Hours later, when the bonfire subsides to crackling embers underneath the charred remains of the night’s feasting, he approaches me with his arms crossed.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay, what?” I pick a sliver of meat out of my teeth.
He shrugs. “So we move everyone to the farm. Then what?”
I take a second to observe him. He avoids my direct gaze as he stares out into the night, but he appears earnest enough.
“Once everyone is safe, then I can go after her.”
“Yeah? That’s the plan?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” I reply. “Not only is she making these super zombies, but she and I have some unfinished business. Pretty sure we can both agree on that.”
A twitch of his lip curls into a conspiratorial smile. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone more bloodthirsty who hadn’t been turned already. But I need him on my side this time.
“She took something from me, something I can never get back. When I went with the others to SeaHaven, that part of me-- I thought I could let it go. I thought I could be like everyone else. But I can’t. I didn’t even know what made me different before, but now I do. And I don’t know if I can forgive her for it.”
“Hm,” he shrugs. “Maybe we’re more alike than I thought.”
“Maybe so.” I follow his gaze into the darkness.
“I still think you’re wasting your potential,” he says. “I mean, if I could do what you do.”
The hair on my arms bristles. “Look, it only works on occasion. I can’t just control them all the time. The only real constant is that they leave me alone. But being out here, with them just out of sight, they could be anywhere.”
“What’s it like?” he asks.
“What’s what like?”
“You know. The pull. The mental connection.”
“It’s hard to say. It’s not a pull really. More like an itch.”
“Huh.” He searches my face, as if able to find some meaning in my features. I give him my best scowl, but it does nothing to dissuade him.
“What are the two of you going on about?” Fairlight approaches, the flames from the dying fire create dark shadows across her face. I glance at Ezekiel, who shakes his head just slightly. He has not yet spoken to her about our plan.
“I was wondering something, Fairlight,” I say, not quite ready to show my hand. “Have you considered moving the tribe over the mountains proper, getting everyone closer to the seaside?”
“We’d talked about it a time or two. But we like to stay to the mountains. It gave us the advantage of the traveling routes. People tend to carry a lot of useful things when they’re traveling.”
“Do they?” I remember the sheer number of people who traveled with us in the caravan when we left the farm for the last time. Her words serve as a harsh reminder of how we became acquainted.
“It is what it is, Ash,” Fairlight says, reading my expression. “We all have to survive. Can’t fill your belly on morality, you know.”
I opt for dropping the subject. “Of course, now that we’ve got these super zombies running around, heading east is not a guarantee of safety either.”
“So, what are y’all thinking then?” Her eyes shift back and forth between the two of us. I give Ezekiel a slight nod and wait for him to speak.
“We’re thinking we go back to my parents’ farm,” he says. “Reclaim it if we have to, fortify the border fencing. There’s a freshwater spring there, and should be provisions left. We can rebuild from there.”
“Is it overrun?” Fairlight asks.
“Nothing I can’t handle I’m sure,” I reply.
To Ezekiel she asks, “And you’re okay with this?”
He shuffles his stance, not looking at either one of us. “Yeah. Sure. I mean what other options do we have right now?”
“First light, then,” she says. “We’ll leave in the morning.” Fairlight speaks with the authority of one who is not often questioned.
“I think it would be wise if I went ahead to clear any lingering zombies,” I say. “We don’t want to lead everyone into ambush after all. We don’t know what’s there. I go alone and remove the risk.”
“By yourself?” Her eyes widen.
“I’m the only one who can.”
“I don’t know if my people are willing to wait. We’ve lost so many already.”
To my surprise Ezekiel speaks up before I do. “Then you’ll want to lower the odds of losing anyone else, right?”
She considers, but not for long. “Fair enough. Give you a day’s lead.”
“Once it’s clear we’ll send up the beacon,” Ezekiel says. “The plume of smoke from my dad’s fire pit.”
Fairlight returns to the edge of the fire with the others. Here and there, people drifted away to ready themselves for sleep. Two of the young men would be taking the overnight watch. I see one of them slicing another hunk of venison meat from the fire, carefully handing a slice jabbed on the tip of his knife over to his friend.
“I caught that, you know,” I say.
“Caught what?” Ezekiel says.
“You’re not coming with me tomorrow. It’s not safe for you.”
“The hell it is, Ash.”
I know full well I won’t be able to stop him. The farm was his home for his whole life. He has every right to reclaim it. Of course he’ll be coming with me. I never thought otherwise.
“What’s not safe?” Alma approaches the two of us.
“We’re going back to Eden’s farm first thing tomorrow,” I reply.
“What? How? I thought it was overrun.”
“We’ll take it back,” Ezekiel says with a casual shrug.
“You two aren’t leaving me out,” Alma says. “When do we leave?”
I roll my eyes and throw my hands up. “At this point we might as well bring everyone.”
“We leave at dawn,” Ezekiel replies. “The three of us first, then we signal for the rest, once the property is secure.”
“Sounds good. In that case, I guess I’d better go get some sleep.”
“Yep. I don’t think we’re far off, based on what I recall of the landscape,” Ezekiel says, “but we’ve still got quite a hike ahead of us tomorrow.”
“Plus, we don’t know what we’re walking into,” I remind him.
“That too.”
We go our separate ways. I find my sleeping pallet and scoot in over closer to the fire, pointing my feet towards the warmth.
In the flickering light, I could just make out the shoulders of the two young men already in position to keep watch, finding myself extremely grateful for the night off.
I find it strange, this new dynamic between myself and Ezekiel. We had never truly warmed to one another, but being back here, away from SeaHaven, I feel as if we’ve developed some kind of understanding between us. How that plays out is yet to be seen.
Seven
We head out the next morning with the sunrise to our backs. Fairlight wakes when we do, ensuring we have a good stash of dried meat, hardtack, and water. Ezekiel insisted we would get there within the day but thanked her for the provisions regardless.
We walk in silence, sticking to the open road as much as possible for the best vantage of the surrounding landscape. Ezekiel took the middle, with Alma and me flanking him on both sides.
It only occurred to me about a mile in that Eden’s farm was the last place Alma saw Travis alive. She looks pale. Perhaps she has the same thought. Not until the sun reaches its zenith does anyone speak.
“We should be close now,” Ezekiel says. “I know this area from hunting, I think. It’s been a while.”
“We haven’t seen them,” I say. “Not one, this whole time.”
“Yeah,” he says.
Alma remains silent, her eyes scanning the horizon.
“Why do you think that is?” I ask. “Used to be they were everywhere.”
He nods but does not speak again.
When we ro
und the bend of the tree line, I recognize the road as the same one I had driven the first time I found their farm, following the plume of smoke rising into the sky. Even now, the scent of meat lingers in the air.
We walk carefully forward, weapons ready. I hold my crossbow. Alma grips in each hand her large hunting knives. Ezekiel carries a machete down at his side, but every muscle in his body tensed at the ready.
Within minutes, the property came into view. I didn’t know quite what to expect. The gate and fence still stood, but the chain link had been flattened by multiple footsteps pulling the metal frame down onto the ground, curved like a sadistic smile.
With careful, measured steps, we cross over the fallen fence. There still appear to be no creatures in sight. The house stands vacant, the door hanging open and the windows dull.
I smelled blood in the air.
Blood, and terror.
“They came from that way,” Ezekiel says, pointing toward the western edge of the forest. “Too many to count.”
Alma and I both lower our weapons, standing side by side as he speaks.
“My mother saw them first through the kitchen window. She spent so much time in that kitchen. I heard her call out to Dad, out in the garden.”
“Where were you?” Alma asks quietly.
“I had just come back from the springs.” He gestured toward the path leading to the forest’s edge on the other side of the farm. “I had a couple of gallons of water draped over my shoulders, so I wasn’t moving very quickly. I heard her shout before I saw them. But there were so many of them. They looked like a thick wall, just a mass of them. I knew as soon as I saw them…” His eyes went distant.
“He didn’t hear me. His hearing had pretty much gone in the past year. I shouted as loud as I could, thinking maybe if he could make it to the house… They breeched the fence. So many bodies pressing against it. The thing crumbled like paper. Even then, he didn’t hear them.”
He paused. We neared the warped, wooden porch, careful to avoid the shards of glass scattered upon the ground from the broken windows.
“Let me,” I say, moving forward onto the first step. They both followed a few feet behind me as I stepped through the door, walking to the center of the room.
“Look,” I whisper, nudging my toe against the leg of the dining chair. “This is where we had that humdinger of an argument.”
“Yeah,” he replies. “I still say I’m right.”
Alma and I exchange a silent glance, and she rolls her eyes with a smirk. We move forward.
Now and again, one of us would find some relic that was once part of this warm household. A half-empty coffee mug sitting at the table, a framed photograph of the two of them fallen to the floor, from the shelf in the hall. We made our way into the kitchen. Just as Ezekiel had said, this room had been Eden’s domain.
She had fed us, and to her, that food equaled care, perhaps even love. This place had been a way station, welcoming anyone who needed help or sought a better way of life. We had moved through the whole house by this point, and by all accounts it seemed empty, but I still feel uneasy.
Ezekiel made his way toward the bookshelf, placing his foot over one of the floorboards, pressing against the surface with intention, moving from one to the other.
“Ah, here it is,” he says.
“What is it?” Alma asks.
“The panic room.” He reaches down and pulls up the board, revealing a metal handle connected to a segment of the floor, an inset trap door disguised into the hardwood. In that instance, I understand the source of my disquiet.
“Ezekiel, wait!” I call out, but he had already pulled open the heavy door.
The sound and smell rush from the inside of the poorly ventilated space. The dead. Rather, the undead.
I felt them too, an assault on my mind as much as my senses. The expression on Ezekiel’s face revealed to me what he saw down below.
The sounds crying out from within sounded all too familiar. Alma gasped, her hand flying to her mouth before she rushed back out the front door, her last meal escaping her body without ceremony.
Ezekiel took a step back, his breath quick and shallow. He had always been distant towards me, but I sensed for a while that his emotional stuntedness had more to do with his personality before the Fall than the apocalypse itself. But now, I see on his face what he had to do may be too difficult, even for him.
“Ezekiel,” I say, my voice thick in my throat.
He picks up the bow strapped to his back, bringing it forward and aiming it down into the underground space. I step forward, placing my hand on his arm.
When he looks up, I see the dampness in his eyes, teeth clenched and beads of sweat sheened across his forehead.
“Let me,” I say, as gently as I can. “You don’t want to do this.”
He pauses, his eyes darting back and forth as he looks into mine.
“Please,” I whisper, holding his gaze.
He struggles for just a moment before finally relenting, lowering his bow and taking a step backward. I move forward, not at all excited about what I am about to see.
When I gaze down into the panic room, I see two familiar faces drawn by death and time, peering back up at me.
These creatures, who had once been Eden and Abraham, gnashed their teeth with a ferociousness rivaling their kindness in life.
Abraham’s shoulder bore a bloody gash, shredded skin ripped open and hanging against exposed bone. Eden had a similar wound on her arm, the only difference being hers had been bandaged.
She must have been bitten first. Perhaps Abraham had attempted to tend to her after they made their way inside. From what I knew of them, neither one would leave the side of the other, regardless of the cost.
I step down into the darkened room, gripping the knife hard in my hand. The shuffle in place, eyeing me with alien hunger.
Everything about them looks different. Eden’s bloody jaw hangs slack, her arms dangling at her sides. Abraham no longer holds the slight bend he had always carried when he walked.
These things before me carried none of their mannerisms. Each time I take a step down, I watch their actions. They make no move towards me.
Finally, I stand before them, just the three of us. Glancing back up the stairs, I see no sign of Ezekiel.
Good. He doesn’t need to be around for this part.
“Okay, you two,” I say quietly. “I’m here for one reason. My friends, Eden and Abraham, are to be put to rest today. Now it just so happens that you two bear a striking resemblance to them, but I can promise you one thing. You ain’t them. I’m going to do this and neither one of you are going to stand in my way. Do we have an agreement?”
They shuffle in place, giving me nothing more than a distracted, milky-eyed gaze.
“Good,” I reply. “So, we understand each other.”
I take a deep breath, doing my best to ignore the familiarity of their faces.
“You’re not them,” I whisper.
No sense in putting this off. I raise my arm, bringing it in from the side.
First Abraham. The blade sinks into the base of his skull without much resistance. He goes down fast, his old knees buckling the moment I sever his cerebellum.
Next, Eden. She drops immediately, crumbling next to her husband.
With her forehead landing in such a way that it is touching his arm, they almost look as if they could be sleeping. I’ll have to have one of the others help me carry them out. For now, I adjust them, side by side, arms crossed, eyes closed.
When I went outside, I find Ezekiel and Alma sitting side by side on the steps of the front porch. He turns to me as I join them, his eyes wide and questioning.
“It’s done,” I say.
He nods, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Well then. We’ve got some work to do, I guess. There’s a flatbed wheelbarrow in the warehouse, Ash. Why don’t you grab that? Alma and I will bring up the bodies.”
It only occurs to me in that mom
ent that he may have some difficulty with what I had just done. “Ezekiel, I’m sorry--”
He raises his hand. “Ash, I don’t-- Was it quick?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Thank you,” he replies.
The pyre remains from Travis’ memorial. Alma falls silent when she sees it. We build it back up to account for the bodies of Eden and Abraham, placing the large pieces of wood against the rock base.
Hand in hand, we watch as their flesh curled inward within the flames, thin as paper. It takes hours, but in the end, the embers die down, nothing left of them but hollow bones.
All that remains of the daylight is a distant orange sheen on the Western horizon beyond the trees. We head back to the farmhouse to prepare for the night. We have a lot of work to do in the coming days.
Eight
Alma sits alone on the porch swing, one leg drawn up underneath her, her dark hair swept over one shoulder. Her olive skin appears pallid and her eyes reddened.
“Ezekiel’s already out there,” she says, without looking at me. “He said to tell you.”
“Yeah, okay.” I see him several yards away, pulling the vines away from the fallen fence line.
“Ash, wait.” Alma sniffles, running a hand over her nose. “Um…”
“What’s going on?” I ask, sitting down on the porch step. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not. I’m pregnant.” She still has not looked at me once. The words take me by surprise.
“How can that be?”
“It’s been three months since Travis died,” she says.
“Oh, Alma…” I murmur, unsure if I should finish with “I’m sorry” or “congratulations.”
“The thing is,” she continues, “I knew it right away. We were going to run off together, maybe find a place kind of like this one. Just the two of us. We figured we'd already lost everything. What’s the worst that could happen? But then…”
“We went to the compound,” I say. “Oh, I’m so sorry. If I had known…”
“It’s not your fault, Ash. You can’t blame yourself for everything, you know. He’s the one who left his window down. So stupid…” Her voice catches. She rubs her cheek with the palm of her hand.
The Rising Ash Saga | Book 2 | Falling Embers Page 5
