Ash: Rise of the Republic

by Campbell Paul Young

  “You’re drunk, husband, go to bed. All’s well up here, I’ll wake you for your watch.” Her tone made it clear that the conversation was over.

  “One day you’ll regret all the times you’ve spurned me, foul woman!” He said with affection as he made his way back down the ladder. He crept quietly back to the desk he had commandeered and spread his map out in the candlelight. It was an ancient, crumbling thing: a cheap folded roadmap of Texas that could be had in any gas station before the pillar. He had used it for years and it had been on the verge of falling apart when an old friend in the map room at the University had offered to laminate it for him a year ago.

  He traced the route they had been following for the past week: a stretch of old SH6 and US290, the most important trade route in the fledgling Republic. He had been instrumental in opening the route ten years before when he had scouted for the expedition that established the Refinery colony. The brave settlers he had escorted through the wastelands of Houston had restored a portion of the machinery in the intervening years and were currently pumping out several tankers of gasoline and diesel every month. Fuel was the lifeblood of the re-emergence of civilization, and this road was its artery. Recently, however, there had been a rash of armed robbery in a seemingly random pattern along the route. Guards had been hired for the convoys with little result. The Governor had sent him and his troop of killers out to put an end to it after the most recent tragedy. Ten days ago, a tanker full to the brim with precious diesel was ambushed and destroyed in the night.

  They hadn’t found much at the crime scene other than the smoking wreckage and the bodies of the guards. It looked like the poor bastards hadn’t even had a chance to fire at their attackers: all of their weapons were still charged with full magazines. The tracks at the scene told of a large group of attackers, perhaps as many as fifty. They had followed them southeast until a heavy ashfall blew in from the north. When the storm had finally settled, the trail was wiped clean. Now they were heading east along the highway, hoping to stumble across new sign.

  The attack was a new puzzle for the grizzled campaigner. The outlaws he had chased during his career had usually been more interested in stealing things, especially something as precious as fuel. The band they had run down earlier that day had been well equipped, but they were scrawny and malnourished. Five gallons of diesel could net a savvy negotiator a month’s worth of provisions in any of the rough thieves’ dens that passed for settlements in the region. The smoldering truck they had left two days ago was hauling close to six thousand gallons of the priceless fluid. He had yet to meet a starving man who would willingly burn that kind of a fortune.

  Satisfied with the possibility that the next day might bring answers, he rolled up the map with a characteristic grunt, pinched out the candle, and stretched out to get some rest before his watch.

  Four hours later, a soft nudge on his big toe jolted him awake. He exploded out of his blankets, eyes wild, bowie knife brandished. His wife Deb stood in front of him at a safe distance with a mocking smile on her face, her short, curvy, muscular frame silhouetted by the gentle candle light. Her silver streaked, chestnut brown hair gleamed in a tight ponytail. A few unruly tendrils had broken free and formed a golden halo in the soft light, adding to her dangerous, wild beauty. Still smiling, she waited for the fury in his eyes turn to recognition, and then lust.

  “I knew you’d change your mind wench!” He moved toward her with lecherous intent.

  “Oh put your pants on you dirty old bastard, it’s time for you to take over. I’m gonna hit the sack.” Her voice was stern as she brushed aside his advance and slipped into the warm blankets he had vacated.

  Grumbling, pining for the days when morning coffee was almost a birthright, the grizzled captain worked the stiffness out of his old joints. He pulled his ash suit on and picked up his rifle. He moved silently through the still sleeping rangers. The bracing cold again spilled past the hatch as he made his way up to the surface.

  ****

  The ragged men had followed the stranger, as he had known they would, two days to the southeast. Their way of life was threatened, they were desperate, and they were shocked to find a huge gathering of men just like them. Within minutes of meeting the Chief they had signed up, and the cloaked man had left again to roam until he stumbled upon the next band of frightened men who scrambled to escape the tightening noose of civilization.

  They left on a raid the day they arrived. The big farm was fat with livestock and the early harvest. Its defenders were soft, grown lazy and complacent under the protection of the ranger companies. They watched, chilled by the Chief’s savagery, as he tore through into a knot of trembling farm boys armed with rusty old carbines. He seemed to wade through them, face a rictus of hate, a jagged knife in each hand, bare chested and dripping with the blood of his screaming victims.

  They had attacked in broad daylight, and they were marching home by noon, packs and wagons fat with rich loot. It was a strange thing, they thought, that two days earlier they had been running for their lives, hounded by the law, and now they marched in the open, triumphant and swaggering like pirates.

  ****

  The Captain called a halt around noon in a small grove of dead pines. His troop slipped off their bikes and eagerly produced canteens and rations, waiting for the ash to settle before lifting their masks.

  “We’re getting close, they aren’t moving fast. They have no idea what’s coming.” He said to no one in particular. They had seen black smoke on the horizon soon after setting out that morning. The source was a small moonshiner’s cabin that had been raided in the night. The smoldering bodies of a man and a woman were found in the wreckage, their corpses showed signs of mutilation even after the inferno. Two small cots and an assortment of toys betrayed the existence of children, but no small bodies were found.

  “You don’t know what you’re chasing, old man.” His wife handed him a tortilla filled with peanut butter and dried apple slices, “or what you’ll do with it when you catch it.”

  “It’s not me they have to worry about,” replied the Captain between bites, “I wouldn’t want this bloodthirsty bunch after me.”

  “Cap’n Mac, how many do you ‘spect we’re up against?” asked Jennings from his perch on a low pine branch a few feet away. Jennings was the problem child of the troop. He never quite shirked a task, but he never had much enthusiasm. When his blood was up he was deadly enough with a rifle, but his pale, sickly, slender frame had worried the Captain since the beginning. He wouldn’t stand a chance if it came down to a wrestling match with an outlaw tough.

  “The tracks say fifteen. But I wouldn’t worry too much about how many there are, kiddo. Just focus on how many you feel like killin’. You can have as many as you want.” The Captain gave him a wink.

  “You scared Jenny?” taunted Legs from his seat against another pine trunk. The appendages that gave him his name stuck straight out in front of him, half the length of his arms. His thickly bearded face held a snide grin as he tortured Jennings. His strange proportions fueled a burning inferiority complex that he completely abandoned when the shooting started. Those same proportions had kept more than a few outlaws guessing until their blood was spilling out in the ash. The Captain had rarely seen a ranger so adept with a knife, or so protective of his comrades.

  “I ain’t scared Corporal, I just want to know what to expect. And if you call me Jenny one more time I’ll…”

  “You’ll what?” snapped Legs, jumping to his feet.

  “Cancel that shit rangers!” barked Deb, launching a chilling glance at each in turn. “You’re both heading for latrine duty when we get back to base if you don’t keep your mouths shut!”

  Both boys backed down quickly, their feathers ruffled. The six other rangers in the grove looked down and found their rations suddenly interesting, hoping Deb’s cold gaze would land elsewhere. She was notorious as a disciplinarian. Although she was technically second in command, they had seen her tear the Ca
ptain down on several occasions. Though they feared her temper, they had all witnessed the ferocity with which she protected the Captain on the battlefield. They shared a fierce loyalty with her and they respected her. Many of them had seen her tender side as well; she had grown accustomed to playing mother to the orphans in the troop when they had need.

  Mol was the first to break the silence. “Do you think we’ll go all the way to The Refinery on this trip, Cap’n Mac?”

  “You know we’ll go as far as we need to go to get the job done, young lady,” the Captain replied, adding a wink. He knew she was eager to see the colony. She was a redhead, barely seventeen, the tallest woman in the troop. She had a strange beauty; none of her features were ideal, but combined they approached perfection. Mol was the company’s medic.

  A soft voice drifted from behind the large pine the Captain was leaning against. “If this is the gang we’re lookin’ for, we won’t be getting anywhere near The Refinery.”

  “Dammit Stone, you fuckin’ spook, I told you not to sneak up on me like that! Save it for the enemy! What’d you find?” rasped the Captain in surprise, springing up to face the scout.

  With a rare smile, the albino plopped down against the Captain’s tree, lifted his mask, and produced a morsel of jerky. Between bites, he made his report.

  “They’re holed up in a small warehouse a few miles down the road…left a trail that a blind toddler could follow. There’s a few guards posted but they’re sloppy drunk. Should be easy pickin’s for this lot.” He said, curtly.

  “Doesn’t sound like the band that burned that tanker, slobs like that are generally in it for the loot,” said the Captain, glancing at his wife, “Oh well, we followed them this far, might as well take a look.”

  “Alright, ass time is over rangers! Pack it up, we move out in five!” growled Deb, mainly as a formality. The eager troopers were already stowing their gear and checking their weapons.

  Four minutes later, the rangers were moving swiftly and silently across the ash, following the taciturn scout. The wire mesh wheels of their bicycles ballooned out to keep them from sinking into the ash as they rode. Each had a small solar charged battery pack and an electric motor that could be engaged in a chase, but on a long range like this they kept to the pedals when they could.

  After a brief ride, Stone gave the signal for ‘halt, find cover’. The rangers quickly slipped off their bikes and disappeared behind bare tree trunks and stunted bushes. The scout moved over to the Captain and said quietly, “The warehouse is just past this drift, I’ll take you to Blue.”

  The Captain motioned to Deb and the three rangers crept through dense scrub brush to the crest of the pile of wind-drifted ash. Nearing the top, Stone gave the signal to ‘lie prone’ and they crawled the rest of the way up. The Captain produced a pair of binoculars and surveyed the scene below, knowing that Blue would show herself when she could scare as much shit out of him as possible.

  The warehouse was a relatively large, three story affair. It probably began its life as one of the small time oil-tool rental shops that used to pop up right and left in Houston every year before the pillar. Now it was half buried and belching smoke from its upper windows. The second story was now ground level; most of the windows at that height were boarded up. One of them had been converted into a door. Two guards lounged in front on a pile of crates, passing a jug and laughing. There was a brownish yellow stain of corruption near another window; clearly the lazy bastards couldn’t be bothered to dig a proper latrine.

  “Are those dipshits the only guards?”

  “There’s one on the roof.”

  The Captain adjusted his view. A solitary guard was lying on his back on the sloped roof, snoozing.

  “Any more entrances?”

  “Just the one.”

  “You weren’t kidding about these guys!”

  “You should have seen the last shift.” Said Blue.

  The Captain’s heart stopped briefly in surprise at the voice coming over the crest of the drift. “You sneaky bitch, you get me every time! I swear the women in my life are trying to put me in the grave before my time!”

  He crawled forward and peeked over the edge to find a wry smile gleaming from a lump of ash.

  “I just can’t resist, it’s just too easy Cap’n Mac!” replied Blue with a giggle. She deftly rolled over and slid back over the crest, stopping between the Captain and his wife. Her fingers danced on the pad at her waist. There was a crackle and the thick, fluffy layer of ash fell from her suit. She hit another few keystrokes the air crackled again. The static charge in the fabric of her suit picked up a new layer of ash, now arranged in a pattern more suitable for the dusty bushes that hid them.

  “You two stay here and keep an eye on those poor bastards, we’ll run back and make a plan.” The Captain was already edging back down the slope. “Signal if anything changes.”

  The two veterans moved stealthily back to where they had left the troop, quietly discussing their options. On approach, the Captain made the signal for ‘rally on me’ and his gang of killers materialized. They gathered around him quickly, awaiting orders.

  “Ok rangers, we’ve got a plan. First, Casper, get a couple of your cocktails mixed up, we’re gonna have a barbeque!”

  ****

  The old beggar took another swig from the grimy bottle as he stumbled toward the makeshift door. He swayed and wheezed as he walked, coughing like an old man who had forgotten his mask one too many times.

  “Ho, you young bucks know where an old man might fine a bite to eat?” He slurred at the disheveled guards who had stared, gape-jawed, at his approach. They were clearly not used to company.

  The fat one with the black teeth launched a stringy glob of spittle at his feet and snarled, “get the fuck out of here geezer, before we take a bite out of you. You look like you’ve lived too long, maybe you should find a nice warm place to crawl off and die.”

  “Your place looks warm, maybe you’ll let me crawl in there for the night?” replied the beggar.

  “You crazy old fuck, if I wadn’t so drunk already I’d scalp you just to drink what’s in that bottle,” said the skinny one, sneering.

  “Thassa pity, I wus gonna offer you some, but then you got rude. If you gotta liddle drunker you might not feel it when I cut your throats.” replied the beggar.

  The guards jumped up in unison, wavering with intoxication but dutifully drawing their wicked blades.

  “Turn around and head back to where you came from grandpa, or I might take that scalp after all.” muttered the skinny one dangerously. He was stuttering with rage.

  He turned to look to his hefty comrade for support. It took him several seconds to realize that the blood pouring from the gash in his friend’s neck meant that he wouldn’t be getting any backup. His gaze shifted back to the beggar, eyes bulging with terror. The frail old man who had interrupted his lazy guard duty was aiming a large pistol at his face. He barely had time to squeak before the thick blade of a bowie knife ripped through his windpipe. He slowly dropped to his knees, blood sheeting down over his body, darkness closing in.

  The Captain ripped off the old blanket and carefully wrapped his whiskey bottle in it. He looked up at the two blood covered youngsters. “Nicely done, your timing is getting better every day!”

  “And you played the drunken old fool better than ever,” said his wife as she walked around the corner with the rest of the company.

  “I’ve had plenty of practice!” McLelland grinned.

  With a sickening thud, the body of the third guard fell limply between the two still gurgling corpses. Stone landed gracefully a few feet away. At a nod from the Captain he ducked quietly through in the low doorway.

  “Right, I want Jennings back up at the top of the drift for overwatch, Mol you spot for him. Blue, head around back in case we missed any exits.” The Captain delivered his orders with natural authority.

  He turned to his two biggest rangers, a pair of hulking, corn-fed count
ry boys named Grumps and Mason. “You boys are the muscle. Stay here by the door with Deb. Get some zip ties ready, we’re taking prisoners if we can: I want intel.”

  Stone suddenly emerged from the dark entryway. “Cap’n Mac, you better come take a look.” He said quietly.

  “Casper, Pirate, Legs, you’re with me,” said the Captain, drawing his pistol and stooping to enter the smoky darkness.

  They stepped down through the former window onto a metal catwalk. The platform was bolted to the wall fifteen feet above the floor of the warehouse. Eyes stinging in the dank smoke, they crouched for a moment to get their bearings. The dim light filtering in through the dirty windows above them lit the mayhem below. The warehouse floor was littered with filthy pallets, stained mattresses, soot stained oil drums, and garbage. The putrid stench of rotting meat and unwashed bodies mixed nauseatingly with the smoke. There was a palpable bouquet of corruption in the air. The Captain quickly counted the beds. They were crouched above the squalid living quarters of at least two hundred men, thankfully absent at the moment. Stone pointed at an orange glow at the far end of the building, making the signal for ‘enemy spotted, strength unknown’. Through the haze, the Captain could just make out an occasional flicker of flame. Bawdy voices echoed across the intervening space, punctuated with hearty laughter.

  The catwalk ran along all four sides of the cavernous space, with two adjoining walkways crossing in the middle. He motioned to his team to ‘follow silently’ and set off along the closest wall, heading toward the glow.

  As they moved closer, it became clear that the smoke and the light were emanating from an oil drum. A cooking fire was blazing inside; a glistening haunch of meat sizzling and popping above it on a spit. A ragged figure standing nearby took a long swig from a bottle and threw several chunks of wood into the barrel. He poked the meat with a long knife.

  “A couple more minutes and we can eat,” his voice drifted up to them. “We’d better get our fill before the rest of the boys get back. If the raid went sour they’re gonna be hungry.”