From Oblivion's Ashes

by Michael E. A. Nyman

  “How nice for you,” he answered. “I… uh, I like Star Trek too.”

  She laughed at that. “Too subtle?”

  “No. I just… I’m not sure what to say. Welcome to my planet, lesbian person? Or maybe you want reassurance that you won’t be forced to give up your religion and go pagan, for the sake of the human race? Or maybe you’re just really worried about how I can kick your ass at Tetris.”

  “Well,” Jackie said. “You can forgive a girl for being worried. I mean, you watch the movies, right? In most of the movies, the hetero guys have some pretty strong opinions on what a woman may or may not be in Postapocalyptia. Mind you, I liked their taste in leather. Will we get to wear any of that?”

  “Standard issue,” Marshal answered. “With Mohawks and metal studs, and Luca goes about in a thong. As for the rest of the culture, I promise that as long as I’m in charge, the only thing you’ll have to worry about is getting your ass kicked at Tetris. And zombies.”

  “A little balls-heavy in the game-ego department, aren’t we?” she joked. Then, her smile vanished. “Seriously, Marshal. I’m not trying to be a bitch or anything. If it comes down to it, I’ll gladly donate my eggs to science. But I… well, I just wanted to get a sense of the wind direction, if you know what I mean.”

  Marshal shook his head dismissively. “We’re a little ways away from worrying about stuff like that, but when the time comes, I promise nothing will happen to you without your permission… except getting your ass handed to you at-”

  “All right, already! I get it! You’re the God of Tetris!”

  The conversation had cheered him up immensely. It ended only when the gaping yawns from Marshal threatened to dislocate his jaw, and Jackie had insisted that he get some sleep. She’d even reminded him of the scheduled meeting in the morning.

  “Is everybody ready?” he called out to the room.

  “Ripe and ready,” Brad called back, raising his fourth glass of bourbon.

  A huge shadow fell across him, and a thick, hairy Italian hand came down and plucked the glass from his hands before he could take a sip.

  “You’re cut off, buddy,” Luca growled.

  “Can everybody take their places?” Marshal called out again.

  The room fell silent.

  “Right,” he said. “I wanted to hold this meeting because, as we move forward, we’re all going to need to be on the same page. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, and every one of us is going to have to… yes? Brad?”

  “You’re talking pretty free with our time and energy, Marshal,” the sour-faced man said, looking like a man being asked for money. “Seems to me that nobody actually put you in charge. What makes you think – urk?”

  “I put Marshal in charge,” Luca growled, holding him up by the collar.

  “Luca!” Marshal said.

  With a glower at Brad, Luca let him go.

  “Sorry, Brad,” Marshal said. “That’s not how I want things to go around here.”

  “I hope not,” Brad said, straightening his collar and glaring up at Luca. “Torstein said you two were criminals, part of the Sabbatini crime syndicate or something. It’s one thing for you to think we’re ready to overlook that, but quite another to treat us like we’re a pack of third world shopkeepers!”

  Marshal held up a palm, holding off Luca’s reaction, which, Marshal suspected, would have been counterproductive.

  “I hardly think, Brad, that you’ve been treated like third world shopkeepers. And as for Torstein, he and I came to an understanding yesterday. And anyway-”

  “An understanding?” Brad repeated, grinning around at the gathered listeners like the salesman that he was. “Right. An understanding. ‘An offer he couldn’t refuse’, eh? Haven’t seen Torstein since yesterday, by the way. So what did you promise him?”

  “I promised him that I was going to try and help every one of you,” Marshal answered sharply, “not just ‘to survive’, but to-”

  “So let me get this straight,” Brad interrupted, strolling around like a lawyer in court, his hands into his pockets. “You’re our savior, and that gives you the right to order us lesser folk around? For our own benefit? Are we children?”

  A now familiar coldness was settling into Marshal.

  “I’m not exactly sure what you’re objecting to, Brad,” he said in an even voice. “That I saved you? That I have plans to bring us back from the brink of extinction? I’m in charge, Brad, for lots of reasons. I’m in charge because this is my home you’re sleeping in. I’m in charge because this is my alcohol you’ve been helping yourself to without asking. I’m in charge because I risk my life-”

  “We’re all risking our lives, Marshal,” Brad snapped, wagging his finger at him from across the room. “And if we’re being honest about this ‘we’re-all-in-this-together’ idealism, then this is our alcohol, our apartment, our food and water, not yours. We’re sleeping on mattresses you and your bodyguard stole from ‘Mattress King’, for Christ sake. We’re wearing clothes you pilfered from Wal-Mart and Marks’ Work Warehouse. So let’s drop all this ownership business.”

  His courtroom strut had taken him all the way over to Luca, who stood glaring down at him, still holding Brad’s drink in his hand.

  He glanced around at all the others with a questioning look.

  “Aren’t we a democracy?” he asked the room. “Doesn’t that mean we get a say in how our future unfolds? Now. I’m not saying we aren’t grateful to Marshal and Luca for what they did for us. Eternally grateful, even. But we’re not indentured servants for you to order around, Marshal. We’re not your guests. In fact, as you’re so fond of saying…”

  He looked up into Luca’s angry gaze with a smug expression, and plucked his drink from the big man’s unsuspecting fingers.

  “We’re family,” he finished, raising the drink to his lips.

  There was no hesitation in Marshal’s cold blaze of anger. Again, it was like he was a different person, looking down on the machine that had taken over his body.

  He pulled his gun and fired.

  Pewt!

  The drink in Brad’s hand shattered with a spray of glass and alcohol.

  “I believe,” Marshal said, lowering his gun, “that Luca said you were cut off, Brad.”

  No one moved. The 9mm with silencer had appeared, fired, and hit its target with such deadly accuracy so… fast, that all any of them could do was stare in dumb disbelief as they tried to process what had just happened. Brad gazed in amazement at the slight trickle of blood on his thumb, where the exploding glass had cut him.

  “Somehow, Brad,” Marshal said, “you seem to be under the false impression that this is a democracy. Let me clear that up right now. This is a dictatorship, and you do not get a vote, or even consideration, until you have earned it. As I explained, I am in charge, and Luca is my second in command.”

  His gaze searched the astonished faces, measuring their reactions.

  “When I say we’re going to do something,” he continued, “I mean that it’s going to happen, whether you want it to or not. There will be no disobedience, alternative, or blowback. For the time being, I’m not laying down the law. I am the law. Anyone who challenges me on this first, basic rule above all rules…”

  He re-holstered his gun.

  “… will be dealt with.”

  He had their attention. Sophie Wyatt looked furious; Albert looked frightened, while Valerie’s face hadn’t twitched from its calculating mask, save that her eyes had narrowed. Kumar was smirking, but it was directed at Brad, who was still staring in shock at his bleeding thumb. Luca chuckled and took a step backwards, folding his arms across his chest.

  “You will, of course,” Marshal went on, after he’d given it a chance to sink in, “need to decide if you’re going to be able to live with that.” He gave a shrug. “We’ll have a meeting on the protocols of people who want to leave our little colony. But before you make that kind of decision, let me elaborate on how I see my position.�
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  He smiled at them without humor.

  “I don’t want to be a dictator. As such, there are only certain rules that I intend to unilaterally enforce. Please listen carefully. These are what I would call my ‘Cardinal Rules’. Most of them, I’ve already explained, but Brad has given me the opportunity to repeat myself.

  “Number one: no one will do anything that might endanger the community. That sounds like a simple rule, but it’s far more complicated than you might think. We exist in a bubble, and the slightest mistake could cause it to pop and kill us all. It will require a strict adherence to protocol in order to keep us hidden.

  “Rule number two is that everyone pitches in. I will come to you with work requests, if you’re not helping out already, and I will expect you to obey. If you can’t see the basic social value in this, then consider it rent for everything this community will do for you.

  “Rule number two is also about what you can and cannot be asked to do. I give you my word that no one will ask you for sexual favors, or anything that violates ethical standards or the sanctity of your personal space. Mostly, I will be asking you to do jobs that you’re already good at, or else fairly divide up the duties that nobody else wants to do. If you choose to call this indentured servitude, then I’d point out that this makes me the biggest indentured servant of all, since so far, I’ve been doing most of the work.”

  He scowled at Brad.

  “I’m the one, along with Angie, who risked his life testing Crapmobile. I’m the one who recovered our drones and installed our surveillance network. Every day, I’ve been out there risking my life, and because of it, I’ve saved seventeen lives. I’ve been building camera units, computer nets, wireless headsets, a lot of it from scratch. I’ve been salvaging food, water, technology, mattresses, and as you just pointed out, the clothes on your back! I’m averaging four to five hours of sleep every night, and you, Brad - you who haven’t contributed anything beyond drinking your way through my liquor supply - you have the balls to talk to me about indentured servitude? You want my respect? Then you fucking earn it!”

  He searched the faces in the room, but no one would look at him.

  “Rule number three,” Marshal continued. “Life and personal freedoms are sacred, and there is a zero tolerance to anyone infringing on either. You also have my word on that too. We are at a stage in world history where all human life is priceless, so there will be no killing, execution, murder… whatever you want to call it, unless…”

  He tapped his holstered gun.

  “… it’s done by me. That’s the rule above all rules. I am the dictator, the sheriff, the judge, and the executioner of this community. Or at least I will be until we devise a more civilized way of keeping order. I hope I am being crystal clear on this matter. If someone is giving you problems, if there is some sort of dispute, then bring it to me. If you catch anyone breaking any of the three Cardinal Rules, then you can restrain them, but ultimately, you bring it to me.”

  Dead silence greeted him as he paused. The anger that had set him off was fading, and he was beginning to regret losing his temper. He took a deep breath and focused on the issues he felt were the most important.

  “All right,” he said. “Our mission statement: there are no peasants. Every human life is priceless and will be treated as such. Everyone must have a home as comfortable and as luxurious as this apartment. Everyone will be protected and empowered in everything that they do.”

  His gaze settled on Brad.

  “You like my liquor supply, Brad?” he asked. “How would you like your own bar?”

  He searched the other faces in the room.

  “I’ve already made Torstein the head of construction, and I’ll be assigning him a crew to help him out. Volunteers are welcome, by the way. They’ve started working on an invisible hospital, but we’re going to be building dozens of ‘apartments’ over time, to fit everyone’s personal tastes and preferences. We know how to make these spaces ‘zombie-proof’. The rest is just a matter of expertise, labor, and targeted salvage. Eventually, everyone will have their own wide screen television, their own Crapmobile, their own fridge and stove. Everyone will have hot-and-cold running water, store of food, and bedroom set. Everyone will have instantaneous communication with every other apartment, installation, and of course, the security net. Oh! And as to that... Our endgame is to clear the undead out of the entire downtown area, create a perimeter, and make it possible to walk around outside again.

  “But all of this? It’s just the beginning. It starts with consensus, but after that, your individual ambition will take it from there. What does a community need? Convince me that it’s a public necessity, and I’ll see that you get all the help we can provide. Maybe Brad builds his own bar, complete with pool tables, lounge acts, house leagues, and fried food. Or maybe someone else builds a museum and recovers all the priceless art that’s slowly rotting away out there. Sophia? You’re a teacher. What should we do with our children? Should we reopen school? Should we start training them right away? Or should we instead focus on building a library to recover and preserve as much of our knowledge, literature, and technology as we can, while we still can. And Kumar? How about setting up an on-line, gaming network, so that people from different apartments can play Halo or Skyrim or chess with each other without leaving home.”

  “Already working on it, chief,” Kumar admitted.

  “Great,” Marshal said. “What about a community newspaper, a health spa, a science lab, a dating network, or… or a restaurant? Brian will be working on a hydroponics facility to grow fresh vegetables, but what about other kinds of farming? There have to be chickens out there somewhere, as a source of eggs, or cows for milk and fresh meat. All I’m saying is that you will have the ability to pursue whatever goal you desire. Just use your imagination, see a need, and we’ll make it happen.”

  He spread his hands.

  “And that’s about it,” he finished. “This is the big, bad, Kafka-style dictatorship that Brad is worried about. In the end, it’s simple. Don’t break rules one, two, or three, remember the rule above all rules, and you’re pretty much free to do as you please.”

  He hesitated.

  “There will be other rules, of course. In some cases, I’ll call for a vote and enforce the consensus. I’m not infallible, so I welcome your input. There are a lot of complicated issues for us to consider in the future. I read somewhere that humanity would need at least a population of between 80 to 160 people in order to have a large enough gene pool to rebuild. We have only eighteen at the moment, and even some of those are hanging on by the skin of their teeth. So. Can we afford to allow citizens to leave the community? Is there any crime at all that warrants a sentence of death?”

  He was calm again, and his sense of self was returning. As he looked around the room, he could see that he had them. He could feel it. He just needed them to feel it too.

  So he took a deep breath and consolidated his thoughts, trying to grasp at a concept.

  “When this all started,” he said, “when I thought I was the only one left, I could feel my sanity slipping. Based on the reports that were coming in, the last bits of footage that were viewable before the Internet went down, I had every reason to believe that I was the last man on Earth. For me, that was the hardest part of all, the weight of human extinction. Every night, when the sun would set, I’d take a drink from my bar, and then a second and a third, and the billion ghosts of our lost species would come whispering. I could hear them, and in that darkness, in that glimpse of extinction that I believed to be real, every fiber of my being, every wish, every desire, was a prayer: please, dear god, please don’t make me the last man on Earth.

  “I know you’ve each been through your own particular flavor of Hell, but none of you can ever know what that was like for me. I had food, water, electricity, entertainment… and none of it seemed to matter. All I could do was wait for it to end, like a… a dying ember insulated in the ash, or an insect floating o
ver an endless sea of lava. There was life with no place to land, nothing to hope for, and no point to anything at all.”

  He looked out at his audience, saw that they were still listening, but their expressions had become thoughtful. At least, no one seemed angry anymore. Sophie looked pensive; Gladys seemed uncomfortable, while Jackie stared at the floor. Even Brad looked to have retreated inside himself, gazing off into space like a bitterly, unhappy psychic.

  “And then,” Marshal went on, “I saw Angie, crawling through the ruin of our civilization. She was still alive, and I can’t begin to tell you what that meant to me. It changed everything. It was then that I knew that if I were to just sit there and let her die, I would go back to being the last person alive, and I could never allow that to happen. I would do anything, try anything, risk anything to hold off the extinction of the human race, or at the very least, to not have to face it alone.”

  Something touched his arm, stirring him out of memory, the dreams that haunted him when he slept, and he saw Angie looking up at him.

  “Sorry,” he said. “The point I’m making is that everything is different now. We’re different. For thousands of years, as a species, we reigned supreme in Darwin’s theater, and the only competition we had was from each other. Now, we’re down to a fragile handful and the nightmares are closing in all around us. We can’t go back to competing with each other. We are now only as strong as the person standing next to us, so any effort you expend in helping us to become stronger is as good as helping yourself.”

  “Daaamn!” Kumar interrupted.

  Marshal hesitated, surprised at the sudden interruption.

  “Seriously, Marshal,” he said, standing up to face the room. “You ever think about being a priest? The way you preach, man, I think you missed your calling.

  He glared at everyone defiantly.

  “I vote Marshal for dictator!” he snapped. “Anybody’s got a problem with him being in charge - Braaad! - then they got a problem with me. I will turn your computer into an etch-o-sketch, you hear me?”