Through the Ashes (The Light Book 2)

by Jacqueline Brown

  East walked toward her. “Wait a sec.” She raised her father’s pistol and shattered the back passenger window.

  I covered my head. “Why did you do that?” I shrieked, the noise overwhelming me.

  She used the barrel to remove the remaining glass. She reached in and pulled out a blanket and a box of granola bars that lay beneath it. “We can’t waste resources,” she said, walking toward the truck and climbing in.

  I wondered how she could be so callous. She and Sara both. I never would’ve stopped at a minivan. There were plenty of other options for gas, but it was as if Sara and East thought nothing of the family that had been going to the home of a loved one last Thanksgiving. I wished I could be like them, I wished I could stop thinking.

  “You ready?” Jonah asked, his hand outstretched, waiting to pull me up into the truck.

  I looked around. My friends were in the truck. Blaise was watching me through the back window.

  “Yeah,” I said, and took his hand.

  A moment later we sat beside each other, the gray minivan fading into the distance.

  East sat on the blanket. She had stuffed the granola bars into her bag. I couldn’t help but see that she’d changed. I got the sense that she had always—or at least since the rape—been more intense than the rest of the family. But now, after Mick’s ambush, her edge had sharpened. She remained as nurturing and caring as ever to Quinn and even JP, but to the rest of us she showed her anger. I did my best to avoid her and succeeded most days. I spent time with Quinn when East wasn’t around. When East returned from her work, I’d leave, allowing them time together. In general I found the less time I spent with East, the happier I was.

  I wondered what she thought of God. I wondered how she could love him after he allowed her to be raped. My life before, as an atheist, was easier. Seeing the world as it presented itself in that moment required only eyes and ears. Seeing the world as a creation of God was far more complicated. I struggled with reconciling the pain that surrounded us, with what I was told was an all-powerful, loving God.

  I leaned my head against the back window, feeling the vibrations beneath me. The sky had gone from clouds of gray to black. It’d rained every day since Blaise’s wedding. But during those storms we had shelter and we appreciated the rain; it meant the seeds Charlotte, Blaise, and Josh planted would grow.

  The kids, more than the rest of us, loved the rain. If it wasn’t too cold, they played for hours in the mud. The first time JP found an earthworm, he told me to close my eyes and open my hands. I should’ve known better, but I obeyed and couldn’t stop the scream when I felt something wet and cold slithering in my open hands. I opened my eyes to see the worm, and Jonah running as fast as he could toward me from across the yard. When he realized why I screamed he couldn’t stop laughing. I tried to tell him my eyes had been closed and it scared me, but he kept laughing. I eventually threw the worm on him and he jumped back with a squeal. I merely stuck my tongue out and walked away.

  Lightning flashed across the midday sky and thunder shook the earth as the rain began to fall. East sat forward, pulling the minivan blanket from beneath her.

  She tossed it to me. “Here. No reason for all of us to get soaked.”

  “We can all share it,” I said, unfolding the blanket.

  “I’d rather be wet than dead,” she said, watching the space beyond the truck.

  “I’ll keep watch. Get under the blanket,” Jonah said, handing East one end of it.

  The rain was cold and hard. It felt as if I was being hit over and over with small ice cubes that shattered on contact against my skin. I leaned as close to the back of the cab as I could and pulled the blanket over my head. The attack on my skin stopped. I tucked my feet under my legs. I knew walking in wet shoes would cause the skin to soften and rip.

  I peered beneath the blanket, past where Jonah sat. As I did so, East pulled the blanket over her head and pulled her feet in. I quickly turned, not wanting her to catch me looking at her.

  With every passing mile the blanket became heavier and heavier. My clothes and skin became wet, but I didn’t feel the sting of the rain. Jonah’s body was warm next to mine. Being close to him brought a sense of peace that nothing else ever did. The truck bounced and I realized how badly I needed sleep. I’d been too upset in the last few days to sleep more than a few hours; after that, my mind woke me with broken dreams. Churning thoughts that made no sense when I was awake, suffocated me while I slept … until I had no choice but to wake. Now soaking wet, in the warm dark air of the blanket, with Jonah’s body touching mine, my eyelids became heavy. I tried to lift them, but the more I tried to open them the more determined they were to close.

  Eleven

  “The rain stopped. You can come out,” Jonah said, peeling the blanket from my sleeping body.

  “I thought you fell asleep,” he said with gentle amusement in his voice.

  “I haven’t slept much the last few days,” I said, yawning. “Where are we?”

  “We got off the main interstate a few miles back. We’re on a smaller state road now.”

  I fought the urge to touch the raindrops trickling from his hair, down the stubble of his beard.

  “I saw a little boy,” he said. “He watched us pass and then he ran away.”

  My mouth fell open. The first person, besides ourselves, any of us had seen since we’d let Heath go after Mick’s ambush. “How did he look?”

  “Thin, but he had enough energy to run, so he must be eating something. His hair was short, so someone must be cutting it. Maybe his family is still alive. Or at least some of them,” Jonah said allowing a small amount of hope to enter his words.

  “I guess we’ll be seeing more people soon,” I said, my heart racing as I spoke the words.

  I was both terrified and excited by what we might find. I suppose a part of me, a very small part, still hoped that the light hadn’t done what we all believed it had—destroyed our country and caused the death of millions. That part of me hoped that in the last four months, whatever damage had been done had been fixed. That at least in the towns, life was getting back to normal, or at least people were alive, well fed, and safe.

  “You’ll be seeing them sooner than you think,” East said, nodding toward the row of houses that lined the road. She held her pistol just below the edge of the truck bed so it couldn’t be seen from the outside.

  This road was not like the interstate, void of houses and life. Here, houses dotted the landscape. Most of them looked deserted, with broken windows and doors that no longer stayed closed. But some looked much as they did before, though the weeds grew tall and the shrubs sprouted jagged and uneven. It was in one of those houses that a door opened as we passed. Then another and another. Near each open door stood people. They stared and I stared.

  In the first house there was a man, probably in his thirties, with a young girl beside him, not much older than Quinn. The dress she wore was frayed and her bony hands protruded from sleeves that didn’t reach her wrists. Her hair was combed and pulled back in a ponytail. She stared at us, a mixture of fear and disbelief on her small face. She wrapped her arms around one of the man’s legs. He stood in a stance that was half defensive, half curious. His clothes were baggy, his hair thin and shaggy. A gun held in his right hand pointed at the ground. He meant us no harm as long as we meant him no harm.

  The houses were small and separated only by tiny patches of weeds. They were identical, except for where the little girl’s house had black trim and shutters, the other two were green. In the first green-trimmed house, a man and a woman, wearing clothing hanging loosely from their bodies, each held a weapon. The woman watched us, but then turned her attention to the little girl, smiling and waving at her. The girl returned the smile, though she still hid behind the man. The man looked only at us. He watched, a look of concern and caution on his gaunt face.

  The third and final house was inhabited by a woman who looked tired but not defeated. She was probably in h
er forties, based on the style of her ragged clothes and the boy who stood next to her. But her hair was gray and her skin loose, making her appear older. Beside her, the boy was tall and gangly, probably fifteen or so. He watched us drive by, and then without warning he bolted from the house, sprinting toward us. East’s grip tightened on the gun, but she did not raise it. The woman screamed for the boy to return. The fear in her voice was louder than the words she spoke. Her neighbors called for the boy as well. The men yelled loudest and angriest of all. As the boy reached the road we were already well past his house. He stopped running and stood, watching us rumble away.

  As he disappeared I couldn’t help but wonder if those had been all who inhabited the houses before the light. I was sure the answer was no. Those six must have worked together to survive the winter, but how many others had been lost? We’d passed at least two dozen other houses. No one came from them; no smoke rose from their chimneys.

  The world was eerily silent. No sounds of dogs barking, horns honking, or radios blaring. In our world, on my ancestors’ property, we had all—except for Pops—survived. Here, the smaller number was not comprised of those that had died, but of those that had lived.

  The truck swerved and I slammed hard into Jonah. I screamed as a man’s arm reached through the wooden slats, beside me. The hand grabbed wildly, trying to pull the rest of itself into the truck. The hundred-year-old slats bent and then broke away. The man broke with them, his face appearing and disappearing behind the side of the truck.

  The man rolled onto the pavement behind us. He sat, eyes void of emotion. As I stared at his bulging eyes and skin that was barely able to contain the bones beneath it, I realized he was dying. Not from hitting the merciless asphalt, but from starvation. Trying to get into the truck was probably his last attempt at survival, his last hope. He remained unmoving in the middle of the road. I watched him with a mixture of sadness and terror. Would he die before my eyes?

  Would I do nothing to help him?

  East held the box of granola bars. A moment later she tossed them behind us, toward the man. He stared at her, and then crawled toward them. The weight of his emaciated body caused his right arm to buckle. He showed no emotion. Perhaps when people are that close to starvation, emotion leaves them. Perhaps they can no longer feel the pain of broken bones, or maybe they feel it the same but lack the energy to react to it. He reached the box and sat with it in his lap. I wondered what he had been before. A father, a husband, a brother, a son. Now he sat alone in the middle of a road where no car except this one had driven in four months.

  “That was nice of you,” I said.

  East shrugged. “We can hunt. He can’t,” she said, downplaying the sacrifice she’d made.

  “It was still nice of you,” I said, realizing that beneath her edges she was loving, more loving than she liked to be acknowledged for.

  “Are you okay?” Jonah asked, his gaze jumping from me to the side of the broken truck.

  “That man is going to die,” I said, staring far behind us where the man undoubtedly sat eating, perhaps for the last time.

  “We’re all going to die eventually,” Jonah said, his voice tired.

  “Yes, but seeing someone who won’t live beyond the week. That’s ….” I shook my head. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

  He exhaled, his back relaxing against the cab of the truck. “Yeah, it does,” he said, running his fingers through his hair and looking into the sky.

  The three of us sat in silence, until East finally spoke.

  “Jonah, get on the outside of Bria. She needs to be between us.” Her voice was commanding and full of irritation.

  “I’m okay,” I said, looking out the side of the truck.

  “No, East is right,” Jonah said.

  He placed a knee over my body and pushed me toward his sister. Blaise already sat to the outside of Josh. It made sense. The people with weapons needed to be on the outside. Those of us without weapons would only be in the way.

  Cars and houses continued to line the edge of the road, but there were no more people. With every car I saw, I tried to keep myself from wondering what happened to the driver. With every car, I failed.

  As we passed a black SUV, I didn’t have to ask that question. I turned my head away from the bones surrounded by bits of rotting flesh and wisps of hair that leaned against the driver’s side window. It was becoming difficult to breathe. I braced myself against the rising emotion. I knew there would be more death than life and I had to accept it, but I wasn’t sure how.

  Twelve

  Jonah and East each sat on a wheel well. The planks behind Jonah were broken and splintered. They had lasted a hundred years and would’ve lasted many more—but they were not made to support the weight of a dying man.

  The unpainted silver of a road sign passed on my left.

  “The bridge is five miles away, according to that sign,” Jonah said, above the wind.

  I knew what that meant. Just as we left the Pages’ home in search of water, others had undoubtedly done the same. We expected that people would be living as close to the rivers as possible. The more people there were, the more we would have to fight for the truck.

  I turned to look through the small back window. Blaise had her gun ready, her window down. Sara sat up straighter in the driver’s seat, her knuckles becoming as pale as mine as her grip tightened. Like me, Josh sat, watching and probably wishing that he could contribute or fight in some way.

  As we came over a small hill I could see the river and, as we expected, there were people. Lots of people. Tents and shacks lined the water’s edge. A few small children ran around the edge of the camp, a handful of adults watching them. It seemed as if with every turn of the tires, more and more people noticed our approach. We continued on the road, continued toward the bridge. People entered the road, their bodies blocking the bridge from us. At first it was just four or five people, but within seconds there were too many to count. The crowd was now several people deep, the bridge fully blocked. Our only option was to stop or run them over. Fear grew within me … the fear of stopping … the fear of not stopping.

  More and more people came, and this camp that had appeared peaceful as we rose above the hill, now seemed anything but. Many of the people carried weapons, spears like Jonah’s, knives, crowbars, chains, large pieces of wood or steel. Anything and everything that could be used to cause harm, everything except guns.

  We barreled toward the crowd. I bit my lip as Sara showed no sign of slowing. Would she stop? Did I want her to? Did she value their lives? Did I? I realized then how easy it was to devalue someone else’s life, someone else’s loved one.

  I turned to East, whose face registered no emotion. It was the face of a soldier. She would do what it took to get us home safe. I could see and feel that about her now. I also knew killing or injuring dozens of innocent people was not what she wanted.

  Behind her, in the crowd a man ran toward a small child. The man grabbed the child, a boy of maybe five or six, and carried him, thrashing and screaming, away from the woman who had been standing beside him. She in turn lunged for the man, but others grabbed her and held her back. The man ran with the boy, breaking through the human barricade. He now stood at the center of the road. He held the boy by the back of the neck and waist, the man’s arms outstretched in front of him, offering the boy as a sacrifice. If we didn’t stop, the boy would be the first killed. Against my wishes my mind imagined the man throwing the boy at the hood of the truck. I saw his body pressed against the glass, blood coming from his nose and ears. The face was that of JP. I blinked and moved my focus from the boy.

  At that moment the truck shifted. We began to slow and a moment later we were fishtailing to a stop in front of the boy. He stared into my eyes. I saw terror in his. I wanted to go to him, to hold him, to tell him it would be okay, but instead I sat. Jonah, East, and Blaise pointed their weapons at the crowd.

  The man released the boy, almost throwing him to the ground
. The child ran with all of his speed to the woman. Her controllers released her. Tears were running down her cheeks, while the boy screamed for her. He jumped into her arms and she ran with him away from the crowd, toward the outskirts of the camp.

  I wondered if she’d known this man was a threat to her and her boy, or if this was her first time seeing him for what he was.

  The man who’d held the boy called out, “We’re taking the truck.”

  I turned my attention to him and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d always been so cruel.

  “No, you’re not,” Sara shouted above the rumble of the engine.

  The crowd took a step toward us and encircled the truck on all sides.

  Jonah, East, and I stood with our backs to one another. The rest of my friends sat in the cab of the truck.

  “What’re you gonna do? Shoot all of us? Once you run out of bullets, those of us alive will take the truck and kill you,” the man shouted, his voice loud yet calm.

  He already knew we wouldn’t kill a child, and we knew he would. He would hold true to his word. We had only ten bullets between the two guns. We could try to keep the truck or we could try to keep our lives, but we couldn’t do both.

  Jonah looked at me. I nodded, agreeing to his unspoken words.

  He shouted to the crowd, “We don’t want to hurt any of you. We are just trying to find family near DC.”

  Laughter rang out from the people.

  “Let us save you the trouble. Your family is dead,” a man in the crowd shouted to us. The glasses on his face were broken and cracked, the clothes he wore, dirty and torn.

  “How do you know?” East said, aiming her pistol at the man.

  “Look at us!” he shouted. “There are less than a thousand of us, yet we are all that remain of a city of 100,000. Your family is dead and if you continue toward DC, you will be too,” the man said.

  He turned and pushed his way out of the crowd, going back to a small shack made of wood pallets. An American flag was spray-painted on each side.