From Oblivion's Ashes

by Michael E. A. Nyman

  Marshal winced. “Let’s go get the others,” was all he said.

  Three hours later, the twilight was fast approaching and Crapmobile was heading for home. Angie had run on ahead to inform the stoners of the coming onslaught, telling them to prepare bedding for nine. Later, the citizens of the apartment could go forth and return with futons and mattresses, giving the sick and injured a proper resting place. For the time being, the Stoners did their best to prepare.

  “You know, Marshal,” Luca said, manning the driver’s wheel as Crapmobile lumbered down the road, “I… I think I need to apologize.”

  Marshal glanced over at his oldest friend. “Apologize? For what?”

  Luca hesitated, considering his words before speaking.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m not saying I’m a complete convert or nothing. The fact is, while the family made a point of isolating you from, y’know… the shadier side of the family business, I’ve seen the dark side of humanity. Fuck. I’ve lived in it. I know how bad people can be. I’m not saying that I like it. I’m just saying that once you’re exposed to it, you have a hard time believing in the so-called good of humanity. You know what I mean?”

  Crapmobile rumbled on in silence while Marshal tried to understand what Luca was saying.

  “No,” he said at last. “I’m sorry, but what the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Duster,” Luca said grimly. “You see, I’m not surprised when we encounter the Dusters of the world. I’ve met them. I know them. And when I listen to you talk like they don’t exist-”

  “I never said they don’t exist,” Marshal said quickly. “I said that they were vermin, and that they don’t represent the majority of humanity. In the end, they’re forced out-”

  “Yeah,” Luca said, sounding uncomfortable. “That. Y’see, I’ve known the Dusters of the world, and I know they aren’t always… hidden. Sometimes, they do take over. Sometimes, they just get strong enough that they... force people to play along and pretend like they’re good. They’re still twisted, see? It’s just that everyone pretends like they’re not. The fact is - and this is what I told myself - that you just never saw them like I did.”

  “What’s your point, Luca?” Marshal asked.

  “I thought you were being naïve,” Luca said. “It didn’t change anything, of course. You’re my brother, and if you wanted to chase after fucking fairy tales, then I had your back. I’d go to the wall for you, Marshal. You’ve got to believe in that, at least. And, I also thought to myself, if there’s a guy I want in charge, it’s the naïve guy who believes in the good side of humanity. I mean, I know it’s there. I’m not a fucking idiot. If there’s hope for the future, it’ll be built by the guys who believe in that good side. And they’ll succeed… if they’re protected by guys like me. Who don’t.”

  He drove in silence for a few seconds.

  “But I was wrong,” Luca continued. “Not completely, of course. The apocalypse does bring out the worst in some people.”

  He swallowed heavily.

  “But now I know. I know what you said is true also. The apocalypse can also bring out the best in people. People like Eric, who gave everything he had for a pack of strangers. I mean, what do you say about a guy like that? And about people like you, Marshal. Except that... you guys really are heroes.”

  “Me?” Marshal shook his head. “I’m no hero, Luca. I sat in my comfortable apartment and let the world burn. I watched people die when I could have saved them. I wish I was a hero.”

  “And still,” Luca interrupted, waving to the sick passengers behind him, “Here we are, Marshal, chasing your dream. And I see it, cynical, pessimistic, bastard that I am, and… and I want…”

  Luca turned his head and looked at Marshal.

  “I want it to come true. More than anything.”

  The setting sun painted the empty city in fiery colors as it sank below the horizon.

  Chapter Twelve: Day 27: Expansion

  In the back room at Rothman’s, Marshal lifted up a trapdoor. A small carpet nailed to the floor hid the handle to the six-by-eight foot, double-door hatch.

  “As you can see,” Marshal said, “it’s been tiled over to look like the rest of the floor, but when it’s open, there’s plenty of room to get the big stuff down. As near as we can tell, it was used for seasonal and long-term storage. It’s pretty messy, but there’s lots of potential.”

  “Shouldn’t we go downstairs then?” Brian asked, looking around with paranoid eyes. “I’m feeling kind of exposed up here.”

  “Yes,” Krissy agreed, using her stern face.

  “Right now, if you like,” Marshal said. “But there isn’t any need to worry. The streets have been thoroughly scouted and cleared. This area should be safe for a good twenty, thirty minutes.”

  “If you say so man,” Brian said, ducking past him to dart down the stairs. With a quick, forgiving smile, Krissy followed suit.

  The basement of Rothman’s was a windowless warren of walls, hallways, and closets filled with decades of store promotional materials, stacked crates, boxes, acrylics, and signs. Low ceilings and sporadic lighting from burnt out bulbs gave the space a claustrophobic, menacing look, like an abandoned apartment in a grisly video game.

  “Um,” Brian said, hesitating at the bottom of the stairs. “You… want us to stay here?”

  His eyes flickered back to the trapdoor that Marshal was closing.

  Krissy’s eyes were wide, darting from shadow to shadow.

  “Really,” she said, as if agreeing with something Brian had said. “There are spirits haunting this place. I can feel them watching us. One of them is very dark. Violent. It hates us for being here, but it hates you most of all, Marshal. The other… is young and… weak.”

  Marshal gave her a sharp look, but said nothing.

  “Great,” Brian muttered. “Just what I need to calm my nerves, a haunted basement. As if zombies weren’t bad enough.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Krissy said, touching his shoulder. “There’s nothing holding them to this plane, and they’re not rooted enough to have any influence. A few blessings should be enough to convince them to move on.”

  “It’s really not as bad as it looks,” Marshal said, though his gaze remained on Krissy a little longer than was necessary. “Here. Let me show you.”

  He led them down a dim-lit hallway and into an open area.

  “Ahh,” Brian said. “This is a little more like it.”

  “Luca and I came by early this morning,” Marshal said. “We picked up the couches, the hot plate, the water cooler, and the mini-fridge from the downtown IKEA. Drove Crapmobile right into the warehouse. Got the wide screen, the Playstation, the computers and the games from the Best Buy. Picked up some groceries, booze, and other supplies on the way from there. We tried to make the place as livable as possible.”

  “You thought of everything,” Krissy said, flinging herself onto the brand new couch.

  “We knew our audience,” Marshal said.

  Brian offered up a weak smile, his gaze drawn back to the murky shadows.

  “I know it’s not the most inviting of places,” Marshal said, reading his expression. “But I want to make it clear that we’re not abandoning you here. This is all temporary. However, we do need your help.”

  He held up his hands expansively.

  “This is the future site of our hospital,” he said. “It’s the perfect spot for now, and if the people we rescued from the subway are any indication, we’re going to need it as soon as possible. Assuming Dr. Burke recovers, we can easily turn it into a fully-operational, first-world, medical center. It has power, water tanks, refrigeration units, and plenty of square footage, once we knock out a few of these walls. Most important, the undead don’t know its here, which means that with a little work, we can turn it into another apartment.”

  Brian was nodding as he picked up a bag of Doritos, and sprawled across the second couch. Opening the bag, he plucked out a
chip.

  “Whatever you need, Marshal,” he said, waving the chip for emphasis. “Seriously. I’m sorry if I seem a little creeped out by the place, but we owe you our lives, man. You’re saving people, putting yourself out there. You even let us keep the weed. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble...”

  With the chip, he somehow managed to encompass both couches, the television, and all the assorted supplies.

  “... on our account. We just want to help out.”

  “Truly,” Krissy added, smiling at Brian.

  “I appreciate that,” Marshal said, “but I’m afraid I disagree. We did need to do all this, and your comfort is very important, especially because you’re willing to do whatever we need. Whatever the quid pro quo, we’re family, and that means your comfort is my comfort, you know what I mean? We’re becoming a tribe, and our tribe’s mission statement is that everyone is valuable and should be treated that way. This situation may be temporary, but when all is said and done, if every one of our citizens isn’t living in a home as accommodating as my apartment, then our work isn’t finished.”

  “Stop preaching, brother,” Brian said, grinning through a mouthful of chips. “I was already sold at quid pro quo. The rest is just flowers and chocolates. I’m your guy.”

  “Yeah,” Krissy said, rolling over onto her stomach and elbows on the couch. “Just tell us what you need, Dad.”

  “Dad?” Marshal scowled. “Seriously? I’m only four years older than you! Try to remember that, or I’ll cut off your cell phone allowance!”

  Krissy laughed her deep-throated laugh and Brian snickered.

  “The first thing I need,” Marshal continued, “is for the two of you to clean this place up. Start by going through everything and sorting out the things that may be useful from the garbage. Make a pile out of the trash. Luca and I will come by at least once each day to haul it out of here. Then, after you’re done, use the cleaners we brought to scrub the place down, top to bottom. Don’t stress the hard stains. We’re going to spray this place, then add a layer of soundproofing, paint, and then probably paneling, just to be sure. We’ll also be tiling the floors and bringing in better fixtures. Make a note of anything you need: cleaners, tools, extra snacks, more dope, whatever. Luca and I will try to bring it on our next trip.”

  “Wow,” Brian said, sitting up and eyeing the space a second time. “You really going to do all that to this place?”

  “That and more,” Marshal said. “It’s our first major industry: finding and refurbishing hiding spots like this one and making them fit for habitation. Both Luca and I have some background in construction, plus now we have Torstein. He’s got sixteen years in the field, with at least a little bit of experience in everything. He’s also a fully accredited carpenter, and I’m hoping to put him in charge of all our renovation projects. As we get more and more healthy bodies to help him, it should make his job even easier.”

  Marshal plucked a large nacho from Brian’s bag, bit into it with a crunch, waving the remaining half around the room.

  “Other than rescuing as many people as we can find,” he continued, “getting this hospital up and running is our top priority. I’ve got fifteen people living in the apartment now, not including the two of you or the other people Angie just found at the school yesterday. Even if that many people living together was sustainable, even if we all pulled together and didn’t mind the overcrowding, we’re just begging for an outbreak of some kind. At the very least, our sick people only get sicker.”

  He reached down for the remote, flicked on the television and the Playstation.

  “So kick back, settle in, and relax,” he said. “Try to make the place feel like home, but while you’re here, make this place spotless. I’ll bring you new roommates to help out as they become available, but one way or another, I need this place ready for Torstein as soon as possible.”

  “You got it, Marshal,” Brian said. “But let me just say this: It’s awesome that you’re doing this. You should be the man in charge. You’re thinking.”

  “How I Met Your Mother,” Krissy said, sitting up on the couch and snatching up one of the box sets with delight. “I love this show! Oooh! Brian! We should have a marathon!”

  “Knock yourselves out,” Marshal said, handing Krissy the remote. “I figured you’d need breaks, and you can’t work all night. I brought others too. House and Grey’s Anatomy, in honor of the occasion. Doctor Who. Sons of Anarchy. It’s important that you enjoy yourselves as much as you can while you’re here. Just try to remember to keep the volume down.”

  Krissy turned off the television.

  “We’ll get started right away,” Brian said, standing up and setting aside the nachos. “Kris, I’ll look for empty boxes to fill. You start sorting through the crap.”

  He disappeared into the back.

  “I’ve got to go,” Marshal said. “Luca and I are going over to the school Angie scouted to try and locate the people she found. We’ll stop back in later and check in on you. Make sure you make that list of things you need and have a load of garbage ready for us to clear out. Okay?”

  “Garbage bags,” Krissy told Marshal as he headed up the stairs. “We’ll definitely need garbage bags. And buckets, brooms, mops, and gloves.”

  “You’ll have them,” Marshal promised, and then he was gone.

  Krissy plucked up a dusty old flyer, smeared in some kind of oil.

  “Definitely gloves,” she said, holding the paper between two fingers.

  When he told Ms. Wyatt what he’d seen the day before, Randy could tell that she didn’t really believe him. For one thing, she didn’t ask for any details. She just gave him that tolerant smile that Randy’s parents used to give him when he was talking about his cartoons, or his computer games, like Minecraft.

  The ten-year old boy swallowed hard at the thought of his parents, feeling the ache in his chest again. He’d spent a good deal of time crying over it in the recent weeks, not caring if Denise or Sarah saw him doing it. They’d all cried, Denise most of all. They’d all comforted each other, until the tears just seemed to run out. And then Ms. Wyatt, who never cried, would tell them a story, either from a book or something that had happened in her life, which would take their minds off their troubles.

  But Randy knew better. Late at night, when he was supposed to be asleep, he’d awoken to find Ms. Wyatt crying too. As soon as she saw him, she straightened up and assured him that everything was okay, and to go back to sleep. Tomorrow could be the day that the police, or even the army, would come to rescue them, and they’d want to be ready.

  She’d done all she could. Now, they just had to wait.

  But, hidden in the Observation Nest – Randy had suggested the name, like a ‘Crow’s Nest” on a pirate ship – high amid the rafters of his school’s gymnasium and auditorium, Randy had gazed down in silent wonder. Someone had finally come, but not the police and not soldiers…

  A girl.

  His eyes had followed her as she crept across the littered, dirty floor below, and he’d bit his lip. Maybe she was a zombie. Could they even look like her? Dressed in some weird, dragging, robe of… of… well, it looked like garbage, the girl seemed to blend into the surrounding debris. But her face – which Randy decided was really quite pretty, though a couple of years older than him – had a look of health and cleanliness you didn’t really see on most zombies.

  It had taken all his self-discipline to resist the urge to call out to her, which would have broken Ms. Wyatt’s third rule. The first, of course, was that nobody except Ms. Wyatt was to leave the rafters, which was where she’d constructed their hiding place. Using the lighting technician’s catwalk and several of the wrestling mats sealed up at the corners with duct tape, she’d risked her life building it. She’d moved the three remaining children from her class into it, and it was much more comfortable than the air ducts. There were only two openings: the entrance, which was a wrestling mat that could be opened easily, and a peek-hole in one of th
e mats, which Ms. Wyatt could peek through without being seen.

  It was Randy’s job to man the Observation Nest, with all the Duties and Responsibilities it entailed. The truth was that he liked the job. It was scary, sure, being outside the shelter, but he was proud of the trust Ms. Wyatt had shown in him, and he didn’t want to let her down. Plus, Randy found that being outside on guard duty took his mind off of things like his parents and his pets and everything.

  He had obeyed the rules. Zombie or not, the girl was an intruder, and Denise and Sarah would need to be informed. He flashed the laser pointer through the tiny ‘peek hole’ aperture, warning his two remaining classmates that there was an intruder. The laser pointer had also been Randy’s idea. If he pointed it properly, it was invisible from the ground, because that’s how lasers worked.

  Rule number five, to always be quiet, was still in effect, but knowing there was an intruder was an important way of helping the people inside the shelter avoid any accidents. With Ms. Wyatt out looking for food, Sarah had been placed in charge, and seemed to relish the authority. Denise had, as usual, been responsible for keeping the journal record, which suited her the best. Little bookish Denise, who cried a whole lot, was only ever content when she had a book or a pen in her hand.

  Sometimes, Randy wondered if, in her job assignments, Ms. Wyatt had designated these jobs strictly for the purpose of keeping Denise and Sarah busy. If so, then Randy approved. It kept the two girls from interfering with his responsibilities as the Observation Nest Guard.

  At the time that the strange girl dressed in garbage had visited, Ms. Wyatt had been out of the shelter, searching for stuff to eat, fruit cups, snack packs, cookies, or chocolate bars. The children had eaten only sparingly since the outbreak, and Ms. Wyatt had eaten most sparingly of all. Every day, she looked skinnier, more tired and drawn.

  In spite of Randy’s effort to remain quiet, however, the garbage-girl had stiffened. To Randy’s complete amazement, she had crouched down and practically disappeared. Suddenly, there was a shabby mound of piled up garbage where the girl used to be.