From the Ashes

by Chris Kennedy

  “So, you are from Retz? I knew there was a community there, but I didn’t realize they had so much medical equipment.”

  “Yes, ma’am, lots of doctors fled Vienna’s medical university during the Fall and set up hospitals. The hospital in Retz even has a medical faculty. I studied there.”

  “So maybe we should extend our truck route all the way there?”

  “Retz would definitely be willing. We trade with some other communities in the west, but that’s not why I am here. I would like to hire the truck and some of your people to take me to Třebíč to help me haul some cargo from the hospital there.”

  “Třebíč has been abandoned since the Fall,” said the mayor. “The hospital has probably been looted.”

  “I have it on good authority that the storage rooms are still full of medical supplies and drugs.”

  “Good authority?”

  “We sent some scouts there a few weeks ago.”

  “That is pretty close to Moravian lines.”

  “Great Moravia is expanding, as we saw today. I need the chemicals in Třebíč to make an antidote to the Olex they use.”

  Simona looked like she wanted to sit down but didn’t want to appear weak. “You believe this chemical will magically stop the Moravian armies?”

  “No, but I believe it’ll slow them down, maybe cripple them for a time. Jihlava is close to Great Moravia, Retz even more so, and we need every edge we can get. If you help me, you help yourselves.”

  Martin spoke up. “Technically, the truck is mine. I cooperate with the Alliance, but the decision is more mine than anyone else’s.” He favored the mayor with a smile. “Although we have always worked together.”

  “I was one of the founders of this Alliance,” she said. “In Jihlava, I have 300 people, and the Alliance has over 1,000. We try to maintain some small semblance of civilization, but someone is always hungry or sick. You only see the military threat, the same as those asshole Peacekeepers. But I need to see the larger picture. You want to risk our truck—the lifeblood of our community—for some chemicals?”

  “We can be in Třebíč in a little over an hour by truck, depending on the state of the roads,” said Martin. “And ferrying his cargo to Retz would depend on the conditions, but it would only take a few hours, tops.”

  “So, you’ve already agreed to this, Martin?” She sounded angry.

  “No, I haven’t; not yet. But it wouldn’t take much of our time.”

  “Great Moravia has sent scouts as far as Hladov. There may be more of them swimming around in Třebíč.”

  “Yes, it may be dangerous,” Franz said. “There are local gangs and tribes, as well as Moravians. But, if we do it right, we can be in and out really fast. You mentioned people dying—I can, of course, offer my medical services to anyone who is injured. I’ve brought a few packs of antibiotics with me and, in addition to the chemicals I need, the hospital is full of drugs and medicine. Like I said, you’d be helping yourself.”

  “It is true that we could use the medical supplies,” said Martin. “And let’s face it, we risk my truck every day, and this isn’t much greater danger than anything we’ve experienced before.”

  “So, you are for it.”

  Martin frowned at Franz but nodded. “I am. It sounds reasonable.”

  Simona sighed. “Okay, but I want you to be prepared. Take two days to get ready. The doctor can help some of our sick while he waits.” She looked at Franz. “That is your down payment. We can bring some people from Humpolec, too.”

  Franz would have been glad to go immediately but decided he could use the rest. His body could withstand much more than normal people’s—for reasons he wasn’t ready to share—but he had been on the road for days.

  “I’ll get some volunteers to help,” said Martin.

  “Be sure they’re people you trust,” the mayor said.

  Martin directed his frown at her this time. “I can choose my crew, thanks!”

  Simona looked at Franz again. “One more question, Doctor. You said your scout team found the supplies in Třebíč. Why was there a team before, yet you come here alone? You are looking for the truck to haul supplies to help save your home. Why didn’t Retz send more people?”

  This was the one question Franz had hoped no one would ask.

  “Well, this…my expedition isn’t exactly sanctioned by my leaders.” He favored her with a smile. “The leaders in Retz and I had a…disagreement. They didn’t want me to go looking for the truck; it seemed like a long shot to them.”

  She smirked. “So, you are not speaking for your community?”

  “I want to help Retz and you and everyone against Great Moravia. My people in Retz may not realize it now, but I’m sure they’ll change their minds.”

  The mayor nodded, seeming more amused than angry. “Okay. There is a free room here, and we have water so you can have a bath. Then you can come to see our sick in the stadium; that’s our improvised hospital.”

  Franz nodded. “I will do that.”

  Things were looking up.

  * * *

  Franz again sat in the machine gun nest with Irena on their way to Třebíč.

  The past two days had given him a chance to rest. While his enhanced body didn’t need much rest, he certainly welcomed it. And the bath.

  He had helped in the hospital, but the morphine and antibiotics he brought were more valuable then he was. The town had a surgeon who doubled as its butcher and barber. While he wasn’t a “doctor” in the proper sense, he could fix broken bones and stitch open wounds, which was about all that was needed. Franz helped where he could, but the surgeon looked at him as an interloper—he was neither wanted nor needed. That had surprised Franz at first; most doctors were glad to have extra help, especially when they were alone.

  Franz only realized later that the man had power and felt that Franz was a threat to it. The only doctor in town had all sorts of privileges, especially in the post-apocalyptic world.

  He looked around. The other two machine gun nests were manned with two people each. Martin had recruited five men and one woman for the salvage operation. He had also installed the machine gun taken from the Moravians in one of the nests.

  “I heard you were busy with the injured,” Irena said.

  “Yes, but you have a capable surgeon. I don’t think he liked having me on his turf.”

  “Yeah, old Matejs. He is an asshole.” She looked away. “I’d rather be cured by you.”

  Franz suppressed a smile.

  * * *

  Martin had heard that, before the Fall, the American continent had been covered by many supercities. As with many things, Central Europe hadn’t been as modern, although Třebíč had had about 35,000 inhabitants.

  Now it was just another ghost town.

  He’d been in Třebíč once before the Fall, and he remembered seeing the ugly statues of two men on the city square. The statues were still standing.

  Figures, the entire civilization falls, but those bloody things survive.

  Anička found the old hospital building. It wasn’t anything impressive, but if the central storage areas were locked with advanced hardware, the local looters might not have gotten inside.

  “Here we are!” announced Anička, as if driving strange people to destroyed cities on shitty roads was her life-long passion.

  Franz and Irena climbed down from the truck along with other members of Martin’s team. Martin noticed a giant Teledyne sign in front of the hospital.

  “Do you want to go inside, Doc?”

  “Yes.”

  Martin gestured to three of his salvagers. “Luboš, Karel, and Renata will go with you. The rest of us will make sure there are no looters or gangs around the hospital.”

  “I want to go with Franz!” Irena insisted.

  Anička made a sound that was something between a snort and a laugh. Irena glared at her older sister.

  “Okay, if you want to. But be careful!”

  Irena raised he
r SA 58 as if to say she had that instead of luck. The main door was already torn away, so Franz simply led the way inside the hospital building.

  Martin wished they had radios like the assholes from the Peacekeepers had.

  “Do you think Irena will get over her crush on the doc?” his older daughter asked.

  “I hope so.”

  “It’s stupid she would want to be with him!”

  This time it was Martin who made a sound, something between a sigh and a snort. He got the feeling that Irena was the more proactive one, but Anna was also taken with the doctor, and she was complaining mostly because she was jealous.

  Martin didn’t really care. He had warned Franz not to mess with his daughters, and Franz was definitely not the “messing” type. At least he didn’t look like it.

  He took his assault rifle and went to check the other side of the building.

  * * *

  The regular rooms of the hospital were empty and destroyed, except for a few corpses that had obviously been there for several years. There was no electricity, so using the elevators was out of the question. Franz led the team down one of the staircases. They passed the wards dedicated to treating lymphatic filariasis which Třebíč Hospital had been well equipped for, even before Teledyne bought it.

  They arrived at the basement storage area, where a massive door protected whatever was inside.

  “I guess I know why they didn’t force it open,” Karel said.

  “It would have taken explosives to get in,” Franz replied. “But it’s been running on its own power source—separate from the rest of the city—so the generator and batteries may still be working.”

  “How will you find out?” Irena asked.

  Franz slung his shotgun over his shoulder and pulled a key card with a Teledyne logo from his bag. “This should work, I believe.”

  He pressed the card to the sensor on the wall. Just as the scouts had predicted, the thing still worked.

  He heard a click, then a hiss, and then the giant door moved.

  Inside was a very large storage area—full of boxes.

  “Eureka!” he said.

  “What?” asked Irena.

  “Never mind.”

  Inside was everything the Alliance needed—from antibiotics to malaria vaccines. And then he found the huge pile of Ebarin T.

  “Eureka,” he repeated. “Karel, get Martin, and tell him we are going to try to open the outer door on the south side of the hospital to start loading.”

  “Sure thing!”

  Karel ran out. Franz began checking the expiration dates on the containers—everything was well within limits—when Irena said, “That’s strange.”

  Franz looked up briefly as she went back to the corridor.

  “What?”

  “This…cigarette butt.”

  “Cigarettes are rare, but you can still find a pack sometimes; I heard there are a lot in Brno.” He shrugged. “There’s lots of junk here from the Fall,” he added, looking at the containers.

  “Yes, but this butt looks fresh…and…shit. The butt is still warm!”

  Franz ran to the corridor, a loud alarm sounding in his head. The girl had to be mistaken.

  Before he got her, Irena’s body spasmed violently, and she dropped to the floor with something sticking in her neck.

  “Shit shit shit!”

  There were at least eight of them in the corridor, all in Moravian uniforms bearing emblems of the Rastislav Regiment. Some had assault rifles, but most had tranquilizer rifles. Franz remembered them all too well from the times he’d seen Moravian slave raids.

  His shotgun was in his hand, and he fired, hitting the closest enemy in the chest. He swung around to another target, but then he felt a sting in his left shoulder.

  His body filtered some of the sedative out, and he got off another shot, and then another. His remaining team members scrambled to help him, but he was stung by another dart. And then another.

  And then there was only blackness.

  * * *

  Martin first heard the drums as an echo—something in the distance at the edge of his hearing—and thought he was imagining them. That they might not have been there.

  But he wasn’t—they were there.

  “That’s the Moravian army advancing!” someone shouted.

  Karel ran out of the hospital.

  “They are shooting inside!”

  “What?!”

  “It started after I ran out! Some Moravian soldiers are in the hospital!”

  Martin’s face suddenly registered something that went beyond shock, beyond fear. “Irena!”

  “They’ve been overrun!” Karel shouted. “They have assault rifles and tranq guns, and there are at least 20, and—”

  “Incoming!” shouted one of the gunners from the top of the track.

  “We must get Irena!” Anička said with a gasp.

  Martin’s insides were frozen with fear for his daughter. He buried his fear—and his love—for Irena as deeply as he could and grabbed Anička when she started to run for the hospital.

  “We need to leave!”

  “No!” she screamed. “No!”

  “Everyone to the truck!” he said and forced Anička into the passenger seat. “We need to get out of here! We can rescue them later—they won’t kill them with the tranq guns.”

  The horde running through the streets, though, was going to kill them. Hundreds of sword-equipped soldiers from the Sámo Corps—slaves so high on Olex they would follow every order and attack enemies in waves—were charging toward them.

  The army was almost to them when Martin finally turned on the engine. The machine gunners on the roof started firing, and the bursts cut through the mob of fiends. Anička began firing her SA 58. Although a few sporadic shots came at them, most of the attackers only had swords and knives.

  Martin floored the gas.

  The 18 wheels of the massive truck ended the lives of dozens of soldier-slaves—the giant vehicle maimed bodies, crushed bones, and opened torsos like tin cans.

  Martin heard the sounds and felt the truck bumping—over people, not the road—and his expression was grim. He was afraid for Irena, as he knew that if they drugged her, the next time it might be her he ran over, just to put her out of her misery.

  No! That won’t happen.

  They left the town and headed for the main road. Some Moravian officers and elite soldiers—the non-fiends—fired at them, but Martin managed to get away.

  Anna was shaking. “Shit, shit…shit! Dad, what are we going to—”

  “We need to keep going!” he said, cutting her off. “We need to keep going and figure out what to do.”

  * * *

  It took them more than half an hour to get back on the remains of E59. By then, Martin had calmed himself.

  To a point.

  “We need to go back!” Anna insisted.

  “And do what?” Kája asked from the back. “There were hundreds of them! Even with the truck, we—”

  “Irena is there!”

  “I know, but—”

  Martin raised a hand. “I am going back, but I am not forcing anyone else to. We can drop you off somewhere.”

  Karel had been with Martin on several trips. He knew the tone and knew arguing wouldn’t do any good. He tried it nevertheless. “Martin, I understand you, believe me! But that’s suicide. They would’ve taken them to one of their holding camps.”

  “I know. I also know that the nearest one is in Náměšť. Anna and I are going there. But you are right, it’s suicide.”

  “I’m not going with you!”

  “I know.”

  “We can get more people from home,” Anna suggested. “We’ll only lose a few hours.”

  Martin shook his head. As he calmed down, he realized something no one else did. He hated to say it, but he had to. “We can’t go to Jihlava. Not yet, at least.”

  “Why?” asked Anna.

  “Do you remember the mystery books your moth
er loved to read?”

  “Uh huh.” Anna didn’t remember much about her long dead mother, but she had read some of the books after her mother passed.

  “Those books said to be suspicious of coincidences. Do you think the Great Moravian army just happened to be in Třebíč—an abandoned town—at exactly the same time we were? And for that matter, do you think it was just a coincidence that the four scouts from Hladov just happened to arrive in the town when we were unloading our cargo? No. No way.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Karel.

  “Someone sold us out. We can’t go back to Jihlava. But there is someone we can ask for help. They’ve been offering it long enough.”

  “Oh shit,” said Anna.

  * * *

  Franz woke with a start as he usually did. No slow trip to awareness; it was sudden, like turning on the light.

  He still couldn’t move. They were carrying him through a long warehouse. Was he tied? Yes. He tried to move his head. He could see cages. Lots of cages everywhere. Full of people.

  Slave pens.

  In front of him, he saw Irena being carried—probably still unconscious—by two muscular slavers. It took four men, straining, to carry Franz.

  The pens were stacked next to each other, with at least 1,000 people inside. Some appeared to be half-starved. As the Moravians generally had enough food, Franz suspected they withheld it from the slaves as a means of controlling them. People with borderline malnutrition do not—and cannot—fight back.

  He tried to move but the tranq hadn’t worn off completely, and the slavers carrying him were strong.

  “Stop!” he heard someone order. “Put these two in the VIP area.”

  “What the hell for?” asked another.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t give a shit. Colonel’s orders.”

  “Whatever!” the guard said with a growl.

  * * *

  Irena woke up just before the men threw them into a small cell in the basement of the building. “Oh god, what…where…”

  “Moravian slave pens,” Franz said, “although they actually called this the VIP area.”