World of Ashes

by J. K. Robinson

  “Yes, I’m sure. I parked her between that maroon pedophile van with ‘Free Candy’ spray painted on the side, and this Escalade.” Ethan yanked out his Gerber combat knife and popped out the last of the Cadillac SUV’s illegally tinted windows. The massive rims were gone, someone actually took the time to steal ghetto rims when there were flesh eating cannibals around every corner, but that didn’t surprise the brothers. They’d seen the flatbed filled with flashy, useless bling rims on the side of the road on the way down, the Salvagers inside the semi’s cab had been eaten while driving, their truck and its cargo ramped up the back of an abandoned RV and tipped over. Some people were just fucking stupid. Smashing the windows felt good. “Your windows were illegally tinted…Sir.” Ethan tipped his booney hat with the word Sheriff embroidered on it as if someone were in the rotted out front seat and they left the lot disappointed and disheartened.

  Two weeks into the mission, and the day after they did not find Ethan’s car, the medications hadn’t made much difference besides causing a stomach ache when Ethan forgot to eat before taking the pills. But as Doctor Ness had suggested, the third week would be drastically different. Ethan was notoriously hard to wake up, having pulled a gun or a knife on people on numerous occasions, and not always because he just didn’t want to get up. Iraq and the men who’d made that place insufferable haunted him with every close of his eyes. This morning, however, was the second day of the third week and Ethan was wide awake and feeling more rested than he could remember. It was just as dawn was breaking when Ethan climbed from his bed, a time of day he’d almost forgotten existed unless he was on patrol. They’d been sleeping in the General’s mansion, Ethan and Lee sharing a room that had belonged to the man’s older son. From the letters on the bureau who had been away at West Point Military Academy during the Fall. A large pane window, having gone without a good washing in almost two years, blurred the sunrise as Ethan stood silently in front of it. He didn’t know why, but he was compelled to stand and stare at the pink and orange hued glass, his mind absorbing the colors as if they were an addictive drug. He reached out when he heard pattering outside, the soft rain drops even in a cold of winter. The glass was cold to the touch, but the grime clung to his fingers and left four small rays of God’s fiery light warming the skin over his heart. Ethan believed in God, because in his mind it was stupid not to, but that was the logic of a skeptical cynic too afraid to admit nothing existed beyond death. Ethan’s heart fluttered when he connected the dots. This was the moment that God touched him personally. This was a sign meant for no one but him. It said, Wake Up.

  Lee awoke to the startled gasp his brother let escape, and bore silent witness to the first real emotions Ethan had felt since he’d lost his heart and mind in Iraq so many years before. Tears streamed from his brother’s face, his heart thumped so loudly in his chest Lee swore he could hear it, and slowly Ethan sank to his knees, mesmerized by a moment that was as life and faith affirming for Lee as it was for Ethan.

  It was going to be okay. He was going to be okay. Every feeling, every emotion, every pain Ethan’s heart had shut off like a switch since that day he rarely spoke of came flooding back. He had no capacity to handle these feelings anymore, and he didn’t try. Lee stayed quiet, pretending to sleep, but silently thanked their Lord Almighty that something, someone, had finally saved his brother from the hell he lived in.

  Ethan progressively upped the dosage twice, each time feeling as if he was reclaiming more and more of himself. Already his experience was analogous to the movie Limitless. He felt like his world was becoming real for the first time since he could remember. Small things became fascinating, and Ethan was suddenly overcome with a longing for Wikipedia, the compendium of all human knowledge, just so he could read through it and absorb new information like a spunge. Sure, the knowledge could be corrupted, but that was something only colleges complained about.

  They still only had two men available at any given time for sentry duty, one of which was now always Ethan and whatever book he could scrounge up. Warmer temperatures were bringing out Zims from buildings that hadn’t frozen through. Two years and most were barely mobile, but the tall grass concealed the crawlers until it was almost too late. No one slept much, too paranoid at the idea of becoming the first fresh Zim this season. Someone always got infected in the spring, but they were determined, now that their home was directly threatened by more than mindless ghouls, not to become a casualty unless it meant something. One of the guys found a stash of energy drinks, though expired, they did the trick and the men were able to run almost entirely on caffeine the last few days.

  On their way to the gunnery range, which was just the PX parking lot, Ethan’s ASV stopped rather suddenly in the middle of the road, throwing him out of the reclining passenger’s seat in the rear. Cursing, he climbed behind Jimmy to look through the windshield at the strange sight before them. A zombie that had been a double amputee above the knees was sitting in an electric wheelchair that made him look like a torso stapled to a machine in a horror movie. The Zim’s head straightened and it let out a dusty moan they could actually hear over the ASV’s engine. It could have been on accident, and probably was, but the ghoul’s hand brushed the control stick and the aged batteries sparked to life this one last time. The chair crept forward slowly, methodically, one wheel jammed with rust. The men in the trucks sat in awkward silence, not sure what to do. Certainly they could shoot it, but… Why? At the last second, before the Zim was below the gun’s ability to traverse, the chair hit a stick in its path and the torso toppled forward, landing on his face with the wheels spinning in the air until the batteries finally quit. The men drove around the overturned zombie. I mean, what else was there to do with it?

  After a quick gunnery trial using expensive luxury cars as targets, Lee became anxious to get the convoy moving. Someone was likely to have heard the explosions. They would have to trek to I-55 and come up behind the town near FOB Alamo in order to avoid taking the same route home, a suicide mission now that the Federals were in the area and actively looking for them. The chances they hadn’t blown the bridges over the Big Piney River, or at least posted sentries, were too low to bother calculating. If there was air support they were fucked no matter the circumstances. The skies were clearer now, but hopefully the Federals wouldn’t see any need to waist precious aviation fuel on an aircraft when they could just rely on satellites.

  Jimmy told them of the hybrid Green Trucks the Federals had brought. They were forcing people to use them instead of their own vehicles, a truck carrying electric taxis had arrived, the Resistance complaining of this over the radio as it was now impossible to move a gasoline powered car in town. They’d all been booted during the night. Lee joked it wasn’t likely the Federals would be able to fuel an attack chopper with biodiesel fermented from Jamba Juice, or whatever it was they claimed their new Green Fuel was. Everyone took a turn making up jokes or telling stories about pretentious Prius and Volt drivers, and other sorts who had to force their way of life on others just to further a Green Agenda that had more to do with Socialism than Conservationism.

  Lee had to begrudgingly allow his brother his moment of smug pride in predicting the monetary system Jimmy ranted about as well. Jimmy was as sly as his brother about earning money and he didn’t like to see his small fortune of over ten thousand S-Dollars (roughly $20,000 in 2012 US Dollars) become worth no more than the “standard wage” of 500 Ameros. The worth of such money, which was only on FEMA issued EBT cards, was intrinsic at best. The Amero was as idiotic a concept as the Euro and its predictable failure. The products the FEMA workers sold, which were only Government Approved Supplies, were obscenely expensive and often of the lowest quality. The markets had been completely shut down except for those businesses applying for Federal Grants, and no restaurants were allowed to stay open pending Food and Drug Administration inspection, supplying, and approval. Go figure there were no inspectors available for at least six months. To make matters worse, or to pu
t salt on an already open wound, the Environmental Protection Agency demands along with other Green Laws would have to be adhered to by all businesses. This meant no more air conditioners or electric stoves, and certainly no way to run factories or heat most of the homes. All this regulation and intrusion was passed off as being “for the protection of the environment, the people, and a safe and secure future for America.” Everyone in town was really tired of hearing that rhetoric. How could the FEMA workers and Soldiers actually believe that shit? Willful ignorance? There could be no other answer.

  “What do you think the chances they’ll just leave are?” Ethan theorized as they stashed the trucks they wouldn’t be taking back. “Maybe it would only take us showing up with tanks and they just say fuck it and take off. Then again, what if they already have armor, or even air defenses like an attack chopper?”

  “I don’t guess I’ve actually given a lot of thought to that outcome.” Lee didn’t like sounding like Ethan, but he recalled the words of the philosopher Tsun Tsu. When faced with untenable alternatives, remember your imperative. The imperative was Sullivan’s survival, and the ultimate goal was unconditional independence. “As you’re so fond of pointing out, a surprise attack like Pearl Harbor can work.”

  “The attack on Pearl Harbor ultimately lead to the destruction of the Japanese Empire. As Admiral Yamamoto accurately predicted-“

  “Ethan. Shut up.” Jimmy said, interrupting from beneath an ASV where he was hiding from the sun during a quick nap.

  “Well, don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe they could stop a force like this from breeching the walls. If I did I wouldn’t be here doing this, instead of at home planting IED’s in the Federal’s breakfast cereal until I bleed them for so long they lose the very taste for war and leave my fucking home. But first things first, when we get back I need to link with Allen so we can activate the Resistance. I’m sure they have a few men ready at any given time, but we’ll need an organized force to appear from within the ranks of the Federals. Otherwise they might be able to mount a counter offensive.”

  Lee took a deep breath. “I wasn’t going to tell you… Leave it to someone you might not punch in the face just for delivering a message, but…”

  “Tell me what? What are you talking about? Is Samuel okay? Mary?”

  “The radio has a text option someone in Texas failed to tell us about. We’ve been receiving messages from Kenly for the last six hours. Allen and everyone involved in the Hemp & Corn Fuel projects has been arrested under Martial Law for growing and attempting to distribute a Schedule One Narcotic, and for attempting to sew insurrection among the population. Mary and Paula are okay, though. Lots of people have gone underground, or disappeared. The Army’s commanding officer there, this Colonel Jeffry Sharp… He’s gone mad with power. I don’t think we can let him escape. He has to be HVTOne*.” (High Value Target)

  “Martial Law… There could be no more evil a concept in America, and no more appealing law to a tyrant like him. Lee, I have to go. Now. They come to our doorstep, and we hold fast. They murder our lawmen, and yet we hold fast behind our walls. Well not now. No more. It is our duty to fight. Our duty to disobey.”

  “I feel like you’re probably butchering a quote from a movie, but I can’t remember which one. Very poetical, Ethan, but you get your wish. I want you to ambush the convoy our people are being transported on. Take our their defenses and get as many back as they’ll let go alive. Be realistic, you may not be able to save everyone.”

  Dire words. Ethan didn’t wait to lock the door. He grabbed Jimmy and the two Cavalrymen in charge of his ASV and they were on their way before the rest of the trucks were hidden. Ethan had no idea if he’d get to the convoy before they made their exit at Rolla towards Jefferson City, but it was fine with him if he didn’t catch them on I-44. No one would expect to be blindsided by a Mk19 and a 50cal from an armored vehicle anywhere in this state. From what Jimmy had said the Federals didn’t take anyone in the town very seriously, or their ability to fight back. The Federal armor in the area wasn’t impressive to begin with, so the men had a fighting chance.

  “Ghostrider Six, this is Vader Six.” Lee called over the radio.

  “This is Ghostrider, go ahead Vader.”

  “Be advised, Operation Iron Sides is a go. Out.” Iron Sides was code for the mission to drive up I-55. This meant the convoy had left Fort Leonard Wood. It also meant Ethan’s ASV was completely on its own.

  Unable to justify slowing now that he’d heard of Allen’s abduction, Ethan ordered the ASV to maintain speed directly for the bridges, hoping against hope the Federals hadn’t blown them yet. Rounding the corner at the bottom of the hill the enemy unit was easy to spot in desert tan trucks no one had repainted since Iraq & Afghanistan. Their uniforms weren’t the right colors for Missouri, meant to have been phased out years ago for that very reason. Universal Camouflage was a joke and made the men look like little blue dots against brown. The troops sent to blow what remained of the bridges over the Big Piney River spotted the ASV’s approach and opened fire with small arms before Ethan ever had a chance to use the loudspeaker to talk to them.

  “I think they’re pissed off at you, Sheriff!” The ASV’s driver laughed as a NATO 5.56mm round pinged off the armor near the windshield.

  “No shit?” Ethan took as careful aim as he could from the uphill angle at sixty miles an hour while the driver dodged debris on a bridge that was already listing slighting to the left and pulled the trigger for the Mk19 automatic grenade launcher, belting out half a dozen rounds at the enemy’s tan colored Green Trucks. The soldiers scattered as they heard the fung fung fung sound of the supremely deadly weapon, followed seconds later by all but one round impacting the side of the cliff. The one stray round Ethan was sure would never hit anything blew the Federal’s truck in half and sent one man off the edge of the cliff in a flaming cartwheel. He was definitely dead, Ethan knew it, but anyone who’d shoot first and ask questions later wasn’t someone he was going to lose sleep over shooting back at.

  The ASV roared past the smoldering truck and stunned soldiers. Jimmy flipped them off from the navigator’s seat, but there wasn’t much chance they saw. The grenade to the face had effectively conveyed the message Go Fuck Yourself.

  “Vader Six, Ghostrider. We’ve made, uh, contact.” A garbled transmission came back, but it wasn’t urgent. Lee was just acknowledging the transmission. Hopefully they weren’t being jammed yet. If they were really lucky the scouts hadn’t been able to relay a call for help, but the enemy soldier’s absence on routine radio checks would eventually be noticed. Time had grown drastically shorter.

  Allen didn’t struggle with the Federals when they’d taken him in the middle of the night. He had figured it was coming, and given his friends and family and employees the rundown on how to not make a scene when arrested. He’d taught them how to lull the Onezies into a false sense of security, the best way to affect an escape. The only thing that upset him was that all his employees had been arrested on the same charges with the same potential punishment. Colonel Sharp, after insulting and berating Allen for several hours on the menace posed to society by marijuana, and some other completely fictitious propaganda aimed at Marijuana/Hemp Farmers like himself, decreed there would be no lesser punishments for Allen’s peons. He didn’t respond at all to Sharp’s self-righteous ranting, least of all from an man that reminded him rather distinctly of George Armstrong Custer in a modern uniform.

  Sharp, knowing Allen had stopped paying attention during his pontifications informed him the indoor grows were all scheduled for destruction under DEA, ATF, DHS, and a bunch of other bureau policies that meant nothing to him. Pending collection of evidence, Allen and his “confederates” would be held at a Jefferson City Maximum Security Detention Facility. No mention was ever made on how long they’d be there, but it did amuse Allen to hear the word “Confederates” spoken aloud. It was almost as if Colonel Sharp were trying to add legitimacy to Allen’s business practice
s by comparing him to the glorious Southern Rebels.

  No one arrested under Sharp’s Martial Rule bothered asking about trials or lawyers. They already knew the Right of Habeas Corpus had been suspended, probably for ever if the Federals won. The only options they had were to blame Allen and the town’s suspiciously absent leaders and hope for a reduced sentence, something Allen had already specifically instructed them to do, but then he’d neglected to mention what Sharp had said to him. They were all just biding their time now, holding casual conversations about the bad food or the weather as the convoy plodded along the highway at this Green Truck model’s maximum speed of fifty five miles per hour. The trucks might be able to go faster, but that was how fast the Regulations of Emissions Board, Transportation Safety Agency/Ground Service and the EPA said they were allowed to go. The cruise controls were prompted as such, which made the trip painfully long for everyone. Even the soldiers tasked with guarding them were miserable, but then that was because one of Allen’s employees had a bad habit of passing extremely noxious gas when she wasn’t able to take her medication, which she was cut off from because Sharp was an asshole. The soldiers were about to roll the windows down when KABOOM! The only armed vehicle in the group, a rather dolled up looking robin’s egg blue MRAP, was blown on its side from a broadside salvo of automatic grenades. The MRAP tilted on two wheels under the explosions, ramped a lowrider ghetto truck abandoned on the road and flipped on its side. It halted only when the turret was caught by the arresting cables in the median.

  No one in the back of the Green Trucks could see much through the security fencing installed in between the window panes, but a peephole near Allen gave him an unparalleled view of a woodland painted ASV roaring out from the wood line toward the MRAP, the Browning “Ma Deuce” .50caliber in the turret banging away at the MRAP’s angled undercarriage just to keep the troops inside from getting out. Once the smoke cleared the ASV allowed the crew of the MRAP to evacuate. A voice came over the loudspeaker and demanded their surrender. The dazed and bruised men laid their weapons down and backed away, the turret clanking mechanically toward to the convoy. Ethan’s voice, recognizable and menacing, spoke to the Jumpsuits in the convoy. “Get out.”