NOVEL NEXT CHAPTER 90: Wasteland Justice
The trial had ended, but the tension in the air remained thick, like congealed blood mixed with a dash of betrayal. Snedlie stood in the center of the group, his shoulders slumped, a man condemned but not yet broken.
“Snedlie, you’ve betrayed the group, you’ve betrayed our trust, and we can no longer have you anywhere near us,” John began, his voice steady but laced with disappointment. “That said, we know the Wasteland is a death sentence. There’s no way you’d survive out there, and there’s no way you’d reach another settlement before you were killed. We don’t believe that death should be the punishment for theft.”
Snedlie didn’t look up. He knew better than to meet John’s eyes. ‘Please, just make it quick. Don’t make me suffer out there, alone. I just wanted to survive, like the rest of you.‘ He was hoping for as light a sentence as he could get.
“However, every member of this settlement has to contribute. Nobody here is going to be giving you a free lunch, so you’re gonna be on latrine duty until someone pays off what you tried to steal. You’ve lost your credibility. 142 coins? That’s what you decided breaking our trust was worth. Until somebody gathers 142 coins to pay off your crime, you’re gonna be on shit duty. Also, so that new people know who you are and what you’ve done, we’re gonna be glueing this sign onto your uniform.”
John had just finished delivering his sentence—a punishment that would have been laughable under different circumstances. But here, in this harsh, unforgiving place, it was no joke.
‘Latrine duty? For how long?‘ Snedlie’s mind raced, trying to calculate how long 142 coins would take to gather. ‘This can’t be forever, can it?‘ He risked a glance at John but quickly looked away when he saw no pity in his eyes. John gestured to Isabella, who approached with a large, hastily made sign. The word "THIEF" was scrawled in big, bold caps, with smaller text underneath detailing Snedlie’s crime and the price of his pardon. Without hesitation, she slapped it onto Snedlie’s chest, pressing it down until the adhesive set. ‘How many more humiliations do I have to endure?‘
Atlas watched the whole process in silence, his face an unreadable mask. This was not enough—not by a long shot. The Wasteland wasn’t a place where second chances came easily, and for someone like Snedlie, any leniency was a mistake.
As John stepped back, signaling the end of the trial, Atlas took a step forward. The group turned to him, sensing the storm that was about to break.
“The Wasteland,” Atlas began, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade, “doesn’t forgive, and it doesn’t forget. Betrayal can come at any time, from anyone. Out here, the price for that is usually death.”
Snedlie flinched. ‘He’s right. I should be dead right now. They’re all just waiting for me to slip up again.‘ But Atlas’s eyes were already past him, looking out into the distance, into memories from another lifetime.
“I’ve learned this the hard way—softness is a luxury we can’t afford. I once spared someone who betrayed me, and it cost me two backpacks, one of them full of emergency medical supplies. Clark took off with those supplies the first chance he had. Those were supplies that were designated for life-saving measures. Hank almost died because of my mistake. The Wasteland is harsh; it doesn’t give second chances. Death is a common occurrence. I was soft. I was forgiving. It was a mistake I’ll never make again.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Survival demands sacrifice, and mercy is a rare commodity. This...this is leniency. Remember that the next time you think about betraying us. Out here, it’s life or death, and there’s no room for softness.”
The group was silent, absorbing the gravity of what Atlas had said. Snedlie stood motionless, his face pale, the reality of his situation hitting him like a punch to the gut. ‘Latrine duty until 142 coins are gathered? That could last weeks, months, maybe longer...‘ If he couldn’t convince people that he had reformed, poop and penance would be his life.
Atlas stepped back, signaling the end of his speech. The group began to disperse, murmuring amongst themselves. John lingered a moment, meeting Atlas’s gaze. There was an understanding between them, a recognition that while John’s justice was necessary, Atlas’s warning was vital.
‘‘‘
“That was a shit call, John,” Atlas said, frustration bleeding through his voice. He stared hard at the thief, the man’s panicked eyes darting between them, knowing how close he was to death. Atlas’s hand hovered over his weapon, itching to act. It would be so easy. So damn easy to end this here.
John exhaled sharply, shoulders tight with the same urge. “Yeah, I wanted to kill him too. Part of me still does.” His eyes flicked to the thief before returning to Atlas. “But we can’t. Not if we want to keep things moving forward. We’ve worked too hard to give people a reason to stay hopeful. To show them we’re different.”
Atlas’s grip loosened, though he was far from calm. ‘Different,’ he thought, glancing over at the growing camp of his people. They’d been through hell, just like everyone else. Their trust was fragile, balancing on the thin line between survival and chaos. ‘We screw this up, and we’re right back where we started. They’ll see us as no better than petty warlords.’ The thought made his stomach churn.
John ran a hand through his hair, his own frustration clear. “If we kill him now, word will spread. People will start thinking we’re not good people. Morale will crash. Our group… they’re just starting to feel safe again. This could ruin that. We’re supposed to be giving them hope, not reminding them of what they’ve been through.”
Atlas clenched his jaw, anger still pulsing under his skin. He knew John was right, even if every part of him wanted to lash out. ‘If we give in to this, we lose everything. The camp falls apart. No one follows a leader who can’t keep his word, who can’t control his rage.’ The image of the camp turning on itself, all because they couldn’t hold back, flashed in his mind.
John continued, his voice lower now, more somber. “We’re building something better, Atlas. We can’t go back to being the kind of leaders who kill first and think later. If people lose faith in that… in us… this whole thing falls apart.”
Atlas took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside. He knew the right call, even if he hated it. “You’re right.” He stepped back from the thief, tension still simmering in his chest. “We can’t go backward. Not now.”
The thief gasped, his relief palpable, but Atlas wasn’t feeling generous. “But he’s going to pay in other ways. Find something that’ll hurt, John. Make sure he never forgets who he crossed.”
“You think this was the just thing to do, huh?”
“Atlas, when it comes to politics, justice is never the real reason any decision is made. It’s all about the appearance of justice while keeping our hands firmly on the reins.”
“Wow. That’s something I’d never considered. I’m glad I’ve got you looking over this kinda stuff.”
“Don’t worry, Atlas. Next time something like this happens, you can just kill him. The group will remember our ‘justice’ today.”
Snedlie was led away to begin his new duties, the sign on his chest fluttering slightly in the breeze. As he walked, he tried not to think about the endless days ahead or the harsh eyes of the group judging him every step of the way. But deep down, he knew that his sentence was light compared to what could have been. ‘Just get through this, Snedlie. Keep your head down, do the work, and maybe...maybe they’ll forget in time. Maybe I’ll forget too.‘
Atlas watched him go, his thoughts drifting back to that time when he hadn’t been ruthless enough. ‘Never again, he vowed silently. The Wasteland had taught him too many lessons, and mercy wasn’t one of them.‘
But there was an amusing part to this punishment—the part that made Atlas’s eyes glint with dark humor—was the food. He’d make sure that Snedlie got two Ultra Manly Buff Bars a day, but not just any flavor. No, Snedlie would be getting the one flavor nobody could stand: vegan lasagna.
‘Vegan lasagna? Oh God, that stuff is worse than eating dirt. Who even decided to make this flavor? Who would buy it?‘
Atlas smirked at the thought.
If Snedlie didn’t die of shame or the Wasteland’s perils, the taste of those bars just might finish him off.
But still, as he turned away, a small, bitter smile tugged at his lips. ‘Permanent shit duty and vegan lasagna bars. Maybe there’s some justice after all.‘
---
POV : EARTH
Meanwhile, back in a world far removed from the Wasteland, the Ultra Manly Buff Bar boardroom was a hive of activity, buzzing with the thrill of success. The walls were lined with sleek, modern decor, framed posters of their most successful products, and graphs that showcased their soaring profits. At the head of the long, polished table sat Jonathan Steel, the no-nonsense president with a perpetual smirk on his face. To his right, Linda Carter, the sharp-witted VP of Marketing, was flipping through the latest sales reports. Across from her, Roger Bennett, the head of R&D, leaned back in his chair, looking smug.
“The sales are great!” Jonathan announced, his voice carrying a note of triumph.
“Yes, we’re up 24% this quarter!” Linda added, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Sponsoring the microdrama had been a stroke of genius, aligning their brand with the gritty survivalist ethos that resonated with their core demographic.
Jonathan turned to Roger, “What did we do with all those defective bars?”
“Oh, that was another great decision by the team!” chimed in Phil Watson, a random VP who often rode the coattails of the bigger players in the room.
“Yeah,” Linda interjected with a grin, “we packed them all into the assorted bars boxes. You know, to keep them from going to waste.”
“Hahaha! You did? That’s hilarious,” Jonathan chuckled, imagining the faces of their unsuspecting customers biting into those dreadful bars.
“Well, those defective bars tasted like absolute shit,” Linda said bluntly, a hint of amusement in her tone.
“They were our first attempt at lowering the production cost,” Roger from R&D defended, a little sheepish. “But I have to admit, they didn’t turn out quite as expected.”
“Still, it’s hilarious. What did you call them?” Jonathan asked, curious.
“We called them Vegan Lasagna,” Roger replied with a shrug, as if the name alone excused the disaster that was the bar’s flavor profile.
“Really?” Jonathan raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained.
“Yeah, since we didn’t have to use any whey or butter-based ingredients, it made them much cheaper to produce, so they are 100% vegan,” Roger said, justifying the decision. “It was a cost-saving measure, really.”
“Still, it tastes like dried cow shit,” Linda quipped, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Good job, both of you,” Jonathan said, his voice tinged with irony but full of approval. The whole room erupted in laughter, the kind of laughter that came easy when you were sitting on a pile of money.
“Brilliant suggestion with the naming,” Roger nodded towards Linda
***
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