And On And On We'll Go Through The Wastelands Novels & Stories

"I’ve got three thousand people who want to have a word with her." The caravan moved with a slow, agonizing rhythm across the salt-cracked plains of the Wastes. The ground beneath the skiffs was a graveyard of ancient machinery and frozen mud, the wind howling through the struts with a sound like a dying choir. Behind them, the Low-Level gangs and the fallen aristocrats marched in a silence born of pure exhaustion. Every step was a battle against the elements, every breath a frozen needle in the lungs. (SOFIA QUISPE’S POINT OF VIEW)

Unbeknownst to her, he wasn’t working with Telisha but with someone else. Uneece wondered if that was a lie. The strong, hot wind blasted at their faces. Uneece flinched instinctively. They were now stepping into another area of no man’s land. Luckily, there weren’t any predators close by. Her friend was used to the terrain. As they stepped out of the grassland, the scorching heat of the sun greeted them. “This is the Waste land.” She guessed. The literal vast land full of waste and bones. Gigantic birds flying in circles over them.

“Just stay alive.” We marched for four hours into the heart of the grey. The landscape was a nightmare of repetitive desolation. There were no landmarks, only the occasional pillar of jagged salt that looked like a petrified scream. Suddenly, the mist ahead began to churn. It wasn't a wind; it was a rhythmic pulsing, as if the Wasteland itself were taking a breath. “Elara... Elara...” The whispers started. They didn't come from the air; they came from the salt beneath our feet. Ten thousand voices, layered and discordant. They weren't the voices of the Blood-Moon pack; they were the voices of everyone I had ever lost.

She hadn’t even heard about it before this, but after hearing that Mount Oro would be awakened, she expressed her intentions to go there as one might be given an amazing chance. As for the treasure-hunting pig, Mystic Maiden would still drag it along, no matter how much it refused to go with her. With their sense of smell, they would easily take over half of the saintly grounds. “But how do we even go to the Wasteland?” Pigsy asked. “We’d have to go through the Endless Sea from here. And that’s no joke! Even a Heavenly King might die there. It’d be a death wish if we nobodies tried to even take a single step in there.”

And statues thousands of them standing in rows, their faces eroded by the windless air. "These were kingdoms," Kaelen realized, his voice hushed. "The ones who failed their audits before us." We walked for hours, our feet sinking into the ash like sand. Every step felt like a battle against the "Nothingness" of the wasteland. The air began to vibrate with a low, rhythmic sound, not a heartbeat, but the sound of a hammer hitting a nail. Behind a dune made of rusted swords, we found a small shack built from the bones of a dragon.

“Then let’s go home.” We slept. Deep. Safe. The worm died. Apex stabilized. The warrants evaporated, quietly, unofficially. Eze rotted in prison. And we flew back, not to Lagos. To the estancia. Cattle are still there. The lake is still jade. The house is still waiting. We walked the porch at sunset. Hand in hand.

Everyone gave him a blank stare. This will be our last time in the tent with all our stuff. We have to leave it behind when we make a run for it. Besides, today we will reach the marshlands so we won’t need to camp out for a bit, he said. No one has been into the marshlands and come back to tell us what it’s really like! What if it’s another three day journey through the marshlands before we get to Anestra’s lair specifically, said Cory, feeling dejected. We’ll need to rest then. We’ll need food and shelter and…

“It sucks but it is what it is. Our parents and grandparents and great grandparents were subjected to the same fate.” “And no one questioned it.” The silence in the room was deafening. We all knew where she was heading, but we waited for her to say it, waited for her to say those words that could make her disappear without a trace. “Maybe the wastelands aren’t as awful as they claim—” “Twelve,” I cut in, my heart starting to pound. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought of it!” She snapped. I leaned back. She was right.

The Radiation-Sea seemed to part before us now, as if the fog itself was afraid of the two riders who were no longer running from the past, but charging headlong into hell to take back their family. Ahead of us, the neon glow of Neo-Vegas pierced the night a glittering, poisonous jewel in the center of the wasteland.

Scattered weeds pushed up through the cracks, the kind with leaves that looked like they'd burn your skin if you touched them. The air tasted wrong. Thick with dust that coated my throat and made every breath feel like work. The sky was gray despite the sun being up, like even the light didn't want to be here longer than necessary. "No pack claims this," Kael said, his voice rough from three days of minimal water. "Can't. Nothing to claim. Nothing lives here that doesn't have to." "Then why are we here?" "Because the Broken Wolves have to." The camp appeared like it had grown out of the wasteland itself.