From Oblivion's Ashes

by Nyman, Michael E. A.

  “Jacqueline,” Jackie said, offering a welcoming grin. “It’s Jackie to my friends. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Trust me,” the man smiled. “The pleasure is all mine. I’m not sure how much longer I could have held out without your assistance. It feels so good to be rescued.”

  Slowly, Crapmobile made its way back towards the apartment.

  Chapter Eighteen: Day 34: Meat Market

  “… things we’ve learned, we hope to build a network of powered, hidden locations, not only to service the community as a whole, but to provide a comfortable home environment for every one of our citizens. If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to invite you to come with us to First Canadian Place tomorrow. We just started a major project there that should give us all the space we need. Which brings me to my next question. Do you have any construction experience?”

  Paul shook off his astonishment and looked down at his host. Realizing that he’d been inattentive, he conjured up a rueful smile.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just… it’s amazing what you’ve accomplished here in so short a time. To think… you were all alone only three weeks ago, and now you’ve come to this. It’s mind-boggling.”

  “Well,” Marshal said, “You know how it is. Desperation provides more energy than a fusion bomb on a sugar high. Anyway, I asked-”

  “If I’d ever done any construction,” Paul nodded. He thought of his secret room. “I’ve had to do some renovation around the house over the years. Some wiring. I guess you could say I know one end of a hammer from the other.”

  “Fantastic,” Marshal said. “Would you be opposed to joining our construction crew? We’ve been a little overwhelmed lately, and the list of things-to-do is a mile long. They only just got the hospital tiled, soundproofed, and plastered, when we had to go to work on the gymnasium. That was grueling, but it was just the bare minimum needed to make it safe before we shifted over to First Canadian. At the moment, there’s Torstein, Cesar, Krissy, Brian, along with Sophie and the kids. I’m thinking of-”

  “Excuse me,” Paul asked, “did you say there were children?”

  “Yes. Sophie Wyatt was a schoolteacher who managed to rescue three of them, Sarah, Randy, and Denise. She kept them safe by building a hidden refuge in the rafters of her school’s gymnasium. Anyway, I’m hoping to redistribute some of our manpower. It’s important that we get the place ready for winter, so I’m adding Tom, Mike, and Elizabeth to the work crew - and you, if you’re up for it. It’s okay if you’re not, of course. You’ve been through an ordeal and may need more time to recover. I can give you a couple more days if-”

  “No, no,” Paul said, clapping a hand on Marshal’s shoulder. “I’d be happy to help. I’ve been cooped up in my… in my basement for weeks now, wishing for the chance to get out and get some fresh air. I won’t turn my back on it now. Besides, based on what you’re saying, what we’re building is a chance to return life to something approaching normal. You couldn’t keep me away if you wanted.”

  “Thank you, Paul. Really. Grab a shower. There’s a closet at the end of the hall that gets used as a communal change room. If the door’s closed, then it’s occupied, but I doubt there’s anyone there at the moment. There’s a couple of racks in the dining room with a wide assortment of clothing, most of them with the labels still on, so you shouldn’t have any trouble finding your size. The four bedrooms belong to Angie, Luca, Valerie, and myself, and I’d ask that you leave them alone. Afterwards, you can find Gladys in the kitchen.”

  “Gladys?”

  “She’s a retired nurse by trade, but she’s also been cooking up meals as a way of helping out. She should have a selection of pre-cooked meals available for you that just need heating up. You’re in for a treat. She’s a pretty amazing cook.”

  “I look forward to it,” Paul said, meaning every word. “The meat I kept in my freezers, well… let’s just say that I doubt anyone around here would want to eat it. I survived on a fifty pound bag of dog kibble and my extra water cooler bottles.”

  “Listen,” Marshal said, “I have to touch base with a few people, so I’ll have to catch up with you later. With most of our people gone, there are plenty of extra beds available. Make yourself at home, watch some television, get to know people, and welcome to the community of New Toronto.”

  Paul smiled gratefully and watched the man hurry off. So, this man was their leader? The woman. Jackie. She hadn’t blinked or twitched when the man explained that he was, so he must have the support of the others.

  Okay. He had a gun. Paul had spotted it when the man’s jacket fell open. But seriously, was that all? Standing within arms reach with the element of surprise, Paul was confident that he could kill him before their so-called leader ever got his hands on that gun. And even if he did, that was no guarantee. Most people thought of guns as magic wands that you waved around to get people to do what you want. Aiming and accurately shooting one under pressure wasn’t something they thought about, and was harder to do than it looked. Listening to Marshal’s placid, we-are-all-family psychobabble made him seem like an unlikely candidate to shoot to kill.

  Have to remember to slouch more, he told himself. Smile, be helpful, and always play the nice guy, the one who makes everyone feel safe.

  It’s also a good idea to ignore the voices, chuckled Helen’s voice.

  On the other hand, maybe he could relax for once, and just be normal. Paul pondered this notion as he strolled off to look for the shower. After all, the whole world had changed and maybe, just maybe, he could too. Maybe, he didn’t need to kill anymore. Before, he was the hunter in the dark, artistically plucking victims from the endless herds of humanity. Today, there was no herd, and he was a victim alongside everyone else.

  Never had Paul felt more… connected to humanity than he did now, hiding here in this secret bunker, colluding against the slayers of the human race.

  He found the shower, disrobed, and let the scalding hot water cleanse away the grime and stench. Eyes closed, his hands blindly sought out and found the soap.

  And why not? He had many skills and talents that would make him a useful, even celebrated, member of the community. They needed him, and he needed them. His old life as a hunter could stay where it was, abandoned, buried, and guarded by legions of the damned. Paul Smith could carry on, like a lizard shedding its skin, newly reborn, fresh, and able to stand, shoulder to shoulder with his fellow humans. Maybe, this was his natural habitat. Maybe, this is what he was born to do. Like a tiger. Take a tiger out of the jungle, plop it down in the city, and it will seek the only available prey. Put it back in the jungle, and it goes back to hunting other things.

  And if the odd human ends up on the menu, the voice of Inarjit said, then that’s not the tiger’s fault. That’s just the jungle.

  Good point.

  Then, he shook his head.

  “I can’t afford to think that way anymore,” he said out loud. He ducked his head under the water to rinse away the shampoo. “If I’m going to change, I have to put it all behind me and wash my hands of it. No one needs to know, and no one can ever know. If I’m to become a new man, it means a policy of scorched earth on the way things used to be.”

  The voices sank into silence.

  “I may even,” he suggested, turning off the water, “need to return to my secret room and… and burn it and everything in it to ash.”

  A collection of gasps met this statement, and he himself waited in anticipation.

  But there was nothing. The other voice, the one that had haunted him all his life, remained silent. It wasn’t gone – Paul could tell – but for the moment, it seemed to have nothing to say.

  He stepped from the shower with a sense of cleanliness that he hadn’t felt in years.

  Paul finished off the enormous bowl of pasta with tremendous relish. Gladys was a sweetheart, and gave him a small carafe of red wine to wash it all down. What a lovely woman. And if she was responsible for the sauce he had just eaten, then it wa
s true that she should be treated like a national treasure.

  Content and tired, but still curious, he ambled into the main area of the apartment. Full bar, wide screen television, ten thousand dollar, leather-furnished couches… Marshal had not suffered for anything during the apocalypse, had he? It kind of made you wonder why he bothered going out at all. But as one of the many beneficiaries of Marshal’s inexplicable philanthropy, Paul didn’t wonder long. He was beginning to see, more and more, why Marshal was the one in charge. Sure, there was the gun, but that was more of a badge. What really made him leader was his approach, his vision, and the fact that everyone here owed him their lives.

  He strolled up to the window, looking down at the street below in wonder. How had this window escaped being smashed? And what a wonderful oversight it was. With direct line of sight, Paul watched a zombie lurching its way down the street below. He shook his head. They looked so harmless, even comical, when you could observe them like this.

  Marshal, along with Jackie, the little girl named Angie, and a small, nervous-looking teenager that Paul hadn’t met yet, were sitting close to each other on one of the couches. Without really intending to, Paul found himself eavesdropping on their conversation.

  “… with Angie for the week,” Marshal was saying, “but you won’t have her going forward. Albert. I want you to get used to using the drones to explore the interior of buildings, basements… everyplace that Angie would normally go. I’ve been flying these things for two weeks now, and you’re not only better than me at it already, you seem to be able to pilot them into places I wouldn’t even dream of trying.”

  “Thank you, Marshal” the boy answered shyly. “They were kind of a hobby. Y’know. Before.”

  Paul snorted quietly. If only they knew his hobbies.

  “My guess is that it’ll be the big equalizer,” Marshal said, “that makes Crapmobile ‘Team B’ as effective, or even more effective, as Team A. There may only be one Angie to go around, but now, there’s only one Albert.”

  The teenager puffed up under the praise.

  “What about me?” Jackie said. “Say something nice about me now, boss man!”

  “Come on, Jackie,” Marshal said. “You know I only chose you because you’re a lesbian.”

  “Yay! I knew my lesbo-powers would pay off someday!”

  “Seriously, though,” Marshal said. “You’re smart, level-headed, and you’re very good with people. They want to trust you. The fact that you laughed instead taking offense at my joke says it all. You don’t offend easily. And even though your sense of humor could peel an orange from twenty paces, I can’t think of a better person to captain Crapmobile than you.”

  There was a slight pause.

  “Thanks, Marshal,” Jackie said at last, all traces of flippancy gone from her tone. “That’s very nice of you to say. I’ll try to reward your faith in me.”

  “Take this,” Marshal said, handing her something, and out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw that it was a taser. “Krissy had it hidden in the bottom of her luggage. She said she knows where we can get more, so this one is an extra. I want you to have it. Practice using it, just in case. Most people you find will be glad to see you and grateful for any help you can give. Others… well, you can never be too sure. They may have gone crazy, or they may just be bad people. Either way, it’s better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it.”

  “Can I try?” Albert said eagerly. “Do I get one?”

  “We only have the one, at the moment,” Marshal said, though his tone suggested other objections to the boy having a taser. “Maybe down the road, when we…”

  Paul wandered away from the window and out of hearing range. Krissy had a taser, eh? Hmph. Those things were even harder to use than guns, although they could be pretty nifty if you got in close. Still. It was good to know that his new tribe wasn’t completely starry-eyed with people-love. He’d hate to think he’d joined a hippy commune.

  “Hey, there! You’re new! Why are you slouching?”

  He turned and looked down into the cheerful blue eyes of a gangly old man, who looked like he could be Santa’s younger, skinnier brother.

  “Er… slouching? Gosh. I’ve been told I have bad posture, but…”

  The old man laughed. “Sorry, sorry. Don’t mean to get personal. It’s just that a big, strapping fellow like you ought to be proud of his height. I mean, look at you! Shoulders like a linebacker, arms like a weightlifter. And anyone with a pair of eyes can see you’ve had some martial arts training, the way you walk.”

  “What’s wrong with my walk?” Paul asked, a little alarmed. Anyone with a pair of eyes? Whoever this old man was, his eyes were picking up on things most people never noticed.

  “It’s all… stealthy-like,” the man said, obviously meaning to compliment him. “You’re like Clark Kent, trying to pretend you’re not Superman. Goodness! If I had muscles like yours, I’d be driving the girls off with a stick, not slouching around like I didn’t want to be seen.”

  Oh no, Paul decided. He did not like this old man at all!

  “Now listen here,” he spluttered, trying to think of a way to change the subject.

  EEEEEEEEE!!!

  The woman’s scream came from the back storage room, and was followed by a shattering crash of breaking crockery.

  Suddenly, everyone was running. The scream sounded like it came from Gladys, but… hadn’t he just left her in the kitchen? Paul was vaguely aware of Marshal darting past him, his gun drawn, followed by Jackie, who now held the taser, it’s end flickering blue and white.

  When they arrived, the mood changed to surprise in an instant.

  “Sorry folks,” said a tall, sheepish-looking man, who looked to be in his late twenties or maybe his early thirties. Gladys, who had indeed been the source of the scream, was hugging him, her withered old face buried in the man’s chest. The man looked weary, as if he’d just run a marathon, but Paul could tell in a glance that here was a man to be reckoned with. Whoever he was, he would bear watching.

  The effect on everyone present was electric. Marshal’s gun disappeared, and along with the others, they were surrounding the tall man with laughter and celebration. It was as if everyone wanted to touch him, and Paul carefully watched the scene as it played out. Other than Paul himself, the only other two holding back were a pair of young men, one tall and sloppy, the other short and weasel-like. Both looked just as confused as Paul.

  “Eric is well-loved,” said a voice at his elbow, and he looked down to see the old man still standing by his side. “Half the community would be dead if it hadn’t been for him. He crawled four, zombie-infested blocks, while bleeding out and dragging his legs behind him, just to try and obtain some antibiotics and painkillers for others, who were trapped underground when the subway collapsed. Everyone here thought that he was going to lose his legs, because of the gangrene.”

  Paul thought he detected a hint of smugness.

  “He looks fine now,” Paul said, watching as, one by one, the people surrounding the man, hugged or congratulated him.

  The line-up came to Marshal who, instead of embracing the bemused young man, simply held out his hand for a handshake. The man took it firmly.

  “It’s good to see you back on your feet, Eric,” Marshal said. “I know how worried you were, but you have to believe that we would have stood by you, even if you were nothing more than a head on a pillow. People were fighting for the right to look after you, you know. Gladys won. No one wanted to mess with Gladys.”

  “I know. She’s tough,” Eric said, smiling at the old woman. “Remember when it was just you an me, Gladys? And everyone else was unconscious or dying? I told you we’d make it through, didn’t I? And here we are.”

  “You… you certainly did,” Gladys said, tears in her eyes. She ducked her head and waved her hands. “Everyone, give the poor boy some room.”

  “How are the legs?” Marshal asked, seeing the man wobble.

  “Still
weak,” the corporal admitted, “but the doc says they look worse than they are, and that nothing is missing. There’s a good chance the muscle tissue can heal up now. I might have a limp, but I’m going to be able to walk.”

  “That’s…” Marshal shook his head, glancing over at Jackie, who was covering her mouth with one hand and trying not to cry. “That’s just amazing. It couldn’t have happened a more deserving guy.” He paused. “Did you just say the doctor?”

  “I did.” Eric grinned and pointed with a thumb behind him. “He’s awake over in the corner. I heard him calling for someone to come and clean up his mess, and was halfway over before I even realized I was walking. Anyway, I got most of his… uh, his ‘mess’ cleaned up, but I haven’t ever cleaned up a bedpan before, so… well, anyway. He took a look at my legs, told me I was lucky, and that I should be able to walk again. Since I had just walked over to him, I figure that makes him a pretty good doctor.”

  Marshal looked over at Gladys amid the general chuckling.

  “Gladys? Would you mind checking on Dr. Burke?”

  “Oh! Yes, of course, Marshal.” The old woman gave Corporal Vandermeer a final pat, and then hustled off.

  “Before we go any further,” Eric said, “I just got a couple of things I need to say. I know it’s going to sound weird... but I wouldn’t be standing right now if it hadn’t been for God. He didn’t just help heal my legs. He gave me a whole new perspective on everything. So thanks God, wherever you are. I want you to know I’m grateful, and as long as I’m around, you can go on calling yourself whatever you like.”

  Paul frowned. Call yourself… what did that mean?

  “Just call me God,” the old man at his elbow shouted back. “I never went in for all the old names anyway. Who in their right mind wants to be called Yahweh these days?”

  “Oh crap, there you are,” Eric said, spotting the old man. “The doc says that, while it was a little unorthodox, it was your treatment that finally got rid of the rotten flesh that was poisoning my legs. You may just be a crazy old man, but it’s thanks to you that I’m going to be able to walk again. You and Gladys’ soup.”