Through the Ashes (The Light Book 2)

by Jacqueline Brown

  The distance passed in what seemed like seconds. My heart raced; something felt wrong or out of sync. I looked around: most buildings had been burned to the ground; those that remained did so with no roofs.

  “What do you think those were from?” Blaise asked, indicating a two-foot-high G and A that blocked our path.

  “That,” I said, pointing to what looked like a giant ice cream scoop missing from the cracked asphalt.

  “What was it?” Sara asked.

  “A gas station,” I said.

  Remnants of burned cars lined the street. Some had exploded and lay upside down. On the dirt there were bones, but I did not look at them.

  “Come on. We’re almost there,” Sara said, moving us forward.

  A moment later we crouched behind a large trash bin. Blaise lay on her stomach and cautiously used the scope to see through the tunnel created by the overpass.

  “There are guards. Just two, from what I can see. Beyond them is a settlement. I see kids, so maybe it’s safe for us to go through here,” Blaise said, scooting back behind the bin.

  Sara knelt beside Blaise. “I don’t think kids being there matters.”

  “Did the people have guns?” East asked.

  Blaise shook her head. “Only the two guards, from what I could see.”

  “They’ll ask us to give them our weapons,” Jonah said, talking to no one in particular. “Or take them.” He looked at his sister.

  She nodded.

  “Bria, give me your pack,” Jonah said.

  I handed it to him.

  “East, give me Dad’s pistol,” he commanded.

  She paused and then took the gun from her belt and handed it to him.

  He unzipped the largest pocket on my pack and wrapped the pistol in the still damp T-shirt. He stuffed it in the bottom of my bag. “You’re less likely to have your pack searched than any of the rest of us,” he said as he handed it back to me.

  I slipped it onto my back. I knew he was right. Of everyone, I looked the least intimidating, the least dangerous.

  “Are we just going to walk up to them?” Sara asked, her voice cracking with fear.

  I felt the same fear building within my chest, the sweat on my hands soaking the straps of my pack.

  “Yes,” Jonah said. “Unless we’re going to kill the guards, which would do us no good anyway.”

  “We should leave the rifle here,” East said.

  “Why? We won’t come back this way,” Jonah asked.

  “I know, but why hand it over to them?” she said, gesturing toward the tunnel that spanned the width of the ten-lane highway above.

  Blaise slipped the rifle from her back. It had been a constant attachment to her since we left home. It was also the best hunting rifle we had. Its loss would be felt deeply. Blaise hesitated and squeezed her eyes shut as if she couldn’t bear to watch. East took it and laid it on the ground against the trash bin, covering it with debris and fallen bricks. Jonah tightened his grip on his spear. I hoped it would not be taken from him, though if I was being honest with myself, I knew it would.

  “Ready?” Sara asked.

  East nodded.

  Sara stood. The rest of us followed. My heart beat fast and my body shook.

  “Are you okay?” Jonah whispered from his spot beside me.

  “I feel like we’re walking into something. Like something has been waiting for us. I can’t explain it. It’s just a bad feeling. It’ll pass,” I whispered back.

  “None of us feel good about walking toward the unknown,” Jonah offered.

  “That’s just it. Something about this feels familiar. It makes me think it’s not the unknown that I’m worried about. It’s the known.”

  Eighteen

  “Stop!” the guard shouted from twenty yards away.

  We stopped and stood, waiting, as the two men came toward us. The one pointing a gun was young, his hair short, his face smooth, devoid of the stubble that covered the faces of Jonah and Josh. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen or sixteen. He was cocky and overconfident. The man next to him was older, probably in his thirties or forties, his hair short and thin. His face was rough not only from the splotchy dark beard, but from a thick pink scar that stretched from his left temple to his chin. The scar cut the beard in half. Perhaps if the beard was longer, much longer, it could hide part of the raised skin. Perhaps not.

  “Where are you going?” the man with the scar asked.

  “We’re looking for family in the city,” Jonah answered, his voice calm and strong.

  “And you think they’re alive?” The boy laughed.

  “You are,” East shot back.

  “Don’t talk back to me,” the boy shouted, jerking his gun to her head.

  I knew she could disarm him before he had any idea of what was happening, but she stood, not moving, not speaking.

  “Where did you come from?” the man asked, eyeing us as he circled around.

  “My home in North Carolina,” Jonah said.

  “How did you get here?” the man asked, coming to stand beside Jonah, and staring at me.

  “We walked,” I said, my voice shaking.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked, moving in front of me.

  “Shouldn’t I be?” I asked, looking into his eyes. They were not as cruel as I’d expected.

  “If you’re going in there, you should be nervous. Very nervous,” the man said, backing away.

  “Why?” Sara asked.

  “You’ll figure it out soon enough. You can enter the settlement, but you can’t bring in weapons,” the man said, holding his hand out for Jonah’s spear.

  “Others in there have similar weapons,” East said, challenging the man.

  “We have our orders to keep weapons out,” the man said, holding out his hand for the spear. “What you do once you’re inside doesn’t matter to us.”

  “Here,” Jonah said, giving the spear to the man.

  The man took it, looking at it as if admiring it.

  As he leaned it against the gray column of the overpass, I wondered if he would keep it for himself.

  Sara stepped forward to pass through the barricade. The kid put his hand on her stomach. Sara’s body tightened. My heart raced.

  “We need to search your bags,” the man said.

  The boy moved his hand from her stomach, a wry smile on his lips.

  “Our bags? Why?” Josh said, his voice oddly calm.

  “You don’t look stupid, but maybe you are. Or maybe you think we are,” the man said, moving his hand to the gun in the holster on his hip.

  My heart beat so loud I could hear nothing else. My face flushed and my hands dripped. I wondered what the punishment was for trying to smuggle in a firearm. I looked at Jonah. He didn’t make eye contact with me. He was right not to. We’d be noticed and they would know we were trying to hide something.

  “That’s fine,” Josh said, handing the boy his pack. “I was just asking.”

  The boy took Josh’s pack and dug his hand into it, thrashing around and paying almost no attention to what he was doing. The man took Sara’s pack and methodically went through its contents. Jonah angled himself in front of me so the man would get his pack and the boy mine. The boy searched East’s pack and looked at her in a way that made my skin crawl. I watched her clench a fist behind her back. She could take him down before he blinked, but she relaxed her fist and stepped to the side. It was my turn. Jonah stood beside me as the boy rummaged through my pack. He stuck his hand in the bag of flour, and anger rose within me. Jonah placed a hand on my shoulder. It was his way of telling me to calm down.

  “Nice pants,” the boy said as he pulled them out of the pack and held them up.

  My anger increased, but Jonah remained calm.

  I realized in that moment that I was used to being treated a certain way: not just with kindness, but with respect. In my life before, no one ever treated me as if I was less than them. If anything, they treated me as superior—but then, why sho
uldn’t they?

  I glanced at Jonah. He was calm; I sensed no anger from him, no sense of injustice. His lack of anger irritated me. It was as if he didn’t know I deserved better. Though Trent had many flaws, he never would’ve allowed someone to treat me like this.

  “Can we go?” Jonah said, picking up my pack from the ground and holding out his hand for the pants.

  “Yes, you can go,” the man said, looking at the boy. “Stop messing around.”

  The boy gave Jonah my pants. He stuffed them into my pack and shoved me toward the others.

  I exhaled, knowing I needed to calm down, knowing there was nothing Jonah could have done.

  Once I was calm enough and we were far enough not to be heard, I asked, “How did he not find the gun?”

  “He wasn’t interested in finding weapons. He was interested in showing his power. He was so focused on that, he forgot to pay attention to what he was supposed to be doing,” Jonah answered as we walked in a group through the streets of the settlement built on the remains of a burned city.

  “What if he had? What would’ve happened to me?” I asked, allowing my mind to wander for only a moment before pulling it back.

  “Nothing,” Jonah said, his head lifted, looking at the settlers around us.

  His features were striking in the midafternoon sun.

  “How do you know?” I asked, my thumbs looped in the straps of my bag.

  “There are few things I am sure of, but one of them is that that boy will never lay a hand on you. Nor will anyone else while I’m around,” Jonah said through gritted teeth.

  My heart raced as our eyes met for a moment … before we both turned to focus on the settlement.

  “Where are all the men?” Blaise asked.

  I looked and saw the individual settlers. They were better nourished than the violent settlement by the river, but they were mostly women with young kids. I saw no one over the age of fourteen who was healthy and not with a younger child. The men we saw were injured in some way. Some sat in the dirt, perhaps unable to walk. Others used makeshift crutches or canes. Children were often near them. Women were not. There were a few elderly, but none as old as Nonie or Pops. Instead, here, old was my father’s age. These, too, were mostly women with children around them or injured men. Some of the children stopped and watched us as we walked near their tent homes, but most hid from us. The adults glanced up and just as quickly looked away. The ground here was nothing more than dirt and asphalt. No sign of life, other than the humans. Rubble from buildings that once stood, lay on the outskirts of the tent city, though in some cases the tents had rectangles of stone debris around them as if someone was claiming that dirt for themselves.

  I watched a boy and a girl climb from a large pile of what had once been an apartment building: their faces and hair were dirty, their clothes ragged and caked with mud. The wood they carried was mostly black from where flames had already touched it. As we walked, they walked too, back to a woman holding a toddler. Her clothes hung loosely from her body. They were not as dirty as the children’s, but they were just as worn. The baby was dressed in a child’s shirt that was far too big. Whatever design had once been on the shirt was faded beyond recognition. The child’s hair was short, the woman’s was long and braided. She watched the boy and girl approach. She put her free arm around each of them in turn. They each placed their wood on a small pile near their tent. She placed the baby on the ground and the four of them retreated into the tent. I wondered where the father was. Was he alive? Was he here with them somewhere?

  My gaze went from tent to tent. The scene was repeated again and again. Children with mothers, clothes tattered, faces dirty. Hungry. Where were all the fathers?

  As we turned a corner in the tent city, my question was answered. On a large street in front of us an army marched. They were mostly men, but I spotted some women. They were all dressed in military uniforms and each carried a firearm.

  Some glanced at us as we waited for them to pass. Others did not.

  We crossed the road and here we were surrounded by buildings and houses, most standing—many untouched by the fires. There was only military personnel—no children, no families, and no tents.

  “They’re following us,” Sara hissed from behind me.

  I turned and Jonah immediately pulled me forward. “Don’t look back. I know they’re back there. They have been for a quarter mile or so,” he whispered.

  “What do they want?” I asked, my voice trembling.

  “Us.”

  Nineteen

  At the next block a group of soldiers emerged from the side of a building. We were surrounded. Instinctively, I turned my back inward toward my friends, and they did the same.

  A woman’s voice broke the silence: “Why are you here?”

  “We’re trying to find my family,” Sara said, her voice shaking.

  “You’re lying,” the woman said, her gun aimed at Sara.

  “No, she’s not,” I said, stepping from my spot and positioning myself in front of Sara. My actions and words felt detached from who I was, as if possessed—by good spirit or bad, I did not know.

  Guns shifted to me and Jonah tried to pull me back. I shook off his hold. If one of us was going to die, it was not going to be him.

  A soldier from the other side of the circle walked toward me.

  Guns lowered.

  “Bria?”

  I turned my head. His hair was longer, his face thinner, and his eyes different in some way I couldn’t understand, but it was him.

  “Trent?” I couldn’t believe I was saying the name, couldn’t believe I was seeing the man before me.

  I stared as he walked toward me. His hand touched my cheek.

  “I thought you were dead,” he whispered.

  “I thought you were too,” I whispered back, his thumb caressing my cheekbone.

  “I almost was,” he said.

  “Me too,” I said as his lips met mine.

  He pulled me in tighter and my mind spun. I was kissing Trent and I was doing it in front of Jonah. I pulled away from Trent’s embrace, though I kept my hand in his.

  “I can’t believe you’re alive and you’re here,” he said, smiling down at me.

  “I know. I mean I can’t believe you’re alive and you’re here. This feels like a dream” I said, staring up at him.

  “Hopefully, when you dream about me, it isn’t in a city that’s been burned to the ground,” he said.

  I realized then that I hardly ever dreamt of him and I felt oddly guilty for that.

  “I’m so glad you three are alive too,” he said to my friends. “This must be a miracle or something.”

  “Or something,” I heard Sara whisper behind me.

  Trent either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her. “And who are you two?” he asked, his voice happy and light, his hand in mine.

  “Jonah and East. They found us after the light and kept us alive through the winter,” I said, knowing there were many more people to the story, but those people were mine and for some reason I didn’t want to share them with him. Perhaps it was because I’d learned long ago that to Trent, others of any kind were seen as competition.

  “Then I owe them a tremendous debt of gratitude,” he said, holding my hand, looking at my friends. “You can all come with me.”

  The troops surrounding us immediately stepped back and lowered their weapons, allowing us to pass.

  As he and I walked hand in hand, I thought of the boyfriend I’d known and the soldier who walked beside me. I didn’t allow myself to think of the man I loved who was walking behind us. I didn’t allow myself to imagine what he was thinking or feeling. I knew I loved Jonah and I knew once, long ago, I thought I loved Trent. My mind was foggy as I looked at broken buildings and felt emotions I foolishly believed were gone.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” Trent asked, twisting to look at my friends and then me as he walked.

  “We came to look for Sara’s mom and si
ster,” Blaise said, a sense of disbelief in her voice.

  “Oh, of course. They lived near here, didn’t they?” His voice was cheerful, like it had been so often when we first met.

  “A few miles closer to DC,” I answered.

  “That’s still in my territory. If they’re here I’ll have them found,” Trent said.

  “You can do that?” Sara asked, her voice a mixture of shock and gratitude and something else that I couldn’t understand.

  Trent laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised, Sara. Yes, I can do that and I will, but the sun will be setting in less than an hour, so I’m afraid it will have to wait until tomorrow.” Trent stroked my hand with his thumb as we walked.

  “Besides, I need to introduce you all to someone first,” he said.

  “Introduce us to someone?” I asked.

  “Things are a bit more,”—he paused as if searching for the word—“ah, structured than they were the last time you were in this city. I am second in command of this quadrant, but even I have to ask for permission if I’m going to have six guests in my home,” he said, looking down at me.

  Concern washed over me, unsure of what sort of place this had become if permission was needed for people to visit. Was this still the United States? Did that still exist? Or had we been invaded and Trent now worked for the enemy? I looked at my hand in his and realized how little I knew.

  As we continued on, the scenes around us changed. The buildings here were intact and despite the brown vegetation and soldiers, the area looked like it had before the light. Trent led us toward what had once been a small corner store. An American flag waved on the pole above it and I felt more at ease knowing we were still in the U.S. He pushed the glass doors open and ushered us inside.

  Trent squeezed my hand and released it. He held his body straight and tall as we walked through the store. Two aisles of empty shelves had been pushed aside to make room for tables and chairs. On one of the tables stood a large radio, complete with a mouthpiece to speak into. It reminded me of what truckers used to use in old movies. A soldier sat by the radio, writing things down. She didn’t seem to notice us or perhaps she didn’t care. At another table two men stood discussing something. They stopped when they saw us.