The Rising Ash Saga | Book 2 | Falling Embers

by Westerman, R. G.

  “I see.” I lower my face in an attempt to hide my smirk. “Yeah, I kind of can.”

  “And?”

  “We’re getting closer. They’re close, but not a threat just now.”

  He glances around. “The compound is close. I think maybe another couple of miles.”

  I hand him a bottle of water from my backpack. “Here. We need to nail down some kind of plan. You know the lay out of the place better than I do. What do you recommend?”

  “That depends on what you’re looking for. What’s your goal?”

  “Recon. I need to get an idea of what she’s doing. We know she’s taking healthy people. I’d like to find out why. I mean,” I glance back toward the ravine, “we have an idea, but I want to know the specifics. What is she doing to them, and how?”

  “Yeah.” Thorn glances to the ground before returning his gaze to me. “That’s valid. I mean--”

  “Shh!” I motion for him to keep silent.

  Something moves in the distance. I scour the horizon and the surrounding tree line. I know I heard something, felt something. Just the smallest shift in the atmosphere, but I see nothing. When I turn back to Thorn, he too is scanning the surroundings, his eyes darting back and forth.

  “Maybe it’s nothing,” I say.

  “Don’t be so sure,” he replies. “Look.” He motions toward something in the distance, a creature lurching with little motivation, about a mile away.

  “Well spotted, Thorn,” I say, flashing him a smile.

  “Never doubt yourself, Ash,” he replies with a grin.

  The zombie is near enough now that I can make out the bloodstained yellow dress.

  “Penny!” I say. “How the hell did she get out of the ravine?”

  “You’ve named them? You can’t be serious.”

  “Just the one. For whatever reason, this one seems to have some kind of attachment to me.”

  “She was in the horde back there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wonder what she wants?” Thorn muses.

  “Probably nothing. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

  “Of course.” He smirks with a side eye.

  “Come on. We’ve still got plenty of daylight left.”

  Thorn watches Penny out of the corner of his eye as we make our way down the road once more. We are close enough now that I can see the gaping hole in the side of the building.

  We had rammed Abraham’s truck through it to get everyone out. Unfortunately, that’s how we lost Travis. I scan the top of the building, the upper walls where Dr. Donovan had brought me to show me what surrounded the landscape around the compound, chock full of zombies.

  This time however, the same space remains vacant. Even when I reach out mentally, I sense nothing. The compound is empty, as far as I can tell.

  “What’s wrong?” Thorn asks, watching my face.

  “I don’t know yet. Something’s not right though. We should get off the road before we go any further.”

  He follows me silently. We move through the trees, trying to make as little noise as possible. We move parallel to the edge of the compound, glimpsing now and then through the trees, searching for any kind of movement.

  “Anything?” Thorn whispers.

  “No. Wait…” I hear them before I see anything, thundering, distant hoofbeats against the ground.

  Following the sound, we emerge into a clearing, a wide swath of land devoid of trees. A wooden fence crosses in front of us. There in the distance, I see the raised dust of the herd against the horizon.

  “I wonder what’s got them so worked up,” he says.

  “I think I know.” A man appears across the field, carrying a large bucket. Thorn and I duck to the ground to keep out of his sight. He walks along the outer edge of the fence, calling to the horses in a melodic voice, rising to a high-pitched whistle. The horses near, their heads bobbing in anticipation of being fed.

  When he empties the bucket into the trough, that’s when we realize what we are seeing. The contents spill out, huge bloody rodents, split down the stomach.

  The horses line up, their noses already furrowing into the offered delights. A breeze shifts towards us, bringing with it a tinge of the unmistakable smell of decay.

  “Are those…?”

  “Zombie horses,” I complete the sentence for him. “Unbelievable.”

  We stay where we are, silently watching the man finish up his duties, whistling as he goes.

  “Watch to see where he goes,” Thorn murmurs. “There should be a tunnel leading into the compound.”

  “Tunnel?”

  “Yeah. We used to have safety drills when I was a kid. They would shuffle all of us into these big hallways and lock the doors on either side. My dad figured out that one end had to lead to the woods outside the compound.”

  “Safety drills?”

  “Yeah. They stopped when I was about five, I think. Apparently, there hadn’t been any security breech, so they didn’t see a need for them anymore.” His eyes search along the edge of the forest where the man had disappeared. The horses remained happily eating, their ears flicking and muzzles stained red. “I can’t believe I remember that. I hadn’t thought about those drills in years. The alarm went off and we had ten minutes to get to the safety areas.”

  “Ten minutes. That’s not much time. What happened if someone didn’t make it?”

  “They got locked out.”

  “She has no limits.”

  “No. She really doesn’t.” His gaze returns to the field, focusing on the horses. “Can you feel them? Like you do the others?”

  “A little bit. It’s different though. They feel more… animal. If that makes sense.”

  “It does. A little.” He slides his gaze over to me.

  “Do you think it’s clear?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I can get us to the head of the tunnel. We just have to skirt around the edge of this fence.”

  “Let me go first,” I say.

  “Ash, wait. You can’t--”

  I raise my hand to quiet him. Raising up, I step out from behind our hiding place. If anyone is watching, they would see me out in the open.

  I wait, but nothing happens. No blaze of weapons from an unseen tower, nothing. I step forward to the edge of the paddock.

  “Ash, wait. We don’t know anything about those creatures out there.”

  “Hush,” I wave him quiet. “I have to try. But I need you to stay quiet. We don’t know how they could react to you. Your presence might irritate them.”

  He falls silent. I walk forward slowly, calling to the horses in a quiet voice. Over the years on my own, I managed to pick up enough knowledge regarding equine behavior to break and ride one if I need to. However, zombie horses… This is something new.

  Ever so carefully, I climb over the wooden fencing into the open field. Most of the horses had already wandered towards the middle of the field. My presence draws their attention. I reach out my hand, beckoning. The two closest to me, still a few yards away, start to make a sound close to a curious whinnie, but lower, deeper, a ghostly moan, like a crying child.

  “Hey there,” I murmur. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you. Easy, now… Easy.”

  One of them nears, a mare, taking tentative steps toward my outstretched hand. The creature appears much like any other horse for the most part, other than the tell-tale features of the undead.

  The creature’s eyes appear glazed over, milky white. Ears tattered but clean. The mane appeared to be trimmed to a short ruff, exposing the decayed flesh of her neck. Bare, greenish-gray muscle peeking out between torn, matted skin.

  “Easy,” I whisper. She is close enough now I can touch her nose. One inch at a time, I place my palm against the cold bare skin of her muzzle.

  As soon as we make contact, I feel her inner turmoil surging through both of us like an open dam. This dead, lifeless creature still carries an animal rage deep inside, much like the insatiable hunger of
the human zombies.

  “Oh, I know this rage,” I whisper. I know this. What did she do to you, Beauty?”

  In a strange moment of normalcy, she nuzzles my hand, behaving much like a regular horse. Her flesh feels cold and dead, but I feel that strange spark within her still.

  “Ash?” Thorn’s voice interrupts the silence. The horse tosses her head, a sharp whinny escapes her. Her ears flatten against her head. I turn to find him standing at the edge of the fence.

  “Back up! She’s spooked!” I snap.

  “I don’t think she’s spooked,” he says, but he recedes into the shadow of the woods behind him. As soon as he is out of sight, she calms.

  “See? No one here will hurt you,” I murmur. “Don’t you worry. I’ll get you out of here. You and all your friends there. One way or another.”

  Making my way back, I find Thorn just inside the tree line, squinting through the trees toward the spot where the man had vanished.

  “You’re right, you know.”

  “About what?” he asks, turning my way.

  “She wasn’t spooked.”

  “Oh?”

  “No. I could feel her when I touched her nose. I felt what she felt.”

  “And?” He raised one eyebrow.

  “Your presence taunted her. What she felt was not fear. It was hunger.”

  His face goes pale but only for a moment. He swallows and gestures forward. “Shall we?”

  I take his outstretched hand, reveling in the warmth of his skin against mine, warm, vibrant, living flesh, fingertips grazing against my palm. I cannot help but smile, just a little bit.

  We follow the tree line until we reach the trough. The farm hand had vanished, but we spot the open door to the tunnels, a garish metal hatch, still standing open. A wheelbarrow carrying a pair of leather gloves and garden sheers is parked a few feet from the entrance.

  Thorn holds his finger to his lips, gesturing for silence. The man may still be close by. I nod.

  He steps forward, closing the gap between us. With his free hand, he brushes his fingertips along a strand of my hair, briefly skimming his thumb across my lower lip. I feel my cheeks flush at the gesture. The silent moment speaks volumes.

  I let him lead but reach forward with my mind, finding the passages empty. Hand in hand, we duck into the tunnel entrance, slipping through the darkness of the hallway.

  Up ahead I see flickering lights, barely illuminating the door, leading into what I can guess is the main area of the compound. This place must be a maze based on the length of this tunnel alone.

  At the far end, we find another doorway, standing open, leading off the hall into a small room, one wall covered in television monitors. A well-worn, rolling chair sits akimbo in the center of the room. A side table contains a plate and the leavings of a sandwich, and a half-empty bottle of water. Thorn and I exchange a look. The man could come back at any moment.

  The monitors each flicker grainy images between a number of areas on the compound, some of which I recognize. The restaurant where I had met Rose stands abandoned, the service window just an empty frame. In another, I spot the room where I had first woken up and the dumbwaiter which had taken me further into the belly of the beast.

  “Look, there,” Thorn whispers.

  He points to the screen in the top right corner. The movement of black and white shapes reveal themselves and I recognize her. Dr. Margaret Donovan, still wearing that white lab coat. She stands with her back to the camera, leaning over a microscope, picking up a vial, moving here and there through her laboratory.

  “What do you think she’s doing?” I whisper.

  “Hard to say. What I want to know is, where are the others?”

  “Others?”

  “This place used to be filled with people. Scientists, families, children. We only rescued about a third of the people here altogether, when we did. Everyone else would have pulled back into the panic rooms. So where are they?”

  He has a point. My eyes never leave the image of Dr. Donovan in her lab. Something seems… off. But I can’t place what it is. She’s alone in there, but she carries herself with a purpose, never turning toward the camera, consumed with her research.

  “Ash, are you okay?”

  As soon as he speaks the words, a sharp pain stabs behind my eyes, attacking my brain with such a ferocity that I cry out, pressing my palms against my temples. With my eyes squeezed shut, I feel Thorn’s arm around my shoulders as I lean into him.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” he says.

  I can’t open my eyes. Even the dim flickering of the fluorescent lights penetrates through my closed eyelids. I sense him leading me quickly along the passage to outside. Everything hurts.

  Stepping out into the natural light does me no favors. My knees nearly buckle beneath me.

  “Can you make it?” he asks.

  “I’ll make do,” I reply.

  “Hey!” The man from before, the farm hand, emerges from what sounds like the other side of the hatch. “Stop right there!”

  I hear a light clicking sound, a gun being cocked. Between my pain and the light affecting my vision, the only thing I can sense clearly are the emotions of the creature. The mare. I hear the middling sound of her screaming in the field.

  “Thorn,” I mutter. “Get me to the horse.”

  “Ash, you can’t mean--”

  “Get me there! If you keep close enough to me, I can shield you from her. It’s our only hope right now.”

  Without hesitation, he scoops me up into his arms. I tuck my head into his shoulder, trying to become as small as possible. We dart through the trees. A sound of thunder explodes behind us. The man is firing at us.

  We make it to the fence. Thorn sets me down. I stumble forward, finding her at the edge of the field, as if waiting for us.

  When I place my palm against her neck, the pain subsides, but only a little, enough to offer a reprieve. One foot on the lower rung of the fence, I kick myself up and over, clutching the tufts of her mane to steady myself.

  I grasp Thorn by the forearm and pull him up behind me. He clutches my waist, his breath hot on my neck, and we dart forward, turning away from the fence and toward the far side of the field.

  She runs. I lean forward, keeping my palms flat against her neck. The skin-to-skin contact seems to calm both of us somehow.

  She is not pleased with Thorn’s presence, but I managed to control her through this bizarre mental connection. Hopefully long enough to get us out of here.

  The man shouts again, another explosion ringing out behind us. She breaks into a gallop, leaping over the fence and stone wall at the opposite side.

  We are free. She continues to gallop with unending stamina, carrying us forward into the barren landscape.

  Ten

  Her speed never wavers, the landscape rushing past us.

  “Ash,” Thorn says, his voice sounding thin and reedy. Even with the wind rushing past us and the migraine fighting for purchase in my brain, his words caught me off guard. “Ash, I’ve been hit.”

  He leans against me hard, his head and shoulders falling slack against my back. I can feel him losing consciousness based on how loose his grasp is around my waist. I lean forward toward the horse’s neck to allow him some semblance of support.

  “Come on, Mare,” I whisper into the horse’s tattered ear. “Just a little bit further.”

  We aim towards the farm. I know Ezekiel will be there, and if anyone knows how to deal with a gunshot wound, it’s him. I only hope the man is not following us.

  As we distance from the compound, the pain in my head lessens considerably. My vision clears finally, and I am able to focus on the road ahead.

  Mare continues to gallop at full throttle, as if running from hell itself. Thorn’s full body weight leans on me and I feel sure he has passed out. We round the bend, and the gravel road leading into the farm comes into view.

  “Ezekiel!” I call out as loud as I can. “Open the gate!”
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  I pulled the horse to a stop, unsure how Ezekiel might react to her. I certainly didn’t want any harm to come to her.

  I tug gently on her mane, just enough to get her attention. She slows, pulling up short, her front hooves stamping against the rocky ground.

  Ezekiel pulls open the gates, one at a time. In the distance, I spot Alma standing on the porch watching us.

  “Don’t come too close,” I say.

  The task of getting Thorn off the horse turns out to be a bit of a project. I can’t turn around enough to get a good grip around his shoulders.

  He slides off as I pull his shoulders towards me, landing hard on the ground. I lead the horse away, doing my best to calm her.

  As soon as I get the horse clear, Ezekiel rushes to him, pulling Thorn to his feet and guiding him toward the gate. Mare takes a few steps into the darkness of the surrounding forest. She stops and peers back at me.

  I jog toward the gates, pulling them each closed behind me. I meet up to Ezekiel and pull Thorn’s free arm over my shoulder to help stabilize him.

  Ezekiel glances over Thorn’s head and catches my eye. “So, what was that back there?”

  “Zombie horse,” I reply dryly.

  He nods. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Seems about right. Where’d you find her?”

  “I’m pretty sure we’ve got other things to worry about right now.”

  We lay Thorn down on the grass near the firepit. I pull off my jacket, placing it between his wound and the ground.

  “What do we do?” I ask.

  “Hold your hands like this, and put pressure on it right here.” Ezekiel takes my hand, pressing my palm against the bullet hole in Thorn’s shoulder.

  The hot blood presses against my palm, his life force seeping out between my fingers.

  “Is he going to be okay?” I ask.

  “It’s too soon to tell. Alma, bring me the first aid kit and one of the blankets from the panic room.”

  “We need the others. Fairlight has people who would know how to handle this. At least, she used to. Maybe she still does.”

  Alma arrives with the supplies. The two of them crouch on either side of his prone form, working around me to clean and dress the area.