Wasteland Wonderland - The Fall of Hector Ramirez: Wasteland Wonderland, #1

By J. L. Harden

Wasteland Wonderland Book 1 - The Fall of Hector Ramirez

We are the last ones left on Earth.
We live in the Wasteland.
We live underground.
Hidden from the Red Giant.
Some of us live in Wonderland. These are the lucky few, the wealthy elite.
But regardless of where we live, we all want the same thing. Because we are all waiting. Waiting to leave. Waiting to escape this doomed rock.
Life is simple… there is only one thing to do… Survive.
Survive the Wasteland.
Survive the Sun.

Hector Ramirez is a natural born killer with a score to settle. He's out for answers and out for revenge. And no one, not even the might of Wonderland can stop him.

Wasteland Wonderland is a neo-noir Sci-Fi take on the apocalypse. Picture Mad Max mixed in with Bladerunner and Sin City. Part 1 - The Fall of Hector Ramirez is approximately 30,000 words in length. Warning! Very coarse language and super high impact violence inside! Not for the faint of heart!

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. L. Harden
• Release date: May 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201928605

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Chapter 1

I’m somewhere in the Buried City.

Somewhere below the Wasteland.

Below the former mega metropolis of Las Vegas.

I’m in a bar, drinking what passes for beer these days. I’m in a bar because humans are weird and even though it’s the literal end of the world, we still need to get a buzz on.

I’ve had ten beers.

But the beers are just chasers.

Because what I’m really drinking is something stronger. A fortified brew that tastes like gasoline. But it does the trick. Dulling the senses and memories, making me forget where I am and who I am and what I’ve done.

The beers are just for chasing away the taste. And to chase away a feeling I’m getting in my stomach. To chase away my nerves, to calm my nerves.

Because I just met a girl. An angel. An angel who has no business being in a place like this. She came up to me not even ten minutes ago.

She was looking for me.

She knew my name.

She was friendly. 

And I didn’t ask questions. She told me her room number. Told me the door wasn’t locked.

Maybe I should’ve asked questions. Maybe I should’ve told her to get lost, to find some other mark. But like I said, this is the end of the world and I’m a lonely son of a bitch.

She left, begging me with her eyes to follow. I turned back to the bar and finished my drink.

And downed the chaser.

And now a tap on my shoulder. A guy. Tall and thin. He has a scar over his left eye and an expression on his face that says he’s all business, that he’s a consummate professional. He’s wearing a poncho, and I can’t be certain, but I think underneath the poncho he’s wearing a thermo suit. I’m thinking he must be a Merc from the nicer part of town, but I can’t be certain because this guy is dressed like he’s hiding something and I’m pretty damn drunk.

My vision is blurry.

I can’t be certain.

This guy has a beer in his hand but he’s not drinking it. Not like you’re supposed to drink a beer. He shows me a picture of a girl. He asks me if I’ve seen her and even though I can’t get her out of my mind... I lie.

I lie and I say, I’ve never seen her before.

And then I tell the truth. I tell the truth and I say, I’ve never seen anyone like her before.

The tall, thin man walks off, leaving his beer on the bar and I’m too drunk and careless and arrogant to even think this could be a problem.

For me.

For anyone.

I make my way to the room upstairs. She’s there. Waiting. And I’m suddenly aware of the heat.

It’s hot. Because it’s always hot.

Sweat covers our bodies.

I ask her what her name is, trying to make small talk because even though I’m drunk and my guard is lowered and my inhibitions are gone, I’m nervous.

She can tell.

And she says, My name doesn’t matter...

It matters to me.

She has her arms around me. She wears nothing but a smile. Except it’s not really a smile. It’s not real. It’s a mask.

She thinks for a second, too long. She whispers, Rose.

Like the flower?

Yeah, she says quickly. Just like the flower.

Her skin is soft.

Her hands.

Her thighs.

Her lips.

Everything is soft.

And smooth.

And pale.

She might be an angel. I might be dreaming.

She inhales sharply as I put my hands on her hips and pull her close.

I ask her where she’s from.

And she says, Wonderland.

I laugh.

She doesn’t.

Her smile fades.

Maybe she’s running from an abusive husband, the tall guy. He looked like creep. Or maybe she did something wrong, maybe she stole something that wasn’t hers, something important. Maybe she’s facing Exile. Both scenarios are more likely than the lie she just gave me.

So here she is. Hiding in the worst part of the Buried City. Hiding from the Red Giant, the Wasteland, the heat.

I should stay away. I should go back to the bar and keep drinking until I black out.

But I don’t.

Because this girl is running. From someone. From something. It doesn’t matter. Hell, maybe she just wants some excitement in her life. A fling.

An affair...

Maybe she just wants to know that men still find her attractive.

Irresistible.

I can vouch for that.

And now she knows it, if she ever doubted it.

I kiss her and she shivers.

In this heat.

In this goddamn, unrelenting heat.

I ask her, What’s wrong?

I’m scared, she answers, her mask slipping away for the briefest of moments.

Why?

Because I know secrets. I know things I’m not supposed to know.

What do you know?

She places her hand at the back of my head. She grabs a fistful of my hair. She kisses me and whispers... I know everything.

Chapter 2

She fell asleep in my arms, covered in sweat, cold to the touch.

Cold.

Even in this heat.

I didn’t think about it at the time. Didn’t think.

Because I wasn’t thinking.

Can you blame me?

She was a goddess and I was in heaven. Drunk and in heaven.

She was shivering. She was cold and covered in sweat. No one is cold in this place.

Not here.

Not in the Buried City.

Not in the Wasteland.

Not on Earth.

Not anymore.

I wasn’t thinking. I was too drunk.

She was on the run and I should’ve stayed away. What was she running from? Who was she running from?

A bad debt?

An ex-husband?

Maybe her ex is a Wasteland Raider. Those guys are nuts. People think I’m crazy. People think my brother and I are insane. But we’ve got nothing on those guys. Raiders constantly venture above ground, out into the Wasteland, out into the scorching, deadly heat. A lot of them, damn near all of them, live above ground, in the Ruined City of Las Vegas. Living above ground is absolute madness. People say the Red Giant cooks their brains. I’d have to agree with those people.

Then again, maybe she was running from that creep from the bar. The tall, thin man with the scar over his eye. Was he wearing a thermo suit? Was he armed? I can’t remember.

Right now, I’m still holding the girl in my arms and I don’t know when to let go. I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to deal with this because I don’t want to acknowledge exactly what went down.

Rose, if that was even her real name, she was poisoned. I don’t think she knew she’d been poisoned. Not until it was too late.

I place her gently on the bed and cover her with the sheet. I stand over her with my head lowered. I don’t say a prayer because I don’t really know any, and I’m not the world’s biggest fan of religion. So I just stand over the bed, beside the bed, standing over Rose, as a mark of respect.

Rose told me she was from Wonderland.

Told me she knew secrets.

Maybe she was telling the truth.

And maybe this is why she’s dead.

Her skin, her hands, they were so soft. She wasn’t from around here.

And now my instincts are kicking in. Survival instincts I was born with and spent a lifetime honing by necessity, they are kicking the hell in. To survive in the Buried City, to survive in the Wasteland, hell, to survive on Earth, you need to be stronger than the next person in the food chain.

Rose was not strong.

She was soft and smooth and pale.

Her skin had never been kissed by the Red Giant.

She had never been outside. She had been kept. Somewhere.

And she was scared. She was downright terrified.

Of who? Of what?

The more I think about it, the more I realize there’s no way she was from the Buried