From Oblivion's Ashes

by Nyman, Michael E. A.

  “You can’t ‘vote’ in a dictator, Kumar,” Marshal said, annoyed. “They-”

  “Seconded,” Jackie interrupted, grinning. “I vote Marshal dictator for the People’s Republic of Marshal.”

  Luca just laughed.

  “Marshal is our leader,” Sophie corrected. “Not a dictator. If he’s a dictator, then he’s the most socially conscious dictator in all of history. Besides, you can’t have a dictator in a Republic.”

  “A dictator can be whatever they like,” Valerie pointed out, speaking out for the first time. “But I disagree with anything that has Marshal’s name in it. It runs countervalent to everything he stands for. Dictator of New Toronto should suffice.”

  “Does it have to be dictator?” Gladys asked, raising a hand. “Couldn’t it be mayor? Or Sheriff?”

  Brad huffed. “In that case, we may as well just call him Marshal,” he said. “The Marshal, right? It means the same thing as Sheriff, doesn’t it?”

  “He should wear a star on his chest,” the little girl, Sarah, called out, “and wear a cowboy hat, if he’s going to be the Sheriff.”

  “Could everyone just quiet down for a minute!” Luca bellowed.

  The room quieted.

  “Thanks, Luca,” Marshal said, feeling embarrassed. “I think-”

  “Shut up, Marshal,” Luca said, grinning at the three children from Ms. Wyatt’s class. “The adults are talking. You just sit your pretty ass down until we’re finished, all right?”

  The children giggled, and the big Mafioso gave them a wink.

  He glanced around at the group.

  “I think the bunch of you just started to see why this guy should be in charge,” he said. “I know he’s windy, but if you can stand listening to him for half a minute, you’d know you’re in the right hands. Anyone? Brad? You still got questions?”

  The salesman shrugged. “Sure, plenty. But not about who’s in charge. I mean, okay, it’s pretty clear he’s the most qualified at the moment, even if… well, there wasn’t exactly a vote, but…”

  “Duh! There kind of was,” Kumar argued. “But just in case… “

  He looked around.

  “Everyone who thinks that Marshal should be Grand Pooh-Bah, raise your hands now.”

  The ‘vote’ was universal, with Brad rolling his eyes as he joined in.

  “There,” Kumar said. “That’s that bullshit taken care of. It’s on you now, Marshal. We have officially invested you with supreme authority to take us where you will. Personally, I didn’t think it was ever in doubt. We’re all here because of you, and you’re right… I don’t think anyone’s worked harder than you have. Besides. I’m pretty sure you could shoot everybody here if you were that kind of psycho.”

  “Don’t ruin it, Kumar,” Gladys said. “Marshal’s not that kind of person. I believe him. He’s worked wonders, and he’ll make a wonderful leader.”

  “I believe him too,” Sophie said, “though I would appreciate it if he would refrain from firing his gun indoors again. But I liked his ‘Cardinal Rules’, which seem more like common sense to me, and I like that he’s taken it on himself to enforce them. If he’s setting up a dictatorship, then it strikes me as pretty benign.”

  “And intelligent, too,” Valerie said. “He’s got an excellent sense of the big picture.”

  “And he’s a better salesman than I ever was,” Brad muttered. “We’ll have to let the others know that he has our support, as well as any newcomers that we manage to pick up.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Kumar said. “Brian and Krissy already love the guy. I know them, and they already figured Marshal was in charge. Cesar seems like an okay guy, and even Torstein took the chip off his shoulder long enough to see who Marshal really is.”

  “And who is Marshal?” Brad asked.

  “Are you kidding, man?” Kumar laughed.

  He did not see the need to elaborate.

  Marshal drove Crapmobile north on Yonge Street, weaving in between the car wrecks and rolling down a particularly steep hill. They were returning from the final trip of the day, which had been a scouting mission. Torstein had mentioned the existence of Heliopolis Inc, an inner city solar panel installation company, up north at St. Clair and Avenue Road. The trip had proven fruitful, and they’d located a small warehouse filled with stacks of usable solar panels. They’d picked up a load, and were now headed back to base, one hour before sunset. Angie, wearing her garbage dress and headset, shadowed their progress, investigating and exploring the city as they moved along.

  Luca was in a good mood and had been since the end of the meeting.

  “The best part,” Luca said, reliving the moment for what seemed like the twentieth time that day, “was when you shot Brad’s drink right out of his fingers. Fuck! You know, if there’s one thing I regret about the apocalypse, it that I won’t be able to tell that story to the guys down at the club. You’d be their fucking hero!”

  “I still don’t want to talk about it,” Marshal answered. He had started feeling guilty the moment after the meeting ended. “Let’s just get through the rest of the day, all right?”

  It had been a busy afternoon. Prior to the trip up to Heliopolis, they’d had to put in a visit to Rothman’s, where they passed on the news of the meeting and its resolutions. To Marshal’s surprise, while Brian and Cesar had been supportive, Krissy seemed to grow more thoughtful. It wasn’t that she was resentful or unhappy, just concerned in her moody, semi-spiritual way of being. When Marshal asked her if she was okay with it all, she smiled blindingly, touched his arm, and assured him that she was. But her eyes and her mood said something else entirely.

  Torstein had been more direct.

  “So they ‘elected’ you dictator, eh?” he said, frowning when they informed him of the meeting. “I guess it was inevitable. Well, I promise that you won’t get any objection from me, as long as you stay honest. I like the decisions you’re making. You got big ideas, when anybody else might be, I don’t know… stupider, I guess. And I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. We’re building something special here - or re-building, but whatever we’re doing, I want to be a part of it. Just be sure you remember our earlier conversation.”

  His gaze lingered darkly on Luca for a few seconds.

  They dropped off Albert, giving Torstein an extra pair of hands to help with his renovations, and then headed out to scavenge Torstein’s and Krissy’s shopping lists. In all, they spent three hours using Crapmobile to help out at Rothman’s, carting out garbage and freighting in building materials, wish list items, and general supplies. An adapted satellite dish that Marshal had been working on was mounted on a second floor terrace which, when pointed westward, would serve as a temporary link between Rothmans’s and the apartment. In the future, when the WiFi mesh network was finally set up, it would become obsolete, but for now, it allowed the two refugee hostels to communicate with instant, live video streaming.

  In the meantime, Angie had continued to search and scout out the local area, always remaining close and always in contact. She called in twice, once to report a small but well-stocked electronics shop, and then a Ma and Pa corner grocery store. The produce section had been overrun with mold and fungus, but the back room was stocked with several cases of canned beans, vegetables, and fruits.

  Marshal had dutifully recorded the finds in his notebook, already thick with earlier reports from Wal-mart, Home Depot, and Sobey’s. At some point, he realized, organization was going to be a problem, and his system would have to be updated.

  Traveling back from Heliopolis, fatigue had begun to catch up with Marshal. Allowing Luca to carry most of the conversation, a part of him disappeared into memories of his mother and father.

  Emotions he thought long resolved had awakened with Torstein’s words.

  Marshal remembered his father as a soft-spoken, hard-working blonde man, very tall and lean, and his mother, as a dark-haired, raven-like woman, with a heart-shaped face, a hooknose, and a secret
ive smile that made her beautiful. Most of his memories were of the three of them at the Sabbatini’s, surrounded by warmth and friendship, like they were just another part of that vast family. A man of few words was his father, but when he spoke, people would listen. His mother was the same, with a low, melodious voice. A beautiful singer, her songs were precious, private treasures. Most people didn’t know, but Marshal’s earliest memories were of her singing him to sleep.

  “Some things I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Luca said, “about the next generation of Crapmobile. Remember when we talked about taking over the school gymnasium and making it into my new garage?”

  “I remember,” Marshal said, shaking off his memories.

  “My old one is too fucking exposed,” Luca continued. “So I talked it over with Torstein, showed him some pictures of the gymnasium, and we figure we could make that camouflage-door in less than a day. With another day to plug up some of the holes to make it soundproof, and then with some help from you to install some solar panels and get power up and running, I could start moving in by the end of the week.”

  “Maybe,” Marshal said, watching the screens. “I agree that the space is useful, but-”

  “It’s too much of a hassle to build the next Crapmobile in the apartment,” Luca insisted, “especially with so many fucking people crashed out in the storage area. But in the gymnasium, we got all the space we’ll ever need, and the ability to simply drive out through the Bat-door.”

  “Bat-door?”

  “That’s what we’re calling it,” Luca explained. “Like that hidden garage door that Batman uses to sneak the Batmobile in and out of the Batcave-”

  “I get it,” Marshal said. “Okay, look. We’ll get Torstein and his crew over to take a look at it tomorrow. Sophie might have some inside knowledge she could share, so we’ll bring her along too. For the time being, the gymnasium can be your garage-”

  “Good.”

  “… but,” Marshal continued, “your current shop is pretty central to what will be our camera-bluetooth network, which means that, in a few weeks, that neighborhood and the area for blocks surrounding it, could be clear of undead. We need more Crapmobiles, so you can get started on the newest one right away, but eventually, I think you’re going to be working out of your own garage.”

  Luca looked at him to see if he was serious.

  “It’s got all the parts you’ll ever need,” Marshal explained. “It’s got the hoists, the hydraulics, cranes, and all the tools, stuff that would take forever to truck over to the auditorium. The walls of stacked cars act as pretty effective sound absorbers, and if we clear out the neighborhood, it will be as secure as any place we have. And if anything does happen to slip past our perimeter, you’ll have plenty of warning and a zombie-approved, hiding-spot already on the premises.”

  Luca considered this. “You think we can have my old shop up and running again.”

  It was not a question.

  “Maybe,” Marshal shrugged. “We should still fix up the gymnasium. Our next few Crapmobiles will be built there, but afterwards… well, it’s still a gymnasium, with showers, change rooms, and basketball court. It will always be useful. I’m just saying that if we do manage to make the neighborhood safe, it makes more sense to convert your whole lot into a giant camouflage-pile of trash. It’s halfway there already.”

  “Oh, you’re fucking hilarious,” Luca growled, but his expression was thoughtful. “Still. It ain’t a bad idea. It would be a pain in the ass to have to move everything over.”

  “Let me know what you decide,” Marshal said. “If you still want the gymnasium, then it’s yours. I’m just saying that we should wait and see.”

  “Sure. But that brings me to my second point. I only got one Tesla engine left, since you took the one to power up the elevator. Unless you want to try your hand at building any more than that from scratch, Mr. Electronics, then we gotta make a run on the Tesla dealership, and we’re gonna need to bring ‘em back in bulk. On a good day, before the outbreak, it would take about forty-five minutes on the freeway to get there. Today, with our top speed and all the shit we gotta steer around, it could be an overnighter getting what we need. And while Crapmobile’s got good storage space, we need something bigger, something built to transport heavy loads.”

  “Where’s this going, Luca?”

  “I wanna build Shitbox!”

  Marshal blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Luca turned in his chair excitedly, using both hands to frame his idea.

  “I gotta Boom Truck in my yard,” he said. “It’s all smashed to shit, like most cars left in the world, but it’s not so bad that I can’t get it moving again.”

  Marshal saw where this was going. “The crane.”

  “You got it. Give me a day with Crapmobile, and I can get all the parts I need to the gymnasium to build us a cargo carrier version, complete with crane lift for things too heavy for us to load by hand. Marshal, we need this sort of truck! If we’re going to make runs on the big boys… places like Costco, Home Depot, or the other big box stores, then we’re going to need big league cargo haulers.”

  “Tesla engine isn’t designed for that kind of load,” Marshal said.

  “Doesn’t have to be,” Luca said. “We aren’t running any races or moving houses. It’s mostly about bulk. Crapmobile is a passenger vehicle with a big trunk. Shitbox will have the shocks and the space to handle six times the volume.”

  Marshal looked thoughtful. “How big a moving pile of garbage will that be? If it’s too big, it might draw attention.”

  Luca made a face and waved this off.

  “We can run tests, same as we did with Crapmobile, but there ain’t no reason they would respond to a bigger pile of garbage. I’m telling you, Marshal, we need to have a Shitbox, or maybe two or three of them. You want to move a thousand pound water purifying tank? How much fun do you think that’ll be arm wrestling something like that into Crapmobile?”

  “I see your point,” Marshal said. “Okay, sold. Let’s go with it.”

  “I’ll get started as soon as the gymnasium can handle it.”

  They drove in silence for the next few minutes. The crunching of Crapmobile’s wheels and the soft hum of the electric motor filled the empty quiet. As the mobile hulk of garbage moved down the street, a flight of pigeons was startled into flight. A pair of zombies became briefly excited by the activity, but after a few seconds of jerky response, they went back to their endless searching.

  “You okay, buddy?” Luca asked. “You’re pretty fucking quiet since the meeting. Normally, you can’t shut up about all your fucking plans and shit. I got a callus on my eardrums over here from all your talking these days.”

  “What?” Marshal shook off his thoughts. “Oh, sure. There’s… uh, a…”

  The words died in his throat, and he swallowed a mouthful of regret. Torstein’s words still echoed in his memory, and even the yawning graveyard of the apocalypse seemed incapable of putting that ghost to rest. He wanted to let it go. There were so many other things he had to worry about now, but the unanswered questions continued to tug at him. More and more unexplained pieces from his past kept reappearing, taking on new and more ominous significance. One by one, like a puzzle taking form, the pieces seemed to slide into place, painting for him one dark and ugly picture.

  “Luca. You… you know you’re my adopted brother, and my best friend, right? But, even before your dad adopted me, you were always like the brother I never had. And I promise, that’s never going to change, because… because no matter what, I don’t want it to change.”

  “Oh shit,” Luca said. “This don’t sound so fucking good.”

  “No, no,” Marshal said, swallowing thorny words. “I’m just saying… that I’m glad I have you to watch my back, and… and I wanted you to know that.”

  Angie called in to break the silence that followed.

  The old man sat on the park bench, his limbs spread so as to soak up as much of the la
te afternoon sunlight as he could. It streamed between the towering maples in splintered beams of orange, gold, and crimson. The russet-rimmed leaves whispered in the crisp breeze, competing in volume with the riot of sparrows readying themselves for the nightly insect feast. But it was a package deal. Beneath the cacophony of their singing and the caressing wind in his hair, the audience of one threw his head back in rapture.

  Sometimes, he thought to himself with satisfaction, I am amazing.

  The old man cut an interesting appearance. His bright blue eyes smiled out of a leathery mask of light tan skin, character wrinkles, and laugh lines. A once-white sunhat was now so battered and stained, it was its own work of modern art. He could have been a member of any number of races, or a combination of several, though the long, white locks and scraggly facial hair suggested European, possibly Greek. He wore an unlikely combination of a green parka, gray suit pants, blue socks, and brand new white sneakers. And he was grinning into the sunlight with a perfect set of white teeth and dark, glittering sunglasses that were perched on the tip of his bulbous nose.

  He savored the anticipation. So much of life’s second level of existence, the part that the pragmatists, the atheists, and the skeptics all failed to appreciate, could be witnessed during those few precious seconds when the sun dipped below the horizon. It was completion without ending, and an ending to everything that finished nothing. The fact that there was very little about it that was supernatural was beside the point. It was the moment of wonder incarnate, if you had the faith to feel it.

  He checked his watch. Sunset was a little less than an hour away, and there was still time for the damned undead to come along and muck it all up again. Theirs was a kind of completion without ending also.

  Conversely, with completion came perspective, which rendered everything else academic. He sighed. That was the problem, of course. Perspective put everything into… well, perspective. Eventually, it would all come back to him, and…