The Desolate

My years in this place had done little to curb my hated for it. It’s been a long time since believed in it. ‘Project New Alice’ is what they called it when I first arrived. They sold it as the rebirth of civilization. What a joke! The almost constant heat and dry weather along with the cavalier attitude towards the life just didn’t sit right, it never had, and I was done. God knows I had committed far too much evil myself over the years, contributing to the very thing I hated so much. It's a thought that has long since wormed itself into my brain. There is no peace and no redemption, not here. And I know that all those ghosts will haunt me the rest of my days, however many I had left ahead of me.

Still, settlements like New Alice were always good for trade, especially when it came to finding weapons and tools that were at least usable. I could wander the desert for a thousand lifetimes and not find half of the things I could there. It was a shit hole though; nothing will ever change that. The temperature barely cooled down even after sunset in that place, at least not until the freezing cold settled in in the early hours on the morning. And the near constant smell of shit, piss, and death made it hard to let your guard down. But that at least they had booze to keep the ghosts out of my head, at least for a while.

Sleep was illusive despite having a meeting scheduled with a trader early in the morning. So, I decided to go downstairs to the bar and get a drink, figuring I’d enjoy one of the few luxuries I allowed myself to indulge in one last time. Staying in the central hotel in New Alice certainly had its advantages, and it probably served a similar purpose long before the collapse of civilization. I made my way out my room and down a candlelit corridor to a wooden staircase that was far older than New Alice, before taking as seat at the still open bar. I pulled out half a dozen rounds of ammunition as payment, and said to the bartender, “Whisky!”

Ammunition was currency these days, with different calibres and sizes valued similarly throughout the settlements. An older man, with leathery skin and a grey beard offered a slight smirk before speaking, “I got my hands on a couple of bottles of old-world scotch whiskey, that should help wash down the taste of this shit hole. Otherwise, it’s house whisky tonight, Jack!”

I gave him a small nod of approval, “I dread the day the world runs out of good liquor, Mick!”

The bartender chuckled, and replied, “Yeah, I’m not sure we will ever be able to make good whisky again, not this far from the coast!” Explaining, “It’s the corn we get is from the salt lakes, there’s no taste in it. That shit the lake-siders call liquor doesn’t deserve the name. But it’ll get you pissed just the same if that’s all your after.”

I laughed in response, agreeing wholeheartedly with his sentiment. “Yeah, it seems like the whole world is going the same way! Every year, it smells more like shit and tastes even worse.”

“Here, here!” Mick replied pouring a glass from the old bottle for both of us.

I quickly swallowed the contents and had him pour me another as my mind quickly drifting to more immediate concerns. My meeting the next morning was with a man named Rick, a trader I’d dealt with many times. I hesitate to call the man a friend even though I’d known him for years, but he was fair, and that all that really mattered anymore. He was honest, and good with his prices, even if I was not at all interested in his most profitable commodity, slaves. He often had too many and would even try to discount them before selling them on to the northern settlements, but I never had room in my life for them. I figured it was his way of clearing his own conscience, so I couldn't blame him. Those were the worst days, and I tried to avoid them as much as I could. God knows I had enough regrets in my life already, but it's not like they ever announced themselves beforehand.

Still, a trade session with Rick was my last stop on the way out of town for what I hoped would be the last time. He mentioned having plenty of ammunition for my rifle, preserved foods of various kinds, and bottles of distilled water – pretty much everything I would need for the road. The ammunition was my main goal and enough water to get me at least a few days’ walk from New Alice. Maybe a new hunting knife depending on how much he was willing to offer for old world jewellery. “High-quality steel from one of the northern tribes!” he had declared when I expressed an interest. The implication that Rick probably had likely traded slaves for them made me uncomfortable, but I had learnt long ago to keep quiet when it came to moral questions, even if it had long since cost me my soul. Who was I to criticise the man for making a living. New-world steel rarely passed for anything resembling quality, but they did look pretty good, and I began to wonder if Bishop’s promise to establish better trade relations with the northern settlements was beginning to pay off at last.

My mind was focused on the task at hand, reflecting on my plans for the journey ahead, and what I thought would lead me eventually to my final resting place. After all that I’d seen and done in New Alice, I just wanted one last moment of true peace before surrendering my life. To see the home I once knew, and maybe find the very place I’d last seen my father. Of course, they were dead by now, its been twenty years, and that place was certainly in ruins by now - nothing survived on the coast anymore. But I still wanted to see it just one last time anyway.

I swallowed another glass of whisky and ordered one more, this time sipping the glass more slowly savouring the taste, and the moment of calm as a hint of inebriation seeping into my mind.

It’s strange how something so small can change everything in an instant. My only company was the man behind the bar, who had known me long enough to know I was anything but talkative, and several others seated at a corner table playing cards by candlelight, each of them with a glass of clear alcohol of some kind. It smelt cheap and nasty, and I can’t say the men drinking it looked any different. But in my moment of inebriation, without realizing what I was doing, the tall bald man in the middle caught my attention as I stared for a long moment. He looked familiar, which wasn’t entirely unusual in New Alice. But it was his tattoos that fascinated my slightly drunken state. They were extremely rare these days, and his long narrow face and scowl made me think of a character from a book I once read. His demeanour was of a man that was not to be messed with, but his appearance conjured an image in my mind of a character from a comic book. And in that moment, the image in my mind made me chuckle slightly. The group of them were probably in their late teens or early twenty’s, a few years younger than me, but it was hard to tell these days. The desert was cruel like that, and it often aged people far beyond their years. He seemed to realise I’d been laughing, and his eyes suddenly locked on mine, his scowl became more pronounced on his narrow eyes, and he slurred, “You got a problem?”

I just shook my head and turning back to my drink. Not wanting to create a scene on my last night in New Alice, but It seemed like they weren’t going to drop it as they all stumbled drunkenly to their feet. “Hey, you piece of shit…” One of the other men growled as he stumbled over his own chair, seemingly attempting to move in my direction, which only made the smirk on my face harder to hide. “My brother here asked what your fuckin’ problem was?” I sighed and glanced at Mick behind the bar, who rolled his eyes.

“Sorry!” I whispered to him apologetically.

He backed away from the bar slightly, and said in a low voice, “Just don’t kill ’em, one of those fucks is V.I.P.!”

I nodded once before quickly swallowing the rest of the whiskey in my hand, not wanting to waste such fine drink before sliding the glass to Mick and turning to face the men as they stumbled drunkenly in my direction. Zombies were more coordinated than this lot. It had been a while since I was last in a fight, so I took in a deep breath and steadied my nerves, feeling the familiar cold calm of the murderer inside my brain.

Then Mick raised a shotgun over the counter and taking aim at one of the men. “Not in here, gentlemen! If you want to fight, take it into the street. You know the rules.”

The four men stopped suddenly held up their hands, before they started trying to goad me into following them outside. But they were armed, which was not at all unusual, all of them had pistols on their hips, and probably no shortage of bladed weapons under their dirty clothing and leather armour. When it was clear to them that I was not that stupid, the tall one I’d been laughing at walked over casually, growling in a low voice, “You’d better be gone by morning, or I’ll hunt you down. Hell, I might do it anyway for sport!”

I smiled darkly at him, as the man glared, his rage seething just below the surface. My reply came out calm and cold, “If you come and find me in the morning, you will die, that's a promise.”

The man growled and made to reach over to grab my neck, but I was too fast for him, grabbing his wrist and twisted him over in a single movement and slamming face into the bar. His nose busting on the hard surface with a sickening crack before I released him and threw him back. “You’re fuckin’ dead!” he roared, as he climbed back to his feet, spitting blood.

“You’re not the first to try it, and you won’t be the last—I’m sure of that!” I said in a low voice as I glared up at his friends who were standing by the front door of the bar frozen, terrified at what they were seeing, and how easily I’d taken down the clear leader of their gang. “You and your friends over there are full of nothing but piss and vinegar. I promise if I see you or your friends again, you will die.” I slowly stepped back, collecting my drink once more.

Mick started laughing and said, “You might want to make some better life choices, Sam… You just picked a fight with the legendary Jack, hero of the northern war!”

The tall man’s eye’s widened, but he said nothing. There was fear there, but I got the feeling that Mick's declaration would excite the man's need for a sporting challenge. The four of them didn’t say anything else as they rushed out of the bar. I had no doubt they would try something at some point, but it wouldn’t be tonight, and I wouldn’t be around long enough in the morning to find out anyway. The laws of New Alice were strictly enforced in the central district, no gunfire was permitted for any reason except by on the on-duty guards.

“Sorry about that, Jack!” Mick said, sliding another drink my way. “Have that one on the house, I’d rather those idiots drank elsewhere anyway. The sour fuck’s drive away everyone else and drink cheap shit anyway.”

“Thanks, Mick!” I said, offering a grateful nod as he poured himself one, “I kind of wish you hadn’t told them who I was though.”

He shrugged, and said, “I’ve known those assholes for years, and all they do is cause trouble around here, I figured it’d give you a reason to take them out for all the businesses in town. Of course, no one around here will do shit about it because they’re tightly connected with the boss-man. But you’re leaving anyway, so maybe making that dumb fuck piss himself might make him think again in future.” He drank the glass in one gulp, then leaning in. “The blonde one,” He continued, gesturing to the group of men that had just left the bar, “he’s old man Malcolm Bishop’s son, fourth in line to run this place one day, so you stay clear of that one. When they do come after you, kill the rest, and leave him tied up somewhere.”

I shook my head and tried not to think about it. Finishing the glass of whisky before replying, “Good thing I’m making tracks first thing. Hopefully I don’t have to deal with it again!”

“Yeah, it’s probably a good thing, I doubt this will be the end of it otherwise, but it was worth a try.” I nodded in agreement and straightened myself up, before making my way towards the stairs once again. “Have a good night, Jack!” Mick called out as he started getting ready to close the bar for the night.

“You too, take care!”

I doubted I would stay long after my trade in the morning anyway, so any confrontation didn’t seem likely, nor did it play on my mind too much either. I had no fear of my own death, the ghosts in my head saw to that long ago. If they got the better of me, then so be it. After all, I had plans to end it all myself in the not near future. What did it matter if they took a few weeks off me. My plan was to get most of a day’s travel in anyway and get back to the cooler weather of the coast as soon as possible. This little incident was just extra motivation to get out the hell out of New Alice.

It was summer, which was bad enough on the coast, but in the desert that kind of heat could be deadly. I didn’t enjoy fighting, I hated the heat, and I missed the water—all of which made me even more eager to leave first thing in the morning. I didn’t mind the zombies so much; they were slow and clumsy most of the time, and generally easy to deal with if you know what you’re doing. Most of them moved in herds these days anyway, following a relatively predictable migratory paths, so avoiding them was not an overly difficult process, as long as you don't draw attention to yourself.

It was getting late in the evening with the sun having long fallen over the horizon, but the candle in my room still had some life left in it. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, I pulled out my pistol and rifle, to clean the weapon thoroughly before leaving. It had been a little while since I had the chance to do so, and thankfully, I hadn’t needed to use it in quite a while. But they were still filthy with dust and sand from the desert winds—the grains were so fine that they easily got into everything. I would have to find an opportunity to clean it again when I got back to the coast, no doubt, but it didn’t take too long to clean.

My rifle, an old military issue weapon that had been discontinued decades before the zombie plague. I’m not sure what it was called in the old world. But apparently, the military had a ton of them lying around when the collapse happened, so they dropped them with supplies to surviving groups in the early days to ‘help’ since they couldn’t do much else. But the one I had was sentimental, it belonged to my father, and it was the first rifle they’d found after the collapse. My mother handed it to me when I was six years old after teaching me how to use it, but sadly she didn’t live long enough to see me make my first real kill. That rifle and a small gold chain that hung from my neck were all I had from them. I kept the rifle despite having come across many ‘better’ weapons over the years. But the fact that ammunition was easy to come by thanks to the old-world military meant it was a reliable weapon, and not much ever went wrong with them if they were kept relatively clean.

I then repacked my bag for the morning, stacking the few days of preserved neatly inside before collection my loose ammunition into a small leather pouch for trade in the morning. It was a pretty decent collection of assorted rounds which would undoubtedly go over well with Rick, but I was still a little unsure about the bag full of jewellery and other vanity items. These things had been worthless for so long until these settlements. But now the notion of ‘luxury’ was beginning to return, especially amongst the ruling elites in New Alice and elsewhere, as they sought to display their wealth and power. Something things never change about us humans.

The candle burnt out a short time later, and I soon fell into an uneasy sleep with my pistol resting under my pillow. People made me anxious at the best of times, and trust was certainly not something that came easy. My paranoia had long kept me alive in this world. In any case, the bed was comfortable compared to the rocky ground of the desert, and sometime in the early hours of the morning, a cool breeze began filtering through the small open window offering a little comfort. But that’s when the ghosts came again, churning around and around in the darkest corners of my mind, they were both a comfort and a living hell, and the dreams they bought with them had long ago numbed me to this world.