As the Ash Fell

by AJ Powers

  “Let me finish!” he snapped back. She sarcastically gestured with her hand to continue. “As I was saying, I had every reason to hate him. And the way he started talking to Watson wasn’t helping matters any. I had to at least be wary of his intentions,” Jeremy’s voice softened a bit: there was a touch of vulnerability within him. “Look, I know that you and I never had a chance. I have come to accept that, and when I saw you with him it was like flaunting my greatest desire in my face, knowing I could never have you. But then, he came to Watson, and tried to buy your freedom…I respected that and could tell he cares for you the same way I do.”

  Kelsey was moved with Clay’s gesture—one he never told her about. To know he cared so deeply for her that he was doing everything in his power to free her and Dakota from Watson’s grasp made her feel warm inside. It also made the sting of Clay’s last words to her all the more painful.

  “If I could go back in time, Kelsey, I would. It saddens me to know the kind of pain and damage I’ve inflicted, inadvertently or not. I would sooner lie in a shallow grave than repeat that mistake.”

  As mad as Kelsey was at Jeremy, she couldn’t help but feel a little flattered with his devotion to her. Though she didn’t want to believe him, she not only heard the sincerity in his voice but saw it in his eyes. He was telling the truth, and she found herself strangely comforted knowing that he had not been involved with the raid.

  Kelsey nodded accepting his apology, but wasn’t ready to forgive him for what he had done. She searched her heart to try and find something that might offer him some form of comfort, but came up empty. She turned and began to walk away stopping after only a few steps. “He’s dead,” she said without turning around.

  “Who is?” Jeremy asked.

  “You asked how the kid was doing. His name was Charlie, and he’s dead.”

  Jeremy stood in silence. The weight of her words hit him like an avalanche. Charlie’s blood was on his hands, and he had to live with that burden the rest of his life.

  Kelsey continued walking away; Jeremy didn’t follow.

  She had stayed out later with Jeremy than she had anticipated. By the time she got home, Dakota was already asleep.

  “My, my Kelsey, you look exhausted,” Hawthorne said as she handed her a cup of tea.

  “It’s been,” she paused and took a breath, “a very long day.” She said through an exhale.

  “Well, I just put her down for bed. She might still be awake if you want to say hello,” Hawthorne said.

  Kelsey smiled. “Thank you, Bev. For everything.”

  “Of course, dear,” she said as she lovingly patted the top of Kelsey’s hand. “You and Dakota are family.”

  Kelsey sat down on the couch and reflected on the past 12 hours, thinking about how much her life had changed in that brief time. Hawthorne had fallen asleep in her chair as she read one of her books; it had become a nightly ritual for the aging woman. Kelsey grabbed a blanket from the couch, draped it over her, and kissed her forehead.

  “Goodnight,” she whispered.

  Kelsey tiptoed into her room and over to the bed. Dakota was fast asleep, but tossed a little as Kelsey lay down next to her on the mattress.

  Dakota sighed.

  Kelsey pulled the little girl into a one-armed hug while gently stroking her hair with the other hand. As she thought back to the pain she saw in Clay’s eyes earlier, she couldn’t help but go to a dark place—to a place where Dakota no longer existed: a life without seeing her beautiful smile every morning or hearing her sweet voice say “I love you, Mama.” The thoughts were crippling.

  Her eyes welled up with tears, and it took everything she had not to burst into a good, hard cry as she decompressed from the emotional blitzkrieg she had endured throughout the day.

  “Hi, Mama,” Dakota whispered.

  Kelsey squeezed her tight. “Hi, baby girl,” she said, barely audible.

  Dakota’s muscles relaxed as she quickly drifted back to sleep. Kelsey would not allow herself to cry, but inside, all she could feel was pain, sorrow, and guilt. If Clay had not heard her cries for help months ago—had he not saved her life—then Charlie might still be alive.

  She tried to convince herself that it was her fault, that she was responsible for Charlie’s death. It helped ease the pain of Clay’s rejection earlier. She didn’t believe it. Kelsey didn’t believe in coincidences or fate. She knew these things were happening for a reason, and it didn’t matter if Clay had saved her on that day or not. Their paths would have crossed at some point, regardless, and she would still be laying right there. Charlie would still be dead. She just hoped that, through it all, Charlie’s death would not be in vain.

  Exhaustion set in and Kelsey’s eyes became heavy. She kissed the back of Dakota’s head. “I love you, Koty-bear,” she whispered as she drifted to sleep.

  The halls were finally quiet after an emotionally taxing evening. A few of the children cried off and on for most of the day. Lona couldn’t even eat dinner. Despite the grief, Clay suspected everyone would get a good night’s sleep. Such turmoil can physically drain even the strongest of men.

  Clay saw a dim light pouring out from beneath Megan’s door. She was likely reading one of her medical books, second-guessing her decisions with Charlie’s injuries. Clay knew she did everything right, but she was her own worst critic.

  Fighting the urge to go to bed, he made his way to the armory and cleaned his guns. In the past few days, he had done quite a bit of shooting, especially with his M4. Realistically, his guns never needed attention as frequently as he gave them, but he found it to be a very cathartic process, giving him some quiet time for his thoughts. Keeping the guns clean and oiled was also the best way to ensure reliability. Replacement parts would be near impossible to find.

  As he fieldstripped the battle rifle with ease, he remembered teaching Charlie how to do just that. The kid was a fast learner, and after just a couple of step-by-step instructions, was able to disassemble and reassemble the rifle nearly as fast as Clay could.

  Clay sprayed a solvent down the barrel and pulled a wire brush tip through with a flex-rod, followed by some more solvent and a few patches. His mind began to drift, and before too long, he was thinking about Kelsey. A mixture of joy and pain shot through his body, spreading like a poison. He did believe that she never told anyone about where they lived. In essence, she was absolved from the crime. However, he couldn’t detach her from Watson. Why hadn’t she told him about Silas before the attack? But the fact was, she had no reason to tell Clay about Silas before. And facts only matter once they matter.

  He tried to push Kelsey out of his head, but he couldn’t. He missed her. He missed the prospect of marrying her, spending the rest of his life protecting her and providing for her. He had looked forward to waking up to her glowing smile each morning. What wonderful days were ahead. Days of a future that no longer existed.

  Even if he could reconcile with Kelsey over enough time, it wouldn’t matter. The family had to move, and in all likelihood, it wouldn’t be anywhere close by. Watson and his men were a threat. And even though Clay’s family was attacked unprovoked, Charlie did kill one of Silas’s men. Clay took a couple out himself. They had denied Watson’s attempt at conquest, and that kind of bad taste wouldn’t just go away. The only option to stay would be to somehow remove both Watson and Silas from the picture. That was an unlikely possibility.

  As Clay dabbed a few drops of oil around the bolt carrier group, he wondered if life would ever be normal again. As normal as “normal” was anyway. Clay loved Charlie like a brother. His death hit harder than perhaps any other loss he had experienced, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it wasn’t just the fact that Charlie was dead. It removed blinders Clay had worn since the family first moved into the building. A naivety that caused Clay to let his guard down. There was no question that the world was a hostile place to live anymore, he never doubted that. For some reason, though, living in that building, more than a
hundred feet up in the air, made him think their home could never be infiltrated. It was their tower of refuge, but as he learned through his toughest lesson yet, mere concrete and steel are unable to hold evil at bay.

  He reassembled the rifle and held it up to his shoulder. He pulled the charging handle back a few times to ensure the bolt carrier group was seated properly and sliding smoothly. Perfect, he thought.

  He put the magazine back in and set it on the workbench. He noticed a blue post-it pad sitting towards the edge of the bench. He saw an assortment of numbers scribbled down in Charlie’s handwriting. Charlie had meticulously kept track of the rounds he had reloaded while Clay was sick in bed during the winter. How tedious it would have been to manually de-prime each case before loading, but such was Charlie’s dedication.

  Clay’s grieving thoughts of Charlie were gradually shifting to ones more positive in nature. In the seven years Charlie was part of the family, he gave them all a lifetime of great memories. And even though his final days alive were among a darker period, he lived a joyful life in a world deprived of such things. Each and every day, he found a reason to get out of bed and did so with a smile on his face. Despite the circumstances around him, Charlie’s outlook on life was something that would have a lasting impact on Clay.

  He retrieved his rifle, turned off the light, and locked up the armory. He wandered down the hall, eventually finding himself in the middle of Charlie’s room. It was dark and chilly, a fitting atmosphere. Clay walked over to a lantern and pressed the power button. The light washed away the darkness of the small room revealing a slice of Charlie’s life frozen in time.

  He stood in front of a bookshelf that was filled edge to edge with various novels that the two had shared over the years. Clay found it funny that a kid who never attended school—other than the occasional candlelit classrooms taught by Megan—could read nearly twice as fast as him. It didn’t matter, though, as Charlie always waited patiently for his turn to read the book and was eager to talk to Clay about each chapter.

  Clay walked over to Charlie’s bed which was little more than a desktop and a stuffed cot mattress. He sat down and immediately noticed an unnatural shape pressing up from beneath the mattress. He leaned to one side as he reached his hand under the mattress and fished around until he had the object in his grasp. It was a book. He pulled it out and saw it was a hardback journal. He opened to the first page.

  Life on the New Frontier

  It was Charlie’s book, the one he had been writing. Clay remembered that Charlie had talked about finishing it and asking Vlad to sell it in his store. Clay wondered what it was about. Charlie had been tightlipped about the story and told Clay he could only read it once it was finished. He didn’t know if Charlie had gotten a chance to finish.

  He turned the page.

  This is a story about a new world. A world that had been explored, conquered, and then lost. A world filled with evil men who wanted to destroy until there was nothing left to destroy. Men who killed just for fun.

  When the few good people left had all but given up hope, a hero emerged from the rubble. A man of honor. The man who would restore order to chaos. This is a story is about a man named Clay.

  Chapter 29

  Hawthorne noticed the shake in her hands as Kelsey struggled to keep a grip on the plate she was washing.

  “You okay, dear?” Hawthorne asked. “You seem a little…antsy.”

  “I’m fine,” Kelsey replied quickly, trying to mask her edge.

  Hawthorne grabbed a broom and started sweeping around the small table; there was an excessive amount of crumbs beneath one particular chair. Despite the mess, it always made her smile because it reminded her of just how cute Dakota was when she ate.

  CLANK! A mug slipped out of Kelsey’s hand and smashed into the steel sink basin. To her surprise, it only chipped slightly around the base, still completely useable. Hawthorne stopped sweeping and looked at her again with a concern-filled expression.

  “I’m okay, Bev,” she replied quickly. After a moment, “I’m just not feeling all that well.”

  Hawthorne came over and rested her hand on Kelsey’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. “You haven’t been yourself since you got home last night. Is it about Clay? Is everything okay between you two?”

  Kelsey forced back the tears and maintained her composure. “You know me too well,” she said as she splashed a soapy plate into a bucket of water sitting in the middle of the sink.

  Hawthorne gave a heartfelt smile, the kind of smile a mother would give. She slid her hand off her shoulder and down to Kelsey’s arm, pulling her close for a half-hug. “I love you, Kelsey, like you were my own daughter. And a mother’s instincts are never wrong—at least when it comes to her children.”

  The kind, loving words evoked a genuine smile from Kelsey, the first since she found out about Charlie. Hawthorne was indeed like a mother to her, the kind of mother she needed years ago—the type of mother that would sooner die for her children, rather than use them for her own gains.

  “I won’t pry any further,” Hawthorne said, sensing Kelsey’s reluctance. “Just remember, when you’re ready to talk, I’m here for you, even if it means pulling me out of bed at three in the morning. Okay?”

  Kelsey nodded, “Thank you,” she paused for a second, debating whether or not she should say it, “Mom.”

  With a smile, Hawthorne kissed Kelsey on the cheek and returned to sweeping.

  As Kelsey finished up the last few dishes, her mind continued to wander. Not about Clay, or even Charlie, but about Dakota. Watson’s ranch was no good for either of them, and she had no idea how she was going to be able to escape. She thought about asking Jeremy, but she was still so angry at him that the thought of asking him for a favor was repulsive. Not to mention she couldn’t trust him, especially with something as dangerous as that.

  She put the last dish back in the cupboard and dried her hands on a towel dangling off the counter. Hawthorne had found her way to her chair and was reading the same book as the night before. She was on the last few pages and would be looking to start a new one by the end of the night.

  “I think I am going to go lay down for a bit. Are you okay keeping an eye on Dakota?” Kelsey asked.

  Hawthorne leaned to the side and looked out the window. Dakota was playing with a couple of children on the porch at the next house over. “No problem, dear. Go get some rest, sounds like you could use some.”

  Though she felt as if she hadn’t slept in days, Kelsey was wide awake. Her mind was racing with the events from the past day, and with a very uncertain future ahead of her, she just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.

  The physical rest was nice, though, and she felt that was as important as emotional rest. About an hour later, she heard the stomping outside the bedroom door. The handle clumsily turned, and in came Dakota.

  “Mama! Come look at what I did!” Dakota shouted with the kind of excitement only a three year old could have.

  Kelsey smiled. “Okay pumpkin,” she said with a raspy voice.

  “I’m not a pumpkin,” she said as she turned and skipped out of the bedroom. “Silly Mama! I’m Dakota.”

  Kelsey made fists and planted them on the mattress, pushing herself out of bed. She made her way into the living room where Hawthorne was hanging up a colorful painting that Dakota had made over at the neighbors. Kelsey had somehow not noticed the vibrant splashes of color that had made their way onto Dakota’s overalls.

  “It’s beautiful, sweetheart! You did that?” Kelsey asked.

  “Yup!” she said and nodded her head emphatically.

  “You are quite the artist. Good job!” Kelsey said and crouched down with arms wide open inviting her daughter for a hug. Dakota joyfully obliged.

  Kelsey decided to take Dakota over to the store for a treat: a token for a job well-done on the masterpiece hanging in the living room. She wanted peanut brittle. Watson had a small crop of peanuts—a glorified garden, really—so the peanut
supply was not all that abundant and that made the brittle quite costly.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a 1959 silver dollar she had found while searching through a bank a year or so back. She held on to it for a rainy day. It wasn’t about to buy her and Dakota’s freedom, but it was good enough to use on something special when the time was right.

  The time was perfect.

  She got nearly 12 ounces of brittle. That was more than enough for the two of them, with plenty extra to share with Hawthorne. They stepped outside of the store, and Dakota was bouncing around, eager to try the sweet treat. Kelsey couldn’t remember the last time she’d had some herself. It used to be one of her favorites, she only ever got it on her birthday when her mother would spend the few extra dollars it would cost to buy at the grocery store.

  Kelsey snapped off a piece and handed it to Dakota. The little girl held it up in front of her eyes, examining every little crystallized imperfection. She took a bite and munched a few times. Her eyes widened, and her face lit up with joy.

  “YUM-MEEEE!” she squealed with delight and started skipping around the dirt path as she took another bite.

  Kelsey’s heart melted with enchantment as she watched her daughter enjoy the candy. Oh, to be a child again! Dakota had certainly been through some rough times, but she was a genuinely happy child despite the lack of luxuries: the constant threat of hunger: and difficulties keeping warm for more than half the year. It was the kind of joy only the innocence of a child could bring.

  Kelsey broke off another piece and handed it to Dakota.

  “Come on, Mama. Let’s go share some with Mimi!”

  Kelsey was overjoyed and wished she could just freeze time and live in the moment forever. Life wasn’t fair, though. In just a few hours, Dakota would be going to bed, and Kelsey would once again be faced with the daunting reality of her life.

  She smiled as she watched her little girl run into the house calling for Hawthorne. This was a moment she really needed: A moment she was glad she could give to her daughter.