Looking Back Through Ash

by Wade Ebeling

  Finally through the maze Daniel backed the truck in close to the garage of a white brick ranch-style home. All of the lawns had devolved back into a diverse concentration of lush grasses, wild flowers, and weeds, so he carefully wedged the truck between the knee-high meadow of his former neighbor’s yard and his wife’s formerly bright-red car. The lee-side of her two-door compact still held remnants of the original color. The rest like Daniel’s truck had been scrubbed clean by the coarse ash and rusted by exposure.

  Daniel was glad to have gotten a chance to drive the truck even for only a couple of miles. A glance at the gas gauge told him that these little jaunts would soon be ending. His truck would then join the ranks of the other slowly decaying heaps already peppering the streets and driveways. He mindlessly holstered the pistol before side-stepping his way to the back of the truck. After gathering the bags from the bed and before locking the cap, he checked for sights and sounds that would warn of having been followed. There were already too many people who knew where they lived and he aimed to not add to that number.

  Confident that no one was around Daniel walked into the garage. Three bikes stood just inside ascending in order from Rebecca’s ‘princess-themed’ bike, past Corinne’s seldom used ‘cruiser’ model, up to the long-standing bike of Daniel. In a lonely childhood Daniel had outfitted the mountain bike with plastic crates. They were twice the size of normal milk crates and they sat atop front and back book racks. Two large saddle bags hanging from the rear framework completed the workhorse of a bike.

  The three bikes sat opposite a tidy workbench in the two-car garage. Where a cramped pathway led to the inside door through ten feet of boxes, bags, and bins all filled with the spoils attained by years of scavenging. He stashed away the strong smelling weed in the wall mounted cabinet, right beside a dozen colorful glass pipes that he had found over the years. Walking back to the garage door Daniel pulled the safety release and slid the bar lock into the track when the door banged closed.

  Greeting him just inside the door was the scent of dehydrating meat, which had a simple marinade of wild dill and parsley brushed on with sunflower oil. The dehydrator box was custom built to fit ten cookie cooling racks inside of it. The racks themselves were brought home decades before by his father from someplace called a home-goods store. The box that Daniel built ended up being quite tall and narrow. It had a line of holes drilled in along the bottom and a solar-powered fan attached on top. The holes and fan once used to keep a pet carrier cool, kept a steady supply of warm, dry air circulating up and out.

  The whole contraption sat against the passive window of the south-facing sliding door that led out into the backyard. To help use the sun’s long-wave radiation to its fullest the outside of the box had been painted black and several pieces of reflective insulation had been framed out around it, creating a semi-sealed air space. The dehydrator worked quite well even on the days where dust filled the sky, diffusing the amount of available light and energy.

  Daniel paused seeing if any other smells could be discerned. His nose was searching for the kind of odors that always accompanied food being cooked. Nothing of the sort could be found wafting through the house.

  Daniel thought, ‘Maybe, just maybe, she will make me a real meal someday.’ Chuckling to himself, he amended the thought, ‘Hell, even stale ramen noodles would be great.’

  He really could not blame Corinne for her lack of culinary knowledge. She had been raised inside the communal areas of the Church and then later the Warehouse. This meant with her mother on the Council, there were plenty of others around to do the manual labor, so she never had to cook for herself, let alone anyone else.

  "Hey, Babe," Daniel called out, directing it straight at the living room couch.

  The plush, brown leather couch, which had originally been found still wrapped in plastic in the break room of an old cell phone store, was hidden from view by the J-shaped, dark-grey kitchen countertop. When Corinne moved into the house twelve years ago she constantly complained about the former, abused countertop. Daniel discovered that the dilapidated home-improvement store still held wide Formica rolls that had survived the fires and lootings. He was sure that in the entire span of the last 6 years he had been the first husband within three counties to redo a kitchen counter for their wife.

  Of course once this task was complete Daniel then had to search empty residences and businesses for suitable furniture. This included the couch and everything else the house lacked or did not meet up with Corinne’s standards. All of the numerous bins that had once littered the house were emptied and their contents put into suitable hiding spots. New gun-metal grey paint coated the walls and dozens of paintings and architectural designs adorned them. Matching bedroom sets were a must, as well as large rugs and runners to cover most of the varnish-lacking hardwood floors. Despite Daniel’s best efforts the green-blue carpet in the living room, cut to size from an office building’s meeting room, rippled in the middle from not having been stretched properly. Corinne made the house a home after much work done by Daniel.

  "Hey…You're back quick," Corinne replied slowly. “How did it go?”

  “It was alright, I guess. Lots of people were there today,” Daniel said, wondering how much he should tell her. “I got a few things that I know we can use. Sorry, but the milk is crazy expensive now. We still have plenty of that powdered stuff though…I don’t think Rebecca even notices the difference anymore.”

  “Did you get anything to eat? I’m getting pretty sick of rice and beans,” Corinne accused, figuring that he had only gone to the Warehouse to buy a bunch of useless crap for himself.

  “Yeah…I got some bread and eggs, a little meat, let’s see…some potato chips for Rebecca…” He knew better than to mention the weed out in the garage. “Listen, I only had a few stipends. You could go back over there after we get paid, you know? Although, it’s probably not the best of ideas after what happened to me today…” Daniel snarled with a slightly raised voice. Some of the anger was creeping its way back in.

  “Why? What happened this time?” Corinne moaned, as if whatever it was going to be was surely of his own doing.

  “Oh, it was nothing much. Just that three guys tried to jump me!” Daniel said, emphasizing the “jump”.

  “Really, what did they try? Did you say something to them?” Corrine asked, without any real interest. Daniel always had some kind of story to tell after going to the Warehouse and he had obviously not been hurt.

  Realizing that Corinne would never truly understand just how close he had come to a life or death situation, and that if he tried to explain it to her she would most likely blame him for not handling it better, Daniel downplayed the encounter. “It was just some drifters outside the fence. No big deal, honestly. The one guy was totally covered in hair.” He laughed at the remembrance, making the lie sound genuine. “You should have seen him, Babe. He looked like a big cat.”

  “Oh, yeah? Pretty hairy, you say? I’m just surprised that you are back so soon. Aren’t you the one that wanted some ‘alone time’?” Corinne asked coyly, setting him up for any future instances that he might dare ask for the same.

  “It was just that I traded those books for some really good stuff right after I got there. I worked over this new vendor pretty good.” Daniel laughed again, this time for real. “Once I got the food, I guess, I just…Well, you know me and crowds,” Daniel scoffed, it came across as defensive. “Where is Rebecca, by the way?” he asked quickly to change the subject, hoping that Corinne had not let their two months from five years old child go outside unsupervised again. He was still upset about the last time she had done this.

  After a long pause, Corinne replied uncertainly, “I think she’s downstairs…” Thus, indicating that the conversation should end here and now.

  Daniel knew not to push his wife further. If he kept questioning her about Rebecca’s whereabouts, it would ruin any chance that he had of enjoying a pleasant conversation later. Trying to stay right with th
e ways and rules of the world, Daniel calmly asked, “Are you hungry? I’m heading down to the basement. Do you need anything?”

  “I’m good. Oh…I guess we could use some water. The pitcher is empty again…” Corinne replied, taking the given way out more than the olive branch. She then returned to flipping pages on whatever romance novel that she was currently reading.

  Corinne had not meant for some of her responses to sound malicious. She had always been good about giving Daniel time to go read or putt around on his projects. It was not her fault that Daniel did not use his prearranged time efficiently. To her it was as if he seemed to dread being on his own.

  Daniel spun on his heel and headed down the stairwell that was right beside the door out to the garage and across from the unused half bath. Moving before Corinne decided that she was hungry too, he switched the biting canvas bags into his right hand allowing blood to flow back into his left, which now had semi-permanent creases laced across the palm.

  In the all-around Corinne was a good mother. When it came to keeping Rebecca in clean clothes, plentiful toys, and appropriate books Corinne was the best. Daniel still loved his wife dearly, despite their recent problems. She knew that his work ethic had extended the job with the Maintenance Department into the current part-time position. It was just that, as tends to happen between spouses who stop communicating on a genuine level, the stress of the shrinking stipend budget had slowly crept into an unspoken distance between them.

  Corinne was a pretty natural blonde of average height, who had soft, rounded facial features highlighted by piercing, ice-blue eyes. Over the past few years she had gotten just a little heavy for a woman of twenty-two. Most of the weight having been gained during her pregnancy with Rebecca, Daniel tending to her every whim and craving and she just did not get enough exercise to lose the troublesome weight. Daniel suspected that a mild case of depression about this had added a little to the distance between them too.

  By any means they were not cold to one another. Daniel and Corinne still loved to talk as long as it was about other people or to plan activities for Rebecca. He struggled with being a stay-at-home dad most of the time and she struggled with the constant belt-tightening. Both of the formerly avid lovers struggled with the lack of privacy that before the birth of Rebecca had been taken for granted. A deep love for their daughter kept any arguments they had quiet and short.

  Daniel descended the stairs with an agility that showed his twenty three years. With broad shoulders and narrow hips, he stood just over six feet two inches tall and found himself weighing-in at over 200 pounds for the first time in his life. Strong cheek bones and a sharp jaw line sat beneath pensive, worry-lined, brown eyes. His muscles were like taut cables stretched over, what some considered to be, a thin skeletal frame. Lack of steady work had let all of his nagging injuries heal. That same lack of work had also given him a slight paunch and sprouted the first onset of grays into otherwise short, brown hair.

  Daniel spotted his daughter sitting in the dark quietly painting impressionist art in her corner, which was now completely dedicated to childhood diversions. Coming up to his waist Rebecca shared her mother’s hair color and father’s narrow frame and deep-set, brown eyes. It was obvious that she was going to get nothing but more beautiful as she aged; a disturbing thought for a father. Daniel couldn't help but smile when he addressed her, "Hi, Bugs! Why don’t you have a light?”

  "Daddy! You home?" Rebecca beamed, her white teeth shining like a beacon. “I was gonna ask Mom…”

  “No problem, sweetie,” Daniel sighed. “And, yep, I'm home. Are you hungry at all?” he asked, knowing that her question was really a statement of true joy for his return.

  "Oh, I thought…” She shot a glance at the now lit lantern hanging from the ceiling. “Can I have a pickle?" Rebecca, completely unfazed by the unnecessary inconvenience, vocalized the first item that she could think of which qualified as food.

  "No way, honey. You need to eat something good…Understand? How about I make us some fried egg sandwiches with…,” Daniel fumbled trying to open the bags, “some chips?" he posed, revealing the tell-tale, oil-stained brown paper bag. He was trying hard to find the line of compromise between nourishing and palatable to a four year-old girl.

  "Okay," Rebecca sighed, the prospect of getting some fresh chips and her general level of hunger being the reasons for the rare, easy resignation. Stubbornness was something else that she shared with her mother.

  "All-righty, give me a minute," Daniel said, the warmth evident in his voice and eyes.

  Twelve years ago his father had done all of the finishing work on the basement himself and his mother decorated it in the rustic style. Being so far underwater on their mortgage, selling was not an option for them in the faltering economy of the time and the family only got one year to enjoy the new basement before the foreclosure came. A year later with the world burning around him at only thirteen years of age, Daniel was the only one who would move back in full-time.

  He set the bag of brick-a-brak down outside the storeroom and walked the food across the 30’x50’ main room of the basement. The floor was covered in cropped, brown carpet that seemed to float beneath the transition with the walls, which were painted a companionable, lively-green paint. The door leading into the storeroom behind him went back alongside the stairs and storage shelves into the space that held the water heater, solar battery bank, utility tub, and furnace further down, off to the right.

  Daniel entered the left of two bedroom doors that were separated along the main partition wall. This bedroom had been repurposed into a pantry and kitchenette. The other bedroom held what little was left of the supplies his father had gathered together before his death. A sideways, walk-through closet linked the two bedrooms with doors on opposite ends.

  The pantry consisted of two, wide, black plastic racks that were lined top-to-bottom with canned and jarred goods. Stacks of old plastic bottles were penned-in against the walls like cords of split wood filled with dried rice, corn, wheat, beans, and oats. Daniel had converted a long, folding, poker table into a work space by cutting off the padded rails and attaching a length of counter top to it. This created a sturdy and ample surface that held all the various stoves and the hand-crank grain grinder, used to make fresh flours and meals. Odds and ends such as garbage bags stuffed with thin grocery bags and boxes filled with printer paper poked out from underneath the table.

  Four slices were cut from one of the newly purchased loaves, two thick and two thin. Daniel then stashed the rest of the loaf inside the bread box; crafted to sustain the preservative-free bread’s freshness longer. Once he removed two eggs from the carton he wiped the rest down with mineral oil, then he put both the eggs and the tenderloin of dog into the garbage can that lined the dug root cellar in the closet. The eggs would keep quite a long while this way, whereas the meat might only last for two or three days before the rancid bits would need to be cut away.

  Lunch was made quickly and eaten slowly. Rebecca thought it hilarious that her Father had chosen to eat with her at the scaled-down child’s table that dominated her little corner of the world. Other than on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, when Rebecca’s days were spent at the community daycare center, this corner was where she spent most of her time.

  Daniel used the poor air quality outside, which was a genuine concern at times, as his excuse for not letting Rebecca explore the world as he had. Sadly, the truth being the greatest danger that young girls and boys faced while growing up was strangers, who were without ample reason to contain their impulses. Rebecca was kept hidden away from the beginning; it was just safer for everyone that way. Temptations were very powerful drivers in this new world and in most cases easier to fulfill. Daniel and Corinne had to accept that they were going to be at higher risk when their child was born, especially when the child turned out to be a girl.

  After putting the new supplies away in the storeroom, Daniel vacuum sealed the finished jerky and carrot crisps, accomplishing thi
s using lung power and a straw. Keeping busy to avoid having to talk to Corrine, he replaced the wicks in all three of the household lanterns and topped off their oil. The new wicks were made by trimming loose cotton coils from a mop head and then soaking the strands in a salt water solution before hanging them to dry. After readying light sources for the oppressive evenings he went outside to draw three buckets of water from the rain barrels for use in the kitchen and bathroom.

  At the end of the upstairs hallway amidst the three bedrooms the main bathroom received two buckets of untreated water and an old phonebook. They used the water to rinse urine down the toilet and the ubiquitous yellow books had extremely thin paper pages that could be ripped out and softened by repeated crumpling as you sat on the crap bucket. The bucket was fashioned from nothing more than a 5-gallon bucket with a plastic grocery bag suspended under its plywood lid and an oval cut into the center with a toilet seat glued in place.

  The body’s solid waste, caught by the plastic bag in the bucket, was removed and tied-off then placed inside a large garbage bag housed within a snap-lidded bin to aid in keeping everything sanitary. Having tried several versions of this system over the years, he knew there was no way to eliminate the stench altogether, but it made disposal of feces easier and less frequent.

  The last bucket of rain water was put through a large filter for use in the kitchen. After the water had finished its purifying, slow dribble, Daniel poured half of the clean water into two cut-down pails, each of which sat inside the separate basins of the stainless steel kitchen sink. The other half was reserved as drinking water in the cool root cellar.

  His father, Allen Moore, had assembled the filter, after the initial chaos that followed the terrorist attacks had died down a bit. Two buckets with lids firmly in place were joined atop one other, a ceramic cartridge and length of clear plastic tubing circumventing them. All Daniel had to do was pour rain water into the top bucket of the filter to create a pressure siphon, which would then pull the water through the cartridge. Once the rain water bucket was emptied, it was wiped out with a bleach-dampened rag and sat on the floor beside the chair where the filter sat. The bottom bucket of the ad-hoc filter had a small plastic spigot that would refill the, now cleaned, rain water bucket. Daniel diligently changed the cartridge out every year, borrowing from the vast supply of them left behind by his father.