Vile Wasteland (A Post Apocalyptic Novel) Read Online Free

waves. "They took my
stuff, I don’t know why and you say they wouldn’t have."
    The two men glanced at each other for a moment then Jarago looked
back to her, "It’s not that we don’t believe you,
it’s just that... it doesn’t make any sense by our
accounting," he said. With a jerk of his chin the tall, darker
man gestured for Bren to go, "You take watch for now," he
said.
    Bren got up, picking up his own rifle and looking over the woman,
a glint of curiosity, disbelief and more yet on his face, then turned
and left, leaving the two alone with the sleeping man.
    Her fingers ran through the long, blonde hair before she finally
gave up trying to fix it, staring up at him with an annoyed
expression, "I’ve just pretty much killed everyone I’ve
known for the past decade, and it’s sure as hell more than
three people in a caravan. How’s that for having to start
fresh."
    Arching a brow over at her, the tall Jarago lifted himself on one
palm and slid over next to her, speaking lower. "You’ve
got a pretty grim outlook," he said, "like I told ya, folks
out here–in the light–are used to havin’ to start
from nothin’. And you’re fortunate, you already got a job
offer," he explained, a wry, handsome smile lighting his
ruddy-brown features. "Work for me, I’ll see you treated
well, and in time you’ll earn some extra to help your friends."
    She met his eyes, not flinching away, "Yea, about that. What
exactly did you want me to be doing? Killing those things full time
or just being your adorable little bunker babe plaything, huh? ‘cause
I’m not sure either of those really flies with me."
    His smile widened to a smirk and he put up his two hands, "Why
not both?" he said. "You got the tenacity for one, and the
looks for the other," he said, reaching a hand out, touching his
fingers to her knee. "We can come to an arrangement," he
said softly. "Not like you’d have to put out to everyone
like most van-girls do. I’d keep you to myself. Maybe Bren now
and then. If you’re up for it," he offered.
    Her eyes went down to her knee, studying the strong hand before
looking back to him, a mixture of unreadable expressions on her face.
"Okay, firstly, what the fuck is a van girl? Secondly, how long
would it take for me to get some seeds and food for a colony of dying
people?"
    Looking only mildly surprised by her statements he gave a light
shrug, but left his hand on her knee. "I don’t trade in
that sorta stuff," he explained, "but in time along our
routes we’d come across the sort of materials you’re
lookin’ for, I’m sure." Clearing his throat he
added, "And a van-girl is a woman who tags along on a caravan to
see to the needs of the caravaneers. I mean, alternatively there’s
van-boys too, of course," he explained.
    Her lips pursed to the side as she pressed her hands into the
dirt, seeming thoughtful. "What type of stuff do you guys do,
then?" she asked.
    The man’s strong hand lingered on her, then slowly began to
stroke against her thigh, him leaning towards her rather familiarly,
"Weapons," he explained. "Scavenged goods too. We deal
in hardware," he said, stressing the ‘hard’ just a
bit.
    "God, has it been a while for you or something?" she
tugged her thigh away from him, though she didn’t seem upset.
"What would I have to do, and how would I get the stuff I need
then, huh?"
    He didn’t seem to appreciate her sharp disapproval, though
he smoothly took his hand back and placed it on his own knee. "You’d
have to keep me happy," was his firm response, "Bren too,
now and then, but mostly me. And you’d get what you need by
doin’ your job well, like everyone else. When we arrive at
town, you’d get a cut of the profits that you could use to buy
the shit you need."
    Her gaze turned back to the fire, and she stared deep into its
pits for what seemed like the longest time but was only a half-minute
or so. A big breath rose her chest and she let it out before staring
at him again, "And how hard