From Oblivion's Ashes

by Michael E. A. Nyman

  “They’re a huge upgrade on the toy car,” he said. “They ignore bumpy terrain and there’s zero chance of them getting stepped on. If we mount lights on them, we can investigate the dark corners, rooftops... just about anywhere. And now that I’ve resupplied our speakers, we can fix them up, and we’ll never have to worry about walking into danger again.”

  “Does that mean we’re finished here?” Angie asked.

  “Not even close,” Marshal said, staring through the cloth walls in the direction of the Techie Direct with longing. “But that’ll have to do for today. We need to leave room for the car batteries, not to mention anything else we might find at Luca’s that could prove useful. His welding kit, in particular. I can think of a half dozen uses for that. But, believe me, we’re not done with the Techie Direct yet, not by a long shot.”

  “You know how to weld?” Angie asked.

  “Well,” Marshal said, looking uncomfortable, “I’m probably better than a complete novice, which is better than nothing. My father and Luca’s father owned a construction company, and once we were old enough, all the boys had to work in it during summer vacation. It started around fourteen, and we all got training in the various trades. Before that, we were expected to work in the restaurant. It was all very European, you know. ‘Hard work develops character, and all that’. Not a bad deal. I doubt that we would have gotten the jobs if our families weren’t the owners.”

  “Luca was your adopted brother?” Angie asked.

  Marshal smiled.

  “Lucenzo Salvatore Sabbatini,” he said, “or Luca to his friends. Not the kind of guy you’d want to meet in a dark alley. Big guy! Very dangerous and a known criminal. But he was also my best friend. He never raised a hand to me in all the time I knew him. In fact, no one raised a hand to me when Luca was around, not unless they had a really good dental plan.”

  “But he was a criminal?”

  “Oh yeah,” Marshal said, grinning. “Not so you could prove it in a court of law. You could have used him as an extra on the Sopranos, though he was a way better dresser. He was a huge fan of the show, and practically modeled himself after those guys. But to me, he was a brother, even before his father adopted me.”

  “Were you a criminal, Marshal?”

  “Nope.” Marshal said, climbing over the skid to take his position at the front of Crapmobile. “Not unless you counted guilt by association, or as a beneficiary to the proceeds of crime. The police were always bringing me in for questioning, but since I never knew anything, they always had to let me go. The Sabbatini lawyers loved me. Because of me, they got to throw a tantrum down at the police station once a month, and build up a little indignation for the next time.”

  Angie frowned, considering his words.

  “It’s complicated,” Marshal said. “Let’s just say that I was never a criminal, but I was a part of a family that was. And Luca? Innocent or not, I’d have gone to jail before I’d turn on him, and he knew it.”

  “Then Luca was one of the good guys,” Angie said firmly.

  Marshal coughed. “Um. That might be stretching it a little. Like I said, it was complicated. Let’s get moving.”

  Crapmobile staggered off, leaving Techie Direct behind, and chugging its way around eight or nine confused undead, who were still searching for a big, fat, tasty human.

  Luca’s Junkyard Villa. Luca had thought the name was hilarious.

  “I don’t like it here, Marshal,” Angie murmured, as Crapmobile crept across the pothole-filled, gravel driveway entrance. “There’s something very creepy about this place. I think we should leave.”

  Marshal paused, crediting her instincts. Ten feet inside the entrance, Crapmobile rolled to a stop.

  It was spooky.

  With rows of stacked, skeletal-looking cars rising up on either side of the entrance, it would have been eerie even without a zombie apocalypse to channel the imagination. Rough, dirt driveways, steel barrels, sitting like sentinels here and there, and you could almost picture the mad serial killer watching you from a hidden nook. The fact that there were so many potential nooks to spy from, and that serial killers were kittens in comparison to the real threats, only served to enhance the sense of dread. An unpredictable breeze slithered its way through the dead steel landscape, caressing flat metal surfaces with the trailing hiss of shifting sand, or blowing across holes and crevices like the whisper of a lost banshee.

  “We won’t be here for long,” Marshal assured her, trying to sound confident. “We need those batteries, and it’s safer to find them here then to go looting car wrecks all through the city in the hopes of finding one that’s neither damaged nor dead. Besides. We’ve already proven we can fool the undead, right? Other than zombies, what else do we have to worry about?”

  “Ghosts,” Angie said, gazing at the monitors as if she half-expected to see one now.

  “I’m sure that ghosts have better things to do these days,” Marshal said, starting Crapmobile forward again. “Let me do all the pushing from here, okay? You just keep an eye out, and we’ll be fine.”

  Angie said nothing, which was, Marshal suspected, her way of being brave.

  They reached the main warehouse where all the spare parts were kept. There was still no sign of undead, but there was ample evidence of their passing: smashed windows, shredded cars, broken walls. The tough, steel front doors had literally been torn to pieces, and in the distance, the car-crusher could be seen to be broken like crockery. Right outside the main warehouse, a catering truck lay on its side, with its doors lying several feet away from the hulk. Whatever had taken place here on the day of the outbreak, the zombies had crushed all resistance with the same brutal strength as everywhere else.

  They rumbled up to the entrance, and slowed to a halt.

  Marshal bit his lip. They had no more remote-control cars to investigate the building, and at three in the afternoon, the shadows from the tall stacks of cars were growing long. They still had a teddy bear in their arsenal, and dangerous or not, it looked like they would have to use it. There were no zombies anywhere to be seen in the abandoned wrecking yard, but the main building…

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Marshal said, rummaging through the backpack for the singing teddy bear. “With all the doors ripped off, anything inside should be able to hear the bear when it starts up. We back off! Then, if nothing comes out, we go and get the bear and turn it off. If something does come out, then…

  He pulled his silenced gun from the holster across his chest, which he’d decided to wear after the event at the Pharmacy.

  “…The bear gets it,” he finished with a weak grin. “I should be able to take out the mechanism from here without being caught.”

  Angie stared at him with doubt.

  Marshal spread his hands. “It’s primitive, I’ll admit, but it’s the best idea I’ve got. All the drones need charging. We’re out of remote cars and microphones. And, in any event, there really isn’t any risk in what we’re doing.”

  Angie looked unconvinced. “The risk is that we could both die. Or that you summon a Swarm like you did the last time you used the dumb bear. And then there’s the ghosts.”

  “Good to see you’re staying positive,” Marshal said. “All right, then. Call it a calculated risk. Worst case scenario, the bear brings the zombie nation down on top of us, and we slip away in the madness. Or it doesn’t bring the zombie nation down, and we slip inside and out again with no one the wiser. And seriously, Angie, we can’t be afraid of ghosts when there are real-life, honest-to-god, dead people trying to kill us.”

  “Please, Marshal!” Angie looked at him with pleading eyes. “Please, let’s just go. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something very wrong with this place.”

  “Angie-”

  “I’ve got a really bad feeling,” she insisted. She reached out with her little hand and grabbed him by the sleeve, as if she planned on holding him back. “Remember Ted and Duster? They weren’t zombies or ghosts eit
her.”

  “And that’s why I bring this,” Marshal told her calmly, showing her the gun again. “It’s got to be the best weapon available in the entire wasteland. In my hands, it’s accurate, deadly, and the sound it makes is too quiet and obscure to summon zombies.”

  We’re rebuilding humanity, the ghost of Ted reminded him inside his mind. Duster and I share everything.

  “It’s not even likely that I’ll have to use it,” he added. “If there is someone here, lurking in the shadows, then they will have worked for Luca. They’ll know me!”

  “Won’t they be criminals too?” Angie asked. “Maybe the end of the world has made them more like Duster than your friend. Please, Marshal, let’s just go!”

  “No!” Marshal snapped. “Jesus, Angie, that’s enough!”

  As soon as he said it, Marshal regretted his tone. The mention of the names of Ted and Duster bothered him more than he wanted to admit. The faces of the men he’d murdered, Ted in particular, continued to haunt him, and Marshal was self-aware enough to recognize that it was becoming a problem. On the other hand, since the chance of encountering a therapist in post-apocalyptia was slim to none, he knew he’d have to find some way of dealing with it himself.

  But Angie was a different matter, and he’d have to learn how to deal with her too. Her only crime was that she was afraid he would die and leave her alone again in a hostile and terrifying world. Didn’t he have that same fear? Sometimes, her bravery made him forget that she was still only twelve years old. He was twenty-seven, for Christ’s sake, and he kept asking her to stay behind while he risked his life.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, seeing her eyes starting to tear up. “Really, Ang, I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right, and I suppose that I should be more afraid. I trust your instincts – I do, I really do – and in this instance, I agree with you.”

  She looked up at him in surprise.

  “I’ve known this place for years,” Marshal said. “I can confirm your feelings… something isn’t right here, and there is something very dangerous waiting for us in that warehouse. I feel it too.”

  “Then we can leave?” she asked.

  Marshal shook his head.

  “The fact is, Angie,” he said, “that I spent the apocalypse being afraid. I did the smart, safe thing and avoided stupid risks. The world burned, my neighbors died, and I remained safe inside my home. I’m alive today because I did the safe thing, and then one day, I looked around and realized that I could be the last person left alive on earth. It turned out that I wasn’t, but during those few days…”

  He trailed off, not certain if he wanted to reveal anything else.

  “Anyway, then I saw you, crawling through the rubble,” he said, meeting her gaze, “and the smart play – the safe thing – would have been to let you die, to stay hidden and hope for the best. The danger was real then also, if you recall.”

  “Why did you rescue me?”

  There it was. It was the question that had been burning in her heart since the first day she’d seen him crouched across the street, urging her to follow him.

  “Because, Angie,” he said, “the real ghosts only haunt you when you’re safe and alone. Do you understand? Everything we do is a risk-reward situation now, and if we try to hide, we only feed the darkness. Yes. We need to be cautious. And sensible. And meticulous in our planning. Even paranoia has its place these days. But we can not be afraid. We don’t have the luxury anymore.”

  He gazed at the monitor.

  “Every risk we’ve taken has brought us further and further back from the brink. That’s just how it is. And now we need to take the next step forward. If there comes a time that we’re too afraid to take it, then we risk losing everything. We need to be brave. Try to imagine where we’d be right now if we hadn’t been.”

  Angie looked at the floor.

  “Okay, Marshal,” she said. “But if you’re going inside, then I’m coming with you. You’re all I have. Please. Don’t make me stay behind. We need to protect each other, and if you force me to stay here and be safe while you risk your life, I think I’ll die.”

  “Angie…”

  “NO! ‘We live in a world of risks.’ That’s what you just said, but I won’t risk losing you. And you need me! If it’s dangerous in there, then I could be your only hope.”

  Marshal sighed. “Fine. But we’re going to have a long talk when we get home, little girl.”

  “Yes!” Angie glared right back at him as she reached for her blanket. “Yes, we are!”

  Marshal glared at her, meeting her defiant eyes, and then laughed. Shaking his head, he wondered if he wouldn’t rather face the zombies.

  The singing bear finished its entire song without attracting any attention. The bulwark of stacked cars and corrugated steel walls that surrounded Luca’s Junkyard Villa seemed to prevent the music from reaching the streets. Instead, a group called ‘Benny and the Village’ played out its message of getting back to nature, wholesome values, wholesome foods, and wholesome women, echoing through the steel and concrete graveyard.

  There was no response. Nothing stirred inside the main building, nor came charging out to confront and consume the folk band. Unmolested, ‘Benny and the Village’ was free to start up another song – a tribute to someone they named ‘Tofu Girl’- before Marshal pushed Crapmobile up close to the singing bear, and Angie reached out from under the garbage skirt to recover it. The music was then silenced.

  “There, see?” Marshal smiled down at Angie. “Maybe we were both wrong. Did you hear that music? There’s no way that zombies wouldn’t come out to eat whoever was responsible. It looks like we got lucky, and there just aren’t any around.”

  The look she gave him made him feel several IQ points stupider.

  “Right,” he said, letting it go. He handed her one of the blankets. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

  “I hope these batteries are worth it,” Angie grumbled, grabbing her blanket too.

  “Just you wait,” he promised.

  The room inside the door was a kind of retail reception area, with a large and dented wooden counter to greet customers. An ancient cash register, with its cash tray open and empty, sat on the counter beside a Sick Kids Hospital charity bank that was filled with coins and a pamphlet stand advertising Sabbatini’s restaurant. A few uncomfortable chairs were next to a nearby wall, along with a small end table and some magazines. On the wall behind the counter, the shelves were laden with car stereos, CD changers, and satellite devices for sale.

  The sense of danger returned as soon as they stepped inside, and Marshal drew his gun. He wished he hadn’t. The last thing he needed was to give the impression to Angie that there was something to be afraid of. And yet, some intangible part of him was screaming out that danger was waiting for them just ahead.

  “Follow me,” he whispered over his shoulder. He slipped behind the counter. Angie’s hooded head nodded, but her eyes were wide and terrified.

  Leaving the light from the open door behind, they turned on their flashlights and entered the dark passage behind the counter that led onwards. Like everywhere else, windswept paper and plastic covered the floors, crinkling under their feet in the all-consuming silence. Marshal’s heart thumped. If there was anything lurking in the darkness ahead, it would have plenty of warning that they were coming.

  The flashlights illuminated the short hallway beyond, revealing the two small offices on either side as they passed. These they watched as they advanced, ever wary of the threat of attack. A quick flash of light revealed them to be empty.

  Marshal knew from memory that these weren’t the real offices. The only office in the building was Luca’s, set up amidst the rafters in the hack shop, where ‘cars of questionable lineage’ sometimes found themselves dismembered for parts, or in some cases, reinvented entirely with a new paint job, registration, and VIN number. Of course, Marshal was only guessing. Like the rest of the family, Luca kept his shadier enterprises private whe
re Marshal was concerned, and Marshal never asked. While it wasn’t quite the same as not knowing, plausible deniability was the rock to which the HMS Marshal had remained anchored. Always.

  They passed through and into the parts room, where all the high demand parts rested on shelves. Marshal pointed to the third aisle on the right where the batteries were located, and again, Angie nodded. There would be no need to go any further into the building, no need to progress into the huge open space at the end of the parts hallway, to the chop shop beyond.

  He reached up and pulled one down from the shelf, handing it to Angie. It was a heavy one, approximately twenty pounds, and the little girl was forced to tuck her flashlight under her armpit in order to carry it with both hands. Marshal did the same, which allowed him to handle them two at a time, albeit awkwardly. The gun, he was forced to re-holster.

  Together, they brought the three batteries back to Crapmobile, not forgetting to scan the lot before exiting the building.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” Marshal said, pleased with their prizes. “Two more trips, and we’re out of here.”

  The second trip went much like the first, only a little quicker and with less uncertainty. There was still the looming impression that something dangerous was lurking in the darkness beyond the parts room, but if there was, it had chosen not to reveal itself. The third trip took only five minutes. Now, nine batteries sat on the skid inside Crapmobile.

  “Last trip,” Marshal said, and was gratified when Angie allowed herself a slight smile.

  This time, they reached the aisle with the batteries and immediately sensed that something was wrong. Without any communication, they both put out their flashlights, knowing that they needed to hide. Angie’s hand tugged at Marshal’s blanket in frantic warning, but it was unnecessary. Marshal had already drawn his gun.