The Rising Ash Saga | Book 2 | Falling Embers

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The Rising Ash Saga | Book 2 | Falling Embers Page 1

by Westerman, R. G.




  Falling Embers

  R.G. Westerman

  Copyright © 2021 by Little Monster Press

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9981850-6-4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, are products of the author's imagination or used on a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.

  Dedicated

  to

  Wayne Richardson

  Prologue

  I never thought I had much in common with the undead. Turns out I was wrong.

  The fire consumes the building in front of me. Flames leap into the night sky, illuminating the valley before me teeming with monsters, drawn like moths to a candle.

  All they want is to consume, without feeling or consequence. There are hundreds of them, if not thousands.

  Undead, zombies, all shuffling forward, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, but seeking everything. That deep, seething drive, burning hot until snuffed out by the fires.

  Even in their final moments, I feel their need calling to me, beckoning to walk among them as if my presence comforts them, as if my inherent humanity calls to what is left of theirs, just as their monstrous nature calls to mine.

  But I only have eyes for the building in the distance, the funeral pier in the middle of a sea of undead.

  She is in there. Dr. Donovan. Margaret. The woman I once called Mother. She is human. Just a normal, regular human, unlike them.

  Unlike me.

  The good doctor thinks of herself as the savior of this world, but she is mistaken. Standing over this carnage, I cannot help but compare it to the world I left behind. Back, beyond the mountains at the water’s edge. It feels like a lifetime ago, but it has only been days since I’ve left SeaHaven.

  How much I wanted to be there again, surrounded by laughter, warmth, friends. But it is too late for that now. I have already resigned myself to the idea that I will not be returning in this lifetime.

  The flames leap into the sky, and erupting flurries of sparks drift to the ground around me. The fire calls to me, beckoning to the inevitable end. I take a step forward, walking alongside them, joining the death march of the undead.

  One

  I don’t remember when the headaches first start. Sometime after our arrival at SeaHaven, when the caravan came and got us, like the cavalry.

  We had been hiking for a day and a half. Eva tended to the children, most of whom had marched along brave and steady, handling the forest terrain as well as any of us. Some of the younger ones had been carried, sleeping on shoulders when they couldn’t keep up.

  The vehicles park along the center of the vacant, two-lane road, three cars and a couple of vans. The exhaustion in my body creeps up on me, threatening to collapse my legs out from under me. All I can see is the backseat of the car and the reprieve offered.

  A woman exits the driver’s side, greeting Simeon with an embrace. She has the same dark brown skin as him, the same warm, kind smile. They kiss briefly, but I see the relief on both of their faces at seeing the other.

  Everyone divides up into the available vehicles. I pile into the back seat between Thorn and Marcus. Rose climbs in by the window. I close my eyes, resting my head against the seat.

  We drive for hours. The thrum of the car’s movement lulls me into half-sleep, the fatigue winning out. Even then, I sense the warmth of the others next to me, the movement forward into the unknown. The sun crests the horizon, leaving in its wake a brilliant orange stripe painted across the green sea of the treetops.

  When I open my eyes, I find the sun well into the sky and my head resting on Thorn’s steady shoulder. He smiles down at me, his eyes sleepy. I smile back, but only a little, a thin ache blooming at the base of my neck.

  This close to him, I notice his clothes hold the faint scent of burnt leaves. Marcus sleeps with his tiny head resting against my forearm, his childlike breath steady against my arm. Rose sits next to me on the other side, her head leaning against the side of the window. She does not sleep but just stares at the passing countryside, her eyes glazed with fatigue.

  Bright orange sunlight tinges the edges of the trees, giving everything an otherworldly glow. As we descend from the mountains, buildings and houses appear here and there. Sidewalks and faded billboards pass us by.

  I start to see people, apparently going about their morning, walking along the sidewalks with ease, greeting each other with smiles. This must be what people look like when they live without fear, I muse to myself.

  Simeon stirs from dozing in the passenger seat. He stretches and yawns, reaching over and patting Clarice on the leg.

  “Good morning,” he murmurs in his warm island accent.

  “Good morning, my love,” she replies with a smile.

  “I see we’re nearly there.”

  “We are getting close, now. Maybe another half an hour at the most.”

  I sit up, taking in the atmosphere. The car has slowed down, and I’m able to take in more detail. The first thing I notice is the strange clarity in my head. The further away we get from the mountains, the less I feel of… them. Threads of their connection break off, releasing their hold from my mind.

  I hadn’t realized how strongly I’d been bound to them until now. All I had ever known, voices… No, not voices, so much as a pull, a weakening connection receding into the distance.

  I realize with a small dawning, for the first time, I feel free. I guess that’s what it’s called. At least, I know I’ve never felt this way before.

  The atmosphere in the car feels so quiet and peaceful. Part of me wishes I could stay in this tiny bubble of safety forever. The prospect of the new life ahead is just as frightening as what lies behind us in some ways. I briefly consider asking where we are going, but Simeon and Clarice are speaking quietly to each other and I don’t want to interrupt.

  The caravan slows, pulling into a large, empty parking lot, edged right up against the large swath of sand leading to the ocean’s edge. Against the far corner, a number of tables and booths create a small marketplace.

  A few people mill about, too far to acknowledge us. I noticed some of them glance our way, shielding their eyes to get a glimpse.

  “We are here,” Simeon says with aplomb. “Journey’s end.”

  One at a time, we climb out of the car. The rest of the caravan pulls in behind us, everyone parking and filtering out of their vehicles. The younger children blink away their sleep; everyone stretches stiff limbs, leaning and reaching to get the kinks out from the long journey.

  I cannot take my eyes away from the never-ending expanse of blue, beyond the swell of sand. The waves gently lap against the shore, rippling and dancing.

  “What is that?” I mutter.

  “That is the ocean,” Simeon says in his rich Jamaican accent, as he stretches his arms overhead. His deep brown eyes sparkle with excitement at the sight of the water. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Are you smiling?” Thorn says out of the blue, stepping towards me. His eyes catch the angle of the sun, illuminating the green depths of his gaze.

  “I suppose I am,” I reply. I hadn’t realized it.

  “That’s something new,” he says. “You should try it more often. It looks good on you.” He steps away with a half-smirk.

  I realize we have plenty of time to explore, and my empty stomach demands my attention. The aroma entices me from the marketplace, and I decide to make my way in that direction.

  Many of the people greet Clarice and Simeon, old friends returning from the journey. Everyone is relaxed and smiling, shaking hands, hugging, and laughing. So d
ifferent, even from Eden’s farm and the compound.

  This community manifested from a different kind of world than the one in which I grew up. No zombies, no monsters, no tricks, no games.

  The scent of roasted meat overtakes my senses. I can’t recall the last time I’ve properly eaten. Some of the other members of the caravan make their way towards one of the booths, where the sound of sizzling meat fills the air. My mouth waters at the sight of it.

  An old man with a cheery face and a sizable stomach moved two large spatulas around a large, flat surface, a slab of metal heated by the controlled fire underneath. He dishes out portions of shaved meat, potatoes, and onions, served on pieces of flatbread. The man fills each with a spoonful of the mixture, handing them out one at a time to the gathering persons.

  I receive mine and eat it so fast I nearly miss the flavors. I relish each bite, another meal for which I did not have to hunt, fight, or steal. To my surprise, Rose hands me a second one just as I finish the last bite of the first. I lick the juices off my fingers and dig in.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I wonder what this meat is.”

  “It’s so good,” Rose says. “Who cares?”

  “Gather around, everyone!” Clarice calls out. She and Simeon stand next to a large fire pit close to the water’s edge. Everyone from the caravan makes their way towards them. I, at least, felt glad to have some direction. Glancing around, it is easy to see who is new by the wide eyes and lost expressions. I’m sure mine is no different.

  We make our way to the circle of weather-worn stumps which double as seats, circling the dry logs in the center. I sit down on the sand between Thorn and Rose, then Alma and Marcus.

  “Welcome everyone,” Clarice’s voice rings out over the upturned faces. “Welcome to SeaHaven. Let me be the first to introduce all of you to your new home. I’m sure you are all ready to relax and settle in. Has everyone had something to eat?”

  A murmur of affirmations and satisfaction filters over the crowd in response, leading to a small applause. The cook, standing at the edge of the gathering, gives a small wave of acknowledgment along with a cheery blush.

  “Good, good,” she says with a smile. “Everyone here comes from somewhere else, and we are all survivors. SeaHaven was formed as a community where we can do more than survive. Here, we can live and thrive, all seeking to take care of one another, and welcoming those who come to us from over the mountains.

  “Here you have a chance to find your own way. None of you are indebted to us, but if you choose to stay, you will have the chance to be part of something greater. Here we are more than just a collection of persons. Here we are part of a whole.”

  As she speaks, I let her words wash over me. I cannot take my eyes away from the water just meters away. The sheer vastness of it overwhelms me.

  My fingertips idle through the loose sand beneath me. Clarice continues, explaining the community meal times and options on where to take shelter. Some of the families could take to the houses further inland.

  She finishes her words, leading a final welcoming applause to all of us new to the community. People greet each other with casual ease.

  “What do you think?” A woman approaches from nearby. I had seen her in the marketplace earlier in one of the booths. It is hard to know how old she is, but not much older than me. Her blonde hair and tan skin make me wonder how long she has lived here by the beach.

  “What?” I reply.

  She laughs lightly. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I forget what it’s like. It always takes a little bit of time to get used to it. I’m sure.”

  “Get used to what?”

  “Oh, all this.” She gestures around. “Safety. Food. A number of people who care about each other.”

  “Yes.” I turn my gaze to the water’s edge, lapping in gentle waves against the smooth sand. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I’m Olivia.” She extends her hand to me, which I take with a tentative grasp. “Why don’t I show you around. Come on.”

  I follow her towards the marketplace, back to the booth where I had seen her before. Everywhere I look, I see ornate vases, brightly colored tapestries, blankets, yarns, pottery, leather goods. A variety of scents and colors.

  “Go ahead,” Olivia says. “Touch anything you like.”

  Tentatively, I reach out to the surface of a tapestry, an intricate woven piece. The blankets and other fabrics have a similar texture as well. “Where did all this come from?” I ask.

  “One of the families keeps a little farm of alpacas just outside the city.”

  “Alpacas?”

  “They’re like llamas.”

  “Llamas…”

  She laughs once more, taking me aback just a bit. But when she speaks again, she sounds sincere. “Every time a new caravan arrives, I forget just how different all of this must seem to you compared to over there.”

  “Have you ever been?” I ask. “Over the mountain, I mean.”

  “No. I never have. I’ve always lived here, even before. I’m one of the people who helped create SeaHaven. But go and look around. There’s plenty of time to learn all about that.”

  “Thanks. I think I will. It’s nice to meet you, Olivia.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Ash,” she says.

  I find my way down to the water, spying some of the children, barefooted, laughing, and kicking through the shallows, and I follow suit, sitting down to pull off my boots.

  The water feels cool, pushing and pulling against my ankles. I gaze out towards the horizon, trying to find the edge before it gives way to the sky.

  I cannot. What I see is shades of blue fading from the darkness of the water to pale blue sky, with nothing much more than a slight gradation in hue between them.

  Down the way I spot Marcus standing alone in the sand, his childlike face a stark difference between his stoicism and the laughter coming from the other children. He watches them with a deadpan expression. He has not spoken a single word since we found him in the mountains.

  “How you doing?” I ask as I approach.

  He does not respond, except to glance briefly my way.

  I crouch down next to him. “Did you get something to eat?”

  He nods, barely a glimmer of a smile crossing his eyes. It is clear to me that he is different from when we first met. I can’t pinpoint why. That night in the forest, I had been sure he had been killed, whisked away by the zombies. Even now, the echo of his screams still haunts my memories. He turns to me with his vacant eyes.

  “You’ve been through something. Haven’t you?”

  He nods. I place my hands on his shoulders and peer into his eyes.

  “Listen to me, Marcus. You and me, we’re safe now. Do you understand? I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again.”

  He smiles just slightly, a defiant light gleaming in his eyes.

  “In fact, Marcus, I want you to listen. Do you hear it?”

  He glances around, unsure what he is listening for.

  “They’re gone. I can’t hear them anymore. Can you?”

  A light passes over his expression, as he realizes their absence.

  “The feeling of them is gone. Do you feel it too? We’re free of them now, Marcus. We’re free.”

  He throws his tiny arms around my neck. As I return the embrace, I finally succumb, allowing myself to believe these words as well.

  We’re free.

  We’re finally free.

  Two

  “You want to make this interesting?” Thorn asks, his gaze locked on the empty parking lot before us. We both crouch behind the wall on the roof of the building, crossbows at the ready. We’d been stalking a juvenile boar for the better part of the morning and hoped to take it back to the encampment.

  “What?” I reply, hitching my weapon into position. “You mean stalking a wild pig through a vacant shopping center isn’t interesting enough?”

  He offers me a side grin, s
liding his gaze over to me. “Let’s say I get a hit in first.”

  I suppress my chuckle, but not enough.

  “Hey, it could happen,” he replies.

  “Okay, go on.”

  “So, whichever one of us gets the first hit has to do the other’s chores for a week.”

  “Chores?” I respond. “That’s what you want to bet on?”

  “Why? You got something better?”

  I don’t have a chance to answer. The sound of scuttling hooves echoes off the concrete walls of the buildings all around us.

  We had staked out on the roof of the single-story strip mall, our crossbows balanced on the wall’s edge waiting for a target. Burnt-out lettering left behind nothing more than a large, red ”T” and a lowercase ”e.” Across the street hung fallen wires, and a broken, dead-eyed stoplight rested askew in the middle of the intersection.

  We both snap our attention back to the hunt. Fifty feet away, the brown, snuffling face of the wild pig wanders out around the edge of the building, unaware of our presence. Next to me, I sense Thorn tensing his grip around the crossbow, readying his aim.

  “Not yet,” I whisper, but he makes no sign that he hears me.

  Seconds later, the bolt races from the flight groove. The pig squeals, a sharp pitch of fright and fury. I cringe, even though I know there are no zombies for miles which could be drawn by the sound. He scurries out of sight, disappearing behind the buildings.

  “He’s been hit,” I say. I quickly disengage my crossbow, swinging it behind me before leaping to my feet. “Come on. We can track it.”

  Thorn does the same with his crossbow and follows me down the fire escape running along the side of the building to the sidewalk below. We cross the parking lot and I quickly spot the splash of blood against the concrete.

  Following the trail for about three blocks, we locate the poor creature with his foot stuck in a grate between the sidewalk and the street, struggling against the final panic of his life. Thorn’s arrow protrudes from its shoulder.

 

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