World of Ashes

by J. K. Robinson

  Lee walked back up to the gaggle of Airmen and Deputies. “So what’s your pilot’s plan for retrieval?”

  “Retrieval?” The crew chief scoffed. “This is retrieval. We’re alive and with friendly locals. I hate to break it to you, but as orders stand we’re your charges until Texas can send a bird for us after the skies clear. You’ll be compensated.”

  “That’s fine.” Lee said.

  “Well, I have a serious question if we’re all done jerking each other off.” Ethan took a deep breath, “How are your pilots getting back here?”

  “We’re given extreme survival training, Sheriff.” Groupe said. “They’ll ditch overland and make their way back along their last bearings to here. If they survive all the Zim’s they’ll be here in a couple weeks.”

  “Zims?”

  “Zombies kinda turn green sometimes, so they look like Invader Zim. So Zims.” One of the Airmen answered.

  “Nice. But I think we should go after them.” Ethan said.

  “And I thought you were against leaving the wire because you’re a FOBBIT.” Lee joked. He obviously wasn’t concerned about the pilots if no one else was.

  Ethan’s glair was icy, but he nodded at the joke shared by anyone who’d served in Operations Iraqi Freedom or Enduring Freedom. A “Fobbit” was slang for someone who didn’t leave the wire, often found slacking off at the PX and MWR and gaining massive amounts of weight. “Okay, look, if none of you are going to care, I’ll let it go.”

  Lee held his hands up for silence, “How’s this, if they get into trouble we’ll go get em. Okay?”

  “Whatever.” Ethan took his boony cap off and ran his hands through his too long hair. “Rowe and Reynolds are at FOB Alamo, I’m going to go let them know what happened.”

  “By the way, have you seen Lieutenant Newton?” Lee asked, opening a stick of gum and sharing with some of the other guys.

  “No, but I’ll bet he’s sick. Lots of people on his block have the flu.” Ethan took the side by side and drove down the long road to FOB Alamo. Rowe and Reynolds were there, both looking much skinnier than they had when Ethan had first met them. Ethan would have lost more weight too, but he’d have to stop drinking so much.

  “You guys saw the plane?” Ethan asked.

  “Sure did. What’s going on?” Officer Rowe unslung her rifle and set it down. She and several others had been peeking through breaks in the bright green trees that hadn’t been touched by the ash clouds in weeks. They’d made a sport of shooting zombies at long range from the hilltops, though celebrating killing infected corpses might not have been very appropriate.

  “The entire crew except the pilots bailed over town. The pilots are gonna ditch in the Mississippi and make their way back here.”

  “Can they make it?”

  “I think, maybe.” Ethan put a pair of binoculars to his eyes and looked for distant Zims himself. A Zim that was all skin and bones was wearing a stained white shirt, the words Chicago University flaking off. Ethan wanted to shoot that one himself, disliking anything and anyone from Missouri’s socialist cousins to the north. “There’s more refugees coming through every day. Already had one this morning.”

  “Where from?”

  “No idea, but Kenly wasn’t excited to find out the C-130 was carrying munitions for the Marines. The kind of stuff that kills people, not zombies. Artillery and shit.”

  “Damn.” Reynolds set his rifle down. “They’re gonna go after the gangs, aren’t they?”

  “Dollars to Pecos.”

  “Why is that a problem?” Rowe didn’t understand politics.

  “Because when they root them out, they’ll flee South. We’ll be dealing with more than just the undead.” Reynolds answered, taking a shot again. “Damn it. Hit her leg.”

  “We’ll be back to town later.” Rowe said. Ethan nodded and left. He headed back to the truck stop diner that served as the Army and Sheriff’s chow hall. Today’s bizarre concoction of pink slime was supposed to be spaghetti. The Airmen were eating with the town’s head honchos, honored guests and apparently in good spirits. Ethan wanted no part of the politically correct cluster fuck, and instead spotted the wanderer who’d tried to help the pilot. As a rule newcomers weren’t allowed to eat in any part of the chow hall but the far corner under guard. People who weren’t interested in, or were unsuitable to stay were allowed one meal, a shower and new clothes, and to stay one night. Then they were moved along, sometimes by force. Those who were unsuitable were usually meth fiends and people who had been without their meds for far too long. Once, a celebrity had come through, escorted by her Disney supplied body guards. The guards had been allowed to stay, but the teen idol’s vocal #Occupy Sullivan rhetoric, and inability to grasp the fact that even children her own age weren’t listening to her no matter how much she annunciated, had earned her a one way ticket out of town and into the great Western beyond.

  “When’s the last time you had a full meal?” Ethan asked, sitting across from the man.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t wanna think that far back, man.” Though he had a full beard, Ethan doubted the guy was anything over twenty five. He had a faint Surfer Dude accent and a tan line where a dirty, scratched pair of Oakley Thumps hadn’t left his face in months. The batteries on the expensive glasses were dead, but he still had them, perhaps as a memento.

  “Forgive me, you don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

  The man smiled, “I’m from California. Just North of Oceanside. I’m Juan Smith, by the way.”

  “Juan? You don’t look Hispanic.”

  “You don’t miss much. My parents were just like that, I guess. I have two sisters and three brothers, all of us named after someone from a country my parents visited.” Juan leaned down and took the last bite of his food. The look of relief on his face could only be that of a man who’d not had a full stomach in a long time.

  Ethan reached out and swapped trays with Jaun. For a moment the bearded boy looked confused, but Ethan nodded and Juan wasted no time shoveling more food into his face. “Thanks, man.”

  “So what did you do before all this?”

  “My dad was lo-o-o-oaded.” Jaun admitted, imitating Ron White. “I never had to work, but I did have jobs. I was a substitute teacher for a while, a bus driver too. I didn’t like being a sponge like the other rich kids, or my youngest sister. Shit, I’ve even met Paris Hilton when she was a kid at a pool party. In case you’re wondering, she was a skank back then too.” Juan took another bite, savoring his first cooked meal in a long time. “I was stranded at O’Hare International when the Feds grounded all civilian flights. Apparently too many people were reanimating on the planes. I don’t know how that’s possible considering how fast people go crazy…”

  “So you’ve been walking since Chicago?”

  “Well, I stole a few cars here and there, but what I found was people in your state like to shoot at moving cars. There are practically no guns in Illinois, not many in Cali either. Coincidentally not many people left in either place anymore. They got ate because… well, if you can’t shoot ‘em you’re just fucked. Lots of shambling corpses in the corn fields these days.”

  “We’ve noticed. I had my CCW license before all this. You couldn’t have paid me enough to set foot in Illinois. Doesn’t surprise me Chicago fell so early on.” Ethan sighed. “So… I mean, I know what it’s like out there, we are out there. But-”

  “It’s fucking hell man. But paradise all the same.” Juan knew he’d have to explain.

  Ethan raised an eyebrow, “Paradise? Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”

  “No, really.” Juan even put down the fork, “I’m telling you, until the world ended, Freedom was just a word. Something you wrote about in essays and heard about on the news when the Tea Party would bitch-slap the Demo-tards and Republicrats for being equally retarded. No, Freedom is enjoying the world around you without the din of the noise and crap the old world brought with it. Sure, the dead walk and al
most anyone you ever knew is probably one of them, but tell me Sheriff, does that really bother you, even now? Like the rest of us you’ll miss the ones who were closest to you, but the random people, the ones you wouldn’t recognize if you didn’t see them in their Wal*Mart apron or gas station uniform. Does their absence really bother you?”

  Ethan had nothing to say. Juan took another bite, his fork clanking on the metal tray as he attacked the food. “It’s also very lonely at the same time. I would give anything some days to talk to that girl at the gas station. The one with the imperfect teeth and the bags under her eyes from working two jobs all week and taking care of her drunk father during the weekend. The one who maybe didn’t graduate high school, but knows more about the world than you ever will. I’d like to talk to her again. Buy a pack of Menthols and drink a tallboy in the parking lot and chat her up on her smoke break.” Juan reminisced, his mind wondering to a lifetime ago.

  Finding himself looking for a genuine question to ask, Ethan arrived at, “What did you want to be when you grew up, Jaun?”

  “An astronaut.” Juan said quickly. “But seriously, I was planning to get my PhD in Psychology. I was going to find a small town by the sea and teach kids until my father inevitably forced me to come back to his law firm.”

  “That’s bleak.”

  “Well, you’d have to live the life. It was expected that all my brothers and I would be part of the business. Maybe even my sisters too, I’m sure Laura would have been president of the firm in less than ten years if… Well…”

  “At least you know what happened to your family. I’m not promising anything, mind you, but I’d like to ask the mayor if we have room for another teacher. Of course the ones we have here would want to interview you and probably give you an aptitude test, but maybe…”

  “No. No thanks. I’m heading for Texas.”

  “What’s in Texas?”

  “Nothing. Everything. I have no idea, but the thought of seeing the Ocean again makes it seem worth walking towards.”

  Ethan nodded, “Well, is there anything out there I should know about? I mean, you could have taken the river all the way to Louisiana, you didn’t need to come here.”

  “You can’t go near the rivers, man.” Jaun’s eyes lit up with fear. “Fucking floaters will swarm your boat. They’ll choke you engine and no matter how many you shoot, you’ll run out of food and water and they’ll just keep coming and they’ll drag you down. You can’t launch a boat, you can’t do anything on the Mississippi or the mile or so closest to it, are you fucking crazy, man?”

  Ethan was already running toward the door. There were a dozen vehicles, mostly Dodge Challengers and such that could be used to make a quick run someplace. Unfortunately, Challengers were two door vehicles and the closest thing Ethan could find to a fast four door sedan was a deputy’s 2001 Pontiac Grand Prix GT, the same model Ethan used to own, but red. Starting the car, grateful to God to see a full tank, Ethan pulled up to some of the Airmen smoking outside. One was Groupe.

  “Get in! The river is overrun, your pilots are bailing into a-”

  Another Airman burst out into the daylight from the, “Chief’s reporting the Captains are gonna have to ditch in a Red Zone!”

  Groupe didn’t waste time in jumping over the car and falling into the passenger seat. Ethan slammed the gas down and the car screamed down the streets and onto Interstate 44. “Do I want to know what a Red Zone is?” Ethan asked, dodging vehicles at a dangerous 85mph.

  Groupe took his radio out and made contact with the plane’s chief, and then with Captain Saio. “You read me, Cap’m? It’s Groupe, me and a local are comin’ to get you guys. We’re locked and loaded, we’re-” Grouple looked at Ethan for an answer.

  “Probably an hour out if the roads are clear. Longer if something’s in our way.”

  “ETA between one and two hours. Get on a roof, stay calm, don’t attract attention. Will report every half hour, Over.” Groupe put the radio in his pocket.

  “Negative! This zone is Red times fifty! You stay the hell away, Sergeant.”

  “I don’t fucking think you heard me, Captain. I said we’re coming to get you. Now shut up, sit down and stand by!”

  “Do you always talk to your officers like that?”

  “What’s he gonna do, court martial me?” Groupe smirked.

  Remembering fondly why he’d had this same model car before the Apoc’ Ethan expertly flew down the highway until they reached St. Clair. The town had been mostly abandoned for some time, but even at their breakneck speeds Ethan saw people watching them zoom past. It stood to reason that if they were going this fast in one direction, then they’d be going just as fast coming back. Would anyone dare block the road? Would Ethan hit them if they did? Yes. That is a stupid question.

  “What’s the next town?” Group asked as the trip dragged on.

  “Cedar Hill. Then we can catch 30 to 141 to 55. Hopefully we’ll be close enough for them to get to us by then.”

  Groupe checked the GPS he carried in a pocket on his flight suit. “Should work. I’ll contact ‘em shortly and let them know we’ll be in Pevely in about forty five minutes.”

  “Pevely?” Ethan had to admit he’d only driven past it once on his way to Cape Girardeau. “Okay, just keep watching the map and I’ll watch the roads.” Thankfully it looked like most of the towns along Highway 30 were either abandoned, or the residents didn’t want anything to do with the speeding car. At the turn to Highway 141 Ethan noticed the road signs were wrong and looked like they were too low on the poles that held them. This wasn’t a good sign, gangs were trying to confuse people. Signs pointing to FEMA camps were, if Ethan remembered correctly, no longer pointing in the right direction. Who knew how many victims those had claimed.

  “Flight Four Six Six Leader, this is Four Six Six Echo. How copy?”

  “Copy Lima Charlie.” A voice whispered back. “Four Six Six Echo, this is Four Six Six XO. Four Six Six Leader is KIA. Need retrieval now.”

  “FUCK!” Groupe slammed his fist against the roof of the car. “Captain Michaels is dead.” Recollecting himself Groupe pushed the transmit button, “We’re in between Imperial and Barnhart, Cap’m. ETA is ten mikes.”

  “Approach with caution. Town is heavy Red like a bitch on her rag. Repeat, Heavy Red. Am Hold up in an overgrown golf course or park or some shit near the river. I’m gonna pop a smoke rocket when I see your vehicle. Over.”

  “Smoke Rocket?” Ethan hit the gas and the car passed the 100mph mark.

  “Zims’ll go right for a smoke grenade. So now they’re basically attached to a giant bottle rocket that leaves a smoke trail back to you, but lands and makes noise and light flashes about three hundred meters away. It’s not a perfect system, but it beats turning your LZ into a Red Zone.”

  Ethan suddenly slammed the breaks and the car lurched to a stop. Pevely was no longer a rural town along the Mississippi River, but instead was a completely overrun hive of death, the hordes thick even outside of town. There were more undead residents now than people who’d live there before. They could see all sorts of half burned, half sunken boats and barges wrecked against shores, teaming with the fetid flesh of the undead.

  “Balls to the wall?”

  “Fuck it. Why not.”

  Slamming the accelerator to the floor they took off down the road behind the horde that swarmed the flare. They could see Captain Saio holding a day glow marker flag in the air atop a building in the Teamster’s Park. They slid to a halt in front of the building and Saio, with no regard for his own safety, jumped down to the roof of a van, then to the hood, then to the ground where Ethan and Groupe were shooting a number of Zims who’d stuck around.

  Saio jumped into the car and they were off before anyone could come to grips with how incredibly stupid what they’d just done was. The adrenaline dump made Ethan’s hands shake, but he managed to hold the wheel steady. Around the corner and back towards Highway 55 they spotted Captain Michaels. He was running do
wn Highway Z after having dumped his gear, a human-slinky of zombies doing the Airborne Shuffle right behind him. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. It might have been comical if he were calling cadence.

  Swerving around the zombies, and hitting a few of the smaller ones, they pulled up next to Machaels, who was very much alive, and very happy to see them. He jumped in through Saio’s open window and they raced down the road away from the horde. The mass of rotting flesh would continue to follow them until they found something else to chase, but a stumbling corpse had nothing on one of Pontiac’s finest machines.

  “Am I fucking glad to see you!” Saio hugged and then punched his pilot. “Just gonna go check around the corner my ass! I heard all fifteen shots. How did you make it?”

  “I fucking ran, man!” Michaels said between breaths. “Fucking fuck man!”

  “Gentlemen, this is Sheriff Ethan Cally from Sullivan. That’s where we’re heading.” Groupe reported.

  “Nice of you boys to come for us.” Saio patted Ethan on the shoulder.

  “Don’t thank me yet, we’re still a long way off.” There was a moment of silence before Ethan spoke again. “Look, I’m former military, I know what classified means, but let me tell you, our mayor is fucking furious about your cargo. We know it ain’t MREs and toilet paper you’re shipping to Labodie.”

  “Damn right it wasn’t. Labadie Outpost put in an emergency order for war fighting equipment and a Mortar and Artillery platoon to follow. I guess they got attacked or something.” Saio said.

  “Wasn’t you guys, was it?” Groupe asked with mock suspicion.

  “No, we were there though. A squad of their Marines was almost wiped out by a gang hold up in a storage unit compound. I guess they didn’t take their Marine’s deaths lightly.”

  “Would you?” Groupe raised an eyebrow.

  “No. We took care of that gang and a local biker clan before last winter set in. They were monsters, raping women and killing anyone they pleased. I’m just sayin, Mayor Kenly doesn’t like having explosives flown over him by a spooky shadow government. Can’t imagine how he reacted when the Air Force lost those nukes a few years back.”