World of Ashes

by J. K. Robinson

  “No kidding. That was a clusterfuck.” Groupe handed the rest of the water that was in his canteen to Michaels. He drank it all. “I had just gotten to my first squadron when that B-52 took off. We had I.G. agents all over.”

  Slowing the car as they approached Hillsboro the men all checked their weapons and slowly approached the bedroom community at the end of Highway 21. There was smoke in the distance, coming from the chimney of a house on a hill. It was foolish to let people or the undead know where you are, but as cold as the winter had been no one would blame someone for prioritizing heat over safety. At least it was warm enough now to rain instead of snow, but only just.

  Groupe climbed out of the car after Ethan stopped to look around. He slipped on some of the snow slush and down into a drainage ditch as the others dismounted the car. Everyone rushed over to see why he wasn’t shouting for help. They saw, their hearts jumping into their throats. The ditch was filled with bodies only partially covered by the melting snow. Groupe was mostly on the embankment, his gun pointing down at the bodies, waiting for one to stir. None did.

  “I think they’ve been dead for a while.” Saio said after sliding down next to Groupe. They rolled a body over, and sure enough the only wounds were a mess that could only have been caused by buckshot. Hauling one of the bodies, a teenage boy, up to the road they put this theory to the test and stripped him naked to look for bite marks. He didn’t have any, not even a scratch save the gaping hole in his chest.

  “Well, he was alive after the panic.” Ethan looked around, his eyes narrowing at the only house with smoke coming from it. “Otherwise, why would he be wearing a winter coat and a stocking hat?”

  “We can come back, Sheriff.” Groupe said, already knowing what Ethan was thinking, because he was thinking it too.

  “No. By the time we come back these bodies will be too decomposed to recognize.” They all jumped back into the car and drove the little extra way into town as quickly as possible. Inside the nearest gas station they found what they were looking for. Disposable cameras, one of the few things not looted because basically, you can’t eat a camera and it won’t fuel your car. They went back to the grave site and took as many pictures as they could, filling seven cameras in all. They looked for ID’s on people but found none. Not until Michaels walked to the other side of the road and found where the murderers had dropped everything they didn’t want, including a plastic bag full of drivers licenses and school ID’s.

  Saio had had enough, “We need to get out of here. I have a bad feeling about this place, just like that fucking junker plane.”

  “Not a bad idea.” Ethan agreed. He too had the distinct impression they were being watched. He was just thankful the snow was confined mostly to wooded areas, and not on the roads. They wouldn’t even have made it to Pevely had the roads still been covered. Despite their claims that a front wheel drive was better in the snow, Ethan knew for a fact this model car was too ass-heavy for ice and sharp turns.

  “How’s the gas holding out?” Groupe asked, breaking the silence.

  “We didn’t even use half a tank. We’re fine.” Ethan replied, but he had another question. “Why didn’t you guys ditch in the Missouri River, instead of in the Mississippi? It was much closer.”

  “Because we didn’t want to risk missing the river and giving materials to non Texan personnel. The Mississippi was always our desired ditch-zone because it’s a swift current and a lot deeper.” Saio adjusted in his seat, holding onto the “oh shit” handle above him as they careened between two wrecked pickup trucks.

  “Even though it’s a ‘red zone’?”

  Saio nodded “Well, we were supposed to line her up North to South, lock autopilot, bail and wait for rescue, but the controls were nearly dead, the plane would never have made it there.”

  “What happened to the plane? I didn’t see anything burning.”

  “After we got out she nosed over and went straight into the river. I can’t believe you didn’t see any smoke, the oil slick was huge.”

  “Well, we might have. But fucking everything is burning. I can’t imagine JP-8 on the water would burn any differently than a house.”

  “Probably not.” Michaels hadn’t closed his eyes since Hillsboro. He had that first time seeing a dead body look at everything he saw. “I marked the location the plane made splashdown. Just two miles North of Pevely mid-river.”

  “You okay?” Saio asked.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no? Are you bitten?” Ethan unclipped his pistol.

  “What? No. I mean, it’s just… I was stationed in Amarillo before all this. I’ve never…”

  “Been outside the wire since the end of the world?” Ethan nodded. “Well, it’ll take some getting used-” A concussive force stronger than anything anyone had felt before nailed the car. The vehicle was blown several feet into the air just past the town of Lonedel in a valley of farmland. A second thud and crunch meant they had come back down, but they were still moving, sliding on the car’s roof until it crashed through an abandoned trailer with a flat tire. It was stacked with a bunch of soggy, weather beaten household items that flew into the air and showered down on the car as they plowed through the wooden frame. The second crash sent both the trailer and car spinning or cartwheeling over an embankment and into a nearly dried up Little Meramec Creek. The car hit trunk first and settled into an eerie silence.

  Everything was quiet for what seemed like an eternity, save the ticking of the car’s smashed engine while it cooled. Ethan looked over at Tech Sergeant Groupe and met nothing but cold, glazed, dust covered eyes looking back. There weren’t any puncture wounds, but Groupe definitely looked dead. Ethan tried to look back, but his neck hurt, for that matter his while body hurt. The car’s battery was still good and just by feel he managed to unlock his doors, all but falling out onto a gravel bar when the latch opened. The ass end of the car was in the shallow water, but the passenger section was dry. After drawing his weapon and checking their area quickly despite his double vision Ethan first popped open Captain Michael’s door. Michael’s was conscious, but dazed and kept calling Ethan Military Instructor Ryan.

  “Captain? Captain, are you okay?” Ethan clenched his eyes, still trying to recover from a probable concussion and poking Saio with a stick he picked up.

  “My foot is broken.” Saio said back, taking short, shallow breaths. “I think maybe my entire right leg is. I can’t feel anything but the foot.”

  “Okay, can you open your door?”

  “I don’t know.” Saio tried, but the door was bent shut. “Tech Sergeant Groupe.” Saio said. “Sarge, you okay?”

  “I think he’s dead, Sir.” Ethan reached through and unbuckled Saio. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to drag you out this way.”

  Saio nodded and braced himself for the pain as he helped push himself out of car. Captain Michaels was sitting in the gravel, slowly recollecting himself. There was the smell of burning oil and they worried the car would catch fire. Ethan walked around the car through the pile of junk they’d slid into and found Groupe’s door to be held on by nothing but a single cracked hinge. He broke it off the rest of the way and hauled his friend’s body to safety. It must have been the shock of movement that brought him out of it, but Groupe was alive and started thrashing in pain, screaming bloody murder at the top of this lungs.

  Ethan instantly dropped him with a kick to the knees and drew his weapon, instinct telling him that Groupe had somehow become infected. Michaels’ must have had the same thoughts as he squeezed off a round, which luckily hit only a toaster oven.

  “Ah! Fuck! Stop shooting at me you bastard!” Groupe started to calm himself, “I’m not infected! My back! It’s my back!”

  “Okay, be quiet! We don’t know who’s out there.” Michael’s helped Saio get across the creek while Ethan carried Groupe. There was a house on a hill up ahead and it seemed better than nothing. The car was well and truly fragged and everything else on the road was rusted o
ut, the tires flat or parts missing.

  After they got back up on the road Groupe passed out cold from the pain, but was blessedly silent. There was a black mark on the road and two vehicles were on fire where the explosion had happened. It was a booby trap for sure, some kind of explosive that left the signature blast marks of a claymore mine. It had blown the transaxel out the side of the Grand Prix and flipped it end over end. The rest was history.

  “Remind me to write a letter to Pontiac for building one kickass car.” Ethan shook his head, taking a breather as he carried Groupe. This wasn’t the first booby trap they’d encountered, but certainly the most destructive.

  “I thought GM canceled Pontiac.” Saio joked as they limped up the hill, guns at the ready.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t say I was gonna suck their dicks, now did I?”

  Halfway up the hill behind a tree they left Saio to guard Groupe and Ethan and Michaels went up the house. The door was busted in, and so was the door to the porch from the kitchen. There was no smell of rotting flesh, and no sign it had been inhabited by humans recently. Muddy foot prints were everywhere, but all from animals. Probably feral cats and dogs. That was a problem, attacks by wild dogs and their first generation of mutant, angry puppies were nothing to be trifled with. Not to mention, assuming you killed the dogs, now you’ve attracted zombies.

  Michaels went to check the rooms on the first floor while Ethan cleared the massive living room and the upstairs. Once up the surprisingly noiseless staircase Ethan found the upstairs carpet dry and mostly undisturbed. Apparently most animals hadn’t venture upstairs, which only meant one thing could be up there. Zombies.

  With his flashlight Ethan signaled over the banister that he needed Michael’s attention. The pilot slowly crept up the stairs too and made ready for the swarm of zombie relatives the owner had likely locked in the only bedroom with the door still shut. Taking a deep breath Ethan opened it. From within a wall of dust and death assaulted their senses, but then abruptly ended. Turning their lights on again they looked around, there was a lot of junk strewn about, but no cluster of zombies. Someone had obviously not bothered to clean up since fall, there were so many leaves strewn about, which meant it was abandoned.

  “Why are there leaves on the floor?” Michaels asked.

  For no reason he could logically think of Ethan reached back and flipped the light switch on. Something clicked, a generator started, and then the lights did came on. About half didn’t work, but it was enough. In the far corner of a room that had mostly served as an attic for the family that lived there they saw where the smell had come from, and why there was no smell now.

  The family was all dressed up in matching BDU camouflage, their child in between the skeletal remains of his mother and father, wearing a children’s version of the uniform. They hadn’t made a journal, but they did leave a note in a plastic folder with a handgun on top to weigh it down. Ethan moved the now rusted and useless snubnose revolver and removed the note from its sleeve.

  “Hey, I’m gonna shut the lights off so we don’t waist fuel. I think we should hold up here overnight.” Michaels didn’t give the impression he was asking Ethan’s permission, not that he would have disagreed. Ethan started reading the letter.

  To… Whomever,

  Our goal was to survive together as a family. We lost our daughter to a car that didn’t stop, and then our son to the infection. Deanna and I don’t speak anymore, it’s been weeks and she hasn’t forgiven me for Erika’s death. So I shot the nagging bitch, the zombie that was my son, and then myself (obviously not until after this note.) I’m not asking you to bless our bodies, just shove us out the window or use us for Halloween decoration, I don’t give a damn. I’m an atheist anyhow. Sorry there’s no Snicker’s left in the candy drawer. I don’t like Milkyway’s, so there’s lots of those nasty things. Don’t give any to the dog if he comes back. He’s a real beggar and not quite house broken.

  Trey Clayborn JR

  P.S. If money and jewelry are still worth anything, there’s lots of it in the master bedroom. Some cocaine too. Shut up, it was the 80’s.

  P.S.S. I miss my boy Lewis, my sweet little Erika. If you could bury my boy next to his sister, I would appreciate that.

  Ethan stared at the note blankly. He wanted to laugh, because it was hilarious, but he also perfectly understood Trey’s last words. They were somber in a way, if you weren’t the type to be dumbstruck by offensive language and blasphemy. Trey had lost his entire family as the world ended, could he be blamed for losing his mind? Of those who survived, who was actually crazy, and who was just crazier? Sane people would be those yet to be born, future generations that would not remember the old world and who could make this new world their home.

  “Let’s go get my crew.” Michaels was feeling brave now, but then suddenly screamed a most unmanly scream and jumped several feet onto a pile of tote boxes. Ethan hit the light switch again and almost opened fire, but stopped when he looked down to find the Clayborn’s dog, an adolescent Beagle, wagging his tail furiously in his excitement. Ethan wished he could give the dog a candy bar, but chocolate was a doggy no-no, and besides, he’d eat those first.

  “Hey, boy.” Ethan smiled, “Are you their dog?” The dog sat, though looked impatient. Ethan knelt down and took a piece of beef jerky out of his pants pocket. He tore off a slice and handed it to the dog, which by his best estimate hadn’t eaten in some time. After tearing up the rest of the jerky and leaving it on the floor, Ethan stood. “Let’s get the family out of here first. Last thing Groupe needs to wake up to are the corpsified Simpsons.” They did so, but only after the dog had gone up to his former masters, sniffed their remains and said his goodbyes. He backed away slowly to go and stand by Ethan, his puppy dog eyes completely irresistible.

  “I think you have a new friend there, Sheriff.” Michaels joked as he slipped his gloves back on. First they took the boy and then the mother, and finally the father. The Clayborns had wasted away nearly to leather and bones and didn’t weigh much. Somehow, the family’s remains stayed cohesive long enough for Ethan and Michaels to utilize several half collapsed graves the father had likely pre-dug to lay the family to rest. Before shutting the doors once everyone was inside, Ethan called for the dog, who’s tag read Bogey. He came running, abandoning his vigil over the graves of the dead where he’d stopped to lay down for some time.

  Saio pulled out his radio and despite the pain in his leg he tried to make contact with the rest of his crew. Groupe’s radio was nowhere to be seen and Michaels’ radio was dead long ago. After a time with no luck he tucked it away, turning it off very slowly, as if the act were physically agonizing as well as emotionally crushing. Saio had been a fighter pilot before the dead walked. Crashing and being stranded in the central United States, where a quick walk to a 7/11 should have been all he needed for retrieval, wasn’t something he was coping with very well. There was supposed to be a voice on the other end. There wasn’t, and he was panicking, growing frustrated with the inanimate black box and his own perceived failures as a pilot. Ethan wondered if he’d ever lost a plane before, and if that affected him like a captain losing a ship.

  That night was especially terrifying for the four men. They didn’t turn the lights on, not knowing who or what might have been attracted by their crash. Naturally a number of zombies showed up from the woods or nearby buildings, but none made any attempt to climb the hill where the house sat, preferring to meander around the trashed cars, falling into the creek intermittently. Had they not just lived through an explosion watching the Zombies fall into the water might have been comical. Some wild dogs could be heard too, but nothing that resembled organized human movements.

  Just after midnight Groupe came to, but the pain hadn’t stopped. It was likely he had internal bleeding, a black bruise was spreading form his back all the way around his torso. Saio’s leg was also fractured in a least two places below the knee, and after distributing morphine to both men Michaels set his copilot’s
leg while Ethan held a gag in the man’s mouth. They fashioned a makeshift splint, but it was crude at best.

  “We’re going to have to leave them.” Ethan said while relieving Michaels for fireguard late into the night.

  “What?”

  “You and I are going to have to leave them and head back to town and come back for them with an ambulance and half an army at the very least.”

  “Why can’t we just find another car? Groupe doesn’t have much time, Sheriff.”

  “No, he doesn’t. So we’re leaving in twenty minutes. We’ll find another car and we’ll be back before it gets full light outside.” Though Ethan couldn’t see the captain’s face, he knew the man wasn’t happy. “Look, we just can’t move him ourselves again. He probably has a spinal injury at the very least. We need an ambulance.”

  “Screw that.” Michaels leaned forward so the minimal light of the moon showed his face to Ethan, “You go and get an ambulance. I’m not leaving my crew. Not like this. This discussion is over. And you can leave at your convenience. I’m good till morning.”

  Not saying another word Ethan grabbed a few bottles of water and two cans of spam. As he descended the staircase the dog was right at his heels. He smiled, realizing there was no getting rid of this one. If he was lucky this dog might prove useful if he reacted the same way most dogs did when zombies were around.

  Luckily, the zombies that had arrived to investigate the explosion had just continued meandering in the direction they were already heading since they never found any people. This gave Ethan and the dog a chance to get to another house nearby without being detected. A car was in the driveway, but its gas tank had been punctured and the fuel drained. By chance the house’s garage was wide open and a bicycle was sitting in the only clear spot among the piles of junk, a satchel strapped to a rack behind the seat with a bloody hand print on the side. Someone had been planning to bug-out and hadn’t made it. Normally not a cause for concern, but the blood was still red, some of it dripping. Definitely fresh.