World of Ashes

by J. K. Robinson

  “I’ve read the Marine’s reports on your cavalry company. I must say, I am impressed, and also worried.” General Vierling pointed to a framed picture on the wall. It was his original commission as a second lieutenant, dated 1990. Around it, OD green, DCU tan and ACU “green” unit patches. Ethan smiled when he noticed a distinct lack of a “broken tv” patch in the display. Maybe they could be friends after all.

  “Worried, Sir?”

  “This government doesn’t have the time or resources to be worried about a lot of things. This includes, at least right now, the loyalties of your town and it’s military. If there were still a federal government you’d been seen as a private militia, potentially hostile to the government. They’d probably attack you like Waco, Ruby Ridge or that first outbreak in Nogales.”

  Ethan couldn’t help but laugh. Lee scowled, “I would have thought Major Donovan would have been thorough enough to include the oath of enlistment I require all of my soldiers to memorize and recite, as well as the company’s mission statement.” Lee didn’t wait for Vierling to say anything, “All of my soldiers swear an oath to The Constitution of the United States of America. Just like the one all three of us took. Our mission statement is to protect the town of Sullivan and the state of Missouri, and to provide assistance and protection to any citizen of the US who requests it. We are no more of a threat to this or any government than you want us to be.”

  “So what if the gangs struck a deal with your mayor and requested assistance in fighting us?”

  “General George Washington said, and I’m paraphrasing, ‘Have no foreign alliances.’” Lee folded his fingers together. “Should an entity, other than a Recognized American Governing Body, such as this one, make a demand of us we would first consider the arguments of both sides, attempt to mediate, and side with whoever is in the right. If neutrality is called for, expect us to uphold it like Ireland during World War Two, taking captive combatants from both sides that stray into our territory until the conflict is over.”

  Vierling narrowed his eyes, an almost imperceptible smirk crossing his face, “Thought this all out have you?”

  “We’ve had to. Until we arrived here we had no knowledge of any towns in our region besides our own. No allies other than yourself. No one, not even the possibility of remnants of the old Federal Government were there for us. Just Texas. Though we will never, and I mean never upon pain of death, swear allegiance solely to Texas, we are your allies. Please, Sir, remember we are not your property.”

  Vierling’s smile was wide enough to see now. He stood, walked over to a desk and pushed a button on a phone. A green light the brothers hadn’t noticed before turned red. Their entire conversation had been recorded at the very least. And now Vierling’s face was deadpan, his eyes were all that betrayed emotion. It was fear. He leaned against the desk, looking around the corner at the receptionist’s desk. Satisfied she was busy, he spoke in hushed tones.

  “I had to make sure I could trust you first… The Federal Government is still hold up in the Cheyenne Mountain facility.” Vierling chose his next words carefully, the bombshell of this news was quite unwelcome in most circles, folks feeling rather independent at this point. “They are aware of the progress we’ve made. We intercept their communications daily thanks to a number of agents on the inside. We first started noticing an increased amount of encrypted satellite communications after the liberation of New Mexico. Our informants have provided us with most of their lower level codes, but their cover was nearly blown. We won’t get a second chance if they change their encryption styles. Whoever it is, DHS, CIA , NSA, they’ve been watching us hold back South America, and they’ve certainly been watching Alaska’s colonization of Hawaii… Intelligence suggests they are also aware of every single township that’s held out.” He swallowed, his mouth dry. “You can expect advanced probes during the year we’ll be gone. Spies. Drifters who don’t quite fit the bill, maybe even a direct approach. We’ve found them here, but we haven’t shown our hand yet. Like Britain during the Second World War, we’re turning their agents as quickly as they can send them.”

  “Why is this a bad thing?” Lee kept his tone hushed as well. He knew why, living with Ethan he had heard every anti-government speech imaginable. He just wanted to see if General Vierling was truly of a like mind.

  “Think about it.” Ethan wanted to slap his brother, “They’re not going to uphold the ideals we’re fighting for. The Constitution doesn’t mean any more to them than toilet paper, they’ve proved that through eight consecutive terms. Neither party gives a fuck about the American Dream, man. They’ll roll over this land again and turn us into a Communist Ghetto just like they’ve been trying to do since that sonofabitch was elected in ‘08! We’re talking nothing short of reorganization of America into... Well, you’ve seen what Russia looked like after the USSR fell. Destroying America was International Economic Terrorist George Soros’ plan from day one. Hell, if he’s behind this… Think about it. The Democrats were in power when all this started. They knew they couldn’t win another election because they put the wrong man on a pedestal and bold-face lied to an entire nation twice! Hell, they gave him one of the most prestigious awards in the world simply for not being a White Republican. They still have their agenda, Lee, and if they’re still out there, this whole mess is their golden ticket for a new world order. And the order of that day will be Socialist Totalitarianism.”

  “You’re a lunatic, you know that right?” Lee glared at his brother.

  “I fail to see your point.” Ethan countered.

  “No, no he’s right this time.” Vierling said between gritted teeth. “Normally I’d agree with you, Captain, but your brother and the other ‘Right Wing Extremists’ hold up in their basements with MRE’s and guns are actually onto something real this time.” Vierling checked down the hall again. The phone at the main desk rang, the clerk answered and after a brief conversation stepped out to use the restroom. Vierling went on. “I’d get in a lot of trouble if it was known I told you any of this. None of its confirmed and the rumors are classified. I wouldn’t even give these reports a second glance had I not gone through OCS and three tours in the ‘Stan with the woman feeding us information from the inside of Cheyenne Mountain itself. She sends a coded letter with a “castaway”, someone who doesn’t fit the ‘Idealist Vision’ of what they want our future America to be, people with a mind of their own like you and me have no place in their world. They literally toss them out of their colony and into the wild rather than have anyone question their agenda and laws. They’re planning a worse-case scenario for their new America. No Second Amendment, half what the First Amendment guarantees, no Fourth or Fifth Amendments, taxes that make Taxation Without Representation seem like a good thing, socialized medicine with Candy Stripers instead of EMTs and Nurses, death panels, endless unionized red tape… I mean, my God men… The list goes on. What we’re doing here is the real America. The dream of the Founding Fathers is alive for the first time in living memory. This reimagined Federal Government will crush that dream like ChiCom tanks rolling over protesters in Tiananmen.”

  “And after the year of darkness you’ll be there at our side?”

  “Absolutely.” Vierling’s face brightened, as if their conversation had never happened and he pushed the record button again. “At the end of the year it is projected to take to complete the direct line to your township we will be no more than a phone call and a flight away.” Pulling a locked suitcase out from under his desk Vierling handed it to Lee. “In this briefcase is everything you’ll need for calling for assistance. Direct satellite lines to Dallas and such. Even during your isolation we will still respond should a crisis occur.”

  Standing, Vierling put his uniform blouse on. The Army’s Dress Blues hadn’t changed since Texas took over, but like Sullivan’s First Cav, a new unit patch was on his left shoulder. A giant red “T” replaced whatever patch had been there before, from the stitching lines, probably 82nd Airborne.


  “We appreciate everything you’re doing.” Ethan said, deciding he needed to say at least one positive thing to the general.

  “There’s one more thing. During our last census of military units within our boarders, we discovered there are actually two platoons of various MOS’s of the Missouri Army and Air National Guard stationed near the Rio Grande.” Vierling pulled a slip of paper out of his pants pocket. “This is their mailing address. Your city council can send mail to them now, and they can mail back to you. It would probably raise moral in their unit if they knew there was something to go home to after the war.”

  “So you’re using Missouri citizens to fight your war?”

  “No, we’ve been at war every day since October 2000 when those fucking sub-human shitbags hit the U.S.S. Cole. Our enemy has changed more than slightly in almost two decades, but we still stand.” Vierling smiled again.

  “Kenly will want to know when those units can return.” Lee memorized the address, just in case the paper was lost.

  “I intend to see to it personally that they are part of the security detail that will escort the construction crews North to Ely. Once they reach your town, they’ll either be allowed to muster out or to serve in your unit, or to come back here. There’s a plan to have National Guard units from every state liberate their own homes. It’ll look good for the press and go a long way towards bringing people back into the fold.”

  “Is your press a bunch of un-American, Liberal Progressive Communist fucktards like they were before?” Ethan joked.

  “You, Sheriff, listened to entirely too much Mark Levin.”

  “But… but he’s in a secret underground command post…” Ethan pretended to whine, but Lee jabbed him in the ribs.

  “I like you boys. Don’t get killed before I can see your town for myself.” Vierling and Lee exchanged salutes, and Ethan put his hands in his pockets.

  Allen was just outside the building smoking a cigarette with a couple Airmen when Ethan reached out and took the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it on the ground. “Those things’ll kill ya.”

  Allen rolled his eyes, “So what’s the news?”

  “I’ll tell ya on the way home.” Lee waved to Sgt. Winters, who was busy reading a book inside the Humvee, a book Ethan had found for the Fobbit* at a gift store: Killing Zombies for Dummies. They loaded up after he brought the truck to them and they drove back to the airstrip without much conversation. They shook Winters’ hand after gathering their stuff from their room and walked towards their plane. It was a Cessna 310 twin engine, as small as you got without downgrading to a Piper Cub.

  The pilot stepped out, unlike most people he was still pretty fat. A job that kept him sitting most of the day hadn’t done him any favors. He hadn’t bothered to get new clothes either, or even wash the ones he had. The end of all things seemed to include personal hygiene with this guy. “C’mon, I want to be back before Friday.” Was all he said, pointing to where to stow their gear. It almost didn’t fit. Ethan took the co-pilot’s seat while Lee and Allen got better acquainted in the cramped back seats. It was like being in a smelly Geo Metro with wings. The pilot didn’t offer his name or a second headset to any of them. In a way that was just fine, none of them really wanted to talk to him either. When the plane took off it noticeably leaned to his side and nearly took out a man on a bicycle at the end of the runway.

  They had a layover for fueling at a different airfield than the one they’d stopped at on the way in. This time the pilot didn’t care what they did, and so they were free to get out and use the restroom. Ethan looked over and read the sign on a building, Tupelo Regional Airport, Mississippi. The doors to the bathroom were locked for whatever reason, so the three of them hurried behind a hangar and emptied their overfilled bladders. Allen, naturally, had to write his name on the gravel.

  “Oh… My… God…” Allen closed his eyes and leaned his head skyward, acting like he’d just had the greatest orgasm of his life. “…I needed this… Yes, just like that.”

  “If that guy could smell worse, I’d say he was a zombie.” Lee finished, buttoning his trousers.

  “Anything more than three times is playing with yourself.” Ethan said to Allen.

  The runway and a couple hangars and an office building seemed fairly safe. But outside the wire, as was usual, hundreds of decaying bodies clung to the metal chain-link fence, swaying and moaning in the wind. There were a few spots where someone had gone along and shot or stabbed the zombies that were making trouble, but most were left alone. The Mississippian Zims didn’t seem any more interested in the plane or the people on the ground than the oldest Zims back home, as if the notion of chasing down new victims bored them. The worst of the Plague was running the last of its course, soon Man could go back to his favorite pastime: Killing other Men.

  “Why are these Zims so much more lethargic than the ones back home?” Ethan said to himself, stepping up to the fence, but keeping more than an arms distance.

  “No idea. But when’s the last time the Zims were a real threat? I mean, the last time I saw one make any effort to chase one of us was, shit, before the frost?” Lee put his hands on his hips. “If we redouble our efforts to keep people from getting bitten, we might be able to stamp out the Plague in our area. No new victims, no new zombies.”

  “Shit,” Allen picked up a long piece of rusted rebar and leaned it through the fence. He poked a zombie that was laying face down in the mud. It moaned, but only just barely. Allen kept poking it until finally, with some real effort a nearly skeletal woman dragged herself to her knees and clawed at the fence. Judging by the undead corpse’s clothing and general appearance, if one could reverse engineer in his head how old clothing might have looked new, it had been a female in her late fifties wearing bright red golf pants and a pink polo that probably wasn’t stylish to anyone but yuppies. “These fuckers ain’t got nothing left.”

  “Stick your hand through the fence and see if Doris really is done with you.” Surprised that someone had gotten the drop on them, the men spun around to lay eyes on a girl who couldn’t have been more than fifteen. She’d dyed her hair several different colors that were now fading to show her almost white roots. She reminded the three men of Luna Lovegood, a character from Harry Potter.

  “You knew her?” Lee asked.

  “No. I don’t even know if that’s her name. It’s just what I call her.” She said, sitting on the wing of an abandoned and mostly gutted plane. “I’ve named almost all the people at our fences.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Just makes them seem friendlier I guess.” The girl stuck a hand in her jean vest’s pocket and pulled out a notebook with fairies and dolphins printed on it. “I wrote all their names down, that way I can keep track of them.”

  “Again, why?”

  She shrugged again. “I guess I really don’t have much else to do.”

  “You live here I take it?”

  “Yeah, my dad was the janitor at the country club over there.” She sighed, “So what are your names? I’ll add you to the guest book.”

  “This is Ethan and Lee Cally, and I’m Allen Broadwick.” Allen said, stepping to the front of the group. He was letting his little head do his big head’s thinking again. “We’re sheriffs from Missouri.”

  The girl smiled, though she seemed unimpressed, “Aren’t you a little young to be a sheriff?”

  “He is.” Ethan laughed, “I’m the town’s sheriff. He’s just a deputy.”

  “I was the Deputy Sheriff until Mrs. Sheriff showed up and took ma job!” Allen imitated the episode of South Park where the men complain that people from the future are taking their jobs, eventually their accents get out of control and it becomes “DeyTRRRKMAJERRRRBS!” He was playing up the joke for the benefit of entertaining their new acquaintance. Allen was already 19, so it wasn’t like the girl was old enough to garner any real interest from him, but she was cute and that at least got him talking. He wasn’t a totally immoral after all, he liked
to think anything younger than 16 was a just a little too young for what he wanted. (What? At least he’s honest, ladies.)

  They were about to joke more when they heard the zing of a bullet, the snapping sound so close Ethan and Lee were both certain they’d be on the receiving end of that bullet. Before anyone could react the girl nosedived to the ground with a thud. Ethan felt something warm running down his face and swatted it off. He couldn’t believe he was sweating, and after touching his face he knew he wasn’t sweating. The girl’s chest and rib fragments were all over his face, his uniform, his hands. In a whirl of commotion Lee tackled his brother as automatic gunfire tore into the plane the girl had been sitting on. For those who know it, the sound of an M249 is unmistakable, the buzz-saw echoing was coming from the wood line, the din of truck engines starting up surrounded the airfield from every direction.

  Regaining their composure, Ethan and Lee both reached out and dragged Allen away from the girl’s body as he tried in vain render aid. She was dead, the damage to her small body beyond hope of repair. He thrashed at them, desperate for the horror before him to not be real as he tried to roll her over to start CPR. Only her torso bent with him, her hips and legs didn’t budge. Allen let go with a scream, hysterics taking over as he hyperventilated while being dragged away. Not every man is emotionally equipped to witness beautiful girls take a bullet, or breaking in half when said bullet separates their spine. Reaching to his holster Allen jumped up with the two M9’s he carried and opened fire in the direction of the woods, a fierce war cry irrupting from the scrawny boy. He’d emptied both magazines before the brothers could drag him back down again, a firestorm of tracers exploding on the derelict planes around them.

  Falling to his knees and then to his haunches, Allen looked at the girl’s body from afar, transfixed on the tragedy that had befallen them, oblivious to the gunfire. Deciding to make a run for it when the undisciplined gunner ran out of ammunition, they dragged Allen along with them behind the office building. Catching their breath Lee ran towards the fueling station and found their pilot with an AK47 returning controlled sniper shots at whoever was shooting at them. For not caring about personal hygiene, the man was an excellent shot. Little clouds of pink mist sprayed from one attacker’s head after another, the demented old man making a game of it.