World of Ashes

by J. K. Robinson

  “Think we should leave someone to guard this position? It could take hours to go around it if someone retakes it.” Lee asked Ethan’s opinion as they walked back to the trucks.

  “No. If anyone’s watching, and I promise they are, they’d love nothing more than for us to leave a couple guys behind so they can kidnap them. Hajj has been doing it since OIF I.”

  “This isn’t Iraq.”

  “Tell that to the them.” Ethan gestured to the smoldering bodies below. They climbed in the lead truck and started the engine. It wasn’t likely they’d make it all the way to Ft. Leonard Wood today, but they’d be in a position to scout the area before night came again. As the men crossed precariously over the bridge Lee pointed down the hill to the river where the shoreline was frozen several feet out. Two pale, naked bodies were protruding from the thin ice sheet. Justice or murder, you’d have to have been there, smelled the bodies, seen the carnage, seen the raped bodies. Civilized men of a future era would have to judge Lee’s Cavalrymen, assuming this ever made it into the history books. Someone would write about it. They always did.

  Back in Town

  Allen hated playing Sheriff. He had other things to do, like quietly keep to himself at the edge of town and watch old movies with a bowl of popcorn and hot girl. He’d settled in with two lovely girls, one from each coast, and didn’t want to leave them at home to go play cop. At least I’m not on this ridiculous mission too, he thought to himself. He was still receiving physical therapy from the hospital after the plane crash, but only Allison and Amanda knew he still got confused sometimes. When his stress level was too high his upper back would spasm as well. He had no business playing cop anymore, let alone being outside the wire on a mission that was undoubtedly dangerous and might yield no results but more dead Soldiers.

  “Hey, Sheriff, we have some unusual guests you might want to speak with.” One of the Cavalrymen, PFC Cook said, poking his head in through a window at the police station.

  “Not now, Cook, I’m busy. Ren & Stimpy is on.”

  “Super, thanks for sharing, Sheriff, but they claim to be official ambassadors of the United States of America.” Cook’s shit eating grin disappeared when Allen’s face turned deadly serious.

  “Get Mary Cally on the phone, and get the Mayor up. Nap-time is over.” Allen sprang into action as best he could. He would probably need a cane soon, if his back degraded any farther. “Alert the Cavalry and get all the Reserves to FOB Alamo as fast as you can. Set Security Condition Two.”

  “Sir?” Cook looked confused, “Are they like the ones who attacked us?”

  “I don’t know, Cook! I’m still in here aren’t I? How did you hear about this?”

  “They’re at the South Gate.”

  “The South Gate?”

  “They came from Jefferson City, Sir. I think they know there’s nothing up North too.”

  “Alright…” Allen had to think quickly. “You stay here, Cook. I’m going to the gate.”

  “Yessir.” Cook didn’t know how to run the office, but was more than happy to watch old Nickelodeon cartoons and keep Allen’s seat warm while he made the necessary calls.

  Allen jumped in a patrol car and raced to gate, which was close. Why he hadn’t heard the engines of an arriving convoy he didn’t know. In fact, he didn’t know a lot. The radio was abuzz with sightings of a large convoy of light blue vehicles, some were labeled FEMA, others with acronyms that were foreign to them. This was what Ethan had warned him about. The Government trying their version of “help.” As the patrol car came around the corner Allen got his first glimpse of what was outside the gate. He pulled to a stop and climbed the nearest guard tower. He could walk the embattlements to the gate from there, though climbing the ladder made him dizzy enough to drop his Stetson. Already frustrated, he peered over the wall. What he saw was jaw dropping. The sentries, most of which were embroiled in a staring contest with the guns of the convoy, had the same expression. There had to be a hundred trucks, all of them UN blue, all bearing white serial numbers, some labeled HAZMAT TEAM, others SECURITY FORCES. What got Allen’s attention were the ten, desert tan armored personnel carriers that escorting the convoy. They flew the American Flag, all thirteen stripes and fifty stars, but there was a new flag next to it, and it only had one star amid thirteen stripes. One star, one nation. Change the flag, change the nation. Ethan and his marathon watching of Jericho was becoming eerily true to life.

  Passing everyone at the gate Allen made certain he was the first to greet them. Several men in tan, white, gray or multiple colored jumpsuits piled out of the first cars. They looked like something out of a cheap, poorly written SciFi movie with no costume budget. Allen noticed then the cars were all electric, or something that didn’t make a lot of noise. That was why he hadn’t heard them. He’d seen a few of these before the Apoc, but a Prius or Smart Cars were a far cry from these. Their tires didn’t even look like normal tires. They were hollow, looking almost more like bicycle spokes than traditional rubber wheels. He’d seen those before too, but they were supposed to still be experimental.

  “Hi,” Allen said. “My name’s Sheriff Allen Broadwick. Welcome to Sullivan.”

  A fresh faced young man in a suit and tie that didn’t fit smiled and reached out with his baby soft hand. “We’re from the Government, and we’re here to help.”

  16

  There were a lot of Zims at Fort Leonard Wood. No more than expected, and no more than they could deal with as frozen as they were. The only thing missing from the scene was the Living. It was counter intuitive to go near a military post after the end of organized civilization, the number of Infected and panicked Living, unable to stay in touch with their basic humanity posed a hazard too great to ignore. But this place looked as abandoned as the day the government threw in the towel. A light dusting of snow had no footprints but those of deer and feral dogs, the wind wasn’t strong but in the absence of mankind they could hear the whistling between branches and buildings.

  “This place gives me the creeps.” A soldier said.

  “Zombies roam freely through the world and you think an abandoned Army post is creepy?” Another chided.

  “Quiet.” Lee wasn’t in a mood to play around. What Lee had done at the bridges reminded everyone who’d been there all too much of when Keith had died, pouring salt on that open wound. “There’s a staging area ahead.”

  The troops moved silently through a park behind the post’s bowling alley, their footprints the only evidence that people still existed. What Lee had seen in the distance was a staging area, but not for vehicles. A sign with snow on it tripped a soldier. He was fine after cursing some, and leaned over to put the sign back up. It read:

  REFUGEES TO LANDING PAD 7

  PLATAFORMA DE ATERRIZAJE PARA LOS REFUGIADOS 7

  停机坪难民 7

  Flüchtlinge auf Landeplatz 7

  ランディングパッドへ難民　7

  Ethan didn’t remember there being any landing pads at Fort Wood, other than at the hospital and the municipal airport. When he’d gone through Basic Combat Training and Military Police School back in 2005 the place had been drastically different, a Training and Doctrine (TRADOC) post, Fort Leonard Wood’s mission had been to build new Solders for decades. Now it was a grave site. Ethan hadn’t been on post after being drafted back any longer than it had taken for a mentally deficient, E2 type mocha colored cow in an ill-fitting pregnancy uniform to ass-fuck his paperwork, issue him “new” gear that was absolutely no version of the word, and throw him into the fight like the last pawn on a chess board to be sacrificed by the royalty. It was all a last ditch effort to delay being on the wrong side of checkmate. Given that metaphor is his head, Ethan was curious just who had been the victor of the match.

  When the men crept closer to Staging Area 7, most wished they had not. No one had ever seen anything like it. Cattle fencing and Hesco barriers with FEMA and POLICE spray painted in gold letters on every available space. The barriers ma
de an impenetrable wall that guided these frightened refugees straight to their slaughter. Ethan pulled out his camera and began recording the forest of frozen dead. He filmed every angle he could, including the exit gate that would have been controlled by someone who guided people onto evacuating helicopters.

  Someone in the front of the line had been infected, it didn’t really matter how. They bit someone else and the cycle continued in a horrifying rapid succession down the line. There had been only one gate separating the next bird’s queue line from those waiting next in line, but it was only a waste high corral gate. Whoever had been running this slaughter waiting to happen couldn’t allow any infected out, and the gate had been shut and locked, chalking up everyone still inside as a “Necessary Sacrifice” lest they escape onto the base. From the looks of it the people who tried to climb over the Hesco’s were shot. With the rapid onset of the rage phase, and the nearly unstoppable nature of those suffering its mind warping effects, everyone in the line was considered a hostile already lost. Inside the barriers the bodies of those who were being eaten or who had not yet reanimated made perfect ramps over the concertina wire. Everyone inside the corral was a zombie now, forever locked in a prison that should have been their salvation. Ethan felt nothing but hate and rage for his fellow Soldiers, the men who’d locked the gates and chosen to save themselves. How many Zims in that enclosure were people just like him, just like Nicole, just like his parents? No matter the wording of the Oath of Elistment, as an American Soldier (even a particularly bad one) Ethan felt it was his sacred duty to put himself between harm and the innocent. Whoever had been here had traded eternal honor and glory for a few more days of sucking down ash filled air and running to save his pathetic skin. Cowards.

  “My family was supposed to be here…” A soldier in the back rank began losing his composure and before long had climbed the fence to the top of a mound of Hesco barriers, only to find the tops not filled with dirt, but with bodies. Another soldier grabbed him and threw him off the barrier just as a partially thawed arm from the bottom of the pile reached up for them.

  Lee allowed his men to take care of their distraught comrade while he headed for the gate. He met Ethan there. “How many you think?”

  “I’ve counted over a hundred and fifty, and I haven’t even opened the pen yet.”

  “We can’t leave this many Zims in one place. Missouri weather is nothing if not unpredictable. If they thaw while we’re here they could pose a significant threat to the local population and travelers.” Lee folded his arms. “We’ll have to take care of this.”

  “Not right now, man. We have shit to do.” Ethan had no idea how right he was. The soldier carrying the radio walked up to them, he had an urgent call from town. Ethan took the radio. “MC this is Ghostrider, go ahead.”

  “Sheriff? Jesus Christ, Ethan! They’re here. Will advise when safe. Out.”

  “Who’s they?” Someone asked.

  “The Federal Government. That was Deputy Broadwick’s little brother. There’s no one else he’d have to end his transmission for.” Lee finished, overhearing the desperate call. “I really hate it when you’re right, Ethan.”

  “We have to go back.” Ethan, said, his heart racing as he tried in vain to raise the deputy on the other line. His child, his wife, everything he cared about was back home. Thoughts of who he wasn’t there to protect raced through his mind, clouding his judgment and counteracting the fragile balance of the medication Dr. Ness had given him. Like a bulkhead that didn’t go all the way to the top of the ship, the emotional waters crashed over what the dosage could handle and flooded Ethan’s mind.

  “No.” Lee said sharply. “We have to stay and find that armor. If we go back and have nothing to throw at them then everything we’ve built, everything Keith sacrificed for will be for nothing.” Lee let go and faced the gathered men. “And what if they’re not the bad guys? What if, like almost any conflict, both sides think they’re the good guys? That kind of conflict is the bloodiest.” Lee said aloud. “I would rather not gamble that, but still. There is hope if we bring back the guns. If nothing else a row of tanks would make a good deterrent to hostiles.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I’m just paranoid.” Ethan finally said. “Maybe I am just a redneck war vet with a grudge against the government...” Ethan looked back at the frozen Zims. “Somehow I don’t think any of the folks in that corral would disagree with me…”

  Another radio crackled, it wasn’t the town. “Vader Six, Rogue One.”

  “Go ahead.” Lee pressed the microphone button on the cord to the headset.

  “Target Payload acquired, returning to CP.”

  “About time we had some fucking good news.” Lee knew it would take Rogue One, (First Squad), another hour to return from the rear gate by foot. This was the perfect time to get done what had to be done. “Companaaaay, faaaall in.” Lee’s Drill Voice echoed through the trees. The Cavalrymen gathered, slinging their rifles and holstering pistols. They knew what was coming. A ceremony Ethan had been unaware of, but which filled him with pride for a brother he’d once loathed. The troops produced combat khukuris from sheathes on their utility belts. A blacksmith in town had made the blades, engraved them, and presented them one at a time to each Cavalrymen as they graduated Boot Camp. Their expressions steeled, they marched forward, each reciting the Cavalryman’s Prayer, Fiddlers Green, as they culled the frozen corpses in swift motions. No special treatment was given to what had once been women or children, 1st Cavalry returned them all to the Earth.

  Occupation of Sullivan: Day 1

  To say Kenly and Mary didn’t like the aid workers was a gross understatement. To their relief, however, the vast majority of the townspeople weren’t being too friendly either. There had been a celebration the night of the convoy’s arrival, and why wouldn’t there be? A thousand people the citizens of the walled in town had never expected to see alive had just shown up out of the mists of the great beyond with food, medicine and luxuries to spare. What was there not to be happy about? This wasn’t the first time the townspeople had seen outsiders of course, half the town’s population were outsiders at one time, but the magic of newcomers faded with the disappearance of the Texans, this celebration was slightly underwhelming even compared to the Cally wedding. The FEMA workers and the Soldiers protecting them didn’t seem to have anything to compare the festivities to, making any scale large to them.

  “Do you think they know about our alliance with Texas?” Mary asked Kenly after a FEMA worker had stopped blathering about green tech industrial taxation blah blah blah. She had left the room when it finally dawned on her neither was listening.

  “Have No Alliances.” Kenly responded, trying not to cough. He looked like death warmed over and had lost almost a hundred pounds.

  “Who said that?” Mary asked.

  “President of the United States, General George Washington.”

  “So are we claiming neutrality when the Texans come back and the two powers get in a pissing contest?”

  “Hardly. One of those nasty FEMA boys came in here spouting out so much Socialist, Pinko-Commie bullshit I ain’t heard anything like it since I kicked the shit outta those protestors back in ‘75. Spent a week in the pokey for that, but it was worth it.” Kenly lit a fat cigar, possibly one of the last he had left. “I aim to repeat that holy task just as soon as your husband gets back with my tanks. Libertatem aut Mortem.”

  “That’s the Aaron Kenly I know.” Mary smiled. The peach fuzz covered, fresh faced, gray jumpsuit wearing man-boy from FEMA who’d first declared ‘America’s’ Intentions walked back in. “… So then the water scrubbers can be offline for a while?” Mary instantly covered by finishing a practiced conversation that meant someone was listening in.

  “Sure.” Kenly played along, “The water trucks these boys brought with em will do just fine till we can replace the needed parts.” Kenly had more bullshit to sling, but the presence of another man, a Soldier wearing the outdated Army Combat Uniform*r />
  This man’s boots and uniform brand new and lacking in scuff marks or signs of wear. He was instantly distracting to the trained eyes of two former Marines. The FEMA boy stopped talking. FEMA refused to use the old police station because it wasn’t one of their Wifi hotspot/double wide trailers. The city’s rarely used town hall was now the center of official activity with more of those hideous white trailers appearing in parking lots all over town. Kenly wondered briefly if this man hadn’t demanded the city’s operations move here simply so he could hear his own boots clacking on the marble floors. Either way, Kenly had been forced to move his office, a task he was certainly too ill to accomplish without help.

  “Hello, Mr. Mayor, my name is Colonel Jeffry Sharp of First Army Group East. I’ll be here to oversee security during the government transition period.”

  “Come again?” Kenly was already turning red, Mary’s heart sank. “What transition?”

  “Oh, come now, Mr. Kenly. You have no legitimate authority.” Colonel Sharp made himself at home in Kenly’s leather chair and glared at the FEMA man-boy until he left. “This is the largest town, or city I suppose, this close to the Mississippi River. That makes this an important strategic location, and the President doesn’t want to see another Carson City, or Oklahoma City for that matter. I know this seems a little confusing, but you’re actually being given the opportunity to stay in power while you transition back to Federal Oversight.”

  Kenly was completely silent. Mary stepped forward, “I’m Deputy Mayor Mary Cally. I assume you have a procedure for this?”

  Colonel Sharp seemed pleasantly surprised. “As a matter of fact an SOP was written up as soon as we discovered your Harvesting operations in Jefferson City. There will be a matter of procedure, but I’m sure we can overcome it.”

  Mary didn’t know if the Colonel had a sick sense of humor, or if he was as bat-shit crazy as she was beginning to suspect, but his quoting the Evil Emperor from Star Wars nearly verbatim didn’t ease their fears any. “Of course, Colonel. Will there be anything else?”