World of Ashes

by J. K. Robinson

  Bogey must have been a hunter as a puppy, because the first thing he did was follow the blood trail into the laundry room behind the garage. There were two zombies in the oversized closet when Ethan looked. One a boy about seven, wearing nothing but tattered Iron Man underwear and one house slipper, the other Zim a much fresher looking elderly man wearing utility pants, a khaki explorer’s shirt, and a fishing vest with pockets bulging with all kinds of stuff. The man had been trying to get away on the bike and had been caught by Denis the Menace: Cannibal Version.

  Bogey started to bark and Ethan dispatched both Zims with his Colt 45 Automatic and jumped on the bike. He certainly wasn’t much of a bicycler in daily life but he did fine even on the steep hills until finally at the bottom of a valley with an overgrown golf course and river Ethan and Bogey were presented two major problems. Though he could see the Zims weren’t moving quickly, there were a shitload of them, all dressed in what were once very nice Sunday clothes. With a gut wrenching feeling Ethan realized these were one of the many church groups that committed mass suicide during the evacuation. Unfortunately for him, this group had believed the zombies were the literal embodiment of The Rapture and had seen to it to infect themselves en masse at the earliest opportunity.

  “Well, Bogey.” Ethan said to the dog, who looked up at him with an expression that said he too didn’t like their odds, “We got two choices, boy. We could turn around and look harder for a car I’m sure doesn’t exist, or we could just go balls to the wall and hope for the best.” The dog looked at him like he had no idea what was being said. Well duh, he’s a dog.

  With one giant push Ethan flew down the rest of the small hill and darted in between the undead cultists. Some reached for him, but most did little but look at him as he passed by, so decayed they perhaps couldn’t make the effort. Once on the bridge it inclined into the uphill slope of a bluff, Ethan stopped to catch his breath. Some of the Zims were coming at him, but at a snail’s pace. After giving his companion a sip of water and a piece of jerky they took off over the hill. There were Zims at the bottom, but atop the next hill someone had parked their minivan and shot themselves next to a tree and apparently never been disturbed. With no people in the are the zombies left it alone. After checking the car, which was locked until he busted a window out, Ethan began digging through the body’s pockets. He found all sorts of knickknacks; an Epi-Pen, loose ammunition and a rusted pocket knife before finding the keys. After a long winter and no maintenance the van’s tires were almost deflated and weather rotted. The engine took a good long time to turn over, but it did start after a lot of struggling. Ethan grabbed the dog and they drove cautiously along Highway 30 back toward home. He hit several of the well dressed Zims from the cult on his way down the driveway and back onto a real paved road. The dog barked furiously, apparently feeling safe and bold inside the vehicle.

  Though the van coughed and sputtered and one of the tires blew, though to it’s credit got Ethan to the last signal light in St. Clair before the highway. This was an odd intersection, located on a steep downward slope that ended in a thirty foot drop on either side of the road. It was all but unnavigable in the road’s unplowed condition and the van started an uncontrollable sideways slide down the hill. Ethan cursed loudly as the van fell off the side of the road and rolled over into a thicket of sapplings. Bailing out of the van as it lay on its side at the bottom of the drop off Ethan got his bearings. He could hear Zims moaning to his rear, but could see flashlights and smoke from people’s houses in the dawn’s twilight to the north. The only way to go was south toward Sullivan, which meant risking running into people who were looking to rob and possibly ransom him. Kenly wouldn’t pay a ransom, and Lee’s reaction would only be violence.

  Then it dawned on him, the local National Guard Armory was just on the other side of a row of trees. Though such places were often heavily infested as refugees went there seeking help Ethan couldn’t see anyone outside the building, alive or dead. He and the dog ran for it, and though completely out of breath made it to the locked gates of the old brick building. Inside Ethan could still see humvees and he wondered why so many trucks were still there. It did seem awfully good to be true.

  Smashing open a window that turned out to belong to the female/officer’s latrine, Ethan grabbed the dog and tossed him inside before squeezing through himself. He’d been in this building many times before, in a lifetime he barely remembered now he’d been stationed here as a young private. He knew where the truck dispatches were, folders that contained the truck’s door keys (as Humvees are actually started with a switch, the key is to unlock the unbelievably ghetto antitheft device.) He doubted anything had been moved around, the Army being a culture of habit. If the trucks would also start, he’d be good to go. Only problem was when he made it into the building through the officer’s latrine he found the barrel of an M249 SAW leveled at his face.

  “Get down on your knees. You are trespassing on Government Property. If you make any sudden movements I will kill you.” The voice sounded like a female who was trying to be a dude. Like that stereotypical hard-ass J.I. Jane in all the sci-fi flicks and crappy horror movies that gets picked off in some ridiculous last stand after coming to grips with the fact that she’s the only lesbian left in the universe and might as well go out with a bang.

  “Okay, Okay, I’m putting my gun down.” A flashlight held just in front of the weapon’s carrying handle blocked out all but the weapon bearer’s boots. “My name’s Sheriff Ethan Cally, I’m from Sullivan. Don’t shoot, please.”

  “I don’t care who you say you are. We’re going to call Higher and have them send an armed patrol to come and get you.”

  “How’s that workin’ out for ya? Getting ahold of ‘Higher’ I mean.” Ethan asked, beginning to realize this person was just another survivor. The Bogey didn’t growl or even trie to defend Ethan. He was busy sniffing the new person’s boots.

  “Shut up! The call is already being made. I hear prison under Martial Law is pretty harsh.” She said, holding the machine gun with a stillness Ethan respected.

  “Considering most prisoners were eaten alive in their cells when their guards ran away, I could imagine it would be scary. Look, I know you’re lying. I can still see the American flag on your uniform. If you had any government backing at this point it’d be from Texas.” Ethan relaxed. “Are you really even a soldier?”

  “Yes.” The voice sounded something between annoyed and terrified.

  “Look, I was in the Army too. I was even stationed here once upon a time. I’m just trying to get back to Sullivan so I can get an ambulance and come back for my friends. They’re Airmen doing a supply run from Texas and their plane crashed-” The sound of the weapon going to safe to fire made him stop.

  “I don’t have time for this. Get out. I am authorized to shoot you if you don’t comply.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Another voice came from a rear office. “Damn it, Tammy, put the gun down. Can’t you see he’s a fucking cop?”

  “Could be a trick, Sergeant.”

  “Yeah, and if it is you can shoot him, I promise.” The second woman grabbed a mop and poked Ethan with it. “What’s your name?” The light still made it impossible to see the two women.

  “Sheriff Ethan Cally. I’m from Sullivan. It’s fifteen miles down the road.” He repeated.

  “I know where Sullivan is. My name is Staff Sergeant Sabrina Johansen, and this is Specialist Tammy Werner. We were with the 205th, but we were Supply, not MP’s. There’s also supposed to be a full squad per armory.”

  “I was drafted back in. Some Shit-fuck BTB they cobbled together at Fort Wood. They lost most of our records for us before sending us as the backup for the Antire Hill fiasco.” Ethan looked at the dog, who was now licking Johansen’s toes.

  “Hey little guy, isn’t he feeding you?” She reached down and picked the dog up. He licked her, and the tension of the moment was gone.

  “A lot actually, but I just found him
. Look, if you guys want me to leave, I can. I was just looking for a way to get back to town in a hurry. I went out to rescue some downed Airmen, the ones who didn’t manage to bail out over town, and we hit an IED and wrecked. Some of ‘em are in pretty bad shape.”

  “So that’s what that noise was.” Werner said, “You set off the warning explosives the fucking Crips are using to warn them when people are near so they can rob them!”

  “Look, I’ve been blown up, chased by cannibals, been forced to ride a bicycle for miles, most of the way here for sure, and now I’m dealing with the world’s most paranoid gunner. I just wrecked a fucking minivan on that messed up downhill intersection over there, so if you can lend me a humvee, I promise to bring it back, otherwise just let me the fuck go. Please.”

  “How hurt are they?” Johansen asked, setting Bogey down.

  “I think one has internal bleeding, another a broken leg, the other I think might suffer from chronic moronism.”

  “So what’s all this shit about Texas?” Werner asked, still not putting the machine gun away, but had turned the light off.

  “I don’t have time!” Ethan snapped, “Make up your mind, Sarn’t. Either way I’m picking up my gun and leaving.”

  “You’re taking us with you.” Johansen said quickly.

  “What? We can’t leave. We have orders to hold out until-”

  “And we have exactly two weeks of food and water at half rations and no showers. When is the last time we heard from Jefferson City? Wake the fuck up, Tammy! I love you but I swear to God I will leave you hear if you don’t put your gear on, get in the fucking motor pool and start the damned truck!”

  Specialist Werner tossed the machine gun defiantly onto the concrete and walked back into the rear office where Johansen had come from. “In case you’re wondering, yes we are, no we weren’t before we were abandoned here, and no we can’t come back for any supplies here because as soon as we leave the fucking Crips will roll over this building like a swarm of retarded cavemen. Now, c’mon, I need help packing some of our records and setting charges. I have to destroy the arms room.”

  Knowing this was taking too much time, Ethan didn’t argue lest it take longer. He simply gathered two boxes of papers and put them in a Humvee. Already Ethan could see a few Zims and at least one person with a flashlight and a gun just down the street. The person dashed behind a building and shouts were heard.

  “C’mon! We gotta go!” Ethan leaned out window of the truck. Moments later two soldiers in full gear and weapons ran towards the Humvee. Johansen jumped in the driver’s seat and Werner in the turret. They plowed through the gates and onto the street, smearing a Zim. Ethan held onto the Bogey and prayed while their unarmored training Humvee chugged down the street past where he’d wrecked the van, a group of Zims swarming it, and again down the back roads that intertwined around the highway. They heard the boom from the timed charges Sabrina had set to destroy the arms room, thus keeping the weapons stored there out of the gang’s hands.

  “You know where you’re going?” Ethan shouted over the engine.

  “Yeah, I used to live in Sullivan.” Johansen shouted back. Werner slid down out of the turret and in between the seats where she’d been standing.

  “There’d bettered be a town where we’re going, or I’ll fucking kill you.” She said.

  “I think you’ll like my brother.” Ethan laughed, “You’ll make rank real fucking quick in 1st Cav.” Werner raised an eyebrow, but for the most part continued to stare at Ethan the entire way to Sullivan, her hand not so secretly on her M9 just in case. At the Far North Outpost, built out of what had been a number of different businesses over the years, they were stopped by the Deputies. The lawmen were overjoyed to see Ethan alive and seemingly well, and equally gracious in welcoming two new people.

  Within ten minutes Lee and an ambulance were on their way to the outpost. In the meantime Ethan took his new four legged friend inside. “Hey, Wigg.” Wigg was actually a kid, but since he was 16 and had no parents in town he’d been allowed to join as a Cadet Deputy. All this meant was he basically did menial tasks at the outposts, including weapons maintenance and late night guard shifts. “Make sure this guy gets a place to sleep, some food and some water.”

  “He got a name, Sheriff?”

  “I think the family who had him named him Bogey. But I was thinking something ridiculous, like Electric Boogaloo. Something that would have driven Nicole insane.”

  “Uh, Sure. Maybe we can just stick with Bogey, Sheriff.”

  Ethan shrugged and walked out. The dog tried to follow, but Wigg had him well in hand. Ethan jumped into the escort Humvee with Lee, the doors behind them closing and a female voice saying, “I’m going with you. If the gang is there we can go around them if you go where I tell you to.” Sergeant Johansen surprised them.

  Ethan motioned for the gunner to dismount and Johansen took his place, her too-many-sizes too-large Multicams catching on the turret’s rusty hinges and causing her to trip and fall into a box of .50 caliber ammunition. She must have been fat long ago, if one could believe such a thing now, but it was still funny to watch.

  “Drive straight or I’ll kick you out of the door.” Tammy, Sabrina’s girlfriend, threatened. “And quit looking at Sabrina’s ass.”

  “You and I are gonna be best friends.” Ethan smiled and hugged Tammy from the side whether she wanted him to or not. He then climbed inside the Humvee and the convoy sped out of view, keeping in radio contact with town as long as they could.

  A raging fire of tires and trash, mostly destroyed trailers and cheap FEMA housing, blocked the exit Ethan had taken originally. The gangs had rightly suspected someone would be coming back, but then Ethan had planned for this. Driving past the St. Clair Airport and to the last exit before the turn to Union they got off I-44 and took the long way to Robertsville. There were a lot of eyes following them along the rural route to Lonedel. A lot of people seemed to have held out in this area, a rich farmland where folks weren’t dependent on Government Cheese in the first place. Coincidentally it was also the former Meth capitol of the world!

  There were no road blocks outside the route Ethan had taken earlier, which he also expected. Werner couldn’t believe people sometimes even waved as they drove by, a stark contrast to how most people behaved during the war Ethan fought. It was sad, but their presence with an armored truck and was undoubtedly giving people false hope that an ambulance service had been established, that anyone might still be in charge. Once they made it to the site where the Grand Prix had been obliterated they were greeted with a scene of horror far worse than what Ethan had left just six hours earlier, if one could believe the small amount of time he’d been gone.

  Sabrina wasted no time in spraying the guts out of anything with two feet and no pulse, the century old design of the Browning M2 heavy machine gun still a titan in any war, be it against Germans, Japanese, Russians or Zombies. Once the gun was silent they heard the screams. Tammy cleared a jam, the clunk of the gun’s inner workings resetting gave everyone the courage to move forward, knowing they were covered. Michaels was screaming for sure, and someone else. The screaming and shooting from inside the house intensified in the seconds it took for Ethan and the others to run towards the zombie packed door. Tammy swung the turret with the gear mechanism and turned Ma Deuce on the twenty or so Zims packing the doorway. Ethan and the others hit the dirt while half inch tracers zipped through the air overhead and smeared Zim and his buddies across the north side of the house. When the Zims were all piles of blackened snot and broken bone Ethan kicked down what remained of the door just moments after the M2 stopped.

  Rushing inside Ethan found himself staring at a reanimated Tech Sergeant Groupe. He had a piece of Michaels’ throat in his mouth, blood from Captain Saio’s hands smeared down Groupe’s stomach. It told a grizzly story, one that Ethan was too stunned to comprehend and he flinched. Lee was right there with a Kel-Tech Sub 2000, and before Groupe could move put a bullet in each
Airman’s head.

  “Fuck! FUCK FUCK FUCK!” Ethan shouted, throwing his empty weapon at Groupe’s body. Ethan kicked a box of supplies that came tumbling down and buried most of Michaels, who was still twitching. Lee shot all three of them in the head again just in case. Ethan collapsed to the floor and tried to catch his breath, his mind swimming as if he were drunk. He didn’t enjoy adrenaline-dumps, or anxiety attacks.

  The EMTs followed Sabrina upstairs, but after seeing the carnage stepped outside into the hall. There was nothing they could do now. Lee stepped outside with them and began discussing the next steps with the others. Ethan just stared at the men he’d risked everything to save. Saio had gotten infected, a piece of his uniform was found in a nearby zombie’s mouth. He’d killed Groupe, and Groupe had kill Michaels. It couldn’t have happened more than fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes. Like the number of minutes they would have saved going through St. Clair instead of avoiding an infestation of inner city hood-rats taking over what was left of someone else’s town.

  Ethan went downstairs and grabbed a shovel from the back of the Humvee and started to dig, the others loaded their own gear onto trucks and left a radio in the safe house with the original supplies for others trapped in the area to use. No need to waste a good thing.

  The rest of the ride home through back country roads overgrown with weeds, leaves and dead cars and bodies, scenes right out of the Terminator movies, Ethan didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He took the turret because he didn’t want to hear what anyone below was saying. Riding in the turret of a Humvee is like being in a roller coaster. A roller coaster with guns. They stayed in the area to wipe out the Cult Zombies, which took until dark and gave Ethan plenty of chances to take out his anger on the zombies with the M2. On the way home with lights of the trucks on, Ethan was left with a uniquely trippy view that would have fit well in an action movie. Only once did he even consider shooting at anything, but luckily the Zim in front of them hobbled into a pothole and fell just as the Humvee passed over its head.