My head hurts. My body feels stiff and sore. I hear the woman knocking about in the depths of the warehouse, items clattering here and there as she moves through the aisles. I struggle to sit up, but my muscles protest.
“Well, good mornin’, Sunshine!” The woman emerges from the storage area, her arms laden with brown boxes. “How ya feelin’?”
I can only respond by placing my hand on my forehead, squinting my eyes against the brightness. She chuckles, making her way toward the stove. She pulls down a mug, pours steaming water from the kettle and scoops something from a small green tin into the mixture.
“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”
The hot liquid tastes bitter, but, I have to admit, it calms my stomach almost immediately. “What is this?” I manage.
“Tea. Earl Grey, actually. I sometimes think I have the only stash of it left in the whole world. Funny, that. But drink it on up. It’s good for what ails you.”
I pull myself up to sitting, curling my legs underneath me and wrapping the blanket over my lap. “And what ails me?” I ask. My throat feels sore, as if I’d been screaming. She does not answer right away but pours herself her own cup, before taking a seat on the chair across from me.
“Did you dream?” she asks. She sits forward, resting her elbows on her knees, folding her fingers together.
“I don’t think so. I don’t remember anything.”
“That’s good,” she says. “That’s a good thing. Means you’re coming back to us.”
I drink my tea, warmed enough now for me to take a larger swallow. The heat feels good, centering. “I… Have you seen this before?” I ask.
“Yup. I don’t understand the hows or the whys, but I seen it. What’s your name?”
“Ash.”
“I’m Dottie.”
“Can you help me, Dottie?”
“I reckon I can.”
“What’s happened to me?”
“Well,” she rubs her hand across her cheek as she looks me over, “near as I can tell, you’d gone over. You’d turned somehow. But not all the way.”
“How could that be?”
“Don’t rightly know, Ash. You ain’t been bit. That’s for sure.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yup. Only one thing to do if you’d been bit.”
“What’s that?” I ask absently.
“Put a bullet in you.”
A sharp pain doubles me over. My arms clutch around my torso instinctively. “My stomach…”
“Yeah. You’ll most likely have a sour stomach for a few days. Best to stay on easy foods for now until you get your strength back. I mean, your regular strength, that is.”
“My regular strength?”
“Oh yes. You’re stronger right now, most likely. Coming back is the hardest part.”
I finish the rest of my tea, setting the cup down on the table. “How do you know all this?”
She shrugs. “A woman came through some time ago. Had a boy with her. He wasn’t right. She helped bring him back. Like I said, I don’t quite know the hows and the whys. But I’ll keep you fed. Give you a place to sleep until you get your feet back under you.”
“Thank you. Really, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I pick up the pillow and tuck it behind me, enough that I have something on which to rest my head. “What happened… to the boy?”
“Oh, he got through it in the end. He was worse off than you, truth be told. I’d never seen anything like it. Saw them coming a mile away. I nearly took them down. My aim’s got pretty good, you know.”
“I believe you.” I gently touch the binding around my arm.
“But she had him in some kind of hold. Hollered up at me not to shoot ‘im. That she had it under control, all that kind of thing. If she hadn’t been carrying on so, I would have taken both of them down.
“But that kid… Once we got him inside, we got him fed. He ate like he’d never seen a meal before. Just like you did. Then he slept for nearly fourteen hours. The woman said she sprung him from some kind of facility. I don’t know. The idea that they’re doing experiments like that makes me glad I don’t go out much. You know anything about that? Experiments?”
“Experiments?” I pause, glancing up at her eyes. “No, I don’t.”
“Hm.” She stood, brushing her hands across the front of her jeans. “Well, I reckon you’ll need some supplies. Weapons and the like.”
I realize with a sudden pang my backpack and crossbow are gone. I couldn’t even retrace my steps to find them if I wanted to. I don’t even know how far I’ve traveled or how many days I’d been out of it. Damn. That was a really good crossbow.
“I’ve got more guns in here than Fort Knox,” she says, gesturing toward the shadows of the warehouse. “You’re welcome to what you can use.”
“What’s Fort Knox?” I ask.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it. Once you get your feet under you, you’re welcome to have a look around. See what you can use.”
“No guns,” I say as I stretch out my arms.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t use guns.”
“Huh. You don’t use guns? Why not?”
“They make too much noise. Ends up drawing more of them. It’s not worth it, really.”
“Well yeah. There’s that, I suppose. Suit yourself. There’s plenty of everything back there. I’m going to make my rounds. There’s bread and cheese in the pantry there. Help yourself to anything you might find. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
She disappears into the shadows, the sound of her footsteps on the metal staircase echoes back to me. I am alone, for the first time in… I don’t know how long.
I swing my legs around, placing my feet on the floor. Testing my balance, I stand, steadying my hand against the arm of the couch. So far so good.
Dottie has managed to create the illusion of coziness within the vast space. She had positioned the chairs and couch in a small square with the stove and cabinets against the nearest wall. I make my way toward the pantry area, a collection of shelves laden with various canned foods, bags of oats, and some boxes of something called Malt o’ Meal.
I find a peel-top can of fish drenched in some kind of sauce. I eat it with my fingers. It’s not much, but the food calms my stomach, and it tastes good. After wiping down my face and hands, I pick up one of the many flashlights set in a row on the shelf.
I wander down the aisle, swinging the light up and down the shelves. The silence envelopes me the deeper I get into the warehouse, with the dim light as my only companion. A feeling of vertigo taunts my balance. Shelves soaring overhead, the aisles nothing more than darkened hallways plunging into the distance.
Each shelf contains huge cardboard boxes, each nearly the size of a small car, wrapped in a clear plastic cellophane. Some of these had been sliced open, the contents picked through, divided up. I could see where she gathered the supplies she needed from the available fare. Food, clothing, furniture, all stored neatly here in this vast concrete storehouse.
Aisle after aisle I roam. The place feels like a mausoleum, a remnant of a forgotten world. Now and then, I examine the items displayed within the boxes. Some of it makes sense: salt and pepper shakers, paper towels, and so on. Other things, not so much. Curling irons, scented pine cones, something called bumpo seats… By the time I make my way back to the living area, Dottie had returned, polishing her weapons at the table.
“Help yourself to anything you find useful,” she said. “There’s plenty there. I imagine this place will still be full of useless stuff long after all of us are gone.”
“How did you find this place?” I take a seat on the couch, the blanket still draped over the corner.
She chuckles, placing her gun to the side, crossing her hands in front of her. “It’s a funny story, that,” she says. “You sure you want to hear it?”
I pull the blanket over my legs. “I’ve got no
where to be.”
“The truth is, I never left,” she says.
“What?”
“Yeah. I was the Operations Manager here for sixteen years before the shit hit the fan. I don’t know, I hardly ever went home. Didn’t have a family or anything, so I threw everything I had into my job. I thought at the time that’s what I was supposed to do.”
“You didn’t have a boyfriend?”
She shakes her head with a small chuckle. “Never was much of the boyfriend type.”
“Or… a girlfriend?” I venture.
Her smile widens for a moment, gazing wistfully out the open entrance. “Maybe more my type, but I was too old by the time that became socially acceptable.”
All of a sudden, a wave of fatigue washes over. She must see it because she stands up and gathers her weapons. “You get some rest now,” she says. “It’s going to be another day or two before you feel quite yourself.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I’d better.”
She carries away her stash, leaving me alone in the living area. I pull the blanket around my shoulders, lying back on the arm of the couch, positioned so I can see to the outside through the doorway. Sleep falls on me quickly and there is only darkness.
A new pile of clothing and supplies greets me when I wake. It feels like morning. Did I sleep through the night, I wonder? Dottie is nowhere to be seen in the immediate area. A small handwritten note sits on top of the folded clothes.
Ash,
Gone out. I left some coffee in the machine. All you have to do is push the button and it will brew in a minute. Also, help yourself to whatever food you find.
-D
I do so, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders to stave off the morning chill. After setting the coffee to brew, I poke around in the pantry. This time I manage to find a sleeve of crackers to go along with another tin of fish. And then another.
Next, I locate a bowl of apples tucked behind the boxes. I eat three of them. Followed by a box of something called “star crunch.”
Dottie finds me about an hour later. Blood covers her arms up to her elbows and she carries a brace of hares in each hand. I sit on the floor, peering up at her, my back leaning against the doors of the cabinets eating the last morsel out of a bag of spiced jerky.
“Well, looks like you got your appetite back,” she says dryly, placing the rabbits down on the countertop.
I glance around myself, noticing for the first time the mess of package wrappers and empty boxes surrounding me. “Sorry…” I mutter.
“Don’t be. It’s a good sign actually. Means you’ve turned the corner.”
“Turned the corner?” I take her extended hand and pull up, onto my feet.
“You’re on the path to recovery, I’d say.” She pulls a Bowie knife from her belt. “Now help me skin these rabbits and we’ll have another good meal this afternoon.”
A few hours pass and we have a pot of stew boiling cheerfully on the stove. The lights directly above us flicker in three slow strobes.
“Dammit!” she exclaims, reaching out and turning down the stove. “Stay here and watch the soup. We got company.”
“The hell I will,” I say, tossing aside the blanket and following behind her. We scurry up the staircase, through the door, and onto the roof.
“See? There.” She points off into the wooded distance. “They’ve triggered the periphery.”
“Is it zombies? How many?”
“Not zombies. Worse.”
“What could be worse than zombies?” I ask.
She chambers the gun. “Men.”
The first time I had seen her, she had stood straight up with both feet planted firmly beneath her, picking off the zombies one by one, making no effort to hide her presence. This time, she quickly dropped, hiding behind the short wall surrounding the roof. I follow her lead, keeping my head low but still able to see just over the edge.
“What are you doing to do?” I whisper.
“That depends on what they do? Just sit tight and don’t make any noise.”
Five men emerge from the forest’s edge. They appear a rough sort, leathery skin and steely eyes, hardened by living in the elements. They pace the edge of the building, keeping their distance and eyeing the multiple entrances. Dottie does not fire, but she keeps her eye on the scope. Every few seconds, she lifts her eyes, looking them over.
The idea suddenly frightened me that she might shoot them. Her shotgun had a makeshift silencer on the barrel, but still I didn’t trust the discharge of the weapon not to draw the zombies.
But she never shoots. She just waits, watching as the men below circle around the building, three going one way and two headed toward the other.
“What do we do?” I whisper.
“Shh!” She pulls back down to the base of the wall, turning towards me. “They’re looking to see if the building is occupied.”
“Well? Is it?”
She slowly grins, a mischievous twinkle forming in her eyes. “They’re about to find out.”
Sixteen
The men disappear from view, stepping closer to building. I had not gotten a good look at the front of the building when I had arrived. I had entered from the truck entrance on the side, so I have no idea what or where they are approaching.
Dottie waits, focused and listening. I stay still, waiting, watching for her next action. The men have vanished beneath the wall. Seconds go by. I don’t know what we are waiting for.
Someone screams.
Dottie chuckles, her shoulders trembling.
“What did you do?” I ask with some skepticism.
“Shh. Wait for it.”
The men, all five of them, run out of the building not looking back. They keep running for as long as we can see them, vanishing into the overgrown forests.
Dottie’s amusement creeps out from the corners of her eyes, her mirth unbridled.
“Dottie,” I press. “What did you do?”
She hops to her feet, extending a hand to help me up. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
This time, we take the stairs down to a lower level. Where the other floor is comprised of organized rows, this one appeared as a jumble of machinery. A metal conveyor snakes through the various contraptions, most of which have lain dormant for some time based on the layer of dust covering them.
Dottie leads me through this space along the side of the room. Wide yellow arrows mark the places to safely walk, surrounded by red stripes with the word “danger” emblazoned at the edges.
“This place always made such a racket when we were still in production,” Dottie says. “But we kept the record for least number of incidents in the tri-county area.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I reply.
“Eh, don’t worry about it,” she chuckles. “It’s not worth explaining.”
We turn a corner, heading down a long hallway and into a room furnished with a desk and small, padded chairs lining the facing wall. Glass double doors and a panel of windows flood the room with sunlight.
“This here’s the only entrance to this part of the building,” she says.
“What about the other way?” I ask. “The way you brought me in?”
“That has to be run from the inside. If it’s closed up, it looks just like the rest of the cargo bay doors. No one in or out unless someone is there to work the lift, and that someone is me.”
“I see.” I follow her around the edge of the tiny office. She reaches underneath the desk, triggering something with a faint click.
“I have to reset it every time,” she says. “That’s the only downside. It takes about half the day, but it’s worth it for the security. Come on.”
We make our way back into the machine room. The dim light illuminated the room from the base of the walls, casting otherworldly shadows across the contraptions.
Dottie lifts something bulky from the end of the conveyor belt, wrapping her arms around it and heaving it up onto the surface. Now I see it is a mannequin bod
y, a legless thing with arms jutting at an awkward angle, its bald head and painted eyes staring at nothing.
“Do you need a hand with anything?” I ask.
“Nah. I’ve done this enough times, I’ve got the routine down to a science.”
“What exactly is all this?”
She replaces the mannequin at the far end, facing the entrance. “Now where did I put it last time?” Rummaging in the space underneath, she pulls out a roll of red plastic tape. “Ah, here we go.”
“What’s that for?” I ask.
“I tie it along here. When the belt goes, it kicks up a wind. The red blows around and makes it look like a fire.”
“A fire…” I try to picture what she describes.
“A real fire is too risky of course, but with the lights and the mannequins, it’s usually enough to scare people off.” She proceeds into tying strips of the red plastic to the corners and edges of the conveyor belt and along the edges of the rollers. I picture it from the perspective of the men, most likely still running for their lives in the middle of the wilds.
“What made me think of it,” she continues, “there was an accident here, before my time of course. But this young man, full of vinegar, thought he could get away with pulling a prank. Sorry for him it was the last thing he ever did.”
“What happened?”
“Dumb little shit thought he could come down the belt on his knees like this and scare his co-workers. Got his pants caught in the gears, here.” She gestures to the machinery underneath. “Then, this part here malfunctioned and the sparks caught fire. He never had a chance.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah. He was gone before they could even pull the emergency stop. They barely scraped enough of him together to have something to bury.”
I shiver at the description, falling silent as she continues, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone as she works her way around the room.
“That’s one reason they hired me up. I was always that one who did things by the book. Said I could clean this place up, get the safety back up to standard. And I did too. Highest safety rating in the tri-county area.”
“Yeah,” I reply quietly.
The Rising Ash Saga | Book 2 | Falling Embers Page 11