For the first time, I looked at the individuals who made up the throng surrounding us. They were ragged, hair tangled, beards long, clothes torn, and faces dirty. They were thin, not as thin as the man who lay dying on the road had been, but far thinner than us or the people in the houses.
Several of the hovels were made from the same American-flag-painted pallets. Supply crates?
No one looked like they went with anyone else. The few exceptions to that were young children held by adults, though looking at some, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was now strangers raising orphans. There were no infants, and few adults with gray hair. Most were in their twenties and thirties. Some eyes were muted, others on fire, with few in between. Those on fire were looking at the truck and our guns; they wanted what we had. We had the advantage of firearms and strength. They had the numbers. If we fought, we would all lose. But us, most of all.
“Give us safe passage over the bridge, and we will give you the truck,” Jonah said, looking from face to face as he spoke. “No one needs to die today.”
I heard Sara shout “No!” from inside the truck. The rest of us didn’t care. This was our only chance.
“What about the guns?” a man called from the crowd. His eyes glowed with desire.
“Try and take our guns and you will die,” East said, with her father’s pistol aimed at the man’s head.
She wouldn’t miss.
“Do we have a deal?” Jonah shouted.
“We have no leader to speak for us,” a woman from the front line said.
“Make room for us to pass and we will leave the truck,” East said, repeating her brother’s words, but in a commanding rather than asking tone.
The people in the crowd looked at one another. Slowly they began to push back, away from the truck. A small opening appeared, leading onto the bridge.
East jumped down first, followed by Jonah and me. Their weapons were pointed at the crowd. We kept our backs to the truck while Sara, Josh and Blaise slipped from the cab. Each of us guarded Sara as she held the keys high so all could see.
We walked slowly toward the bridge. The crowd filled in the gap we left. When our feet hit the bridge Sara threw the keys back into the crowd.
“Run, don’t look back, just run,” Jonah said.
I did as I was told.
We ran as fast as we could across the bridge. East led the way and Jonah brought up the rear. I turned to make sure he was behind me. As I did so my vision moved past him to the explosion of violence behind us. People were being hit, pulled, and beaten. The woman whose boy had been taken, walked with a crowbar in hand, toward the crowd. The man who had taken him was in the truck, but without someone to turn the crank it was useless. He was pulled from the truck. Initial blows and shoves pushed him back to where the woman stood waiting. He wobbled as she reached him. She didn’t hesitate. She swung the heavy metal bar as if it were a bat. She connected with his ribs and brought him down. He stumbled backward. She raised the crowbar ….
Jonah grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. “Run!”
I held his hand as the world around me spun. I listened to my footsteps echoing on the metal bridge. I listened to my breath. I did not listen to the screaming.
Thirteen
“We … shouldn’t have … given them … the truck,” Sara said, panting.
“They would’ve taken it and killed us in the process,” East said, her voice and body calm, as if we hadn’t just sprinted for miles.
“We … should’ve … at least … tried,” Sara said. “We didn’t even fight … and now we’ve lost … the most important thing we had.”
I wanted to tell her how stupid she was being, but the words wouldn’t come.
“No, we lost almost nothing,” Jonah said, his voice firm and strong. “And certainly nothing we thought we would have for long.”
“We have our packs, our weapons, and our lives,” Blaise said. “That’s all that matters.”
“Did you see what they did to each other?” Josh said, reaching out to hold Blaise’s hand.
No one spoke. Watching the settlers was like throwing a small chicken to ravenous lions: the bloodlust overcoming them, all sense of humanity leaving. Jonah was right when he told the settlers no one needed to die today, but many did. The truck would lead to more death than I ever imagined. Whoever drove away with it today would have to kill again and again to keep it. Eventually, they would be killed and the pattern would repeat itself.
I wished, thinking of the grotesque violence, that Sara had never fixed it. I wondered if she thought the same. I looked at her and knew she didn’t. Her face was angry and brooding. She was not thinking of the settlers, only the truck.
“Why didn’t any of them have guns?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the memories that I knew would never leave.
East adjusted the pack she carried. “I was wondering that too.”
“Did you see the supply crates?” Jonah asked from beside me.
“The large crates with American flags on the side? Is that what they were?” Blaise asked.
“That’s my guess,” Jonah said. “Maybe their lack of guns had to do with them.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Maybe the government made them surrender their guns in exchange for supplies,” Jonah answered, looking down at me as we walked beside one another.
“Why would they do that?” Josh asked from behind us.
“Maybe to decrease the violence,” Blaise suggested.
“Their attempt failed,” I said.
I thought of Charlotte’s words many months ago and how prophetic they were. I realized that we are shaped by our choices. That we are all capable of causing great joy or great pain. Before the light it was fairly easy to live a double life. People didn’t know what you did in the privacy of your home and in many ways they didn’t care. Many people chose actions that led to darkness, but no one knew. Trent was a master at this. I knew it but chose to ignore it, to pretend that things didn’t matter when they did. But now it seemed that who you were was who you were. There was no hiding, no pretending, no lying.
We trudged for hours through the woods. When we came to houses, we sprinted across their backyards or the woods behind their fences. None of us desired to meet others.
We saw a man and a woman and two small children outside of a house. They were gutting a deer, a hunting rifle propped beside them. She saw us first and grabbed the gun, but they said nothing to us. The kids ran behind their parents; they’d been trained. She kept the rifle ready as we walked slowly across the edge of their property, our hands in the air. Once we reached the outer boundary, she put it back against the tree and they continued cleaning the deer.
These people—like those who’d watched us from the windows—were interested in surviving, not fighting. I thought back to the winter. I imagined here in this place, where people would’ve been everywhere, that survival either meant creating alliances, maybe with those who were already friends or family, or staying away and hiding in the shadows. Those who were the most predatory in nature would have attacked and sought to take what they could from others. They would’ve moved on from place to place, taking what they could from wherever they could. They would have killed or been killed. Those who were still here in these houses knew how to find what they needed to survive from the earth, not merely from others.
My father would’ve been here or somewhere like it at the height of the violence, when people were very much alive but only for the moment. Now I understood why he didn’t speak of what he’d seen. Why it was too much for him even months after he came to us.
I brushed the tips of my fingers across the long grass. The shallow ditch in front of us flowed with water. The dirt road beyond it was speckled with orange beneath the small white rocks that had been brought in to smooth and strengthen the clay soil. On the other side of the dirt road sat a small house surrounded by abandoned fields. The strong wind pushed the high weeds sideways, creati
ng the illusion of a well-maintained field. When the wind stopped, the weeds returned to their unkempt truth.
Lowering the scope from her eye, Blaise said, “I don’t see anything, but the drapes are drawn.”
“These clouds are coming in fast. I say we move closer,” East said, watching the house.
“I agree,” Jonah said.
Dark clouds covered the previously blue sky. Blaise moved forward. She pointed the gun to our left and then to our right.
“It looks clear,” she said, stepping forward.
Josh and East advanced with her, Josh hopping over the ditch and crouching down, slowly scanning the horizon as he did so.
“Let’s go,” he said.
He and Blaise forged ahead, sprinting to a clump of trees near the house. The rest of us followed.
The first clap of thunder broke as I reached the shelter of the trees.
“I’m going to check it out,” Jonah said, stepping forward.
“I’ll go with you,” East said.
“We can all go,” I said, feeling safest beside Jonah.
“Stay,” he whispered as he and East went toward the house.
Blaise raised her gun, pointing it at the house. Jonah and East stood near the door. Jonah raised his hand and knocked, and East hit him in the arm.
“I can’t believe he just knocked,” Josh said, laughter in his voice.
“It is the polite thing to do, I guess,” Blaise said, not moving the scope from her eye.
“I guess,” Sara said.
East tried the door; it must’ve been locked. They walked around the house, looking in the windows as they went. My heart raced when they turned the corner and were out of sight.
“Come on, we need to be able to see them,” I said, staying among the trees yet walking toward the back of the house. My friends followed.
The shattering of glass came from the back of the house. I left the safety of the trees and ran across the yard toward the sound. Blaise, Josh, and Sara followed, moving from tree to tree, trying to call me back. Raindrops hit my head as I reached the back of the house. I skidded to a stop when I saw Jonah and East entering the house. Jonah turned and waved us forward.
Shards of glass lay on the floor of the small, tidy kitchen. The smell of old death hung in the stale air.
I glanced at Jonah. “How did you know it was okay to come in?” I whispered.
“We saw the owners,” Jonah said, not bothering to whisper.
I stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“The bedroom window was open a little,” East said. “Their bodies are decomposing on a bed.”
Terrified, I looked at Jonah, who was shutting the outside door behind Josh.
“They were old, their hair was gray,” Jonah said. “His arm was over her body. To be honest, they looked peaceful. Like they could be sleeping—if their flesh wasn’t mostly gone. They probably died soon after the light.”
The description affected me in a way the murder from earlier in the day did not. This description implied love, and love was always more powerful than hate.
“Should we be in their house?” Blaise asked, a hint of sacrilege in her voice.
“We will have a hard time finding a house that death hasn’t entered,” Jonah said.
“We won’t disturb them or their home. We’ll stay for the night and then leave,” East said, slipping the pack from her back and placing it on a small brown kitchen chair. She opened the pantry.
“There’s food in here,” she said, shock in her voice.
We all rushed to her side.
Peanut butter, homemade jellies, crackers, cans of beans, soups, tuna fish, condensed milk, flour, sugar, cereal, and two gallons of water. My mouth watered at the thought of eating something besides smoked meat.
“Why did they die, if they had food and water?” Josh asked, looking at the food.
“They didn’t have medicine,” I said, staring at the container of used syringes on the counter. The black letters stood out against the cream-colored container. The words read: Insulin Syringes.
I knew we, our group, were unusual. None of us needed medication to live. For those that did, their survival would be limited.
“I’m going to see if there are other bedrooms. It would be nice to sleep on a bed or couch, something other than the floor,” East said, still carrying her gun as she walked toward a small hallway to the right of the kitchen.
The rest of us stayed together while she opened all the doors in the house except the one that was a tomb.
“There are two single beds, a queen bed, and this furniture,” she reported, gesturing to the small family room that contained a couch and a recliner.
The house grew darker as the rain fell.
Blaise grabbed an armful of food. “We need to eat and then sleep,” she said, carrying it to the kitchen table.
Josh took the jugs of water and I found the glasses in the cabinet next to the sink. Tears stung my eyes as I realized there were no dirty dishes in the sink. I looked around. The house was immaculate. Had he cleaned it, as she would have wanted, before he joined her in their eternal sleep?
The refrigerator was covered with pictures: of young children, teenagers, adults, wedding days, large family dinners, lazy days on the front porch, chickens in the garden, and graduations.
I touched the picture in the middle of the freezer door. An old couple, his arm around her, both with white hair. I wiped a tear from my eye and said a silent prayer, hoping they were happy and at peace. I believed in an afterlife, I always had. I suppose I never was a very good atheist. I never thought my mother just stopped existing in totality. I knew some part of her was still around; I could feel her. I wasn’t completely sure about the idea of heaven, though I hoped it existed. I knew if it did, these people were there. Like all the others, the light had freed them to be who they were. They loved. They were love.
I blinked away the tears and brought the glasses to the table. Jonah watched me as I sat beside him, placing the glasses in front of me.
We feasted on peanut butter, tuna fish, baked beans, and three different kinds of cereal. The box that was already opened was stale, but none of us cared. When we were done I found a small grocery bag and placed our trash in it. I would take it out with us in the morning.
Josh and Blaise claimed the room with the queen bed. East and Sara would share the other room. Jonah and I took the family room. It’s what I preferred, to be near him, and he didn’t seem bothered by my staying with him rather than going with East.
“You can have the couch,” he said, slipping off his worn shoes.
“No, you take it. I’m smaller, so the chair will be fine for me.” I sat on the chair, pulling the blanket that had been draped on its back over me. Though the days were warm, the nights were still cold, especially the nights filled with rain.
Jonah opened the glass doors of the fireplace. A small pile of wood lay inside.
“There’s a lighter,” I said, pointing to the right of the mantle.
Jonah took it and clicked it. A small flame emerged, and a moment later the dried wood caught. It seemed a little like magic. All our lighters had stopped working long ago. Here in this place it was as if we’d returned to a time before the light. We had food and water and now a fire that was started with no work.
Jonah pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over his body. We each lay, watching the flames in the silent house.
“Jonah?” I said, turning my head to face him.
“Yeah.”
“Did you see that man get killed today?”
There was a pause, as if he were remembering the scene. “Yes,” he answered.
“Do you think he went to hell?”
The concept of hell confused me more now that I believed in God than it did when I didn’t. Why would a God who was all about love and mercy torture someone for eternity?
“Only if he wanted to,” Jonah answered, turning onto his back.
“What do you mean?” I turned my body toward his. I wished there was not so much space between us, that I could “accidentally” brush my skin against his.
“I mean God wants us with him, but he gives us free will. If that guy doesn’t want to be with God, then God won’t force him to be. It’s his choice.”
“But God is all powerful, right? So if God wants that man to be with him, then why not just snap his fingers and make it that way?” I said.
Jonah rolled to his side and propped his head onto his arm. The orange flames illuminated his face and his eyes glowed in the firelight.
“Bria, God loves us in a way we can never imagine and he wants to be with us. But he wants us to want him too. He wants us to love him in our own broken, imperfect ways. He’s a gentleman. He will never force himself on anyone.”
“God is a gentleman?” I said, not sure what he meant.
“What’s confusing about that?” Jonah said, his voice tired.
“I don’t know. I guess I never thought of God as wanting my love or being patient enough to wait for me to decide when he gets it.”
“Is that so hard to imagine? Someone who doesn’t force himself on you. A guy who loves you enough to wait for you. Who loves you for who you are, not what you can do for him?” Any hint of fatigue was gone from his voice, replaced by growing anger.
I was silent, staring into the darkness of a house that was not mine, whose owners were dead behind a closed door, in a world that was nothing like the world I’d lived in the first twenty-one years of my life. And yet none of that was as confusing to me as Jonah’s words. Never had a guy been patient with me. Never had they respected what I wanted. Never had they loved me for who I was. The realization was startling. I thought I’d been loved in the past, but I knew that if this was what love was, then I hadn’t.
I sat up and turned to Jonah. His eyes stared at the ceiling.
“I can imagine it,” I said slowly. “I’ve seen it with Josh and Blaise. I just never thought I could have it. I never thought I could say no.” The words were out before I realized I was saying them. Why was I so honest with him?
Through the Ashes (The Light Book 2) Page 7