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Caleb's Wasteland Tales - Part 1: Blood, Cults, and Racism

Rasta Effect's picture
Submission type:

The steaming hot water that produced an escalating amount of vapor against the bathroom mirror grew in volume as suddenly the sound of the creaking and squeaking from the tab being turned off was heard in almost a dream-like state. Sound was foggy for Bones and everything seemed like a haze as he blankly stared down at the bottom right corner of the mirror where a set of numbers could be seen in red marker written against the fogged up surface. 09Q-413D-7E2Y. At first, Caleb gave it a mere glance but as he had continued to wash his face the numbers almost acted like some form of trigger to him. Something in his brain has clicked together and his hands rested against the sides of the sink's ceramic edges.

This seemed like a déja vu ordeal for Bones almost like reliving a flashback while the bathroom door began to rattle and thump, the sound of someone on the other side clearly trying to gain Caleb's attention but with the man's state of mind, unable to get through to him. Though at the end of his reminiscing period, Bones snapped back to reality and stared at the door as the person on the other side pounded away while shouting his name "Ey, mate! Hurry up, yeah? We gotta get movin' before Ryker's boys show up." the distinctive voice was that of a woman's with a clear Pre-War Australian or perhaps British accent? Caleb's ignorance to either accents made it difficult to distinguish the two as it was not every day he met English and Aussies.

"Just a minute, Sam!" Caleb stared at the numbers as he shouted back towards the door, the echo and vibrations from his voice were null within the small confined ceramic tiled room. He slowly rose his right hand up towards the corner of the mirror and with a slow smudging motion of his thumb he removed the red numbers, causing them to be incomprehensible as it only left the residue of a couple red streaks. Bones curled his fingers outwards into an obtuse form as he used the hamate of his hand to wipe away the built up fog on the mirror, revealing his rugged wasteland look. His unique dark complexion, his untrimmed beard and his dilated pupils all coming to light through the reflection of the mirror. The man turned his head to the right slowly as he stared at the terrible bush on his face, right away realizing how much his facial hair looked reckless in the sense of care. After staring at those numbers for so long, he had completely forgotten why he was in the bathroom until looking back at the jungle on his face and picking up the straight razor off the edge of the sink. The lukewarm water was still dripping down his features and into the sink bowl along with the narrow edges.

Caleb took his time and precision to shave his beard with the white but yellow stained straight razor, coming down in slow patterned strokes down his cheeks and jawline. His dedication to cleaning himself up was interrupted by the abrupt bash against the door as shotgun pellets flew through the door's wooden boards. The door had white strips in small patches as most of the paint had chipped away from time ago. Luckily, the pellets had JUST missed Caleb and went into the ceramic tiles as they all shattered into different sized pieces, the dust flushing around in the small sized room. In a swift instance, He reacted fast by dropping to the ground straight razor in hand as he played dead. It was poor acting albeit this was the best he could come up with the time he had. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours before someone finally kicked open the half decayed door and walked into the bathroom as they stared down at Caleb, the man was shirtless wearing nothing but a bandolier of shotgun shells across his chest which seemed to be connected to the belt around his waist. He sported a unique hairstyle, a completely shaved head on the sides and a small mohawk on the top, He had a distinctive tattoo on the left side which said "Lugan" with a logo of what seemed like a hockey mask. His facial features were hidden by the black bandana wrapped around his mouth and substituted by lower half of a skull face, his pants were a black dyed leather and his double barrel shotgun seemed hand-made, it consisted of rusty metal and a screw for an iron sight.

"Ryker, I got one here. Don't think he's breathing, though." were the words that came out of the bald man's mouth as he continuously stared down at Caleb in an unimpressed manner. Though his eyes were hidden behind his black tinted welding goggles, it was obvious that he was staring at Caleb and for a rather uncomfortably amount of time, almost like he was debating in his mind what he was going to do with him. The man lowered down slowly as he bent his knees to rest his shotgun down against the wall, finally dropping onto his right knee and leaning down to press his ear closely against Caleb's mouth, Caleb's warm breath pushing against the man's ear sent immediate red flags to the his head but at this point it was too late as in one swift motion, Caleb had slit open the man's throat and left nothing but a wet, bloody gargling sound erupting from his gullet. The blood quickly gushed into Caleb's eyes and drenching his face, the man dropped forward atop of Caleb but Caleb's reaction timing and momentum helped push off the "soon-to-be-corpse" off him to leave him to bleed out.

"Is he breathing Lugan?" a deep and metallic voice chipped out and it was obvious right away that whoever had spoke was wearing some form of metal mask. Caleb knew who it was but since the sunlight from the door blinded him, it was difficult to see him. Ryker. Caleb yet again reacting quickly and instinctively, he removed a few shells from Lugan's bandolier and picked up the hand-made double barrel off the damaged wall, his right hand holding the shotgun by it's grip while his left busied itself with cracking the shotgun open and replacing the empty shells with fresh ones. Snapping it back after reloading, Caleb heard the distant sound of buggy engines rolling up in large numbers and the engines quickly stopped as they arrived, no shouting just a sudden gunshot. It wasn't towards Caleb this time surprisingly and men began to shout as an exchange of gunfire rang out, giving this opportunity for Bones to make a run for it, his foot stepping out of the doorway and into the sandy wasteland before suddenly the cock of a gun's hammer was heard. "Shit...." Caleb stated as he dropped the weapon in his hands and rose his hands up slowly in a surrendering fashion. His head didn't turn to look at whoever had a gun aimed at him but he knew they weren't friendly. "Look, man. I don't want any trouble..." He only turned his head slowly after saying this, staring at what seemed to be a man in a turban-like mask modified with some form of filtration system for radiation. "Eat shit, you dirty nigg-" just at that moment, the man was abruptly hit over the head with what looked like a large metal pipe, knocking him forward and onto his stomach, dropping his 9mm Browning HP handgun. This wasn't hand-made and on the contrary seemed well maintained with a polished wooden grip.

"You good, mate?" Sam abruptly coming around the corner as she dropped the metal pipe, slumping forward and resting her hands on her knees for a moment to catch her breath. She nodded towards the handgun and walked over slowly to pick it up, tossing it over to Caleb carelessly, the safety was off though Bones was fortunate and caught it by the grip with his right hand, while his left cupped itself under and his right thumb pressed the ejector button to release the magazine into his left hand, he counted up to 11 rounds in the mag before slapping it back into the handgun and pulling back the slider. "I got eleven here." he stated to Sam before looking over to her, she reached towards the back of her pants and pulled out a handgun of her own although it appeared to be a much higher caliber weapon. A desert eagle. She held it with her left hand under the handgrip for extra support as she looked around at all the gunfire that was going on around them. It was an all-out war between two gangs. One set didn't seem uniformed while the others appeared to all share a common blue bandana somewhere on their outfits. The landscape of the area consisted of several buggies used as cover, pre-war destroyed cars. Several sandbags and metal barrels.

Sam nodded towards Caleb as they both agreed to make a run for it. "Let's get the fuck out of here, mate." she stated with the most fed up tone before making a run for it, she quickly released her left hand from under the grip of the handgun, dashing through the crossfire between the two gangs.



Joe Spivey's picture

((Cool story and very descriptive writing. It's good to see new stories appearing.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

Rasta Effect's picture

(( Thank you!

Veronica Volt's picture

((Exciting start of your tales!

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