World of Ashes

by J. K. Robinson

  Through open countryside, beautiful in the late summer, they saw hundreds of undead people just wandering around in the fields. None of them made much effort to go after the truck, and most looked half rotted already, though looks were deceiving when it came to the infected. The smell of death and fire hadn’t let up, and flies could be seen in droves that blotted out the sun like birds. Shit eating birds. The sun was warming them fast and Ethan switched on the air conditioner, one of the few things that made the combat vehicle bearable on long trips. The seats were uncomfortable “floatation devices” (as if this truck wouldn’t sink like a stone,) and his ass was already numb. Maybe, Ethan mused, he could take the seat out and weld something more comfortable in place, like a medieval torture device, or a lit oven. Anything was better than the standard green cushion.

  A shot pinged off the truck's armor and Allen put a burst into the wood line. The shots stopped and they drove on. There were a dozen abandoned Army checkpoints, some of the former defenders were still meandering about with those pail dead eyes, black goo dripped from every orifice, staining their uniforms as the clothing began rotting off of them faster than their skin. Around a corner, while Allen's turret was turned the other way, Keith swung wide and plowed over a little girl in a tattered flower sundress, a bouquet of dead flowers still clutched in her tiny hands. Ethan looked in the mirror to make sure she didn't get back up again. Though a mercy killing it might have been, it wasn’t any less haunting. Someone’s day at church had ended in a horror worse than any of the biblical plagues.

  The winding route they took made a forty five minute drive last three excruciating hours. The Labodie bottoms came into view slowly, overgrown in thickets of tall grass. (Could there be Velociraptors? No one in Ethan’s generation went in the tall grass without backup. Thank you Jurassic Park II.) Allen made sure not to shoot any infected, no matter how close they were, so as not to draw attention. Besides, even ten thousand rounds of 7.62mm wasn’t going to solve the undead problem. The Middle East was a testament to that now, an irradiated wasteland, victim to the crossfire between India and Pakistan, and Israel and Iran. The undead were destroying the world, and all the living could do was settle old scores and help the zombies race to the finish line. There was some argument to made that mankind had this coming.

  Figuring they were lost, Keith was preparing to turn around and onto a second dirt road when an explosion on the road in front of them made him slam the breaks. A zombie he’d decided to avoid rather than run over had stepped on a land mine and was blown several feet in the air. It landed with a thud, and with no more ceremony than an exhale of air it didn't really need, dragged its legless torso off into the reeds that were growing in the bottom lands like rice patties in Vietnam.

  "They mined it?" Keith's jaw dropped when he spoke into the microphone. "*static*-uck me. We gotta get off this road.”

  "Cut the engine." Ethan took a swig of water. "I have to piss. We’re still out of view, we can find another road in a minute.”

  Keith turned the noisy truck off. They were on a small hill behind some trees, and reasonably well hidden. Aside from the zombie who'd been blown up, there were no other undead around. The silence was deafening, not even the insects made noise. Not the squirrels or birds either. Ethan took his rifle and scanned the area, his thumb ready to flip from semi auto to three round burst. The three round burst for the living, not the undead. The unshakable feeling that he was being watched made his hair stand on end. Could someone know they were there? Absolutely.

  "Allen, stay with the truck. Make sure your turret never stops moving for more than a couple of seconds, I got my throat 'cut' with a red marker during a training mission because I wasn't watching behind me. And unless you see something, don't sit above nametape defilade except to fire either."

  "My ass is asleep." Allen complained, unbuttoning his pants to piss in a bottle.

  "We'll look into a better gunner's seat." Keith promised as he set his backpack on the hood. "Let’s go to the tree line and see what we can see." He pulled a machete out of a sheath. Together the two men walked to the edge of the dust covered forest, grateful that in the Missouri summer they weren’t under the Army’s bullshit sleeves down regulation, the humidity trapped by the ash was becoming a bit much. While the soft mechanical whir of the rotating turret faded into the background, they used their gun sights to read a white sign that had a skull and crossbones stenciled onto it just down the path. Several languages were stenciled in bold black lettering.

  WARNING LAND MINES

  MINAS TERRESTRES DE ADVERTENCIA

  WARNUNG LANDMINEN

  ВНИМАНИЕ МИН

  警告地雷

  مرحاض

  Ethan could still read a little Arabic, and tried his best to translate, just for his own amusement. The Arabic scribbles read "Toilet” rather than a warning about mines. Some genius’s idea of a joke. It was all Ethan could do not to laugh hysterically.

  Keith didn’t get why Ethan was laughing, but had to stifle his own laughter when his friend translated for him. Keith put the binoculars to his eyes and leaned against a tree for stabilization. Ethan provided security and pulled out a camera to film the power plant. It had zoom, and he utilized it. He filmed every landmine on the road before the tall grass obscured them. Most mines hadn’t been hidden at all because the undead were too dumb to avoid them. The mines probably went all the way up to the main parking lot. The entire place had been fortified, and a Sally Port* for trains that stretched half a mile where each car could be inspected by armed Marines was a drastic change to the power plant Ethan had toured with a school group as a child. Construction equipment and workers were finishing the final few concrete sections that would effectively turn the plant into a castle. Rows of Hesco Barriers ringed the modern fortress like moats, a complex maze no infected could ever hope to navigate before being shot. Somewhere there would be snipers and sentries, a miracle they’d not already been spotted.

  "This is insane." Keith said softly. Another mine blew up on the other side of the property. None of the guards bothered to investigate with more than a casual glance. "We could get real close if we wanted."

  "Not much reason to." Ethan shrugged. "It's government run. As far as I'm concerned, so long as we know where they are, and they don’t know where we are, I don’t see a reason to bother them. We're deserters, remember? Who knows who they ultimately answer to.”

  "Yeah." Keith sighed with some disappointment. Then excitedly pointed to the right of them. "No fuckin' way."

  "What?"

  "Zoom in on that Marine in the guard tower. This is some straight-up 'Jericho' shit, man."

  Ethan smiled, knowing his friend had been watching the TV show he’d loaned him when the sleepless nights came. The camera zoomed in and recorded the Marine in the closest tower, his right sleeve pocket had a garrison flag sewn on it, a tradition of the Army, not the Marines. "Dude, that's the Texas state flag." Ethan said, examining the uniform on the maximum zoom capability. Even then the image was barely a centimeter tall on the miniature screen.

  "Maybe they're making everyone wear their state's flag so they know who's command they're under."

  "Possibly, but I'm more inclined to believe Texas is its own nation now." Ethan pointed out a zombie, "Look at that poor motherfucker.” The camera panned down to a zombie trapped knee deep in ash turned to mud, a wire fence around the pit, and a sign that read DO NOT APPROACH. SENTRIES WILL OPEN FIRE WITHOUT WARNING. The Texans were monitoring this zombie’s decay, seeing how long it would take them to rot without killing them first. It was an infected Marine with the suspected Texas flag clearly visible. It was sick, to know they’d let one of their own suffer like this, but it was a prudent action and one they should have copied. “They're watching him to see how long it takes a zombie to get from the point of infection to putrefaction."

  "That's... Just really fucked up, man."

  "We should do the same."

  "What?"


  Ethan shrugged. "Why not?"

  "Think about what the gangs in Bourbon are doing to the infected. We can't cross that line." Keith shook his head. “If you’re gonna do it… Just leave me out of it.”

  "You can do anything you want as long as you word it right on the paperwork." Ethan stepped back, having already turned the camera off before speaking. "I've got everything we need. Let's get home and take care of those fucks in Bourbon.”

  They started walking back to the truck as the train in the sally port pulled forward with a loud series of clangs. The next few cars were cleared to unload their coal, a process that was smooth and efficient, apparently little more time consuming than the original process during peacetime. The Texans were already running a finely tuned machine, and since it was benefiting Ethan’s people and so far the Texans had asked for nothing in return, interrupting them just seemed like poking a badger with a spoon.

  The drive back home was silent and slow. The sky was uncharacteristically clear, a reasonable amount of sunlight lit the roads. They signaled the Japan Checkpoint over the radio and made it through during guard rotation. The crickets, frogs and cicadas were noisy enough to cover engine sounds and penetrate the headphones. The sounds were relaxing, as if the small animals knew this oasis was still safe for the living.

  Officer Rowe was on duty when they got back to the station, the mayor's car was just pulling away. “You'd think he'd want to hear about the mission.” Keith mused to himself. Finding out why the man had left in such a hurry wiped the smile off his face.

  “Seven more girls were found wondering outside of town between here and Bourbon. Three more were infected already, and chasing the others." Rowe made it obvious the power plant and zombies were a close number two on the list of shit on newly elected Mayor Aaron Kenly’s plate.

  “After attacks like this the town will rally behind us. We could invade and wipe them out.” Newton and Reynolds seemed to agree. They’d just finished locking up a group of boys who’d been fighting over a girl. They weren’t in any serious trouble, but they were certainly inebriated and going to spend the night in the drunk tank.

  “Not a chance.” Ethan shook his head. “It’s held by a biker gang. I’d bet dollars to pacos at least half of them are combat veterans. We go assaulting them with two soldiers and a bunch of incensed idiots who are maybe hunters at best, some vets too even… My point is, they might win… And what would that mean for us? For these girls? How many more do they have? We risk giving them more prisoners, equipment, and worst of all an excuse.”

  “Well what’s your brilliant plan?” Rowe quipped.

  "We do what Gunnery Sergeant Carlos Hathcock did to a company North Vietnamese Regulars. Small crew goes in, picks a location on a hill and wipes ‘em out methodically, the spotter providing targets and immediate cover, the sniper keeping them pinned down and too scared to move." Ethan explained.

  "I want this kept quieter than the Blood's Massacre." Reynolds said, sipping coffee. "Twelve more people got infected trying to loot St. Clair, and another five were shot by gangs. The last thing we need is bad press, people won’t respect our authority. The last thing we can afford is a breakdown in the chain of command and organization. The people are very close to simply giving up on any kind of unity if we can’t protect them. We volunteered for this shit-ass job, we’d bettered fucking do it.”

  “We can't stop people from raiding local towns." Keith shook his head. "There simply aren't enough provisions in this town to last the winter. Let us deal with Bourbon tonight, and then we can start organizing official scavenging parties with armed escorts when we get back.”

  “I’ll make up some flyers to recruit from the Deputies. I don’t want to make this mandatory. Not yet.” Reynolds folded his arms, breathing heavily. The humidity wasn’t doing him any favors, though he’d already lost a great deal of weight.

  On their way home Ethan and Keith visited the girls in the hospital. There was apparently no limit to this gang's depravity. A blonde girl in her late twenties had lost an eye, another had miscarried a fetus somewhere down the road and almost bled out. She was forced to cut the umbilical cord with a knife she’d found, no fire for sterilization, and abandon her stillborn infant before her infected sister could chase her down and kill her too. All had been savagely beaten and raped, patches of hair torn or cut away. The first girl they’d met was talking to another, the one who’d lost an eye. The one eyed woman had been homecoming queen once upon a time, startlingly beautiful. She sat in total silence, eye wide and unblinking at a mirror, unable to comprehend why she was made to suffer like this.

  “I’m glad you guys came back.” The first girl said. She’d started talking again, if only to be there for the other victims. Her name was Paula. Like many female rape victims, the women all seemed wary of the two men. “When are you going?” She seemed almost impassive at the idea of Ethan and Keith dealing revenge and death on her behalf. “You’re going to kill them all, right?”

  Ethan was about to talk about spying first, but Keith took Paula’s hand and kissed it gently. “All of them.” He said, his eyes never leaving hers while the other victims watched. They left, and didn’t discuss Keith’s gesture, because it wasn’t a gesture. It was a promise that they would make into a reality. There was no way they could let the gangs controlling the lawless little town remain in control of even one block, one building. How long would it be before they attacked Sullivan if the two men failed? How many more girls would suffer at their hands? It was time to parole them straight to Jesus. They could beg forgiveness there, because they’d get none from these shepherds.

  It was nearly dark when they headed for Bourbon, not a wink of sleep between them. They’d been delayed finding all the right gear for a prolonged sniper attack, some of the Army’s connexes were improperly labeled or not labeled at all. The van crept along the South Service Road with the lights off. Choosing to travel in a nondescript Chrysler Voyager was a calculated risk. It had no armor, but didn’t make the kind of noise a Humvee did. With random junk piled on top they could easily be mistaken for an abandoned vehicle if they needed to hide. If anyone saw them they’d just think the van contained refugees, and in the condition it was in there wouldn’t likely be anything of value to attack them for.

  Ethan parked outside what was left of several houses in a speed trap zone the Bourbon PD had constantly stalked once upon a time. Keith had the idea to put someone’s jack under the van’s front bumper and raise it just enough to where it would appear to be unserviceable, but could still be driven away in a hurry.

  Donning face paint and prepping their gear, the two men worked in silence. Ethan felt it was better they do this deed than someone who didn’t yet know the evil of murder, didn’t have to live with a living man’s blood on his hands. Keith’s motivations were entirely about chivalry and a sense of justice. They crept along the road, staying out of the grass unless they needed to hide. Stray dogs were everywhere, and the cats in the town were breeding like rabbits with fangs. The animals avoided the two men, used to being chased and abused by the bikers. Ethan could smell camp fires and see the flickering of flames from the burned out mayor’s office. The scene was a nightmare from a poorly written 1980's Mad Max-like movie. Bearded men danced around bon fires with booze, guns, motorcycles and what looked like a free basin of cocaine that one could walk up to and take a hearty sniff from. The sickly smell of a nearby meth lab permeated the air, trays of blue colored crystals and stacks of needles and glass pipes littered a row of tables.

  Neither had put on mosquito repellent for fear the smell would give them away, but now they regretted it. There was nothing they could do while the insects buzzed in their ears and ears except maintain their highest level of discipline and hold very, very still. All the bikers had guns, and apparently indiscriminate use of black leather was the local uniform, making some of them hard to see in the flickering light of the fires and scattered street lamps. In a way it reminded Ethan of a demented Village
People concert. If only he could tell them that.

  It was clear who was who in this town as well. Two Hells Angels and about a hundred wannabies milled about while two piggish men hauled a “fresh” girl onto a fine oak dining table from someone’s home, knife marks and blood had replaced the tablecloth and candles. What they were planning to do was so evil it was almost beyond imagination. Tomorrow was too far away, five minutes from now was too far away. The girl was already bound and gagged on the table, the girls bound like livestock would be used and abused by every biker in the square if they didn’t act now. Ethan took aim. This was the first time he’d actually have to kill a living person. Despite all the bravado and air of competence, Ethan’s gut sank and he wrestled with that little voice in his head that replayed what every combat vet and cop who’d had to pull trigger had ever said to him. Once you cross that line, once you take a life in anger, you change. You can act the same and appear fine, but you’ll never forget the eternity long moments between making up your mind to pull the trigger and actually doing it.

  Ethan whispered so only Keith could hear the one thing he could remember that made him feel even slightly better about this. “And shepherds we shall be, for thee my lord for thee. Power hath descended from thy hand so that we may swiftly carry out thy command, and flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be.” Keith joined in the nearly inaudible prayer (of sorts), even though it was just a clever gimmick from a cult-classic movie. In their hearts neither man believed this was what a benevolent deity would want, but then that was an issue they could take up with their creator when the time came. The ACOG sight danced slightly as Ethan controlled his breathing, ate a mosquito on accident, and homed in on the bald man as he tossed his beer aside and tore the girl's dirty, blood stained pants off. They couldn't hear her screams over the cheering and music from crackling, damaged speakers and random gunfire. It was that covering gunfire that helped them do the deed. Keith spotted and Ethan killed. The man about to rape the girl took a 7.62mm hollow point to the back of the head, his body flopped forward on the girl, possibly shielding her from the carnage about to unfold. The crowd stared in disbelief as another round impacted the dead man’s buddy in the lower gut. He would be dead momentarily, but for now he held his entrails in disbelief as if they were tangled rope. The bikers who’d seen the shooting scattered, the others were too messed up to even notice as their friends screamed and died in the ensuing chaos. The M-14 Ethan carried wasn’t silenced, but he’d built up a mound of brush to conceal the muzzle flashes and wasn’t spotted.