered.

"To get our dope back."

Volume 26

The gunmen worked their way through Camp 23 with tactical precision. Bull struggled to keep pace. Still incredibly drunk, he trailed behind.

"Keep up," one of them hissed.

He scowled gingerly, nearly tripping over a discarded tire. The group's captain signaled for them to stop. Quickly, they filed behind a tall brick wall. "We're close. Stay tight. Don't fire your gun unless absolutely necessary."

Bull nodded without really knowing why. What a freaking buzz kill. He was no genius, but it seemed he'd stumbled into some kind of turf warfare. Lucky him.

Several hand motions followed, none of which made any sense to him, and they were off again. Rounding the wall, they fell into single file. The smell of fragrant spices filled the night air as they crept underneath the roots of a towering tree.

Like dancing shadows, they moved with finesse through the darkness. They stopped again. Bull caught up, and breathing heavily, looked over their shoulders. Two scraggly teens with AK's draped around their necks meandered past. The Captain cocked his gun quietly, his finger gently moving over the trigger. He hoped desperately he wouldn't fire. One gunshot and getting their dope back was going to be a whole lot tougher. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck as the patrollers moved closer.

Bull sighed and stepped forward. "I got this." Sauntering out of the darkness, he caught the guard's attention.

"Hey! Who the hell are you!?" They jumped back, hands fumbling for their guns.

"I'm just lost and..." he began with the fake excuse but grew tired of it mid-sentence, "ah never mind." He concluded with a thunderous fist to his face. Before his partner could retaliate, the captain emerged from the shadows, knocking the thin youth down with the butt of his gun.

"Not bad," the captain commented on Bull's drunken assertiveness.

"Can I have a gun now?"

"No."

Bull grimaced. His cohorts rushed passed, quickening their pace.

They slipped under poorly draped barbed wire, emerging in front of the remnants of a fourteen story apartment. One side of the ancient building crumbled away; as if the fires of time had melted half of it clean off. Lanterns lit the windows inside the towering ruin, illuminating the palm trees that bunched together at its sides. The Captain's jaw tightened as he stared upwards. "Top floor."

Bull didn't like where this was going. Perfect time to slip away? Wrong. "I don't think so," the Captain placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You're coming with me." His only response was an unimpressed snarl. "Alright boys," he turned to his men, "let's raise some hell."

With a swift wave of the hand, they were off. Two dropped back into the foliage surrounding the building: cover. Bull and the Captain trailed. Their silent footsteps garnered no attention as they bounded through an open clearing. Darkness cloaked their movements, but they all knew it wouldn't last much longer.

Five men sat around a lamp lit table. They were mere feet from the buildings entrance, but it was clear they were far more preoccupied with their game of cards than their job. By the time they heard the gunmen coming, it was too late. The Captains men let off several well placed rounds, and the table was cleared. The shots reverberated throughout the muggy night.

Then, shit really hit the fan.

Armed men poured out of the lobby, letting off heavy fire into the dark night. The Captains men in the bush clearly had the advantage though, as their targets were well illuminated. Their cover was enough to get them into the Lobby. Ducking behind a cement pillar, they waited patiently as the guards wasted their ammunition.

The Captain motioned several of his men to act as decoys. They rounded the room to the opposite side, drawing much of the fire. Waiting for the perfect moment, the Captain, one of his men and Bull darted for the stairwell. They crashed through, toppling the guards that lay on the other side. They scrambled frantically up the stairs as the gunfire below them continued. Halfway up, a young man stood, quivering uncontrollably, handgun pointed at them. "I'll shoot."

Bull, who for all this muscle, wasn't in the greatest shape, leaned over, panting for air. His movement startled the boy, who pushed the gun at him. Bull looked up. "What you gonna do?"

The young man pulled the trigger. The gun jammed. His eyes grew wide with fear.

Like a bolt of lightning, Bull punched the nervous man out cold. "No one tries to shoot me."

The Captain chuckled. The gunshots below became muffled and distant as they hustled their way to the top. Clearing the final set of stairs they stood at the landing, a heavy steel door the last obstacle in their way.

Bull lowered his shoulder and smashed through the door. He was starting to have some fun. But half a dozen guns awaited them on the other side. The Captain and his man pointed them back. Both sides remained tense and unmoving. A classic standoff.

"Bull?" A familiar voice called out.

Bull peered past the gun barrels. "Landon?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Landon stepped forward.

"Him. He's the one." The Captain's man identified Landon and his outstretched gun changed direction, landing its sights directly on him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bull turned to the Captain. "He didn't do anything."

Landon shifted uneasily.

"He just took what was his." The Boss piped up. Cigar smoke fluttered up from his nose as he remained sitting at the back of the room.

"Man, I am way too drunk for this," Bull rubbed his face.

"I took what was ours," Landon reassured him.

"You stole our dope," the Captain pressed.

"It's my dope. It was in the trunk of my car." Landon sneered. He was sick and tired of being played the fool.

"Then how'd they get it?" Bull asked, struggling to follow.

"Hayden sold us out. He sold it behind our backs."

"He did?" Disappointment laced his voice.

"The hell I did," Hayden remarked indignantly as he entered the room.

Volume 27

His shirt clung to him like shrink wrap and sweat poured down his neck as he slowly drifted into consciousness. He stared up at the stained fabric of the car's ceiling. His head pounded and his empty stomach gurgled loudly. It was like the world's worst hangover.

Hayden propped himself up on his elbow. How the hell anyone could get addicted to heroin was beyond him. It was without a doubt the most god-awful experience of his already less than stellar life.

"Hey guys," the words clawed their way out of his dry throat. There was no response. Rubbing his eyes, he peered into the front seat. It was empty. He couldn't look outside; everything was all foggy. He rubbed his eyes again. It was the windows, not his eyes.

The door was a bitch to open, so he put his shoulder into it. First try: no luck. Second try: he tumbled out of the car and onto the ground outside. He stared up into the sky above. Only it wasn't grey. It was blue. And it was bright.

Nervously, he clamoured to his feet. His body froze as he took in the vibrant, colourful world that surrounded him. Towering trees, lush vegetation, overgrown cement roads, crumbling brick walls and sloppily formed shanties crowded every inch of his vision. It was all quite overwhelming.

"Landon?" He called out. "Bull?"

Eyes wide he stepped forward into the bustling madness. "Am I still on drugs?" He patted his cheek with his palm, as if he might just wake up from a silly, overly-realistic dream. He did not. A smog-spewing motorbike laid on the horn as it careened around him. "Whoa."

He took a deep breath then looked back at the car. He probably shouldn't just leave it. He had a vague memory of Landon talking about making a fortune off the H in the trunk. Or did he? Who knows? It sounded like something Landon would say anyway. His stomach grumbled again, this time more violently. Fine. He'd be back in a second.

The long blades of green grass that poked up through the cement tickled his bare feet as he strolled forward. His head still hurt and his lips were still chapped but he was able to ignore it as he soaked up the chaos. Sensory overload.

"Where the fuck am I?"

A strange chanting filled the air. As if being pulled forward by an invisible string, he followed it. An ancient ruin towered in front of him. Though crumbling, it was beautifully decorated, its gritty cement accented by colourful overgrowth. He came to a large doorway. His eyes grew wide. Sprawled out in front was a plethora of shoes. All shapes and sizes just sat there. He looked at his dirty, bare feet then did a 360. There was no one around, or at least no one paying attention. He shrugged. If they're stupid enough to leave their shoes just sitting around outside, they probably deserve to have them stolen.

He snatched himself a pair of bright red sneakers that looked to be about his size. He quickly ran away. Once he was sure he was in the clear, he stopped. They were a good fit, which he guessed made him lucky. It would have been a pain to have to swipe another pair. He laced them up: they looked ridiculous. They didn't match his dusty, weathered attire one bit. He loved it.

Gawking like the outsider he was, he worked his way through the crowds. Soon enough he emerged into a vast, open air market. The colours and smells bombarded him with a vicious ferocity. Vegetables, meats, televisions: everything he could ever imagine overflowed the bustling marketplace. He caught himself salivating over its potential as a thief's mecca.

But, he calmed himself. He should probably figure out where he was first. He looked to his right: an old man with an eye patch. He looked to his left: a cute girl with strawberry hair. The cute girl it was.

"Excuse me," he smiled genuinely as he approached her pineapple stall. She looked up shyly as he approached. "This may sound kind of strange, but do you know where we are?"

She blushed. It sounded like a pick up line. He knew it, and didn't mind one bit.

"Camp 23," she responded. Not an ounce of help, but his priorities were quickly changing.

"Oh, of course," he acted out the part of the naïve newcomer.

"You're not from here are you?" She asked.

"No, but it's quite beautiful here."

"You think so?" she looked around.

"Oh yes, but only half as beautiful as you." It was corny, ridiculous, and mildly insulting to her intelligence, but coupled with his perfected earnestness and welcoming smile, it worked.

"Thank you," she responded timidly, her face now as red as her hair.

"You wanna get out of here for a second?"

"I can't."

"Just a second."

"A second?"

"Well, maybe a little longer," he winked.

She bit her lip. She just met him, and he did look like trouble, but he was too cute. "You have a place?"

"I have a car."

"Fine. Sandra!" she called to the back of the stall, "I'm just stepping out. I'll be back."

Another girl emerged, eyeing Hayden up and down distastefully. He grinned arrogantly as they walked away. Sandra rolled her eyes.

"Hayden," he offered his hand.

"Joan," she took it.

He pulled her closer. She didn't stop him. Wherever he was, he was starting to like it.

Passing the building with all the shoes and heading back down the bustling boulevard, he stopped suddenly, his mouth dropping.

A group of grungy looking guys were push starting his car. "What the fuck?"

"What's wrong?" Joan took a step back.

"They're stealing my car!" Full of anger, he made chase, but it was too late. He wasn't even close and they already had the car going. He stopped, dejected and conflicted as it puttered off into the tangled mess beyond. An empty jerry can sat in the car's place.

Cursing a blue streak, he kicked it and stomped about angrily.

"Uh, are you okay?" Joan approached him reluctantly.

"Landon's gonna kill me," he ran his hands irritably over his face.

Volume 28

Hayden dropped to the ground. The car was gone. So was the dope. But worst of all, he wasn't going to get laid.

"I'm so sorry about your car," Joan placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was awkward but she felt compelled to say something.

"No, you don't understand," he stressed with his hands, "the trunk was full of..." he paused.

"Full of what?"

"Very... sentimental things..." He lied.

"Yeah?" She didn't believe him.

"Shit," he buried his head in his hands, "you wouldn't happen to have a smoke would you?"

"I don't smoke."

Of course she didn't. It was getting time to cut his losses and ditch the chick.

She looked down at him as he moped on the cracked cement. It was kind of pathetic. She had never been so convinced that someone was nothing but trouble. Yet, she was still attracted to him. She sighed heavily, "I know someone who might know what happened to your car."

Maybe he was being too hasty.

"They call him the fortune teller."

Sounded like a total dink to him, but who was he to judge? "Lead the way," he smiled as he stood to his feet.

They walked side by side through the Camp as the sun set behind the dark canopy. The vivid, lucid colours left Hayden speechless.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he stuttered, "I've never seen anything like this before. Actually, I've never seen any of this before," he eyed their surroundings.

"Where are you from?"

"The Wasteland."

"Oh," her tone turned grim, "I haven't heard good things about that place."

"Me neither," he winked as he regained some of his swagger.

She looked at him with an inquisitive distrust.

"Lighten up," he nudged her with his shoulder, "I'm not half as bad as you think I am."

Lie.

"Look, after you bring me to this fortune teller guy, I'll leave you alone."

Another lie.

"Promise," he smiled, still lying.

"Fine," she gave in. "Be thankful though. I'm skipping out on work for you." She spoke coolly. He flashed his trademark smile. She had never been so intrigued by someone so irritating.

Stars filled the violet sky as people emerged to light paper lanterns outside their shanties. The dim lights flickered like fireflies in the muggy night. The deeper into the slums they walked, the fewer lights there were and the tougher the streets became.

Hayden peered side to side. Shithole places like these always looked exactly the same, whether in the wasteland or here, wherever here was. Cracked out hookers stumbled from doorways as pimps counted their cash in the shadows.

"You always come to places like this?" He asked her skeptically.

"This 'place' is home."

"Doesn't seem too safe?"

"For what? A girl like me?" She retorted indignantly.

He laughed, "touché."

"We're here."

She led him to a narrow opening that spawned a maze of tin cans. He followed obediently as they wove their way through the cramped compartments.

They emerged into a small musky room. A single light bulb swung from the ceiling. A balding guy, with a huge pot belly and goggles on his head sat, stretched out in front of a dusty old computer monitor.

"Who 'da fuck you?" His words were interrupted by his chewing tobacco.

"It's me. Joan."

"Whachu wan'?" He didn't even turn to look.

"It's all you," she used her hand to motion for Hayden to take his turn.

This guy looked like a piece of work. But, there's something to be said for a challenge. He stepped forward, cocky and self-assured as ever. "My car got stolen. She said you might know who took it?" As the words came out of his mouth, he began to doubt the freak show that sat in front of him.

"Who you?"

"Hayden."

"I dun' know you."

"I don't know you either. Yet, here we are."

She couldn't help but snicker. He was holding his own.

"Fuck off."

"Look, if you don't know what happened, it's cool man, just say so." Attack his pride. Would it work?

"I know. Course I fuckin' know." He spat, visibly flustered. It was working.

"Oh really?"

"Boss took it. He no want yo' car. He want yo' dope. But you knew dat."

Hayden fidgeted awkwardly as Joan's eyes narrowed, her unimpressed glare demanding an explanation.

"There may have been some heroin in the trunk." Why lie now?

"Uh huh," she rolled her eyes.

He shrugged, "it is what it is. Thanks guy." He patted the freaky guy on the shoulder and left.

"Where are you going?" She ran after him.

"I don't know. To find this boss guy. I need to get my shit back."

"You can't just go after the Boss."

"Sure I can."

She groaned loudly. He was so stubborn and clueless. "At least wait till the morning."

"I ain't got nowhere to wait honey."

"Sure you do," she paused, "my place."

Volume 29

Hayden stared up at the rusted ceiling. The soft glow of morning light crept through the cracks in the walls as a rooster crowed relentlessly. He hadn't slept a wink. He peered at Joan, whose naked body lay next to his own. She wasn't even the reason. It was hot and sticky and the air was uncomfortably thick. Her home was cramped and its make-shift walls and earthy floors just felt strange. He missed the wasteland.

"Good morning Mr. Smuggler," she teased as she pressed her soft body against his.

"Look, I'm not a..."

"I'm just playing," she ran her hand over his chest; "I know you're trouble," she looked into his eyes, "but you've grown on me."

Lucky him. He stretched out his arms. Time to get down to business, "so, who's this Boss guy?"

"Bad news."

"How bad?"

"Real bad."

Though no longer in the wasteland, some douchebag was still making life difficult. "Just point me in his direction and I'll be on my way."

She clicked her tongue in the negative, "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"You're coming along?"

"You're really not letting this go are you?" She studied the blind, slightly stupid, determination on his face.

"No ma'am."

"Fine. I'll take you there."

"Alright," he made a move to sit up, but she pulled him back down.

"What's the rush?" She smiled seductively as she swung her leg overtop of him, straddling his unclothed body.

The dope could wait.

***

It was late afternoon when they finally left. Running his hand through his unkempt hair he watched as Joan secured the padlock on the door of her shanty.

He could use a smoke, or a drink, or both.

"Why are you so hung up on those drugs anyway?" She asked, still hoping to dissuade him, "If the Boss has it, it's good as gone."

"I have to try." He could only imagine how choked Landon would be when he found out the drugs got stolen on his watch. But the question remained in the back of his mind: where the hell did they go anyway? He hadn't seen him, or Bull since he got all messed up on that heroin. He shuddered at the memory.

Walking to a wider boulevard, they stood at the side of the busy road, watching as vehicles of all sizes clamoured along. Joan shot out her hand and a brightly painted bus pulled over for them. They hopped on board, she paid, and they took a seat.

Through the open window he gazed at the squalor that lay squeezed between old buildings and older trees. There were just so many people. The sun sank low behind lush foliage as night began its slow march over the land.

Joan called out and the bus promptly stopped. Stepping out onto the crooked cement she took Hayden's hand in hers. Leading him through the shanties, he watched as dwellers lit lanterns to illuminate their streets.

Gunshots rang out in the distance. She stopped, "still want to go?"

He nodded. What choice did he have?

"Where are all the guards?" She asked rhetorically as she lifted a line of barbed wire and stepped under, "what's going on?" The sound of gun shots died down, leaving an eerie quiet in its place.

"This is it?" He looked up at the ruin of an apartment tower. She responded with a nod. She took a step out of the slums and into the open space that surrounded the barracks. He grabbed her forcefully. "Bad idea," he whispered, pointing at the fresh corpses that lay in the shadows, smoke still smouldering out their wounds. She gasped. "Back way?" He proposed.

She didn't respond this time, she only drew closer to him as they crept around the perimeter of the clearing. Having circled around back, they peered perilously out. It seemed safe. He motioned for her to stay put, then moved out of the clearing. Nothing. Then something caught his eye: the car.

With a complete disregard for safety, he jogged over to it. Joan, not wanting to be left alone, quickly followed. He reached inside and pulled the trunk release. "Damn it." He peered into the empty trunk.

"We should probably leave," she spoke in a hushed tone, "something's going down."

"But he took it, see," Hayden pointed at the car, "I'm not leaving without it." Stubborn? Yes. Obstinate? Yes. Did he care? No.

"You're crazy." She shook her head.

He ran towards a steel door that had been bolted onto the ancient building. "You coming or what?"

She groused under her breath as she joined him.

They peeked through the doorway. Several bodies, swamped in bullet casings, filled the main floor. He looked to her for directions. She pointed up. If the Boss was still here, which she wasn't sure, then he'd be on the top floor. Cautiously they tip toed to the stairwell.

With a calculated silence, they worked their way up the stairs, only pausing to maneuver around an unconscious body halfway up. The sound of voices reverberated down the stairwell. He stopped suddenly. They were voices he knew. Landon? Bull? "No way."

"What is it?" She whispered.

He lifted a finger indicating silence as they cleared the final step, the open doorway just to one side.

"Hayden sold us out. He sold it behind our backs," Landon spoke plainly. Hayden felt his blood beginning to boil. What the hell kind of garbage was Landon talking anyway?

"He did?" Bull asked gravely.

Oh, forget that shit. "The hell I did," he entered blindly into the room.

"Hayden?"

Only then however, did he realize that he had just walked into an armed standoff.

"Who the hell are you?" The Boss asked as his lip curled. The Camp 17 Captain shared his sentiment.

"I never sold you guys out. I've been bustin' my ass to try and get our dope back. Don't tell me I sold you out," he defended himself vigorously.

"You never sold it to these guys?" Landon pointed at the Captain.

"Sold it? Man, some asshole who calls himself 'The Boss' stole it."

"Really now?" Landon's heart skipped a beat.

Volume 30

A classic standoff: One room, nine men, six itchy trigger fingers.

The Boss of Camp 23 picked the lint from his exposed belly as cigar smoke fluttered out of his nose. His three goons had big guns and bigger attitudes, all pointed at Bull, The Camp 17 Captain and his man.

The Captain's Kalashnikov remained fiercely still, its sights set on the Boss. His comrade's was glued to Landon.

Bull swayed drunkenly on his feet. "Wait a second..." He scratched his head, "So this dick here had the dope the whole time?" He pointed at the Boss. "Which would mean you did kind of steal their shit," he looked to Landon. He had to side with the Captain on this one.

Landon began to shake. He got played. He scowled as he looked sternly back at Hayden, "Honestly, you didn't sell it?"

"Man seriously?" Hayden defended himself, "Sell it? To who? I don't even know where the fuck we are."

"Ahem," the Captain interrupted. Everyone looked. "I'm really sorry you got used mate, but I'm here for my shit and I'm not leaving without it."

"Not going to happen," the Boss casually flicked his cigar's ashes onto the floor.

"I will shoot you."

"Shoot him, he stole it," The Boss gave up Landon without hesitation.

"You fucking pig," Landon spat.

The Captain's man tightened his hold on his gun.

"Ah come on, chill out," Hayden put his hand on the gunman's shoulder. The gunman quickly changed his target to Hayden. "Man, don't point that shit at me." Irritably, he pushed the gun away.

A squeal sounded from the doorway.

Everyone turned. Joan, hands held above her head, was escorted into the room by even more armed men.

"Ah, reinforcements," The Boss chortled smugly, "few more minutes and the whole fucking camp will be here."

"Wait, who the hell is she?" Landon asked.

"Umm," Hayden looked at Landon, then Joan, then Landon again, "a friend."

"Oh, for the love of..." Landon buried his face in his palm, "Yeah, bustin' your ass real hard." Sarcasm bled from his words. "This is fucking ridiculous." He walked angrily over to the Boss, whose men immediately took aim at him.

"Whoa Landon, you might wanna simmer down," Bull offered up his sage advice.

Landon grabbed the Boss by his collar and spun him around, shielding his own thin body behind the drug lords.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hayden's eyes grew wide.

"You got a better plan?" Landon yelled back.

"You're going to die you little," the Boss yelled as his cigar dropped to the floor. Every single barrel in the room was simultaneously pointed at them.

Hayden took the free moment to grab Joan, who wasted no time in nuzzling into him for safety.

Bull stepped forward, "This all looks pretty bad, so why don't we all just forget about it, fuck off, and have a nice day." It was uncharacteristically peaceful of him, but he was still very drunk.

"Shut the fuck up," The Captain narrowed his sights on the Boss, "I ain't leaving until I get my shit."

"Did you just tell me to shut the fuck up," Bull's brow furrowed. He strode over to the Captain, shoving him with a firm hand.

The Captain and his goon switched positions, aiming their guns directly at Bull, whose temper was beginning to mount.

"This is garbage; this punk doesn't even have a gun!" The Boss yelled to his men, "Shoot the rest of them first then kill this dumbass!" He commanded. His men listened, as instantly guns shifted to everyone else in the room.

Hayden again took offence at the gun positioned only inches from his chest. "Don't fucking point that shit at me," he scolded as he shoved the gun away, knocking it out of the henchmen's hands. The semi-automatic slid across the floor, landing directly at Bull's feet.

Everyone in the room collectively held their breath. Bull's intoxicated vision pulsed as he leaned down and snatched it up. The gun nestled warmly into his grip. It was a comfortable fit, heavenly almost. A strange, odd sensation rushed through his body and everyone in the room seemed paralyzed in the moment, unable to do anything but watch.

"I said kill them all!" The Boss yelled.

But they didn't even have time to the pull their triggers. Like a bolt of electric adrenaline, it took control of him. The sudden ecstasy that filled his body shot like a freight train to his finger tips and, through the compressed trigger, it exited his body in an orgasmic explosion of bullets.

Hayden instinctively dropped to the floor, yanking Joan down with him. Sheltering her thin frame underneath his body he could do nothing but listen as gunshots continued steadily and consistently. Landon winced as he cowered behind the Boss's body.

As the thunderous symphony of gunshots died out Landon came to his senses. He let go of the Boss, whose bullet riddled body dropped to a bloody heap on the ground. He peered, stunned, at Bull who remained holding down the trigger, wildly pointing the unloaded gun about the room.

Hayden looked up cautiously as Landon ripped the gun away from Bull. "What the fuck was that?"

Hayden stood to his feet, his eyes wide with disillusionment at the copious dead bodies that lay limp across the room.

"Sorry guys," Bull shrugged, "I don't know what happened. Something just kind of came over me."

"Holy shit," Hayden chuckled, "that was crazy."

Joan dusted herself off as she struggled to pull her shaking body up off the ground, "What the hell did you do?" She looked at the bloody corpses of the Captain and the Boss. "You guys are in big trouble..."
Volume 31

"We have to leave. Now." Joan couldn't take her eyes off of the bloodied corpses that lay lifeless at their feet.

"Wait," Landon rummaged through the Boss's desk. "We have to get our dope back."

"Uh Landon," Bull piped up, "I'm pretty sure it wouldn't all fit in that desk."

Landon stopped. He was sleepy, sore and stressed the fuck out. He tried to calm himself. "I'm looking for a key. A key to the stash room." His voice was exasperated and strung out as he explained.

"Oh." Bull nodded.

"You don't understand," Joan ran to a window, peeking out into the darkness below, "we don't have time."

"It'll just take a minute," Landon searched the Boss's limp body.

"We don't have a minute," she spoke gravely.

"Relax," Hayden smiled, trying to calm her down.

"Relax? Do you know what you guys have done?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Her perplexed mind nearly burst with curses and obscenities, "Any second now the Camp is gonna figure out what happened here. And when they do, they will tear us apart."

Hayden was beginning to get the urgency of their situation. "Landon," he called out, "forget about the dope. We ain't ever gonna see it again."

Landon's shoulders sank. He knew Hayden was right. He just didn't want to admit it. Fortune had eluded him once again.

"Can we please go?" Joan tapped her foot impatiently on the blood soaked floor. Following her cue, they scampered down the stairs and, stopping only briefly in the lobby, darted across the clearing back into the thick slums.

Bull slowed to a stop. He needed to catch his breath: all that running was pushing his intoxication into full on hang over.

"Looks like we're in the clear," Hayden announced triumphantly.

Joan looked at him with sorrowful eyes, "you don't get it do you? You guys have to leave."

"Leave?"

"Here. The Coast. You have to leave and go back to wherever it is you came from."

"Can't." Bull summed it up between gasps.

A tear began to well up in her eye. "What do you mean can't?"

"Just can't."

She stared deep into Hayden's eyes. "You're all as good as dead. I can't let them hurt you. You have to leave."

Hayden was a little weirded out by her sudden show of emotion. "Uh, yeah, we'll leave... No worries."

"Right. Where? Where is there for us to go? No money. No dope." Landon couldn't even look at them, the pang of defeat sticking to him like molasses.

"I have a cousin who works on a freighter. He should be able to get you outta here."

"A freighter? Where is a freighter going to take us?" Landon inquired.

"Not here."

Good answer.

They made their way to a busy intersection where Joan hailed a pickup truck, and for a nominal fee, they hopped aboard. She leaned her head on Hayden's shoulder as the truck chortled through the densely populated Coast. Somehow she knew it would end this way. Her melancholy heart ached with the pain of a love that would never be.

Hayden looked down at Joan. He wondered if he'd get another chance to do her before they had to leave. Probably not. What a shame.

Landon leaned back, staring up at the stars that peeked through the foliage. He exhaled slowly: he was glad they were leaving. He hated this fucking place.

Bull fell asleep.

Time stretched on. Even in the darkest hours of night, traffic was hell, and the Coast was far larger than any of them could have imaged. The incongruent, consistent mess of shanties seemed to stretch on forever. They must have passed through a dozen camps before they finally came to a stop.

The crow of the rooster ushered in a new day as the hazy morning light crept over the horizon. Piling out of the pickup, they yawned and stretched their limbs.

Rusted metal lined the cement in front of them. Huge barges parked only feet away stood like imposing megaliths. The air smelled funny. It left a strange salty taste in their mouths.

"Just wait here. I'll be right back," Joan informed them as she darted off.

Bull rubbed the sleep from his eyes as Landon paced down the creaky metal promenade.

"You know, for a place called The Coast, you figured there would be more... well... coast?" Clearing the edge of the barge he joined Landon who stared forward, unblinking. Hayden's jaw dropped.

"Enough coast for you?" Landon asked, without shifting his eyes from the splendor before them.

They had never before seen anything so vast. The ocean, with its pristine, dark blue waves stretched out as far as their eyes could see. The early morning sun made the bobbing waves shimmer like millions of tiny diamonds.

"Bull?" Landon spoke flatly.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for saving our asses back there..."

"No problem."

"That being said, no more guns for you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Ever."

"Okay," he conceded as they stood staring out at the brilliance of the open ocean.

Part 3

Volume 32

The freighter was a rusty old piece of shit. It was a miracle the thing could even float. It stank of rotting trash and had twice as many rats as crewmen. But it was a way out. And it was free. Joan's cousin had come through for them and by mid-afternoon, they were ready to get the hell out of dodge.

Landon rapped his fingers on the railing. The deck was coated with a thin layer of slime: the result of salty ocean water and unwashed garbage juices. He stared down to the rusted dock below.

Hayden stood at the foot of the ramp that led up to the freighter. The dark blue waves sloshed onto the weathered metal dock. Joan shifted uncomfortably.

"I guess this is goodbye?" She looked deep into Hayden's eyes.

"I guess so."

She paused, contemplating the time they'd spent together.

"Goodbye Joan," he smiled and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Goodbye," she forced a smile, but it barely showed on her quivering lips.

He turned and walked up the ramp, not looking back.

She stood alone on the dock as the ramp was lifted and the freighter began to drift away. She wouldn't cry, she told herself. She wasn't one of those girls. A tear slowly rolled down her cheek.

Hayden joined Landon on deck as the Coast disappeared into the horizon.

"You really liked her huh?" Landon peered sideways through his glasses.

Hayden took his eyes off the ocean, "No. For a second there I thought she was going to try and come with us. What a disaster that would have been."

Landon shook his head. "Unbelievable."

***

"Wow, this tastes awful," Hayden coughed as he slammed an empty glass on the dirty wooden table.

"It ain't so bad," Bull swished his own glass around before downing the dusty brown liquid.

"It's homemade. An old coastal recipe," Wallace, one of the crew slurred as he showcased the unlabelled bottle. The captain was a bit of a prick, but Ty, Jon and Wallace, three of the crew, turned out to be alright.

Ty, Joan's cousin, leaned back in his chair. "Where you guy's headed anyway?"

"No idea. Another miserable location we can get kicked out of?" Landon swayed in his seat. He'd had a lot to drink.

"Huh?"

"Don't mind him," Hayden grinned stupidly as he patted Landon on the back, "he's had a rough couple days."

"Oh."

"To be honest," Hayden shrugged, "I don't even know where the hell we're going. We just needed to get off the Coast."

"We're going to the Southern Islands man," Jon poured himself another drink.

"Seriously," Hayden stopped before tipping back his own glass, "someone's gotta think up better names for all these places. The Wasteland? The Coast? The Southern Islands? Talk about lack of creativity." He had a point.

"Maybe they had names once," Wallace contemplated, "maybe they just got lost..." His solemn words resonated with them all. It was a truth of their times. They were living in a world that was little more than the leftovers of what was once great.

"Hey," Bull broke the tense mood, "I like your shoes," he commented on Hayden's stolen bright red Chuck Taylor's.

"Thanks man," he grinned.

As night fell, the crew drunkenly stumbled off to their posts. A thick fog began to roll in, blanketing the ship like a giant ghost wanting a hug.

"What the hell is this?" Bull tried to swat away the ocean haze.

"Landon?" Hayden asked, hoping for a response from the most learned amongst them. Landon was passed out on the table. Bull and Hayden looked at each other, neither of them had a clue.

As the ocean lapped up against the battered vessel the fog tightened its embrace. It smothered the ship until they couldn't even see beyond their own table. It was creepy as hell.

There was a commotion down the deck. Hurried feet scampered past and tense voices exchanged hushed words. Then the gunfire came.

"What the fuck?" Bull's eyes grew wide. Landon jolted awake.

Hayden could feel his heart race. More gunfire. They all looked at each other, as they could see nothing else. Landon and Bull silently urged Hayden to go take a look.

"Pussies," he coughed as he stood to his feet. Unenthused and stumbling slightly, he stepped into the dense fog. The table, and his friends, quickly disappeared behind him, and he could see nothing. There were no more gunshots. There was only an eerie silence. He took one step. Then another.

He tripped and nearly fell. He held his breath, not wanting to make a sound as he stared down at Wallace's bullet riddled body. A hand came out of nowhere and pulled him down. He gasped, trying to fight it off.

The hand was strong. It pulled him close and wrapped its tough fingers around his mouth. He stared, wide eyed. Relief washed over him: it was Ty. But the relief was short lived. "Get the fuck outta here, while you still can."

Volume 33

"What the hell is going on?" Hayden stared through the fog.

"Pirates," Ty cursed as he let go.

"Pirates? What the fuck is a pirate?" But his intuitive tone got no response as Ty disappeared back into the ocean haze.

Draped around his shoulders like white cotton, the fog engulfed him as he sat on the slimy deck. Whatever a pirate was, it didn't sound good. Back to the table. He reached it without incident, but it was empty. A sense of perverse annoyance bit at the back of his throat as he stared forward. They couldn't even stay put for five goddamn minutes.

The bottle of moonshine on the table had a few drops left. He snatched it up and tipped it back: liquid courage. The bottle was still at his lips when a gun pressed into his back.

"Hands up."

Hayden lazily lifted his hands above his head.

"Turn around."

Hayden's lip curled; his face unimpressed as he did as he was told. The gunman wore a purple bandana over his face and a baggy t-shirt that billowed in the salty ocean breeze.

"Give me everything you have."

Hayden laughed as he went to hand him the empty bottle.

"I'm serious."

"Me too," Hayden's words were intentionally condescending.

The pirate cocked his gun. The crack of knuckle on bone made Hayden jump. The pirate fell to the floor unconscious as Bull emerged from the fog. Hayden grinned triumphantly, but was forced to act quickly as another pirate emerged behind Bull. Lucky for Bull, Hayden was a good aim and nailed the pirate square in the jaw with empty bottle. The glass shards shot like shrapnel across the deck. The pirate fell to the floor.

"Just repaying the favour," Hayden draped his arm around Bull as they escaped into the fog.

"What the hell is going on?" Landon spooked them both as he approached from behind.

"Pirates."

"What's a pirate?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd know, but as far as I can tell they're like sea bandits."

"Ah." The mention of bandits brought almost a sense of brotherly understanding. A weird sort of empathy washed over them. These pirates were not so different: just trying to get ahead in a world stuck behind.

"Let's just get out of here," Landon finally spoke. Hayden and Bull couldn't agree more.

They inched their way to the deck's rail. The water below was barely visible in the soupy white.

"Over there." Landon pointed to a small boat that clanged against the freighter. It was empty and had a tiny motor, but it was better than swimming, which none of them could do.

As elegantly as they could, they hurled themselves overboard into the tiny boat. None of them knew how to start a boat, let alone pilot one. Hayden peeked and prodded at the onboard engine. There were no buttons, no ignition, no nothing. Bull laughed as he picked at a string attached to the engine. He pulled at it, finding it shockingly amusing, and the engine gave out a startling growl. Hayden's eyes grew wide. He pushed Bull aside, yanked on it and they were off.

"Hey! Our boat!" A masked man screamed furiously from the deck of the freighter.

"Oh my god," Landon didn't know whether to be alarmed or amused, "this is the pirates boat!"

"Huh. I just figured it was a lifeboat." Hayden definitely found it amusing. "Oh well."

It didn't take Hayden long to figure out how to steer the boat. But it didn't matter much, as the dense fog made it virtually impossible to see where they were going anyways.

"Maybe we should just kill the engine and wait out the fog," Landon suggested after several hours of darting about blind. "Before we crash into something."

Hayden hummed and hawed, his pride sweltering, but he knew Landon was right. He killed the engine. Their boat bobbed up and down rhythmically on the gentle ocean. Bull - who was lying flat on his back - stared up into the foggy night. "It kinda looks nice actually," he admitted, yawning. It wasn't much longer before he was fast asleep.

Hayden sighed as he struggled to get comfortable. "You got a plan yet?" He looked across the boat to Landon.

"Find land."

"After that?"

"I'm working on it."

Hayden smiled, "good. Good." Curling up next to the engine he too fell asleep.

By the time they awoke it was morning, and while there was still fog, it wasn't nearly as thick and the pale morning light that seeped through was enough for them to start off again.

They puttered slowly across the gentle waves. Hayden didn't know how much gas was left so he went easy on the engine.

Sharp, black rocks began appearing. Only a few at first, they quickly grew more numerous, jutting out of the navy blue waters like charred tombstones in a cemetery.

"Be careful, don't hit the rocks," Landon stated the obvious, his eyes entranced as the rocks continued to emerge from the haze. Hayden was too focused on navigating through the maze to shoot back a snappy response. Even Bull sat nervously at the edge of the boat.

Soon the rocks were much larger, often even clumped into atolls. One of which drew a long stare as they drifted past: Mostly eroded by the sea, a larger than life statue of a man's figure sat atop the black sea rock. Covered in barnacles, its grandeur long forgotten, it remained a determined symbol of humanity. Lost, but not forgotten.

"This place gives me the creeps," Bull put all of their thoughts into words.

The atolls became larger and more difficult to navigate. Soon they began to look more like coves as the rocks stretched upwards in front of them.

Then the boat ran out of gas. This was no place to let tide take control. They beached the boat and bailed out.

The obsidian rock bit at their hands as they clamoured up the uneven boulders.

"Holy shit," Hayden stopped, wide eyed as he cleared the crest. Bull and Landon weren't far behind.

Stretching out in front of them was a vast, empty, rocky plain dotted with the deserted remnants of ruins. The intense fog only made the ghostly place even eerier.
Volume 34

Despite the heat and humidity, there was something undoubtedly cold about this place. The obelisk sized stones and matte black earth were punctuated with crumbling ruins that barely amounted to rubble. The ruins of the Coast had been teeming with life, noise and energy but this place just felt dead.

"Wow, it just gets worse and worse doesn't it?" Hayden looked out over the imposing landscape. Maybe it was the sticky fog, or the salty taste the ocean air left in his mouth, but even the wasteland wasn't this god awful. Bull felt relatively indifferent, while Landon was still too bummed about losing the dope and getting royally screwed back on the Coast to care too much.

Cautiously, they made their way forward. Navigating the uneven, jutting terrain was like performing an intricate dance. The right footing here, a proper sense of balance there: one wrong move and god only knows what bones in their bodies they'd break.

Landon stopped and peered through the fog at a pile of weathered stones. Once, a very long time ago, it was something. A building? Perhaps a home? Someone's home even? But now it was nothing. The people who were here, had they too chased fame and fortune? Did it even matter? "Guys," Landon spoke slowly, "I'm done with this shit."

"Yeah man, we should stop and take a break," Bull wiped his brow.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what are you talking about?" Hayden didn't bother looking back.

"I don't know. I'm just done."

Hayden stopped, his blistered, bloody hands pressed against the rigid, unforgiving earth.

"Destiny. Purpose. Maybe it's all just bullshit."

Hayden climbed back down to him, "Try not to think about it." He patted him on the shoulder, "It'll just get you depressed."

Landon scoffed. Too late.

They slept that night amongst the switchblade rocks. The eerie silence that wrapped around them felt like a cold, wet blanket.

Landon stared straight up into the starless sky. As he removed the glasses from his nose and the surrounding world became blurry he was struck by just how lost he really was.

Morning didn't come soon enough. At the first sign of light, they were off once more. Their bodies were weary and they were covered in the black ash of the rocks. The fog grew thicker by midday but they let out a collective sigh of relief as the ruins and jagged rocks began to thin out.

"Shit, look at that," Bull announced as a building appeared out of the thick fog. It's walls were made of thick, roughly cut stones and its flat roof and windows lined with a dusty wood. Its unlit windows made it appear dead and lifeless. A meager garden stretched out to its side.

"Let's keep going, there's gotta be a town nearby," Hayden pushed his friends along. There was something unnervingly unfriendly about that house.

Patches of grass appeared along the earthy ground as they continued. The ground they tread on turned into a worn dirt path and before long they found themselves wandering through a tiny hamlet.

Most of the houses remained dark. Only a few candles lit the wood framed windows, casting a spooky glow in the ever present fog. But what stood out most was the silence. For a town - even one as small as this - it was uncomfortably quiet.

It was only late afternoon, but the streets were virtually empty. The few men that passed by wore stern, solemn expressions and didn't for a second let their eyes even touch upon the obvious foreigners.

"What the fuck is wrong with this place?" Hayden whispered. If it wasn't the hurried pace of the vacant faced locals that got under his skin, it was their uniformed brown, straight pressed clothing.

"Hey look! Food!" Bull bolted to a store front, where crates of oranges stood, completely unattended.

"Sweet! Let's snag some and get the fuck out of here," Hayden peered around anxiously, but no one seemed to even notice.

It was like a thief's paradise. They stuffed their shirts full of plump, round oranges and were on their way.

The wind whistled a soft tune as they passed by large barns and farm houses made of a mix of stone and wood. The architecture was old, yet the lines were clean and well maintained. Landon stopped, a sudden chill running through his body.

"You three! Stop!" A stern voice broke the uneasy silence.

They turned around. Two men stood side by side, only their silhouettes visible in the evening fog. Their strong words resonated, echoing in the early night. They stepped forward. Dressed in all black, they stood visually apart from the brown clothed townspeople.

"Yes?" Landon arched his eyebrow.

"Identify yourselves."

"What?"

"Identify yourselves." They repeated as they drew closer, one strongly placed foot at a time.

"You identify yourself," Hayden shot back.

"We are Officers of the Order of the Divine Spirits."

"What!?" Hayden wished he hadn't asked.

"You are being charged with theft of property." The officers planted their feet firmly in the dirt road.

"We haven't stolen anything." Landon lied.

Several oranges dropped out of Bull's shirt.

"Oops."

"Do you know what punishment the Divine Decree of the Spirits demands for theft?"

They stared blankly, hoping for the best, expecting the worst.

"Death."

The worst.

The Officers moved with a speed and agility they'd never seen. Glittering in the thick air, the polished blades of machetes emerged from the Officer's loose fitted clothes. Landon jumped back, just barely avoiding a lethal swipe.

"What the fuck is going on?" Hayden pushed Bull out harm's way before he too narrowly avoided getting his head sliced clean off.

"Lemme at em," Bull gritted his teeth as he rushed forward. The officer easily parried and again put Bull on the defensive. Now he was irritated. The gangly young man unloaded a powerhouse haymaker, but it was for naught. Leaving his entire chest exposed the Officer darted in for the kill shot. Hayden pushed him aside, and though sparing Bull's life, he did little else.

"Jeeze, what are these guys?" Hayden yelled to Landon in disbelief as they jumped, ducked and dodged the relentless, lightning fast strikes.

Landon darted to the side, successfully dodging another well placed slash, but lost his balance, falling with a thud to the moist earth. He stared up at the sharp edge of the machete, only inches from his face.

"Okay, okay," he placed his hands up in defeat. Hayden and Bull tried desperately to catch their breath. Even together they were being completely worked by these machete masters.

"The Spirits demand justice," the Officer raised his blade over his head, preparing to deal Landon one, succinct death blow. But instead of his blade falling, it was the Officers decapitated head that dropped to the ground.

The second officer's eyes grew wide as he jumped back into a defensive position. But he was too slow. In a flash of metal, his head too was separated from his body.

Panting and confused as fuck, the three bandits stared up in disillusion. A lone, imposing figure, blood drenched machete in hand, stood, cloaked in shadows.

Volume 35

"There. Now we're even."

Though the bleak, foggy twilight blocked out their saviours face, his voice was all too familiar. Calmly, he used his long, billowy sleeve to wipe the blood from his machete.

Still catching their breath, they looked from the profusely bleeding corpses of the Officers to the man who had slain them. Was he friend, or foe? Was it ever that black and white?

"Who are you?" Landon sat up.

The man let out a deep, venerable chuckle, "it hasn't been that long."

"Steel Leopard?" Landon rubbed his glasses to get a better look.

"We really should get going," Steel Leopard's solid chin and wry eyes looked to the dead bodies as he emerged from the shadows. He brushed past them as he headed down the dirt road. Mouths gaping wide, they traded glances before obediently following.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Landon enquired.

"Wasn't that the deal? I leave the wasteland; you run off and join Tony's gang?"

Bull shifted uncomfortably.

"Didn't quite work out," Hayden interjected. Steel Leopard let out a boisterous laugh.

"Ah, so the Wasteland bandits left the wasteland?"

"Something like that," Landon peered through the darkness.

"Yet it seems that you failed to leave trouble behind."

"Yeah," Landon grumbled.

Their pace quickened as they worked their way down the path. The patchy earth became interspersed with brush and before they knew it the path had become engulfed by the tangled mess of flora. They assumed that was Steel Leopards plan: leave the open spaces. He had just killed two men.

"Who were those guys?" Hayden asked.

"Officers."

"And why the hell were they trying to kill us?" He questioned further.

"Because you're thieves." It was as straight an answer as there was.

"Seriously?" Hayden almost didn't believe it.

"Yes," Steel Leopard grinned widely, "my, how you three have a lot to learn."

"Apparently," Landon sighed.

The road forked, and they stuck to the right. Walking long into the night, they eventually halted at a lone, isolated bus stop as they emerged from the thick brush. Hayden and Bull wasted no time in devouring their oranges, stretching out and falling asleep. Landon's thoughts however weighed too heavily on his mind to allow for a soft drift into slumber.

"Where you headed?" Steel Leopard asked as he lit a cigarette.

"Don't know."

"How sad. You guys are like lost puppies. You really have no idea what you're doing do you?"

"Not a clue." Landon came clean. Their misadventures had been a long series of disappointments and false opportunities. He'd spent his life chasing fortune and fame. But as he stared out into the clear night sky, he realized that maybe all he wanted was to live.

"You willing to give it all up?" Steel Leopard asked as if reading his mind.

"Give what up?"

"Stealing. Cheating. The life of a bandit."

It hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. It had been on the tip of his tongue but he'd never had the courage to face it. Now it was staring into his soul. "I don't know."

"I might have something for you kids, but you're gonna have to give up all your bullshit."

"Tell that to these guys," Landon pointed at Hayden and Bull, who were both snoring loudly.

"They'll do what you say." Steel Leopards words resonated like the lingering vibrations of a plucked guitar string.

"What do you have for us?"

Steel Leopard smiled. "Come with me. I'll show you."

Landon didn't look at him; instead he stared into the brilliantly illuminated sky. The fog had lost its way in the bush behind them and now millions of stars twinkled above. "Fine. What the hell."

Steel Leopard nodded his head approvingly as he finished off his smoke.

The bus came several hours later and they groggily piled on. Rattling along the road, Landon stared out as the bus continued to pass through bush interspersed by farmland. Distant mountains rose up beside them as they made their way past. Yawning, he found his eyes being lulled shut by the rhythmic shaking of the old, battered bus.

By the time he awoke, the sun had long risen and Bull and Hayden remained locked in an intense game of cards. The bus chugged onwards and Landon again stared out the window. There was no more brush. They had long passed the mountains, and all that surrounded them was deep, green farmland that stretched out as far as he could see. Rows upon rows of crops lined the roadside.

He grasped at his arms, as a strange sensation ran up his back. It was damned cold. "How long have we been...?"

"Oh, probably about nine, ten hours," Steel Leopard informed him as he watched Bull and Hayden's card game. "Not too much longer now."

Landon lifted his glasses from his face and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Even the trees that passed by were different. They were tall and skinny, with dark, spiky coats.

Hayden and Bull were easily the loudest on the bus as the only other riders sat rather solemnly, cloaked in the same faded brown outfits.

The bus turned a corner and made its way into a small city. It was busier than any other town they'd come across on Jupiter Island, but its pace remained far from being frantic or hurried. Dust swirled as the bus pulled to a stop inside a packed terminal.

"What the fuck," Bull cursed, "how is it so damn cold?" He shivered as they exited the bus onto the terminal platform. Old men with weathered faces sold fresh fruit as the bandits soaked in the crowd.

"Oh this isn't cold," Steel Leopard spoke slyly, "just wait till winter."

"Winter? What the hell is a winter?" Bull didn't like the sound of it already.

"Just wait here a second," Steel Leopard instructed them as he disappeared into the crowd. They shrugged and did as they were told. Huddling close to deal with the sudden drop in temperature they found themselves falling to the ground as a thunderous explosion rocked the bus terminal. Chaos ensued as a wave of dust and smoke plowed through the shaken crowd.

"What the...?"

"Hey! Stop!" Men clad in black uniforms shouted as they ran out of the haze towards them.

Volume 36

The gleam of machetes caught their eye through the settling dust. It must have been a gut reaction; the officers had yet to come into full view and they'd already split. Clamouring over panicked civilians and under upturned tables, they clawed and kicked their way through the crowd. The explosion left a shrill ringing in their ears that only added to the chaos of their escape.

Hayden wheezed as he struggled to keep pace with Landon. He was no runner. Bull too fell behind, as he lumbered forward with the finesse of a sprinting tree trunk. Landon, as usual, had to think fast.

He steered them around a corner and into the rows of parked buses that sat in the dusty haze. There had to be a way out. The commanding yells of the Officer's rang out around them.

There was no outrunning them. Landon spat on the ground as he came to grips with it. His feet stopped, but his mind continued on at a hundred miles a minute. He grabbed Hayden and Bull and pulled them to the ground. Before they had a chance to question him, they got their answer. Crawling on his belly, Landon shuffled beneath the parked bus. He was on to something. It was a tight fit, but they followed.

Emerging on the other side, they bolted for it once more. Hayden and Bull were really lagging behind now. Hayden even more so. Too many cigarettes, not enough exercise. He coughed violently as his pace died to a stop. Landon and Bull slowed, looking back in frustration at their friend.

As Hayden put his hands on his knees to catch his breath he was promptly bowled over. Landon and Bull rushed back to help as a stranger in black lay in a crumpled mess on top of Hayden. It was no officer.

Hayden's head spun as he looked at the masked face of the stranger that lay entangled on top of him. The stranger's eyes met his for a brief second before he leapt back to his feet and continued running. Hayden, flat on his back, stared straight up. What the hell just happened?

The Officers emerged viciously from around a corner. Landon winced. They were as good as dead this time. But to his shock, the Officers ran past them, jumping over Hayden and continuing on after the masked stranger.

Hayden stood to his feet, stretching out his weary muscles. "What the hell just happened?" He stared through the dusty terminal in the direction the chase had headed. The look in that man's eyes; intense didn't even come close.

"I'm not really sure," Landon - who was equally as confused - shook his head in the hopes of clearing his eardrums.

"I'll bet we looked stupid," Bull laughed between pants, "they weren't even chasing us!"

"What the hell is wrong with you three?" Steel Leopard pulled them back behind a bus. "What were you running for?"

"We totally thought they were after us," Bull laughed heartily, "but they were after some weirdo in a mask!"

"We have to leave. Now." Steel Leopard commanded coolly as he promptly led them out of the terminal. They didn't even have a chance to ask why.

The chaos that remained in the terminal faded into the distance. They didn't run, but their pace was quick and as the golden sun kissed the green brush on the horizon they found themselves on the outskirts of town. A tall lamp post buzzed overhead as they stood at an intersecting dirt road. Only a tattered wire fence stood between the road and the lush, green crops beyond.

"What the hell was that all about?" Landon asked as he rubbed his shoulders, protecting them in vain from the cold evening breeze.

"Revolutionaries."

"What's a revolutionary?" Hayden looked sideways.

"Someone who revolutionizes," Bull joked. He snarled then shut up as they gave him disapproving glances.

Hayden's hand shook as he fumbled through his pocket and withdrew a cigarette. The smell of a lit match fluttered past. He exhaled slowly, as if the fire on the end would somehow warm him.

Landon nodded his head somberly. "What are they revolting against?"

Steel Leopard smiled sharply, "Well, now there's a question." They all stopped, awaiting his elaboration. "What makes this place different from the wasteland? Or even from the Coast?" He answered their question with a question.

"It's fucking cold," Bull groused.

"And?"

Landon stood perfectly still, "it's quiet."

"Bingo. It's quiet. No gunfights. No drugs. No trouble. Why?" They shook their heads, hoping he'd spell it out for them. "Because here they have laws. Laws that control everything."

"Everything?" Hayden arched his eyebrow.

"Everything."

"And those people, they are fighting these laws?" Landon understood. Steel Leopard nodded his head in the affirmative.

The crisp, clean air bit at their throats as they breathed in the silence around them.

"Who makes these laws?" Landon asked.

Steel Leopard looked him dead in the eye and smiled, "We should really get going. We've got a long walk ahead of us."

Hayden groaned uproariously, "Really? Can't we take a bus?"

"Not where we're going."

Bull consoled Hayden as he cursed and complained, but Landon stood dead still, Steel Leopards non-answer saying far more than any other words could have. This place was clean, quiet and just. But he could feel something else. And it gnawed at the tips of his toes.

"You coming?" Steel Leopard placed his hand on Landon's shoulder. Landon shook off his worries, he'd been so deep in thought he hadn't noticed that Bull and Hayden had already left the dull buzzing of the street lamp.

"Yeah, I'm coming."

Volume 37

Like the trickle of a stream, day poured gently over the sleeping pastures. Their feet were weary from the long night of dusty roads.

"So what exactly are you trying to say here?" Hayden panted unenthusiastically.

"Exactly what I said: No more stealing. No more cheating. No more trouble." Landon explained as sweat ran down his forehead. Steel Leopard nodded approvingly.

"What the hell else are we going to do?" Hayden thought out loud. Landon didn't respond, though he too wondered the same thing. "Where are we even going?" Hayden turned to Steel Leopard. Without warning, he hopped over a ragged, wiry fence and led them through an expanse of untamed tall grass. The morning dew wet the bottoms of their pants as they trudged on.

It was the smoke they saw first. As they cleared the crest of a small hill, the origin of the grey puffs came into view. A congregation of aged, wooden buildings sat clustered amongst a vast sea of fields and crops. One of the smaller buildings housed a chimney on its roof that spewed forth the smoke that was filling the air. Rusted barrels and ancient, rotting farm equipment dotted the scene.

Steel Leopard stopped.

"What's this?" Bull asked.

"It's your new home."

Bull and Hayden traded glances. Hayden searched for a positive adjective, "Well... It's got character."

Steel Leopard chuckled deeply, "Oh, if you only knew how right you are."

Bull and Hayden gulped. They looked to Landon for some resemblance of reassurance, but he was off, wandering aimlessly in his own thoughts.

Steel Leopard pushed open the weathered wooden door and they piled in. Bull gave a sigh of relief: finally, warmth.

"Old Don?" Steel Leopard called out. The only response was the welcoming crackle of fire in the stone hearth. Bull wasted no time. In seconds he had posted himself directly in front of the fires glow, warming his cold, dirty hands.

"Old Don?" Steel Leopard repeated as he peeked past a lone wooden table. The room was of decent size, but was left more or less under-furnished. Steel Leopard walked past a staircase leading to a second floor, and through a door at the far end of the room. Hayden and Landon curiously followed.

They came to an abrupt stop, only inches inside. It was a much smaller room. An old man sat, legs crossed, in the center. His eyes were shut and his breaths so quiet that they were over powered by the fireplace in the next room.

"Old Don?" Hayden presumed. His tarty remark was met with a stern gaze and finger pressed against Steel Leopards lips. He got the message. They waited.

Hayden swayed on his feet. His impatient posture felt like a necessity; as if, if he stopped moving, time itself would freeze and never again be awoken. The fire now echoed like thunder in the all absorbing silence. The silence grew louder, a presence that was both lulling and strikingly painful.

Then, in one fluid motion, the old man rose to his feet and the silence was gone. "I thought you left?" His voice was raspy and cold.

"You said I'm always welcome back," Steel Leopard smiled.

"Maybe I wouldn't have said that if I'd known you'd be back so soon." He stared forward, his body stiff and straight. Landon assumed by Steel Leopards stupid grin and relaxed shoulders that the old man was being smart, but you sure couldn't tell it from his voice.

"Who's the old guy?" Bull entered the room with about as much tact as normal.

"What shithole did you drag them out of?" Only for a brief second did the old man shoot them an unimpressed glare.

"I remember you saying you could use some help on the farm," Steel Leopard stepped with swagger towards his old friend.

"No."

"They'll work hard," Steel Leopard spoke for them.

The Old Man stopped in his tracks and walked up to the three bandits. He leaned in close, "Somehow, I have a feeling your hard work and my hard work, are not the same thing." Then he turned and walked out of the room. They all followed him back into the larger room.

"You know maybe we should just go," Hayden offered, not liking the idea of farm work.

"Ah, you must be the smart one?" The old man spoke. Hayden curled his lip, sarcasm or no?

"Give them a chance," Steel Leopard's voice was a little firmer.

"No. And don't you talk that way to me boy."

"Sorry guys," Steel Leopard shrugged as he turned to walk out. Landon's heart sank. This place was cold, unfriendly, and undoubtedly dangerous. The old man was sourer than unripe fruit, but somehow he knew this was where he had to be.

"Look," He spoke up, "I know we look like bad guys, but we're leaving that life behind. We won't hurt you."

Steel Leopards eyes grew wide and the old man turned his gaze slowly to Landon. "Hurt me?" A smile worked its way onto his face, but it was a twisted obscene twirl of lips that made Landon freeze in place.

In a sweeping motion - faster than Landon's eyes could even keep pace - the old man drew a machete that had been concealed in his pant leg, and had it within millimetres of Landon's throat. He dared not breathe, for if he exhaled the point of the blade would surely pierce his Adam's apple.

"Whoa," Bull summed up their sentiment in a way only he could.

"Holy shit," Hayden exclaimed, "fuck farm work, teach us that! Seriously!" The excitement in his voice took everyone off guard. Even the old man turned and looked at him. "What? We've spent our whole lives getting our asses kicked. Man, maybe this is," he looked to Landon, "what'd you call it? Destiny?"

The old man lowered his blade. "What did you say?" His face contorted as he stepped towards him.

"Destiny man. It's this thing Landon talks about, like you know, purpose and all that. Maybe we came here so you could teach us this so we won't get the shit kicked out of us everywhere we go." The earnest conviction in his voice caught them all off guard.

"What do you know of destiny?"

"Nothing really. I told you, he's all into it," he pointed at Landon.

The old man scowled. "Fine. I will teach you and feed you; in exchange you work. Hard."

"Deal," Landon reluctantly agreed.

"Aw man," Hayden groused. They all looked at him, "fine. Fine."

Volume 38

It was a simple soup: broth, a few vegetables, and a couple chicken bones. But it sure did the trick. The hungry travelers shoveled it down as they sat around the rectangular wooden dinner table.

Hayden rapped his spoon against the table top, eliciting an uncouth glare from Old Don. "Nice place," he looked around. His comment drew the others from their bowl as Landon and Bull joined him in observing their surroundings.

"Y'all are staying in the barn."

Hayden nodded grimly. He should have figured as much.

"What's that," Landon stood to his feet and marched slowly across the hard wood floor to an adjacent wall where an intricately engraved tablet hung. It was the only thing that adorned the otherwise empty room. Like a metal tapestry it stretched across the vertical wooden surface. He graced it with his fingertips, reading its title at the same moment Steel Leopard interjected.

"The Spirit's Decree."

Landon's eyes washed over it with interest. Hayden and Bull looked from Landon back to Steel Leopard. "Those are the laws you were talking about?" Hayden asked.

Steel Leopard nodded.

"Whoa," Landon's mouth dropped, "are they serious?" He turned to Old Don and Steel Leopard.

Old Don gave him a stern, uncompromising look.

"Why? What does it say?"

"Well... A lot, actually," his tone was overwhelmed, "like everyone's clothes should be uniform. Flamboyant attire is forbidden."

Hayden laughed awkwardly as he tucked his red Chuck Taylor's under his chair.

"Daily meditation is mandatory. Tithing is mandatory. Murder is forbidden, and punishable by death. Stealing is forbidden and punishable by death," he went on then stopped suddenly.

"What is it?"

"Alcohol is forbidden; the consumption and/or manufacturing of it punishable by death."

"What?!" Bull burst out in disbelief. He turned frantically to Old Don, then Steel Leopard, both of whom just nodded their heads somberly.

"Jeeze, that sucks," Hayden commented casually.

Landon chuckled as he turned devilishly to Hayden.

"What?"

"Females are forbidden from leaving the homes of their husbands or fathers."

Hayden couldn't even respond. It all made sense. He felt like he hadn't seen a single chick since they arrived, and he was right. "I don't think I'm going to make it here..." he sounded deflated. Steel Leopard couldn't hold his laugher any longer. Old Don was less impressed.

"These decree's, these 'laws' are very important. They are what keep our society together, while elsewhere has fallen into chaos. They have served us for centuries. You are best to learn them," was Old Don's timely response.

"Who are these 'spirit's' anyway? And why did they decree all of this?" Hayden barked as he sat, arms crossed.

"They are the spirits that surround us; the spirits of all that is, and has ever been."

"Come again?"

Old Don looked rather impatiently forward, "Everything has a spirit. They are in the air, the trees, the ground, everything. They are all around us, all the time."

"Uh..." Hayden and Bull looked around, slightly skeptical. Steel Leopard nudged them both under the table, warning strongly against saying anything stupid. "Okay, yeah, I get it..."

"And these spirits," Landon stood contemplatively looking at the decree. "They made these... rules?"

Old Don inhaled deeply, "The Clerics made the decree. But every rule is designed to steer man to live harmoniously with the spirits. It is their world, not ours."

"And who are these Clerics?" Hayden quipped from across the table.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find out soon enough."

He gulped then silently returned to his soup. All of this philosophy was way over his head. He didn't want to press it any further.

Landon sat back down. It was such a strange concept. The structure of this place, the belief they placed in something they couldn't even see. It was either the bravest thing he'd ever heard of, or the dumbest. He would reserve judgement.

Several moments of silence passed before Hayden lifted his head from his soup. "I got a question for you."

Steel Leopard and Landon cringed.

"You all seem to use those blades... why not just use a gun?"

"Guns are forbidden."

"Of course they are." He said distastefully, "but why a machete?"

Old Don put down his spoon and stared sternly across the table at Hayden. "There is a legend." They all listened carefully. "Long ago our people faced constant oppression. A great king rose up and freed us all. He did so with a machete."

"Sounds pretty bad ass," Bull joked.

"Yes. Bad ass." Don glared, "It is in his honour that we learn the art of the machete."

Landon leaned back in his chair, looking from Old Don and his tales of long ago kings, to the decree that hung so ominously on the wall. He sat forward once more and arched his back as he leaned over the table. "Man, we have a lot to learn."

"That would be an accurate observation." Old Don stared, eyes unmoving.

Volume 39

The barn was cold and their beds were hard. The frigid night became the nippy morning and they hadn't slept a wink. Tired and shivering they arose. Their make shift room was little more than a second story platform in the back of a barn that was otherwise occupied by large, woolly elephants and mountainous piles of hay. The smell of unwashed animals filled their nostrils as they groggily climbed down the ladder from their sleeping quarters to the barn floor. Not a word was spoken as they shuffled out of the barn and over the dew covered grass to Old Don's house.

Breakfast was meager, at best.

"Where's Steel Leopard?" Hayden finally mustered up the strength to ask.

"He left this morning."

They all looked at each other: he'd left without saying a word. What a guy.

Upon finishing their meal they huddled in front of the fire. As the embers sizzled and popped and the flames danced about, there was a moment that they almost felt comfortable. But then the chores began. Oh, the chores.

Bull - with his mangled, stretched out muscles- struggled the least. But he still struggled. Hayden and Landon on the other hand were completely and utterly wiped; by noon.

Hayden stared grimly at their lunch: stale bread and foul smelling cheese. "Swell," he chimed sarcastically as he gave Landon a dirty stare. Landon was too tired to combat his friend's sour comments.

Weary, covered in dirt and smelling like thickly matted elephants they began their afternoon. The art of the machete was their aim, though Old Don only let them practice with wooden sticks.

They topped off the day with homemade soup and some more chores. By the time all was said and done, the sun had barely set and sleeping in their barnyard accommodations no longer seemed a problem.

The wooden beams above spun as Hayden stared upwards, the itchy wool blanket wrapped tightly around him. "I don't think this is going to work out."

"What do you mean?" Landon's tone was unusually tired.

"I don't think I could do this one more day..."

"Pussy," Bull chuckled.

"Whatever," Hayden grumbled as he fell into a deep sleep.

Despite his reservations, he did last another day. They all did. They lasted through the rain, which was quite the experience for them. They continued on as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months. The trees began to change colour, from deep greens to brilliant yellows and reds. Then the leaves fell to the ground, leaving bare skeletons in their place.

The days passed. Their chores became routine. Old Don still wouldn't let them use actual machetes, but despite their complaints they were learning. In what little free time they had Landon soaked up all the customs and practices he could. Books were forbidden, but Old Don was himself, a tome of knowledge.

Hayden and Bull mostly played cards and drew crude pictures of females in compromising positions. Landon insisted they burn them; something about being forbidden and punishable by death. As usual, Landon knew best.

Winter came quickly and before long, snow blanketed the earth.

"I'll be honest," Bull stared out of a crack in the wall of their quarters, "I'm really not a big fan of the white stuff." Through the narrow opening he peered out over the snow covered fields, lit only by the light of the moon.

Hayden chuckled as he rubbed his hands together. "Me neither, but look at the bright side: all this cold fucks up the old man's joints and he has little choice but to let us go into town for him."

"Or, he trusts us," Landon shook his head.

"Somehow, I doubt that," Hayden lay his head down on his straw pillow.

"Hey guys?" Bull interrupted.

"What's up?" They both sat up.

"Is that Old Don?" Bull remained staring out of the crack in the wall, "where the hell is he going?"

"What? Let me see," Landon rushed over. Using the crudely made fences as cover, he hurriedly made his way into the darkness. "Where the hell is he going?"

"Well, what'dya know, the old bastard has some secrets of his own," Hayden yawned, "don't worry about it man. It ain't none of our business."

Landon shrugged. He was probably right; best not to pay it any mind. But as he drifted into slumber, his mind wandered. Where was the old man going?

***

They trudged through the snow. Thick clouds hung, stagnant in the frozen sky. Landon held, clutched in his palm, a messily scribbled shopping list accompanied by several tattered bills. After all this time, they'd been promoted to errand boys.

"Check it out Bull," Hayden bragged, "all that work's made me ripped! Pretty soon, I'mma be bigger than you!" He joked as he flexed his muscles.

"Whatever, not even close," Bull scoffed.

They reached the town, and as usual it was quiet, cold and mostly empty. The wooden buildings were built with sharp lines and imposing motifs. Jupiter Island certainly wasn't the friendliest looking place.

Landon shot out his hand, stopping them in their place. Blood flew and splattered a crimson stain upon the previously untainted snow. Their eyes grew wide. A crowd had gathered, at its center a tangled contorted mess of flesh and blood. Croaking, the young man sputtered, barely able to breathe through a mouthful of ruby stained vomit.

They approached with trepidation. "What the fuck?" Bull spoke quietly.

Several officers stood over the body, blood soaked machetes held in violent hands. Their black attire was splattered with the man's liquid life. It was an awful scene.

An older man in an uncharacteristically bright red outfit stepped forward. He looked down upon the mess of a man with a look of utter distaste, as if his mere sight made him want to spit out a bad taste in his mouth. He opened his hand, an officer quickly placing a machete in it.

The crowd said nothing. Landon leaned in close to the nearest stranger. "What did he do?"

"He was found guilty of possessing luxuries." He shook his head solemnly. Landon's eyebrow rose; it sounded ridiculous. But he remembered the decree: Unnecessary material items are forbidden. The spirits presence is all the nourishment humans need.

"According to the decree of the spirits," the red cloaked man began casually, "your punishment shall be death." And his firm hand dropped the blade down in a swift chop, severing the man's head from his body. They cringed. The crowd did not.

"Who is that?" Landon asked, this time even more quietly.

The stranger didn't turn, but Landon could hear the evasive tone in his voice, as if shocked he didn't already know. "A cleric."

Volume 40

As the snow thawed and winter came to an end, they shared a sense of pride. A pride that they could withstand anything nature could throw at them. Then, with the first bloom of spring, the rains began. And it rained. And it rained more. Just when they thought they would never see the sun again, the clouds parted and the nourished earth gave birth to summer.

There was so much life here, yet no one seemed to be truly living. Landon took a long drag on a cigarette as he stood half out of the barn door. The fields of corn swayed in the hot summer night. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. They had almost been here a whole year. They had worked hard to earn their keep and learn their place. But they still didn't belong; nor would they ever.

"Hurry up! We know you're smoking! Just do it over here! Bulls already dealt the cards!" Hayden shouted from the rafters above the peacefully sleeping mammoths. Landon chuckled: you could take the kids out of the wasteland, but you couldn't take the wasteland out of the kids.

"I'll be there in a sec!" He stared out once more at the farmland that surrounded them. He was happy here. There was peace here. There was so much the wasteland could never offer. He'd left his dreams of fortune and fame in the past. Maybe. Maybe not.

***

"I'm going away for a while," Old Don informed them abruptly as they sat around the breakfast table, "I'll be back in time for harvest." Their spoons fell as they stared at him, their soup left uneaten in the lingering silence. "I trust you will be able to handle the farm while I'm gone?"

They traded glances. This was on Landon. "Yeah, uhm, of course," he coughed then sputtered. What was going on? Did he really trust them that much?

"Where you going?" Bull blurted out as he returned to his soup, the enormity of their responsibility not weighing down upon him.

Old Don looked displeased. He hated questions. But his expression became softer, "to the Capital. It's quite far south. My sister lives there. I haven't visited her for some time."

They nodded, fair enough. They were all just shocked, plain and simple.

With a week's worth of instruction and a plethora of warnings to "not fuck anything up" Old Don was off and the farm was, technically speaking, theirs.

***

"Holy shit!" Bull shouted excitedly. The earth shook. Landon and Hayden looked at each other with distress. They dropped their farm tools and bolted through the gleaming pastures in the summer heat to make their way to him. As they cleared the corn fields, they came across a completely trampled pasture of sweet grass.

"What the hell happened?"

"Check this out!" Bull yelled with glee as he rushed to a group of grazing mastodons. He wasted no time in tip toeing right into their midst and promptly lighting a match. The sudden spark of fire sent the mastodons into a crazed frenzy. Scared half to death they began stampeding: directly at Hayden and Landon. Leaping out of the way just in time, the woolly mammoths drove their way past. Leaving a trail of destruction in their wake, they eventually grew tired and slowed to a stop. Returning to their grazing, the thick beasts seemed as if nothing had happened.

"Cool huh?" Bull said with a ridiculous grin on his face as he looked down at Landon and Hayden who lay flat on their backs.

"Hardly," Landon replied grimly. It was a terribly stupid thing for Bull to do. But he had to admit; even he was a little bored. "Man," he sighed as he sat up, his dry tongue running over his chapped lips as he stared out into the sun drenched fields, "I could sure go for a drink."

"Yeah, me too," Hayden added.

"No, like," Landon almost looked around to make sure no one else was around, "a drink, drink."

"Amen to that!" Bull exclaimed. Hayden sat silently; too silently. They both looked at him as he sat in deep thought. "What's up?"

Hayden suddenly flashed them a mischievous smile, "Follow me," he stood to his feet and began walking. They looked at each other with trepidation. "I've been thinking this through for a while, and I think I've got it figured out."

"Okay?"

"Look around you," Hayden elaborated. They did.

"Corn? Sweet grass? Potatoes?" Landon guessed.

"Bingo. And what can you get from corn and sweet grass?" They shrugged. "Corn meal and sugar," he smiled as he rounded the corner of a silo. An assortment of rusted barrels and farm equipment sat amongst the over grown grass.

They stared blankly at him.

"Look at it!" Hayden couldn't believe they hadn't clued in, "all we need is some yeast from in town and we have everything to make our own hooch!"

"Seriously?" Bull's eyes grew wide and his mouth began to water.

"You know how to make moonshine?" Landon asked skeptically.

"Well, yeah, I mean I grew up watching dude's make it back home."

"Do it!" Bull responded gravely.

"I don't know," Landon looked around. Hayden groaned. He knew he shouldn't have told Landon.

"It's just for us man, no one will ever know."

"Fine, just be smart about it." Landon shrugged then walked away. Hayden and Bull stared at each other in shock. Then they both erupted into cheers as they high fived each other. They were going to get booze and they even got Landon's blessing. But now they had to get to work. And quietly too.

They worked quickly, determined to get their operation underway before Old Don returned. They worked mostly in the night, as Landon made sure their little project wouldn't interrupt their duties. A real piece of junk barn on the far edge of the farm was the perfect place for their still. They'd never even seen Old Don go past it, let alone in it.

Harvest quickly approached and Old Don still hadn't returned. But on the plus side, they had booze. It tasted god awful, but it didn't turn them blind.

"See, now this place ain't so bad at all. All it needed was a little something something," Hayden joked as he tipped back his tin can full of handcrafted moonshine. Landon shook his head as he leaned over the kitchen table on a warm end of summer night. He was right though, this place wasn't so bad. But it did lack just that - a little bit of bad. He wondered if that's why he let them risk everything just for a bit of booze.

But he didn't have much time to ponder, as the door burst open. Scared as shit, they quickly snatched their alcohol off the table and hid it behind their backs.

"Who the fuck are you?" A stranger with a hood over their head stared in at them.

"Us? We live here, who the fuck are you?" Hayden stammered drunkenly.

The stranger sighed deeply, before removing their hood. Their jaws dropped. She was a beautiful, mocha skinned girl with long sleek black hair. "I need to see Don."

Volume 41

Silence engulfed the room like an airborne plague. Its presence was so overbearing that it boomed in their eardrums. Their nervous eyes were frozen in time but their hearts beat like a drummer on speed. Possession of alcohol was punishable by death. So was being a woman outside of her home.

She was young, beautiful, and they all knew damned well she could smell the liquor. It was a psychological stand-off and their wits were their guns.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Then Landon lit a cigarette. The flick of the match echoed like a bomb as the flame gnawed at the tobacco. They all looked at him. "Look, this goes two ways," he paused, "you sit down at this table and have a drink with us."

She bit at her lip. "Or?"

"Or we're going to have to kill you."

Hayden and Bull looked at each other.

"You couldn't if you tried," she spat through her tense jaw.

"Only one way to find out."

She stared bitterly at Landon. Slowly, she stepped forward and grasped a wooden chair in her thin hand. It screeched as she pulled it across the floor. Never taking her eyes off Landon, she sat down.

Hayden slipped out a tin cup and poured a shot for her. Gingerly, she looked at them all before downing it. She coughed as it burned its way down her throat.

With a maniacal grin on his face, Hayden moved his eyes up and down her body. "You're gorgeous."

Leaning across the table she grabbed the remaining liquor from out of his hands. Before he could say a word she tilted it back and downed it. They all watched as she swallowed it without a complaint. Slamming the empty bottle down onto the table she leaned in close to Hayden, her lips just gracing his ear, "not a fucking chance."

Hayden ran his hands over the stubble on his chin as she sat back into her seat. She had some fight in her. He liked that.

"Where is Don?" She held her palms together and placed it squarely on the table. It was her turn.

"Not here," Landon's expression remained sour.

"Fine," she gave the room a once over, "I know he didn't move because his stuff is still here. And I know damn well you three goofs didn't take him out." They scoffed at her remark, "so answer me this then? Who the hell are you and why the hell would Don let you stay in his place?"

She was good. Landon was at a loss for words.

"We're his..." Hayden spoke up, "Nephews." The arrogance that tainted every word he spoke was like a needle being driven into the back of the neck.

"Sure, why not." She stood to her feet and began to walk across the room towards the staircase.

"Hold on a sec," Landon grabbed her arm. She spun around, a vengeful fire burning deep in her eyes. "Who are you and where do you think you're going?"

Her lips could have been icicles as the frozen words shivered off her tongue, "I'm his niece. And I'm going upstairs to wait for him."

Landon let go as he watched her make his way up into Old Don's quarters. Hayden couldn't help but laugh. She was one tough broad.

***

"Man, she is smoking hot," Hayden crooned from his bed.

"Shit, it's been a year since you've even seen a girl; you'd probably get aroused by a wooden post!" Bull teased.

"Whatever man, let me say this up front, I'm going to get with that girl."

"Oh, yeah, you sure impressed her," Bull rolled his eyes as he settled into bed.

Their laughter filled the sweltering space above the stalls of mammoths. "Landon! What the hell you doing down there? Hurry it up already!"

Landon stood at the barn door. "I'll be there in a second!" He yelled as he peered out into the darkness. He could just barely hear Bull grumble something. He paid it no mind.

It had been over a day and she hadn't left the house. He knew that wouldn't last forever. His eyes remained strained and unmoving as they watched the vacant space between the house and the outhouse.

She peeked out cautiously, looking in all directions. Landon slid the barn shut door so only a small crack remained open. Unlike his, her eyes weren't accustomed to the dark and as far as she could see, the coast was clear. She stepped outside, only the tip of her toes gracing the earth. Bingo; he had her.

Slipping out quietly so the others wouldn't hear him, he snuck up behind her.

"We need to talk."

She jumped and gasped at the sound of his voice before spinning around furiously. "What the fuck is wrong with you!" She hissed, "do you want me to piss myself?"

He smiled. "Landon."

"I don't give a fuck what your name is," she scowled as she tried to brush past.

"You should," he grabbed her arm once more. "Because as long as we're both gonna be on this farm, we have some things that need to be straightened out. Before Old Den gets back."

She looked up at him with disgust, "I won't rat you guys out. Relax." She tried to pull away, but this time, he wouldn't let go.

"Old Don left me in charge of this farm. I take that very seriously." All the playfulness in his voice disappeared, "no one stays on this farm in his absence unless I say so. No one."

"You don't have a choice," she spat, "you tell the officials on me, I tell on your little operation."

"Wrong," he peered deep into her eyes, "I can pour out liquor and dismantle a still. You can't stop being a girl."

She took a deep breath and relaxed her body. Defeat. "What do you want?"

"Just a name."

She sighed heavily, "Desiree."

He let go of her arm.

"Okay Desiree, now just play nice till Old Don gets back from his little trip and I promise, there won't be any problems." Landon's smile crept back onto his face.

"Fine," she lifted her nose into the air. Without another word Landon left and walked back to the barn.

She stared after him, watching as he disappeared into the night. These guys were different. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was definitely something.

Volume 42

"You know," Hayden's tongue slithered like a snake, "this whole pissed off thing; it's not a good look on you. You should really try being a little more," he paused purposely, "personable."

"No," was her blunt response as she continued stringing up her clothes on a line.

He stood for a moment watching as strands of her silky black hair escaped the confines of the hood she wore outside the home. Her skin was a deep, gorgeous brown that seemed to glow in the early autumn sun. Nope: he wouldn't give up that easily.

"Seriously, what's your deal? I'm a real great guy, promise."

She stopped and looked at him, "you're not my type."

He thought it over for a second, "Are you a lesbian? Because I mean, that's cool, kind of a waste, but cool."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

A grunt came from behind: the old man. Hayden backed off. "Catch ya' later," he winked as he strolled on. Old Don glared at him as he made his way back to his chores.

Old Don had returned several days after Desiree showed up. He was crankier than usual, and to their surprise now walked with a terrible limp, though none of them dared ask why. He dealt with Desiree rather casually, informing them- after some coercion- that she was indeed his niece. He was adamant that she would be living on the farm and that they were to not speak to her, or of her. Ever.

The summer had slowly come to an end and the brilliant colours of autumn were once again upon them, as was harvest. It was hard work, but it kept them busy, but not so busy as to keep them out of trouble. Hayden and Bull had started selling their liquor on the low to some of the sketchier characters around the town.

It was risky, for all of them, but they were still strangers in a foreign world. As they would always be. Landon felt it the most. The farm life, the life he thought he wanted, was falling short once again.

He groaned. His muscles were sore as he hauled another bale of hay across the narrow strip of land separating the crops. He dropped it for a second. The leaves on the trees were just beginning to turn from green to orange and red. The world outside of the wasteland was so colourful. But he had never missed the dull greys of home quite like he did then.

His ears caught a soft tune. It was the sound of someone humming a song. It was upbeat yet filled with sorrow. He cut through the crop, following it to the other side then down an embankment. Sitting amongst the foliage at the edge of a stream was Desiree.

He stood for a moment. She hadn't noticed him yet. Alone in the midst of nature she had pulled the cloak from her head. Her beauty was truly stunning, yet there was something darker that lurked beneath her vibrant skin. He turned to walk away.

"You don't have to leave," she offered without looking at him.

He was still and indecisive before taking a seat on the earthy ground next to her.

"Smoke," he slid a cigarette into his own mouth than offered her one. She took it.

She took a long drag, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as the nicotine filled her lungs, "you guys aren't from around here, are you?"

Landon laughed, "no."

"Where are you from?"

"The wasteland."

"I've heard of it," she paused, "never good things." Landon nodded as they stared at the babbling brook. "It's a long ways away, how'd you end up here?"

"Circumstance." He looked across at her.

Her head bobbed slightly, along with the rhythmic bobbing of the water in the creek. A cool breeze whistled past, as if in a single gust of wind the warmth of summer was being pushed out and replaced by an ever growing chill.

"You're not really the old man's niece are you?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

"Circumstance."

They both smiled. Never had so much been spoken in so little words. They both had their secrets, and that was how they wanted it to stay.

"You're friend, does he ever give up?" Desiree asked honestly, lightening the mood.

"Huh? Hayden?" Landon laughed loudly, "good luck with that."

"Landon, Hayden and..." She paused waiting for him to fill in the blank.

"Bull."

She giggled, "I'm not even going to ask."

"Good," he chuckled as he looked over at her, and to his surprise, she was looking at him. Their eyes caught, filled with hopeful smiles, before they quickly turned away.

She tossed her cigarette butt into the stream, "We should get out of here."

"You go first," Landon offered, knowing the Old Man's resignations.

"You can walk me back, if you want," she looked at Landon with sparkling, enigmatic eyes.

She was trouble after all. He stood to his feet and held out his hand. Her skin wasn't frail, but her small hands fit so well into his as he helped her to her feet. They walked back to the farm in silence and parted with nothing but a smile. Landon disappeared behind her as she rounded one of the wooden silos.

"Hey," It was Hayden. She jumped.

"Jeeze, do you ever stop?" There was annoyance in her voice.

He put his hands out in front of him, "Look, calm down," all the smoothness from his voice was gone, as he reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing?" Her irritation turned to anger.

He pulled her in close, "Shut up." He told her sternly as he tightened his grip, "Relax, I'm not trying to get with you or anything. I'm not stupid, I saw you and Landon, and whatever's going on between you two, is none of my business."

"Good," she shook herself free and began walking away.

"But he's my friend. And I have to look out for him." She ignored him as she angrily strode away. "I know who you are."

She stopped dead in her tracks and slowly turned around.

"I'd remember those eyes anywhere."

She tried to play dumb.

"Dressed in all black. At the bus terminal. Running from the officials. Revolut-" He trailed off as she ran up to him and placed her hand over his mouth. Her anger slipped into desperation as her sad eyes washed over him.

He ripped her hand from his mouth, "Relax. I've known the whole time. I haven't told anyone yet," he winked, his swagger returning, "Landon's my friend," he reiterated, "Don't use him, don't mislead him."

She nodded grimly as he walked away calmly.

Volume 43

The brilliant blooms of spring surrounded them. The sweet aroma of grass laced the soft breeze as they stood among the pastures.

"There are spirits in the air. Let them guide your movements. Work with them..."

"Not against them," they finished the old man's sentence in unison as they practiced with their wooden faux-machetes. He ran his tongue over his stained teeth. They had learned something after all. And their technique had become good. Very good.

"Stop."

They did as they were told. Their backs were straight and their bodies unmoving. Old Don hobbled to the side of a barn. His steps were careful but awkward. He hadn't walked the same since returning from the south.

Landon's eyes caught sight of Desiree. She was midway across the farm fetching water. She smiled. He smiled back.

"When I was gone," Old Don made his way patiently back to them. Landon swallowed hard as his eyes darted forward. "I picked these up. I thought you'd be ready sooner. But, you weren't." He croaked. "But, better late than never." In his outstretched hands lay three gleaming machetes.

Their eyes grew wide. The new blades slid elegantly into their palms. Like school children with new toys they jumped about, slashing their blades indiscriminately.

Old Don coughed. They stood still; wide, goofy smiles plastered on their faces. He shook his head. He'd never show it: but these idiots had grown on him.

The weathered teacher grimaced, "Don't you all have chores to do?" Quickly dispersing, they didn't have to be told twice. "Landon."

Landon stopped.

"Walk with me." The old man motioned for his accompaniment. Hayden nudged Landon jokingly before heading off with Bull.

Landon walked a half step behind Old Don but remained silent.

"How long have you three been here?"

"Almost two years," Landon spoke slowly as he looked down at his athletic body that had formed on behalf of the work there.

"Yes. You've done well."

Landon's brow contorted. This was not the grumpy old man he was used to.

"I'm getting old," he paused and wiped a bead of sweat from his wrinkled forehead, "When the time comes for my," he paused again, "retirement. The farm will be yours."

Landon's body froze.

"If you want it; of course."

"Yes, of course. Thank you." He stammered.

"Good." Old Don walked away.

Landon stood still amongst the flat green pastures, the spring sun beating down onto his neck. Conflicted and confused: he was torn between his past and his present. Could a bandit from the wasteland really change?

***

"Wonder what that's all about?" Hayden whispered to Bull as they cleared the far edge of the farm.

"No idea," Bull responded quickly. Too quickly. There was something on his mind. "We need to talk," Bull hissed the second he felt they were out of earshot.

"What is it?"

Bull peered around nervously, "one of the guys we sell bootleg to. He got caught."

Hayden froze.

"He doesn't know who we are, but the officials know something's up."

Hayden loosened up slightly. "Just play it cool and be extra careful."

Bull nodded in concordance.

"Does Landon know?"

"No."

"Good."

"So, don't tell him?"

"No."

"Okay. Got it," Bull shifted uncomfortably. Landon didn't know they were selling it. They both figured it was for the best. "Where the hell is he anyways?" Bull looked across the field as the old man entered his house: alone.

Hayden shifted his feet but stayed silent. He had a pretty good idea.

***

She ran her fingers across his bare chest as he held her naked body close to his. Sweat poured down their backs as they exchanged satisfied smiles between laboured breathes.

"The old man finally gave you the machetes?" Desiree looked up into his dark eyes.

"Yeah. You knew he had them?" Landon looked down at her as he slid his glasses back onto his nose.

"Yeah."

"Figures." He stared up through a crack in the weathered wooden roof; the brilliant blue sky peeking through. It was an old silo, one only used for the mastodon's hay. It made for the perfect spot. They lay in an intertwined silence, both looking up into azure sky beyond dusty wooden beams.

"The old man is going to give me the farm."

"What?" She sat up, her voice laced with surprised and concern.

"Not now, but, someday."

"Really?" Disbelief bled into skepticism.

"Come on," he pulled her back down to him, "this is great. Maybe then we can, you know, be together for real." His voice fluctuated as he spoke his mind.

She reached across his athletic body, fishing a cigarette from his pants.

"You don't want that do you?" He looked away from her as he slid a cigarette into his own mouth.

She put her cigarette down before rolling onto her side. She grabbed his sturdy face between her slender hands. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" He moved his head away.

She lay back down. White whips of smoke drifted up through the gaping hole in the roof as they lay next to each other, naked, unmoving and silent. "Landon. I have something I need to tell you."

Volume 44

Landon stared at her. Her beautiful face looked like one he'd never seen before. A breeze blew through the poorly insulated barn and their naked bodies now left them feeling vulnerable and distant.

"What did you say?" His tone was stern and colder than the wind that washed over them. He heard her. But he wanted her to say it again.

"I'm a revolutionary." Her words were strange and contradictory. They were proud yet filled with a subtle shame as she admitted the truth to her lover.

He stared at her, his mind unable to make sense of his own feelings.

"Come on," she reached out to him, "Don't tell me you didn't know there was something going on."

He reached for his clothes and slowly slid his pants back on. She was right. He'd been ignoring it, but there was no denying they both had secrets. They'd always known that.

"I know," he lay back down again, "but why tell me now?"

"Because," she knew what she wanted to say; but wouldn't. "Because you deserve to know the truth."

That was a bullshit answer. He'd been on Jupiter Island for two years but it was a complex strange place; one he still didn't fully understand. "And the old man?"

"He doesn't know," she lied unconvincingly.

"I get it. You're hiding here. Laying low." It didn't take a genius to figure it out. "Wait for the coast to clear and move on huh?" His words implied his deeper feelings of betrayal.

"No." She grabbed his face in her small, ebony hands, her naked chest pressed against his. "It's not like that. We're not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

"I want your help."

He tweaked his head towards her slowly, "what do you mean?"

"Join the movement."

He shifted uncomfortably. Not what he was expecting. "Look Desiree. This, this revolution: it's not my problem. I don't know this place like you do."

A fire smouldered in her eyes, "don't be so jaded."

He shut up. The golden shadows cast by the rotting wood around them danced upon their bodies. "You know just as I know. We are enslaved by hypocrisy." The fire in her eyes found its way to her throat where it exited her mouth in a lashing inferno. "You may be from some distant wasteland but you've been here long enough. You've studied the decree. It has nothing to do with the spirits."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I know."

"We could use your help. You, Hayden, Bull. You're young, strong and have experience beyond these islands."

He wouldn't look her in the eyes.

"The movement needs you. I need you."

He remained silent.

She scoffed, "don't you want to live in a world where we can be together? Do you know what would happen if they caught us? You'd be killed," she paused, "I'd be killed."

"I know."

"But?"

"But," he stopped. She was gorgeous, naked and his. What other reason did he need? "There is no but. I'm in."

***

"Fuck you," Bull growled as Hayden slammed another winning hand onto the small, crooked table. Hayden chuckled arrogantly as he took another swig of moonshine from a dirty cup. Landon handed over his losses. His face was vacant and his mind elsewhere.

"What's eating you?" Bull asked, unable to ignore his friend's unenthused demeanour any longer.

"Desiree," he paused, "she's a revolutionary," Landon spoke slowly.

"Oh shit," Bull shook his head.

"So she finally told you," Hayden remarked casually as he poured himself some more hooch.

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew."

There was silence. Hayden eyed Landon intently. He knew what was coming next. He was just waiting for it.

"Guys, we have to help the revolution." Bingo. There it was.

"Not a fucking chance," He brushed it off.

"But you don't understand," Landon defended his remark.

"And the thing is, I don't even care."

"Look," Landon spoke sternly, "these people, they are oppressed, held hostage in their own land. It's not... just."

"Right out of Desiree's mouth," Hayden sneered.

"Don't you say that," Landon spat venomously.

Hayden brushed it aside, "it's not our problem man. Don't get involved." Landon went to speak but Hayden wouldn't let him, "for the first time ever, we have a good thing going here: a job, a place to sleep at night- every night- we got our booze and a little money on the side. Come on man, this was what you wanted. Now you're gonna fuck it up, for what? For what?"

Landon sat quietly. He knew Hayden was right. But his heart felt something different. His posture relaxed and he looked at Hayden with sadness in his eyes. "For her."

Hayden groaned. Not what he wanted to hear. "She really means that much to you?"

Landon nodded somberly.

Hayden sighed heavily. What a fuck up. "Fine. If she really means that much to you, then we're in." Somehow he knew he was going to regret this.

"Thank you."

"Don't get too sentimental, I'm still kicking your ass at cards," Hayden grimaced resentfully.

Volume 45

Bull's obnoxious snoring rivaled the grumbling mastodon's below. Landon lay flat on his back; eyes wide open. The soft, hazy light of morning crept through narrow cracks. Their future was filled with uncertainty; once again. Had he been so incapable of normality that when handed to him on a silver platter, he tossed it aside for some overzealous rebellion? He wasn't even sure why they fought. It was two sides of the same coin. The laws were tough: yes. And the people certainly lacked freedom. But that was the price to be paid for peace and security. Was it not?

He never spoke these thoughts. Not to Hayden or Bull, for he didn't want them to see his doubts. And certainly never to Desiree for the excitement and energy that possessed her of late made him undeniably happy. He was happy simply to be a part of her life. And there in itself, he found his answer. It was not for rebellion, or justice. He was willing to throw everything away for her. Plain and simple.

"Hey, wake up, let's go get some breakfast," Hayden grumbled as he stumbled out of bed. "Oh, shit, you're already up." He rubbed his head as his sleepy eyes stopped on Landon. "Bull, get the fuck up."

Bull snorted and jumped up in bed, "Goddamn, I'm hung-over," he rubbed his head wearily.

"Yeah me too, let's go get some food."

Landon slid out of bed. He hadn't slept worth shit. His limbs were heavy and his pace slow. He was anxious as they approached Old Don's humble home. He hadn't seen Desiree in several days. It wasn't that this hadn't happened before, but this time it bothered him considerably more.

They ate quietly. An odd tension filled the room. Landon rapped his fingers impatiently on the table. Hayden's eyes darted onto his fidgeting friend. Landon was on edge. Hayden grinded his teeth: he had to play it cool.

Old Don collected their dirty dishes and wobbled with them over to the washing basin. Landon couldn't help it. He had to ask. "Where is Desiree?"

Hayden cringed. Bad move. Old Don stopped in his tracks. He put the dishes down and calmly turned around. "Who?"

Landon's brow furrowed. "Desiree. You're niece."

The old man bore a darkly condescending tone, "Never heard of her."

Landon shot to his feet, "What do you mean, you've never heard of her? She's only been living here for the past fucking year!" He stormed up to the old man. His strong arm shot out, forcefully spinning the weathered elder around.

Bull's eyes grew wide with disillusionment. Hayden scowled: so much for playing it cool.

Old Don ripped Landon's arm from his shoulder, his face tormented and vengeful, "you listen to me. Desiree doesn't exist. I don't know her. You don't know her. She is nothing but a figment of your imagination."

Landon swallowed hard as he stepped back.

"I told you to stay away from her," he whispered unforgivingly as he stormed past.

His blood pounded like a jackhammer in his ears. He wasn't done. He'd never be done. "You tell me where she is!" He chased after the old, limping man. He didn't respond as he moved towards his prayer room. "You tell me where she is old man. Now."

He turned around and simply shook his head as if to say 'she's gone'.

Landon stuttered. It couldn't end like this. It wouldn't. "Tell me. Tell me where she is or I'll tell. You think I don't know where you go at night. You think I didn't figure out what you were up to when you went to your 'sisters'? You're a revolutionary, just like her."

Old Don's bitter eyes remained glued to Landon. Hayden and Bull traded awkward glances. Landon had gone too far. The old, weathered man calmly walked back to Landon, "Congratulations. You've outsmarted us all."

He walked into his prayer room and slammed the door shut.

***

Twilight had befallen the local town as they strolled through the quiet streets. "We're all good right?" Hayden whispered to Bull, referring the 'situation' that had gone down due to their moonshine.

"They beheaded him. Hard to talk when you got no head," he responded grimly.

Hayden brushed it off. Selling liquor was peanuts next to what Landon wanted to get them into. But maybe that had changed now. He wasn't sure. Desiree was gone, and the old man was pissed. Uncertainty hung over them like the smell of stagnant sewage.

"She's just gone," Landon spoke gingerly.

"It's okay man," Bull patted him on the back, trying to be reassuring.

"Let's go home. I need a fucking drink," Landon responded lethargically.

"You three. Stop."

They stopped. Turning around slowly their eyes met those of three stern faced officials. Landon shrugged. He didn't really give a shit anymore.

"Can we help you?" Bull asked uncomfortably.

"Come with us."

"Go where?" Landon spat.

"Come with us. Now."

"Why?" Hayden smiled with his teeth gritted.

The officials sighed in frustration. They hated having to explain themselves. "The Cleric demands an audience."

Now even Hayden couldn't argue with that. "After you," he smiled sarcastically. But that wasn't going to fly. It was most certainly after them.

The officials paraded them across town. On the far side of town the dirt road gave way to polished stone. Its well shined surface glimmered in the moonlight. Rows upon rows of brilliantly coloured lavender adorned the fields on either side.

Hayden rubbed his eyes as they were led to the cast iron gates of an impeccable mansion. The massive complex of houses was built of the finest cured woods. It was a far cry from the old, rotting wood of the towns. Painted in brilliant reds and gold's; the architecture moved across the buildings like a swooping eagle- both engaging and breathtakingly beautiful.

"Holy fuck," Bull remarked astutely. Landon sneered. This Cleric had killed a man in cold blood for possessing 'luxuries' while he lived in such opulence. He was only now beginning to understand what Desiree meant when she spoke of their hypocrisy.

They were led into the largest house. The grandeur didn't end outside, but instead only increased. The colours of the paint only became more vibrant and the treasures that adorned every orifice only became more common.

Hayden shook his head. He'd lived here long enough to know what bullshit this was. They walked by an open room. A dozen giggling consorts watched as they passed. One waved. It was too much for Hayden to resist.

"Give me ten minutes," Hayden whispered to Landon.

"What?" Landon was in no mood to protest Hayden's lust. He didn't have time to anyways. Bull was already offering up a distraction. Stopping suddenly, he bent over to tie his laces, the officials turning angrily back to him. With a wink, Hayden slipped away.

As the officials turned back, one instantly began to make a fuss over Hayden's disappearance. But the higher ranking official quieted him. Landon's eyes narrowed. Why would he do that?

Bull and Landon were escorted further into the house, into an elegant stateroom where they were seated at the foot of a large, golden chair. A man in flashy red robes emerged and sat down. They needed no introduction. Landon felt a sour taste in his mouth.

"Friends," the cleric began, "Where is she?"

Volume 46

"Excuse me?" Landon peered across the luxurious hall at the well groomed Cleric.

"Where is she: the girl." The older man repeated himself, holding Landon's gaze.

Bull swallowed hard.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Landon sneered.

The cleric allowed for a smile to briefly slither upon his lips, "but I'm sure you do: the girl that has been living at your farm for almost a year."

The Cleric's words shook Landon to his bones. They were onto her. She left because she knew. She left just in time- or so he hoped.

"Did I perhaps, jog your memory?"

Landon remained steel faced. The golden trim that lined the room reflected the overly polished wooden beams. The Cleric's brilliant red robe shimmered under the light of the elegant chandelier. Landon hated him. Sitting atop his self-appointed throne: he was the symbol of everything Desiree fought against.

"Sorry, I can't help you."

The Cleric grimaced. "What are your names?"

"Landon."

"Bull."

"I see," he stroked his clean shaven chin as he let his words hang in the enormous room. "Well, Landon, Bull," he looked to each of them, "I know you aren't from here. And I respect that the two of you may not be fully accustomed to our way of life," his words were articulate and arrogant. "But you see, your friend, Desiree," - just hearing her name slide off the tongue of such a spiteful old man made Landon grind his teeth - "is a treasonous criminal. It is in the best interest of everyone if she is caught and brought to justice."

"Justice?" Landon's lip twitched. Bull nudged him. Now was not a good time to lose his temper.

"Yes. Justice," the old man laughed ever so slightly. He was pulling the right strings and pushing the right buttons.

Landon forced himself to collect his emotions. He had to play cool- for now.

"Let me level with you boys," he chose his words carefully, "I'm not sure what you've heard about us Clerics. But I'm willing to show you just how generous and forgiving we can be. Especially to our guests," he offered his upturned palms.

They stood still. "Go on."

His smile was false and toothy. "You see, I'm more than willing to overlook some of your... transgressions." They held their breath as he spoke. "For example: I can overlook the death of two officials in the north nearly two years ago, coincidentally around the time you arrived. But that's not an issue. No witnesses anyways." His tone steadily growing tenser, "I can also forget all about the liquor you three are making, and selling." Landon glared at Bull, who averted his gaze. The Clerics voice had built to a dull roar, his nostrils flaring with every pretentious word, "I can pretend I don't know that grumpy old man harbours revolutionaries, and I am willing to completely forget that your friend is, at this moment, fucking one of my consorts!" Following the crescendo of anger and frustration, he let silence hang in the air. And it hung about thicker than the fog that rolled in off the ocean.

"See," he smiled, "I'm a very forgiving man. Just tell me where she is."

There was a long pause. Bull looked to Landon for leadership, but Landon only stared straight forward. It took until that very moment for the enormity of Desiree's words to sink in. The peace and justice that supposedly ruled this society was nothing but a poor excuse for a ruling elite to hammer its fist into its own people without repercussion. It disgusted him.

But when did he become a hero? This arrogant prick wanted to kill the girl he loved. That was reason enough. "I have no idea who you're talking about." Landon's face was as vague and emotionless as his words.

The Cleric scratched his head irritably. "So be it." His lip curled and his expression soured. "Leave." He gave his final order with a chilling disdain as he stormed out of the room.

Landon and Bull didn't need to be told twice. Everything had just changed. They'd be lucky to get out of the palace alive.

They traded one quick glance and promptly hastened their pace. They needed to get the hell out of here. Landon reached for his waistband. Shit. Their machetes were back in the barn.

"What'd I miss?" Hayden slipped between them from an adjacent corner.

"You satisfied?" Landon's words were about as smooth as sandpaper. Hayden's libido had only added to the number of 'transgressions' these Clerics now had on them. Not to mention that the two of them had failed to mention their little side venture.

"Very," Hayden grinned widely. He didn't care. He just got laid. "So what happened?"

Landon inhaled deeply. There was no use being angry. It was these Clerics that deserved his rage, not Hayden or Bull. "They want Desiree."

"And you said?"

"I never heard of her."

"Good. Wait, then what's the hurry?"

"That Cleric didn't buy it for a second. And he has a ton of shit on us."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." Landon had said enough. Hayden shut up and sped up.

To their surprise, no officials followed as they exited the flamboyant palace. The streets were dead silent and the sky was clear. There was a pristine stillness in the air as they cautiously made their way back through town.

"What the hell do we do now?" Bull asked as they cleared the outskirts of town and began the empty trek back to the farm.

"I don't know. We need to warn Old Don. They're onto him. They're onto everything."

"Damn," Hayden spoke earnestly, "just when I was getting used to the quiet life." He was half joking, half serious. He'd grown accustomed to life on the farm. They all had. But trouble it seemed; was always lurking around the corner.

"Hey," Bull paused, "what's that light up ahead?"

They stopped dead in their tracks. An ominous glow emanated in the distance. It was coming from the farm. Their hearts skipped a beat and they ran as fast as their legs could carry them.

Their mouths dropped as they stood at the edge of the farm, watching as every structure on the property was engulfed in an unforgiving inferno. The fire reached high into the sky, the soft breeze blowing embers across the pasture as they stood, speechless.

Volume 47

They ran through the pastures as fast as their legs could carry them. They could hear nothing: not their own voices shouting Old Don's name, not the crackle and hiss of burning buildings. Their own beating hearts were all that filled their ears as the massive inferno sent dancing ochre shadows across their panicked faces.

Their barn, their still, all the silo's and Old Don's house were all engulfed in the destructive fire and there was absolutely nothing they could do but watch. But they couldn't remain still; they wouldn't. They ran about aimlessly as if somehow it was helping, as if somehow it wasn't simply watching their entire world burn to the ground.

Landon stopped. There was a movement in the pasture. Were the officials awaiting them? With a vengeful fury he raced across the illuminated fields. Bull and Hayden followed.

They came to a screeching halt. In front of their feet was Old Don's beaten, disfigured body. He sputtered and choked as blood bubbled up from his mouth. Bull turned away. Hayden winced. It was a sight none of them wanted to see.

Landon dropped to his knees. Grabbing the old man's profusely bleeding head; he lifted it close to his own. "I'm so sorry, it's our fault, it's my fault" he repeated over and over again as tears welled up in his eyes.

"No," Old Don croaked in a barely audible gurgle. Landon leaned in closer. "It's destiny," he tried to nod his head contently.

"No," Landon shook rigorously. This was no destiny.

Old Don spat and chortled, his eyes slowly closing, "We are all destined to die," he opened his eyes and stared deep into Landon's one last time, "it's what you do until then that counts." His soft smile broke through his chapped, crimson covered lips as he slid away into the slumber of death.

Landon didn't yell. He didn't scream. He simply held the old man close as tears flowed down his cheeks. This crazy old man had been an asshole. He'd worked them to exhaustion and nearly never showed any gratitude. He was also the only mentor- the only father- he'd ever had.

Hayden and Bull sunk down to the earthy field and embraced their friend - who refused to let go of the old man's lifeless corpse - as the entire farm burnt to nothing.

Landon finally let the body fall softly to the ground. He used his bloodied sleeves to wipe the tears from his eyes. "We have to bury him."

***

The sun rose red, filled with the blood of a dead old man, as the smouldering ruins of what had once been sent black smoke into the crisp morning air.

They were all filthy. Their backs were knotted and sore. Their hands were scarred and blistered. The mound of dirt at their feet was the only burial they could give the man who had given them so much. They were silent. Each one gave their own goodbyes before falling to the ground, exhausted.

Bull looked out across the golden hued pastures. The herd of woolly mammoths grazed calmly, as if unaware of the chaos that had taken place. Bull couldn't help but smile: the hairy beasts had lived.

None could think of anything to say to the others. Out of shock, or despair, they could only revel in the events that turned their lives inside out.

Landon darted to his feet. His face was focused and stern. They watched as he traversed the still steaming rubble of their barn. Hayden shook his head as he stared out at the destruction. It was all such a waste.

Landon used his feet to sift through the ash, poking under beams and lifting up the remnants of wooden boards. He didn't smile, or make a noise, but only nodded his head in satisfaction as he pulled their machetes from the turmoil. He brought them back and tossed them onto the ground. They were still intact, and sharp, but their once shiny metal blades had been permanently charred black.

Hayden picked one up and stared at it as it fit in his dirty, bruised palm. These blades were all they had left of the Old Man. "How come everywhere we go, there's always some asshole making life miserable?"

Landon didn't move; he just stared at his machete, "because that's how it is." He'd lost his love and his mentor. He looked to Hayden and Bull. He was thankful though, because he still had them.

"Fucking ridiculous," Hayden shook his head.

"So what do we do now?" Bull buried his tired head in his over-sized hands.

"Same thing we always do when shit hits the fan," Hayden sighed, "get the hell outta dodge."

Bull nodded. Same story; new script.

"No." Landon spoke softly.

"Huh?" Hayden leaned closer, unsure if he'd heard his friend right.

"No."

He had their attention. They both stared at him, waiting for his elaboration.

"This time," his eyes had a crazy in them that Hayden had never seen, "we don't run."

Hayden didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. He knew when Landon was being serious. He had never been more serious.

"Then what are we going to do?" Bull asked carefully, as if the answer might lash out and bite him.

Landon snatched his blackened machete off the ground and gripped it tightly in his throbbing fist. "We're going to kill them."

Volume 48

It was a dark and starless night. The deep, impenetrable clouds coated the Cleric's compound in black. Two officials stood guard. Their black outfits melded into the cast iron gate.

"I can't see a goddamn thing," the taller official squinted at their surroundings.

"What are you trying to see?" The smaller of the two huffed. His arrogance was far greater than his height.

"You know those kids that were here, I heard they're bandits and that they killed a bunch of bad asses on the coast." His stumbling words were laced with anxiety.

"Tall tales," the other brushed off his concern. "Let them come. Imagine the promotion we'd get if we killed them."

A flicker of light in the distance caught their attention. Their hearts thudded to a stop as their eyes shot out into the darkness. But it was gone.

"Did you just see..." His nerves got the best of him. His hands began to tremble. Then they both began to tremble. They looked at each other. It wasn't their nerves. The earth was trembling.

Leaning forward, they peered tirelessly into the dark. The rumbling grew more vigorous as did the thunderous sound that accompanied it. Their hearts beat faster. The sound grew louder. Their eyes grew wider.

Then, it was too late. The stampeding herd of woolly mammoths emerged from the black night, barrelling forward indiscriminately.

The taller official froze in his tracks. One mammoth knocked him down; another trampled him into the smooth stone pathway. The tougher official bounded out of harm's way as the mastodons plowed through the cast iron gate and rampaged through the open courtyard.

Dust flew into the air as the gargantuan beasts wreaked havoc upon the compound. Anger shot through the official's veins. He reached for his machete. It wasn't there. It must have fallen off when he dodged the stampede. With the dust as his cover he reached around for it blindly. Nothing. Nothing. His hand graced its handle. He smiled.

An outline of a man appeared out of the settling dust. One swift motion and the official's severed head rolled across the destroyed pathway.

Stoic and emotionless, Landon stood tall as the dust slowly fell back to the earth. Hayden and Landon joined him at his side. The mammoths had slowly petered out, and - as if nothing had happened - grazed amongst the well-trimmed grass that lined the courtyards of the compound.

Their footsteps were cement and their tense hands gripped their machetes like a vice as they strode right through the front door.

The courtyards were quiet. As they waltzed up the wide staircase to the Cleric's elegant residence they knew what would be awaiting them on the other side of the lavishly adorned door. They looked at each other. Not a word was spoken. The other side of the doorway led to a long hallway lined with tall, wooden pillars. Beyond the hall was the Cleric's 'throne room'. A man that arrogant and pretentious would definitely be waiting for them.

They took a deep breath and tightened their grip on their weapons. Bull nodded. He shoved the door open and chaos erupted.

With gritted teeth and an unquenchable thirst for revenge they took the band of officials head on. The crash and clang of blades echoed down the long elegant hallway.

Bull grew tired with sword play and reached out his long lanky arm, wrapping the fingers of his free hand around an official's neck. Lifting the much smaller man off the ground, he threw him into a wooden beam. Bull let out a long war cry: now his adrenaline was pumping.

Hayden and Landon engaged the official's with lightning fast strikes and counter strikes. But these officials had been training with machetes their entire lives. Despite their hard work, they were still novices in comparison. But they did have something these rigid, straight laced guard dogs didn't: grit. They were from the wasteland where playing dirty was the only rule.

Hayden dodged behind a pillar, the official blindly followed. He grabbed an intricately designed statuette that had been pompously displayed. Tossing it at his head, he caught him off guard. A swift strike of the machete followed. On to the next one.

Landon found himself in a dead lock with two determined enemies. His foot flew into one of their nuts as he spat in the others face. Slice. Dice. Dead.

Bull continued to clobber his way through the hall, often forgetting he was even holding a machete, while the other two kept their wits about them and used every inch of their surroundings to their advantage.

It was a tough brawl and they didn't come out untouched. Bull took the butt of a machete to his eye, messing his vision as it swelled to the size of an ostrich egg. Hayden and Landon both had their near misses - each narrowly escaping death several times over. Scratched, beaten, bloody and bruised, they breathed heavily as they stared at the door that would lead them to the Cleric. A long hall filled with corpses was left in their wake.

Landon wasted no time in pushing open the door. Only one man stood in the vast room: and it was the only man they wanted. The pristine luxuriousness of the room made them uneasy - it was in stark contrast to the destruction they'd left behind.

Two magnificent man-sized vases punctuated the doorway. Their colourful designs and intricate craftsmanship made it obvious they were priceless artifacts. Hayden let a chuckle slip through his grimace. His bloody machete lashed out to his side, smashing one of the vases into tiny, unfixable pieces. The Cleric winced. Then, Hayden did the same to the other.

"There, now it looks a little more lived in," Hayden chided.

The Cleric inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. These 'bandits' were wearing his patience mighty thin.

Volume 49

Bull struggled to focus through his puffy, swollen eye. Hayden and Landon gripped their machetes tightly, trying in vain to ignore the weariness that coursed through their bodies.

The Cleric had left his pomp and articulate words somewhere far behind. His once arrogant, demeaning face was no longer. He was pissed and it showed. With frightening force and precision, he drew a golden machete from his extravagant red robe.

Hayden and Landon nodded their heads ever so slightly: a silent agreement. It was now or never; do or die.

Landon took the first step.

They moved slowly. Each step was well placed and filled with a cautious purpose. The Cleric stood motionless. Adrenaline kicked in and their pace quickened. By the time they reached mid room they were rushing full speed ahead. It was all or nothing and they had a sneaking suspicion that this guy was going to take their all.

They were right.

They surged at him, bloodied black blades slicing through the air in his direction. But the Cleric was a master. He parried, dodged and blocked all three of them. They stopped with a thud. There was no time to re-think their strategy now. It was go time.

The Cleric's counter strikes were filled with a strength and power they didn't know was possible. His golden blade smashed into theirs, its force pushing them backwards.

They tried to surround him, but he fought like a gold and red spinning top. No matter where they attacked from, or how fast their blades flew, he was always ready.

Hayden lashed out, putting his entire body behind the blade. The Cleric parried, and Hayden stumbled forward. In his momentary loss of balance his back was exposed. All Landon and Bull could do was watch as the Cleric capitalized.

His golden machete fell onto Hayden's back, blood instantly soaking his brown top. A terrible, sharp pain shot through his spine as he fell to the ground. A searing gash was left diagonally across the length of his back. The Cleric smiled. Landon and Bull looked on as Hayden writhed about. His machete dropped to the ground, forgotten in the sudden abyss of pain. Landon rushed to his side.

Bull couldn't take it. His friend was in agony. Blindly he rushed forward. The Cleric lashed out in a fury of strikes. Bull's muscles tensed and his eyes narrowed. He gritted his teeth as he pushed past the Cleric's strikes and shoved him to the gleaming ground. The Cleric was taken aback by the young man's strength. Bull grunted loudly as he let his foot crash to the ground in an attempt to stomp out the arrogant cleric.

The Cleric dodged just in time. He'd had enough playing around. In a dazzling display of acrobatics, the old man maneuvered back to his feet in one swift movement. Bull stopped. His one eye was almost completely swollen shut. But that wouldn't stop him. He threw a wide haymaker. Bad choice. The power hit left him wide open. The Cleric used the butt of his machete to strike the strong young man over the head. He fell to the ground unconscious. The Cleric smiled ever so slightly. He'd let Bull live. A boy that strong could prove useful.

Landon - who had been putting pressure on Hayden's wound - stopped instantly. In the corner of his eye he saw Bull flop to the ground.

It was just the two of them now.

He grabbed Hayden's machete in his left hand and stood to his feet. The Cleric clicked his tongue disapprovingly, as if using two blades was against some unspoken rule. Landon didn't give a fuck.

They began circling each other, their eyes in an unwavering dead lock. Landon waited patiently. He wasn't rushing into anything this time. The Cleric grumbled angrily before darting forward at Landon, jabbing his blade with such speed that Landon just narrowly avoided it. But that was exactly what he wanted. He struck back, the Cleric easily dodging the first blade, while the second was only avoided just in time.

The Cleric shook his head angrily, collecting himself. Landon smiled. He might finally have an advantage. He shot out again, this time his arms were a fury of black and red as he launched strike after strike. The Cleric dodged and darted, blocked and counter attacked, but Landon was on the offensive and gaining.

The Cleric had had just about enough. Landon's right handed blade sliced into the Cleric's arm. Landon stopped a moment, shocked at having finally connected. But in that momentary lapse of attack the Cleric's devious plan came through. Take a hit, distract him, and disarm. He slashed upwards, knocking the blade out of Landon's left hand.

Landon gritted his teeth, realizing he'd fallen into the Cleric's trap.

The only trait the two shared was the blazing hatred that filled their eyes. They leapt at each other; all of their fury and anger emboldening their blades.

Charred black metal met gold.

Landon's strike was strong. But not strong enough.

The power behind the Cleric's machete knocked Landon back, throwing the machete clear out of his hand.

Landon hit the ground hard. He looked up. The Cleric was in no hurry. He was going to savour Landon's death.

One step at a time he walked towards him.

Landon didn't look away. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He was going to stare him straight in the eye as he was dealt his own demise.

Landon shook as a tremendous scream filled the room. He had to look again. It came from the Cleric. He winced angrily as Hayden - grinning through his own pain - had managed to crawl across the floor and jam his machete into the Cleric's calf.

The Cleric stumbled about as blood poured from the gash on his leg. Hayden laughed - which hurt - and he returned to writhing. The old man gnashed his teeth together and forced himself to focus. He spun around. He was going to lob off Hayden's fucking head.

But there was movement in the corner of his eye.

Landon.

He cursed bitterly. Hayden's death was going to have to wait. He had bigger problems as Landon crawled across the room to retrieve his machete. The Cleric snatched up Hayden's machete from the ground and darted towards Landon.

Landon couldn't look back. He wouldn't. There was simply no time. He had to get that machete and he had to get it now. He reached out for the blade. It was too late. A stone solid foot slammed onto his blade. He trembled as he looked up.

The Cleric stood towering above him. Two machetes were held menacingly above his head as he glared down with a twisted psychotic expression painted intricately across his face. Landon remained staring up. He was going to die on all fours, like a dog. Not what he wanted.

The Cleric made nearly no sound as the machete's above his head dropped to the ground. Landon's look of acceptance turned to one of confusion. The old man croaked and a trickle of blood poured out of his mouth. Then a machete gauged its way through his torso, sending Landon scurrying backwards.

The old man fell to the ground, stiff as a wooden board, a pool of blood quickly accumulating around him.

Landon eyes slowly looked up.

Desiree reached down and ripped her machete from his back, blood spraying about like a broken fountain. "What a Jackass."

Volume 50

Hayden gritted his teeth, wincing horribly.

"Stop being such a baby," Desiree shook her head as she stitched up the wound on his back.

"It hurts okay," he snarled.

Bull nursed his swollen head as he sat amongst the brush. Landon leaned against a tall thin tree, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He watched as a plume of white smoke mixed with the morning light that shone through the branches. He felt like he'd been through a meat grinder. He couldn't imagine how the other two felt.

"That's gonna leave a wicked scar," Bull tried to make light of Hayden's searing cut.

"Like I care," Hayden spat as Desiree poured more hydrogen peroxide on it. "But," his tone changed, "chicks do totally dig scars." A smile crept onto his face. "Right Des?"

Her response was sealed with a terse jab of the needle. He gritted his teeth. He deserved it.

Landon peered through the forest. They were neck deep in it now. He looked at Desiree. She looked back. There was a sparkle of relief in their eyes as they smiled at one another. They were both safe. Though for how long, neither of them knew.

This wasn't the wasteland and this wasn't the coast. It wasn't some lame gangster they pissed off, or some half-wit boss that they killed. These Clerics were of a different breed. They weren't jostling for power or money. They had both: in copious amounts. They were connected and respected.

As far as the hierarchy went on Jupiter Island, the Cleric they just killed may have been small potatoes but he still belonged to the fraternity and they knew damn well that the big potatoes would take notice.

"So where were you?" Bull asked Desiree as she sewed the final stich through Hayden's flesh.

"With my people."

"Our people now," Landon added casually.

Desiree averted her eyes and remained silent. Her lack of response was deafening.

"Wait. Is there something you haven't told us?" Landon took a step towards her.

Hayden and Bull stood dead still.

She breathed in deeply. "The movement is impressed by your courage..."

"But?" A lump was growing in Landon's throat.

"But," she continued, "these aren't your people. This isn't your home and it's not your war."

Hayden and Bull were shocked by her statement. Landon was outraged. "The hell it isn't." He grabbed her arm forcefully, "They killed Old Don. They burned down my farm. My farm," he nearly choked on the lump in his throat, "they want to kill you."

She shook her head somberly. "It's already been decided."

Landon couldn't believe his ears, "But your people, they wanted us."

"After what's happened, you're a liability. Everyone will be looking for you. Even they can't protect you."

There were no words left to speak.

"Come nightfall my people will come. They will escort you off the island."

"And you?"

"These are my people. This is my home. This is my war."

They were silent.

"Aw shit," Hayden ran his hand through his messy hair. Landon's face bore the pain of a heart that had just been ripped in two. "Come on Bull." It was time to give them some space.

"I'm sorry," she looked into his dark brown eyes.

He didn't speak. He grabbed her and held her close.

She wouldn't cry and neither would he. They simply held each other and waited for it all to come to an end.

***

"The wasteland bandits!" Crooned a nondescript young man. In the cover of darkness, a group of the infamous revolutionaries descended upon the small patch of foliage. Tired and weary, Landon, Hayden and Bull were met with a hero's welcome.

"You guys will be legends around here," another laughed as he patted them on their backs. Hayden dodged the friendly gesture.

"Is it true you brewed your own liqiuor? Right under the Cleric's nose?" A younger man asked curiously.

"Hell yeah," Bull responded proudly.

"Ahem." The eldest of the band spoke solidly. "Desiree. It's time to go."

They all grew quiet. Hayden looked away. This was going to suck.

She turned to Landon. His face was vacant. After all that time, after everything they'd been through he couldn't believe it would end like this. But it would.

They embraced one last time. "Will I ever see you again?" He whispered into her ear.

She wouldn't answer. She only stared him in the eyes. Her love for him, her compassion and all of their time together welled up in a single drop of liquid perched in the corner of her eye. She held it back. Not in front of him. Never.

"Goodbye Landon," she kissed him on the cheek before leaving. He stared longingly after her as she was escorted into the darkness. She never looked back. Landon would never know the endless tears that she shed the second her back was to him.

His whole body felt limp and lifeless. How quickly things can change.

Hayden put his arm around his friends shoulder. "Ah," he drawled, "you'll be okay."

Landon looked at him, shaking his head, "someday, you'll fall in love. Someday you'll understand."

"God I hope not." Hayden's face contorted at the mere thought.

"Come on guys, let's get a move on," the revolutionaries prompted them along. They all slipped into the new clothes that had been brought for them. It was going to be an arduous journey to get off the Island. They were going to have fit in seamlessly.

The moon peaked from behind dark clouds, casting illuminated patterns through the branches. They looked at their charred, black machetes, remembering Old Don and all the time they'd spent on the farm. Hayden couldn't believe the old coot was gone. All Landon could think about was Desiree. They promptly slid the blades into their cloaks: a token of remembrance. They looked at the revolutionaries. It was time to get a move on.

"So, where to now?" Bull asked genuinely. They hadn't really had time to think about it.

Landon stared forward, steel faced, "let's go home."

"To the wasteland?"

"Yeah."

"What about Tony?" Bull asked.

"Fuck Tony," Landon's lip curled. Somehow a small time gangster from the wasteland didn't strike the same fear in him that it once had.

"Ah, he's probably dead anyways, you know how the wasteland is," Hayden added.

They nodded in unison as headed off into the night.

"It's time to go home," Landon's voice was soft but firm.

Part 4

Volume 51

It was like staring at an old, weathered photograph: a living memory in front of their eyes. The hot, smoggy air of the wasteland blew past. Dust swirled.

"Told you he was dead," Hayden's words were sickly sweet.

"I guess so," Bull was more shocked.

The tattered ruins of Tony's compound stood eerily empty amongst the grey expanse. They'd only been gone for two years but the dead structures that arose out of the ash in front of them were the perfect testament to the degradation of the wasteland.

The stash house remained a charred, roofless ruin and the rusted frame of the once red sports car stood hastily by its side. The main house remained more or less intact but the wind whistled through its empty insides.

"I wonder what asshole took his place," Landon spat. He spoke a truth they'd spent the last two years learning. There was always an asshole. It was only a matter of time before they found out who.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Bull shuddered. The memories he had behind those walls were that of a hopeless abyss. A hole he'd managed to climb out of: one he never wanted to find himself in again.

"Yeah," Hayden stretched out; his Jupiter Island attire was sweltering and uncomfortable. "We need to get some new digs."

Bull wiped the sweat from his brow, "hell yeah." He looked at Hayden's busted up red sneakers, "You could use new shoes too huh?"

"Not a chance," Hayden shook his head with a content smile.

"We need money," Landon summed it up succinctly.

"Find a town and we'll hustle up some cash. Just like old times," Hayden grinned nostalgically as they began their long trek through the barren flat lands. As Tony's compound was swallowed into the distance behind them - they began to recall just how much walking was required here. But their bodies were stronger than they once were- as were their minds.

A lone magazine stand loomed in the distance. They approached with trepidation. A loner with coke bottle glasses guarded the racks of pornos. Leaning back in a metal chair, his feet propped up on the counter top, he leafed through a provocatively titled rag. He only looked up briefly.

"What the fuck?" Bull grabbed at several magazines, a perturbed look on his face. They were all pornos. Landon shook his head. This weirdo was easy pickings.

The attendant lit a smoke. He still wouldn't give them the time of day.

Landon looked to Hayden. They nodded. This nobody wouldn't even see them coming.

"Hey boss," Hayden slammed his hand down on the splintered counter. The wiry haired guy lowered his magazine- but only slightly. "You make much money at this?" Hayden smiled.

"Enough." The man retorted bitterly.

"Good. Give it to me."

"What?"

"Your money," Hayden smiled as he slid his black machete out of his sleeve.

The man snarled. His magazine dropped, his feet hit the ground and the muzzle of a shot gun emerged onto the table. Its wide barrels were pointed squarely at Hayden.

The man's frown reached the bottom of his chin. He'd dealt with assholes before. Hayden smiled. Not assholes like them.

Landon came in from the side. His blade fell like a meteor onto the gun, slicing the barrels clean off the stock. The man trembled. His cigarette fell to the ground. "I... I..." He stammered, "I don't have any money. Honestly... You can look."

Bull wouldn't take his word for it. He rummaged behind the counter as Hayden and Landon kept their machetes inches from his throat. "Fuck!" Bull raged angrily as he threw about magazines, "all this idiot has is fucking pornos!" He gnashed his teeth at the tiny, pale man before storming off.

"I told you. Please. Let me live," he pleaded.

"Your smokes," Landon eyed the bulge in his shirt pocket.

His hands shook as he pulled the half empty pack from his shirt and handed it over. "It's all I got."

Landon grimaced as he snatched it up. It wasn't money. But it was something. They dropped their blades and left. The scrawny porno sales man panted in relief. He lived.

The porno stand faded into the distance.

"Well, that kind of sucked. Still broke."

"Least we got something," Hayden puffed away on a cigarette. Bull glared: did him no good. "We need to find a town. A bigger town would be best."

"We should go to the Auburn Sea," Landon offered.

"Yeah, but you know this place. How the hell do we find our way anywhere?"

Landon stopped and put his hand into the air. They all looked at him strangely.

"That way," he pointed past them. "The Auburn Sea is that way."

"Whoa. How the hell do you know that?" Bull asked.

"The wind blows in off the mountains. So wherever the wind is coming from is: North."

"What if there's a dust storm?" Bull played Devil's advocate.

"Wait till it ends," Hayden smiled as he patted him on the back.

They began walking towards the Auburn Sea when the rumbling ground made them stop. Something was headed their way: Something big.

"What the hell?" They stared intently as the shape of a huge twenty-two wheeler raced through the wasteland.

"Since when did they have trucks that big here?" Bull's eyes grew wide.

Hayden and Landon looked at each other, a light bulb simultaneously going off in their heads. Bull studied their presumptions grins. Even he didn't like the looks on their faces.

They drew their black machetes and planted their feet firmly in the dead earth as the semi-truck barrelled towards them. Go time.
Volume 52

Hayden's head felt like a juiced lemon. Drool fell from his open mouth as he looked around the tattered motel room. Cigarette butts and empty bottles littered the cluttered cement floor. It wasn't a big room, but it was big enough. The dust from outside had weaseled its way in, hovering in the dim light that poked between closed blinds.

Bull was still out, so were the half dozen nameless chicks. Some bum with a kid's party hat snored loudly as he lay upside down against a corner. It was one of those parties.

It hurt to smile, but he did anyways.

What a night.

His balance was shit but he managed to stumble to his feet; on the third try. He stepped over a curvy brunette, whose flamingo pink lips were stained with her own vomit. Nice.

He pushed open the door. There were several grunts as the hazy soft grey light filled the room. Hayden winced; the light stung his eyes like dirty syringes. It took him a moment to adjust his vision.

They were on the second floor balcony of the motel. Cement beams rose up, intermittently staggered by the other doors on the floor. Whoever their neighbours were; they must have been pissed.

Landon was already outside, standing, palms on the dusty banister, staring out into the street below. He didn't even turn his back to look at who'd emerged. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two cigarettes. He handed one to Hayden as he stepped beside him. As Hayden slipped the smoke into his mouth he leaned over the balcony, his eyes tracing the cracked, dull buildings below. Their grey, uniform walls lacked the intricacy of architecture that they had seen on Jupiter Island and the nearly barren streets were certainly void of the commotion and life of the Coast.

What was once home had become an enigma. A world they never wanted to leave became one they longed to returned too, which in turn become one that didn't quite live up to their memories.

Landon cleared his throat. "We blew all the money."

"All of it?" Hayden rubbed his head.

"All of it." Landon took a long drag before adjusting his glasses.

Hayden rubbed his throbbing head.

The truck driver had stopped immediately. The goof must've been from the mountains because he seemed shocked to see bandits in the wasteland. They forced the guy to open up his trailer. At first it appeared empty. But there was a duffle bag. They took it and let the moron go. It was filled with cash.

Everything after that was kind of a blur: an indulgent, sinful, awesome blur.

"Honestly though," Hayden nudged his friend optimistically, "it was kind of worth it."

Landon chuckled incredulously.

The door opened and Bull stood - hunched over - in the doorway. "I'm fucking hungry." He looked as hung over as Hayden felt. A whimper from the room prompted Bull to slam the door shut and step out onto the veranda.

"Let's get the fuck out of here before the manager shows up," Landon made a move towards the rickety staircase.

"Wait," Bull protested, "our machetes."

Landon raised an eyebrow smugly as he tossed their blades at them.

"Always on the ball," Hayden joked as he followed Landon down the stairs.

"Always," Landon chimed.

The streets were hot and the dead ashy earth filled their nostrils. They'd been spoiled with two years of clean air. Scraggly children raced back and forth across the street. A rusted tin can was their only form of entertainment. They strode alongside them, their tall, confident bodies casting long shadows over the orphaned street kids.

"Fuck I'm hung over," Hayden groaned as he stared up into the lifeless sky.

Bull swatted him across the back of the head. He whipped around, but only met Bull's stern face. "Don't swear around kids." He was dead serious. Hayden did his best to laugh it off as they walked away.

Landon didn't speak a word. They had to give Bull this one. No doubt his protectiveness was a cause of his own abused, tormented childhood. His mangled muscles and marred skin were a testament to that.

The smell of barbeque filled the air. Their stomachs groaned. The main drag was just around the corner: canteens with booze and grilled meat along with it.

They rounded the crumbling corner only to stop - frozen in their place.

Several big rigs lined the wide street. Their boxes were aged and worn but their dust covered tractors were painted with bright brilliant colours and boisterous slogans.

"Seriously, what the fuck is going on?" Hayden couldn't believe his eyes. Big transport trucks like this were never used to cross the wasteland before. It was simply too dangerous. There were too many assholes like them ready to hold them up at a moment's notice.

"What's going on? We're going to fucking take these trucks." Landon smiled, as if he'd been handed his elusive fortune on a silver platter.

Bull and Hayden looked at each other, then Landon. "Can't we at least eat first?"

Landon ignored the comment as he strode down the wide, unpaved boulevard. Bull and Hayden took that as a no. They quickly followed, tucking their machetes into their pant legs.

"Excuse me," Landon spoke softly but solidly as he approached several intersecting canteens. No one even looked.

Landon walked up to the table with the biggest men sitting around and kicked it over. He had everyone's attention now. "Whose tractor trailers are those?"

There was silence. Landon removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Whose fucking trucks are those?"

"Ours," a group of burly men with thick tangled hair sat around a low seated table.

Landon smiled as he walked casually up to them. Bull and Hayden kept back. Landon held out his hand, palm up, "give me the keys."

"Excuse me?" A fat guy with eyebrows the size of his bushy moustache chuckled throatily.

"How many times am I going to have to repeat myself?" Landon shifted his weight impatiently.

The men looked at each other, "wait... You're serious aren't you?" Their faces dropped.

Landon nodded his head.

The man broke out into laughter once more, before his intense black eyes narrowed in on Landon, "do you have any idea whose shit is in those trucks?"
Volume 53

"I'll ask you again," the trucker's bushy eyebrows tilted inwards, his beady eyes narrowing, "are you, or are you not aware of whose shit is in those trucks?"

There was only silence. No one moved. Even the wind ceased to blow through the dusty grey town. All eyes were on Landon. He swallowed hard. "I don't really care."

The truckers all snickered as they relaxed back into their plastic lawn chairs. "Alright kid, here you go." The fat man laughed boisterously as he tossed a ring of keys at Landon.

Landon reached out and snatched them up. The other truckers shovelled through their pockets for their own keys.

Hayden and Bull cautiously approached and plucked them out of greasy palms. Carefully and with trepidation, they made their way out of the canteen and to the trucks.

"They won't even make it till morning," one of the truckers shook his head with a smug grin on his face as the semis jerked into gear and rumbled off down the street.

***

The arid wind rushed past. A dust storm was brewing. They stood in the shadows of their parked big rigs. There was nothing around for miles. The town was but a spec on the horizon.

"That was way too easy." Hayden's unkempt hair was tussled by the wind. Bull nodded in concordance.

Landon removed his glasses and wiped them clean with his shirt. "Nothing is easy. The hard part just hasn't come yet."

They all understood his words better than they would have cared to admit.

"Let's check our haul," Hayden broke the unnerving silence. Bull clamoured up the back of the trailer and one by one opened them up.

"Holy shi-" Hayden's mouth dropped. Even Landon couldn't help but smile.

The trailers were fully loaded: drugs, guns, ammunition, contraband DVD's. Landon felt a pride and optimism coat his insides like gold. Fortune.

"What are we going to do with all this?" Bull queried.

"Get more," Landon smiled, victoriously smug.

The wind was picking up speed. The dust began to scratch at their faces like a clawing tiger. "Close it up, let's get into the cab!" He shouted over the vicious winds.

Bull stared inside the rig. A long barrelled rifle had fallen to the edge of the box. His eyes focused in on it. It was a beauty.

Hayden pushed the doors closed. "Bad idea," he winked.

Bull walked away innocently.

The storm only intensified as night fell. They weren't going anywhere. The trucks shook as they lounged about inside the tight fitted cabins. The wind made a shrill whistle as dust and grime tried to sneak its way through every crack and crevasse.

Landon leaned his head back and stared up at the roof. He'd spent nearly his entire life in the wasteland. He'd been beat down, thrown out and tossed aside. But this time, things were different. He was sure of that. Never again was he going to let some assholes push him around.

The truck shook even harder: the storm? He paused; maybe not?

He ducked down as a fury of bullets rang through the windshield. Glass fell in shreds over the back of his head as the winds lashed through the busted windshield, covering the cabin in biting dust.

Landon's machete was on the passenger seat, but he couldn't grab it in time. The driver side door swung open. Two goons with gas masks, bad haircuts and some serious artillery peered inwards.

Hayden rapped his fingers on the gear shifter. He was bored; really bored. He wondered if there was liquor in the back; probably not, probably only heroin. He shuddered. That shit was awful. He fished for a smoke. He was out. Fuck. Landon still had some. He stared out into the furious storm. Did he really need a cigarette that bad? Yes.

He slammed the door shut behind him. Goddamn storm. He hid his face in his shirt. The shrill winds filled his ears. It was so loud it even sounded like gunshots. He hoped he was going the right direction.

His outstretched hand touched metal. He patted against it for a minute; the sand biting into his exposed flesh before finding the handle. Bingo. He popped open the passenger side door and hopped it. He looked up. Two douchebags with guns were seconds from blasting Landon. His eyes grew wide. His entrance caught them off guard and they both redirected their firearms at him.

Flinging himself back out of the passenger side, he just avoided taking several rounds to the head. On his back in the sand storm wasn't exactly where he wanted to be, but it gave Landon enough of a break to launch himself at the attackers; knocking them back into the storm.

Hayden clamoured to his feet. A noise from behind caught his attention. He peered through the relentless wind. There were two more goons that had just blasted the hell out of his truck. Damn.

Hayden looked back to Landon's truck when it caught his eye. Landon's machete was in the passenger seat. The heat of whizzing bullets graced his neck. The bastards had spotted him.

He lunged at the open cabin. Snatching up the blade he spun around. As the attacker's finger tightened on the trigger from point blank range his head dropped from his shoulders. The second pursuer paused. He lifted his own weapon but his arm, and the gun along with it fell to the shifting earth. Hayden held the bloodied blade in his hand, the sands of the storm swirling around him.

The gas masked man winced in pain as he held the bleeding stub that had once been an arm. There was no time to finish him off. Landon was still fucking around with the other two.

He clamoured over the truck's seats and through the windowless cabin. Peering out into the dusty grey beyond his eyes frantically searched for Landon. It was hard to see much of anything really.

A flash. A gun shot illuminated the grey cacophony. Landon was fighting dirty and holding his own, but they had guns.

"Landon!" Hayden shouted. The storm was too loud. He jumped back out into the storm and rushed towards them. His movement garnered too much attention. He rolled forward, narrowly missing a large calibre round.

This time though, Landon had seen him. He tossed the machete at his friend, who caught it in a firm hand. Landon smirked incredulously. The playing field had just been levelled. His blade cut through them, staining the swirling grey air with a crimson mist.

He looked back at Hayden through the whipping winds. Concern suddenly washed over them. Bull.

Rounding the cab of the truck they hurried past Hayden's bullet riddled tractor. Stopping suddenly they watched as Bull emerged, bloodied machete in hand, from the grey.

"I had to take a piss and some assholes shot up my truck," he groused. Hayden chuckled.

Movement caught their eye. The armless attacker tried in vain to crawl away on all three's. Landon walked up to the man and kicked him onto his back. Using the tip of his machete he pried off the man's gas mask. A petrified face stared up at the three bandits. "Who the hell are you guys?"
Volume 54

The storm lashed at their faces like rusty barbed wire as they stared down at the lone surviving assailant. His severed arm had already been lost to the shifting debris of the wasteland floor. He stared up at the bandits, his narrow face void of colour.

Landon stepped forward. "Who sent you?"

"Seriously?" He stuttered between trembling lips. He studied the three young men.

They were very serious.

"You... you really don't know do you?"

They really didn't.

"Why don't you enlighten us?" An arrogant smile crept over Hayden's face.

"The General."

No one spoke. They had been right; a new asshole.

"General?" Hayden scoffed, "General of what?" He peered at the dust choked landscape.

"Go ahead," the man shook his head vigorously, "kill me. He will anyways."

Landon stepped forward. "What? Does he think he owns the wasteland or something?"

The blood loss was beginning to get to him as his lips quivered more frantically. "Think?" He laughed, "No, no, no. He does own the wasteland."

Landon's arm shot out, the tip of his machete within an inch of the man's throat. "No one owns the wasteland."

The man closed his eyes, awaiting death. It did not come. He opened them slowly. Bull's fist landed full force on his jaw.

"Let this general do away with you," Landon retorted scathingly as they strode back to their trucks, leaving the bleeding, scared man to be swallowed whole by the wasteland.

***

Hayden tipped back the mug and let the crisp dry suds slide down his throat.

"Where the fuck is that waitress? We need another round!" Bull shook impatiently as he stared unnervingly at his own empty glasses.

"Patience," Hayden patted his friend on the back.

"Fuck patience," Bull stood to his feet, "I'm going to get us some more booze." He stormed off into the packed canteen.

Landon sighed. The storm had cleared and they'd found their way to another town. This general had sent six heavily armed men to murder them. Not only were they still alive, but they still had the goods they stole. As far as Landon was concerned, that was success.

"You worried about this General guy?" Hayden leaned back in his chair as he stared across the table at Landon, whose confident demeanour was unmistakable.

"No."

Hayden chuckled. "So what are we going to do with the shit?"

"Find a buyer. Eventually."

"Eventually?"

"This General must have quite the stranglehold if he can freely run big rigs across the wasteland. I say as long as he's giving, let's keep taking."

"How long do you think that'll last for?"

Landon shrugged casually, "more product; more money."

Hayden nodded in agreement as Bull slid back into his seat, hands full of alcohol. "Hey Landon," Bull asked, "where are we going to keep all that stuff we stole? I mean, three trailers full of shit isn't something you can just hide under a rock."

They stopped. He had a point. Landon pondered it carefully.

"You know what," Hayden spoke up, "don't tell us."

"Huh?"

"Find a place. Keep it a secret. Even from us."

"Seriously?" Landon looked at his two friends.

"Yeah, it'll be safer that way," Hayden said pointedly, "besides, we trust you."

Landon looked from Hayden to Bull. "Fine by me," he made no protest.

"Alright. I'll find a place," Landon smiled warmly before raising his glass. "To the future."

"To the future!" They tapped glasses before downing their beers in a single shot. The cloudy, chipped glasses fell hard to the table.

"Shit, now we need more beer already," Bull groaned as he voluntarily left the table.

Hayden leaned back in his chair. Someone caught his attention. Landon turned around to see what he had spotted. A gorgeous girl with long blonde hair and obviously fake tits strolled past. Landon wondered what a girl like that was doing in the wasteland. Hayden didn't care so much about specifics.

"I'll catch you guys later ok," he winked before leaving the table.

Landon only snickered. Same old Hayden. He stared at his empty mug on the table and in his solitude thoughts of Desiree wandered through his mind. He shook them off. There was no use dwelling on the past. The future; he reminded himself. And the future meant focusing on the only real goal: fortune. He looked around. Where was Bull with the damn drinks?

"You look lonely stranger?" An old man passed by.

"Just waiting for my drinks."

"You got a spare seat for an old man?"

Landon looked around. The place was packed. There was little other space for the wiry senior. He nodded. The wrinkled geriatric took a seat.

"Here you go-" Bull paused as he placed three beers on the table, "who the fuck are you?"

"A stranger."

"Oh," Bull paused, "where did Hayden go?"

Landon nodded to the bar where Hayden was already unloading his best pick-up lines.

Enough said. Bull turned back to the stranger, "want a beer?"

"I'd love one," the old man tipped it back. Landon studied him carefully. Who the hell was this guy? "You guys don't look like you're from around here?" His creaky voice snapped Landon back to attention.

"We are," Landon answered sternly.

""Oh, coulda fooled me," he shrugged. "I got the next round," he offered casually. Bull already liked the guy. One round turned to another and Hayden disappeared, hot blonde in tow. They remained drinking in the canteen till late in the night when most of the patrons shifted away into the night and the loud rabble had died down to idle chatter.

Dull flashing lights cast faint shadows across their faces as scratchy music played in the background.

"I thought you guys were bad news, like you'd rob me or something. But there was no other empty seats!" The old man admitted, "but you all turned out okay." He slurred drunkenly.

Landon nodded. The old coot was harmless after all.

"But you guys better watch yourselves," he warned, "I've heard a rumour starting about."

"Oh yeah?" Landon's interest had been sparked.

"Yeah. Word is the machete bandits have been spotted around these parts."

"Machete bandits?" Landon and Bull looked at each other with wide eyes.

"Yeah. Crazy huh? Unbelievable the balls those guys have, fucking with The General like that."

There was a shared silence as Landon and Bull tried not to give away any hints. Landon couldn't help but feel a sense of pride well up inside himself. Fame.

"What do you know about that General?" Landon kept his tone low-key.

"I thought you said you were from here?" His drunken eyes wandered suspiciously.

"Humour me," Landon smiled.

"I don't know much. But you should have asked his girlfriend. She was in here earlier."

"She was?" Landon's heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah, the tall blonde, ten out of ten," the man uttered his tipsy words off hand.

Landon and Bull looked at each other sharing the same forlorn thoughts.
Volume 55

She was curled up in his arms, her fake breasts pressed against his side. Her nail-polished fingers traced unknown words across his chest. Their connection had been immediate and their passion unrivalled. She didn't even know him, yet there was nowhere else in the world she wanted to be. The delicate morning breeze tossed the lilac curtains about.

Hayden stared out the window. His expression was as vacant and cloudy as the landscape beyond the beautiful girl's two story house. He didn't even know her name. Nor did he want to.

For a fleeting moment it almost seemed pointless.

After all he'd been through, he was back. Back in the wasteland. Hung Over. In a nameless girl's bed.

"You okay?" She whispered into his ear, her tender lips gracing his hardened skin.

His trademark smirk snaked its way back onto his face. Okay; maybe it wasn't all that bad. He looked into her eyes, "couldn't be better."

She blushed. It was almost too easy.

The sound of an opening door echoed through the cement house. She shot up in bed, a sheet of pure white washing over her face. "Oh my god. He's home."

Hayden watched as she scrambled for her bra. He peered over the edge of the bed. Beneath his unfolded jeans the black edge of his machete peaked out. There was no need to worry.

"Hurry up, get out the window, you don't-" she warned him frantically but was cut short. The bedroom door burst open.

"There you are!" Landon snapped as he and Bull barged into the room. Hayden's face contorted. What the hell were they doing here? Back to the old scam? Weren't they a little bigger than that now?

"Oh no. Don't shoot us," he spoke with little enthusiasm.

"Hayden, what the hell are you talking about?" Bull asked sternly.

"You know them?" The girl's blue eyes were filled with fear and confusion.

Landon pushed past to the open window. Hayden looked from Landon to the girl then back to Bull.

"What is going on here?" The girl demanded an answer. Hayden shrugged. He didn't have a clue.

"Do you even know who she is?" Landon's tone was as solid as the cement beneath their feet.

"Come on man." Hayden hated being put on the spot so he tried to avoid the question. She scowled coldly.

"Not her name. Do you know who she is?" Landon paced back to the window. "Fuck," he cursed as the rumble of an engine drew nearer.

The noise from outside grew louder than died with the torque of a key. The sound of a car door slamming shut wafted up from the front of the house. They all stood still. The front door creaked as it swung open.

"Oh my god," the girl's heart fell to her stomach, "he's here."

"Don't worry about it," Hayden pushed her concern aside.

"Go out the window, now, you don't know who he is!" She hissed as she tried to push Hayden out of the bed.

The sound of feet pressing against cool concrete filled the large house.

"Who could it possibly be that is of any concern to us?" Hayden shrugged as he casually reached for his jeans. He looked up in time to see Landon and Bull hide in the shadows on either side of the bedroom door. His eyes grew wide as Landon mouthed the word 'the general'.

Hayden turned to the blonde, "your boyfriend is the General?"

The door swung open.

"What the fuck," the man's words were a distasteful blend of bitter and sour. A half empty bottle of booze fell to the ground, smashing into pieces. His face was dazed and furious all at once as he stood, frozen in the doorway.

"No fucking way," Hayden's mouth dropped, his vocal chords left unable to form any words.

"Look, Tony, this isn't what it looks like," the General's girlfriend pleaded.

Bull and Landon couldn't see the man's face, but the girl's words and Hayden's expression pretty much spelled it out for them.

"Are you... serious?" The General's rage began to win in the battle between surprise and fury. Sweat poured off his olive skin as he ran his hand through his slicked back hair. He took a step forward. "Do you have any idea who I am?" His eyes bore into Hayden. Hayden remained silent. He still couldn't believe it.

"Come on Tony, it's not his fault, he didn't know," she begged for mercy.

"Are you defending him?" His eyes shot like blades into her heart. She shut up instantly.

Hayden let out a soft chuckle. "I should have known," his laugh grew louder, "only a douchebag like you would name himself the General."

Tony stopped. He stared at Hayden's rough face, his arrogant grin causing a lightning bolt of memory. "You." Hatred rolled of his tongue like poison fire as he finally recognized the half-naked man that lay next to his girl.

"Me," Hayden winked.

"You two know each other?" The girl was lost in their competing stares.

Tony's trembling hand reached for his belt. "I told you to never come back here." His palm pressed against his gun, his finger sliding effortlessly over the trigger. His hand shot out, the barrel of the gun ready to unload led into Hayden at a split seconds notice.

There was a flash of black in the dimly lit room. Sparks flew as the gun was severed in two. Tony dropped the half that remained in his hand as he backed up a step. There was no time for a counter reaction. Two black machetes were placed inches from his throat.

"Nuh uh," Landon smiled as he stepped out of the shadows.

The General sneered as his eyes cautiously moved from side to side. He snickered softly as it hit him. "So you three are these machete bandits I've been hearing about. Hm. Didn't think you had it in you."

"That's always been your problem," Landon scowled, "you don't think."

Hayden stood from the bed and slid his shirt over his head. "She's your girl right? You can have her," he grinned casually as he walked across the room. Standing only inches from the man who had once banished them from the wasteland, he patted him on the chin with the palm of his hand. "You know what, now I don't feel the least bit bad for ripping you off." He looked back to the naked bombshell behind him, "or sleeping with your girl." She shrunk down, her face turning bright red.

The General's anger boiled up inside of him, spilling out through his flared nostrils.

"Take off your clothes and get on the bed," Landon demanded.

"No."

Landon used the tip of his machete to draw blood from the gangster's neck. As a drip of blood slid down his collar bone, he did as he was told. The girl began to cry.

Tied up and naked, his defiled girlfriend whimpering at his side, the machete bandits turned to leave. "Things have changed. I have an army now. I swear I'll have you three fucking murdered if it's the last thing I do," he spat bitterly.

"You're right," Landon adjusted his glasses as they walked out of the room; "things have changed."

###

About the Author

Brendan Borba lives in Surrey, B.C. Canada.

He is married with three kids.

He likes to write.

Sometimes he arts.

Three Boys Wasted is over, but their story is far from done.

Send me a shout: brendanborba@hotmail.ca
