A Light From the Ashes

by Rachel Anne Cox

  “Not like the Watch, you mean.”

  “Sure. I still wonder if maybe we should have contacted someone in the Watch to take care of it, just so it couldn’t be traced back to us.”

  “Have many friends in the Watch, do you?”

  “No, but I assume there are ways to get in touch with them.” Gemma hated lying to her husband but tried to hold his gaze so he wouldn’t suspect the dishonesty. It was forbidden to tell spouses about membership in the Watch unless they were also members. This was to protect all concerned. She knew that in her mind, but it didn’t make the lying sit any easier with her.

  “Well, we were able to take care of it without them.”

  “What will they find out there, do you think? Have you ever thought about what it looks like beyond the Border now? If there are others like Ruth and Jordan, trying to make a new start?”

  Beyond the Border. How could he explain to her the things he’d seen as a Corsair, the raids he’d been on beyond the Border? How could he tell her anything about his life in between when he’d been taken into the army and his return? “Not really. What’s the use of wondering those things? How was Zacharias today?”

  Gemma breathed heavily. “He’s fine. I think he’s feeling a little tired, though. Started talking about Jesse again. He always talks about her when he’s down. I was thinking on the walk home of something he said to me.”

  “What was that?”

  “It was something about leaving your mark on this world. It got me thinking of the mark I want to leave, my legacy. What in this world will say I was here after I’m gone?”

  Gemma reached over to run her fingers along Kyle’s forearm. He looked down and picked at the skin around his nails.

  “Kind of heavy thoughts. Why all this speculation suddenly?” he asked.

  “Don’t you think we should try to do something, if we can, to make things better?”

  “Better than what? What are you talking about?”

  “I mean if we ever have kids. Wouldn’t you want to improve the world we’re living in?”

  Kyle sat up straight, no longer relaxed. “Now you’re blending subjects. Are we talking about joining the Watch or having kids?”

  “Kids, I suppose. I was just thinking it might be time to talk about applying to have a child.” Gemma turned and lay back on her pillow. She was tired and hoped this wouldn’t turn into another argument. She wished they could find a way to get on the same page.

  “Oh, come on, Gemma, this again? We’ve talked about it already. Talked and talked.” Kyle tried to get up to walk out of the room, but Gemma pulled him on the bed, taking his hand to hold him there.

  “What makes now the right time?” Kyle continued. “Does this have anything to do with you helping with that childbirth a few weeks ago? You’ve seemed kind of tense since that night.”

  Since she hadn’t actually witnessed the childbirth, Gemma truly didn’t know what it was all about. Maybe it was pure instinct, nothing more than chemicals and hormones. Maybe it was her interaction with Daisy. Maybe it was the jealousy that had gripped her when she realized Aishe had a child. But if she was being honest with herself, if she’d taken the time to stop and think about when her wish for a child had returned, she would have realized it was Sam. She and Sam had always talked about the children they would have together. And seeing him again had brought it all back. Every part of her she thought had died with him suddenly resurrected.

  “No, it wasn’t that really. It’s just that I’m not getting any younger, Kyle. You know how much I’ve always wanted a child. And we’re running out of time. Besides, it just feels right. Who knows how long it will take for the application to go through? Why are you still against it?”

  “Aren’t our lives, the childhoods we had to endure, proof enough that nothing in this world is certain? I was conscripted into the army without choice. Sam was sent off to the lumber camp for seven years. How much of our lives do we actually control? Then what happened with Ruth and Jordan doesn’t make me feel better about the situation we’d be bringing a child into. Doesn’t it seem selfish in a way?”

  “Selfish to want to bring life into the world, to try to instill goodness, fair play, and maybe a little bit of beauty by raising a child? It seems like we’d be adding something to the world, not taking something away.”

  “Abstract ideals that don’t hold up under the weight of destructive reality.”

  She sat up next to him and placed her chin lightly on his shoulder. “You and I have seen plenty of destruction in our time, more than we ever should have. That’s true. But don’t you feel the need to create something?”

  “I don’t know, Gemma. God! I’m just trying to survive.”

  “I’m tired of just surviving.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  She put her face to his cheek and whispered the word like a secret. “Living.”

  * * * * *

  Sam heard the sound before he saw its source. A rustling murmur not unlike a distant wave. Mother Nature’s breath as she arose in the early morning. Then looking into the sky as blue as a cornflower, he saw them. Starlings in flight, in what appeared as a choreographed dance, they moved like one entity with one mind, diving and swooping in unison. The tiny birds, when on their own, were vulnerable to predators, but as a group they became a new creature, an impregnable force. He marveled at the connection, the instant communication between them. Harper Lee’s mockingbird was alone, David against Goliath. But these starlings had strength in numbers. Sam wondered if humans could manage to find that kind of connection with other human beings. Could they be brought into that kind of unity, and what would affect the kind of change that would bring them together?

  As Sam cooked breakfast over the fire, he realized he was whistling a tune he hadn’t heard in years. A song from Before that Zacharias used to sing to him and Gemma when they were children. He excavated his mind for the words, words he’d learned to read by. The smells of breakfast cooking, the fire, the accompaniment of the early morning bird chorus blending with the running tune, all beckoned his memories to come back to him. Mornings with Zacharias and Gemma in the early years, now bittersweet against his stark reality. The insistent lyrics floated to the surface like a diver coming up for air. “Keep smiling through the day. Keep smiling through the night. The shadows fly away when they can see your light. If I can keep you with me in day and nighttime too, I know the dark won’t find me because my light is you.”

  Hearing Sam singing to himself woke Ethan from a light sleep. He stretched against the stiffness. He had been used to sleeping outdoors until arriving at Zacharias’ house. Now his limbs and back protested against sleeping on the ground. He was glad they would be heading back home today.

  “Ready for some breakfast, boy?” Sam called cheerily, trying to put into practice the words of the song to keep smiling. Ethan was relieved to hear the lightness in his voice.

  “Sure, let me just get my plate.”

  “What’s that in your pack there?” Sam noticed the strap he recognized.

  “It’s your old camera. Zacharias said you might want it.”

  “Let’s have a look. I haven’t laid eyes on this thing in years. Probably don’t even know how to use it anymore.” Sam winked at Ethan.

  Over the years, during the exodus that led the citizens to Jesse’s Hollow, Boswell, and other coastal towns, Zacharias had picked up supplies here and there. Things he thought might come in handy later. Sometimes just on a whim, with no logical reason in his mind, a discarded object would grab his fancy, and he’d pack it away like a squirrel. After he’d first found the camera in an old farmhouse robbed of its roof and inhabitants, he started hunting for film, paper, developing chemicals. He’d managed to get his hands on quite a few supplies in the abandoned cities before the Border went up. They resided now in his developing shed, a means of creating things which could then be traded on Market Days. He’d taught Sam his craft of photography early on. Their times together
in the shed with the sharp scent of developing fluid in the air were some of Sam’s fondest memories.

  Sam felt the weight of the camera in his hands, turning it over, examining its intricacies, what had once been an extension of his own body. He looked into the top of the Rollieflex, a boxy, two lens-camera. He loved the idea that just a tiny box could hold and preserve people’s memories.

  “How does it work?” Ethan asked. He’d seen the photographs that Zacharias had on his walls and had brought some with him for them to trade at Market Day but couldn’t imagine how they came from this little box.

  “Well, it’s not easy to explain. A picture is basically drawn on film with light, and then we transfer it to paper with chemicals. I’ll have to let you watch one day when I’m developing the film. I guess I like to think of it as stopping time for a moment, or at least slowing it down.”

  “That’s not really possible, though, is it, Sam?”

  “Always the literal one.” Sam tousled the boy’s hair. “No, taking a picture doesn’t actually slow time, but it holds onto a moment so you can always look back at it.”

  “What for?”

  “After the Disaster, when the dust settled and people had learned how to survive again, they started to realize all the things they’d lost besides people, homes, electricity, transportation. They’d lost their memories. For years they hadn’t had physical pictures like the ones I take with this camera. Z told me they somehow kept all their books, writings, letters, pictures, everything on their machines. Computers, they were called. I don’t really understand it. But when the machines stopped working, they lost all those things. So when I bring my pictures to Market Day or take pictures of people, in a way it feels like I’m giving them their memories back.”

  “But that’s what I mean. Why look back at all? Why does it matter if it all eventually goes away?”

  Sam paused and thought about that for a minute. He knew the life Ethan came from and knew how much he wanted to forget. It was a strange dance in the mind between a longing for and a repulsion from something. He approached the sensitive area carefully, not wanting to throw off Ethan’s balance. “Aren’t there things or people you would like to have a picture of to help you remember?”

  “There are memories of some things that never go away, even if you want them to.”

  * * * * *

  Rising early, Sophie fixed her morning coffee quickly. She wanted to get to the town square for Market Day as soon as possible before the crowd grew. Maybe if she got to the Council of Doctors before everyone else, they would be more sympathetic. She didn’t take time to put her hair up but left it down around her shoulders. She reluctantly lifted Bridget out of her sick bed, wrapping her tightly in blankets to ward off the cold in the air outside, and set out toward town.

  The morning sun broke into a million fractured pieces of light over the snow-covered fields. Sophie should have felt the cold as she walked the two miles from her farm into town. But her daughter’s fevered head lay on her shoulder as she carried her across the miles. Sophie was covered with the heat of her daughter, the heat of her own exertion from carrying a four-year-old, and the heat of fear radiating in her heart. Every few minutes, Bridget would jump or squirm to get out of Sophie’s arms, making the walk a struggle to comfort and hold onto her daughter for a few more minutes.

  “Hush, love. It’s alright. Mommy’s here. You’re going to be alright.” She tried to speak soothing words to her, sing lullabies in her ear, but the fever brought the fight out in Bridget.

  Sophie knew the fight that lay ahead and knew she’d have to draw on her reserves of strength, determination, and persuasion to fulfill the task. Bridget was in desperate need of medicine, and though Sophie would have rathered do just about anything besides revealing her child as undocumented, she knew she didn’t have a choice. She could only hope to play on the sympathy of the Government Office workers in order to get the medicine she needed.

  Sophie counted on getting past the guards at the edge of town as she’d always done without showing Bridget’s identification. The guards knew her and her daughter and had never questioned her, but they had always been friendly as she passed into town. On this day, the day she needed all powers of luck, chance, or providence to work in her favor, she was frightened to see five new guards she didn’t recognize standing in the road on the edge of the town square. Their uniforms were the same color as the clear morning sky, crisp and new, not the faded blue of the guards they had replaced.

  These were freshly minted recruits, not to be persuaded or reasoned with, their poised rifles a testament to their roles as bastions against all who would try to pass. Sophie knew she wouldn’t be able to get Bridget through without proper identification. Strike one against her luck. She smoothed her daughter’s hair down, wet with sweat. “Mommy needs you to be really quiet, angel. Okay?” Bridget’s eyes were closed, and Sophie prayed she was asleep so she wouldn’t hear the lies she was about to tell.

  The leader, a sergeant, stepped forward, holding his rifle across his chest. “Present your identification papers for you and the child, citizen.”

  Sophie shuffled Bridget to her left hip, pulling her own identification card out of her pocket. Another soldier stepped forward to take and examine her card.

  “Good morning, Sergeant. Where are the other Corsairs who used to be here?”

  “Reassigned. It is not a citizen’s place to ask questions. Where is the child’s card?” the sergeant pressed, looking down at Sophie with empty eyes.

  Holding onto Bridget a little more tightly, Sophie replied, “I found this child sick in the forest. I’m bringing her into town to register her for adoption.”

  The sergeant looked with more scrutiny at Sophie, sizing her up, trying to determine her level of honesty. His eyes were ice blue, almost white, and hidden under dark, unforgiving brows. Sophie didn’t break her gaze, and even managed to smile at the soldier. “It’s a shame there are so many undocumented children running around these days. We citizens must try to help them as we can.”

  “That is not my concern. You must obtain an identification card immediately.”

  “Yes, Sergeant. That’s exactly why I’m here.”

  He looked at the two of them one more time. “Very well. See that you do.”

  * * * * *

  An ancient railroad track, long devoid of wooden ties, ran from Jesse’s Hollow to Boswell and from Boswell to the mountain range, making its way through trees, hills, and canyons. Walking between the long iron bands strangled in years of rust and corrosion, Sam and Ethan made their way out of the mountains, heading toward Boswell, not having the time to make it to Jesse’s Hollow before Market Day was over. Sam took the heavier pack from Ethan, carrying the camera, pictures, and other trade items, including some smoked venison. The gravel crunched under their feet, and Sam thought he heard a faraway whistle. But of course, no trains ran anymore. He wondered how many people had traveled along these tracks, speeding toward unknown destinations. He had read of trains and tried to imagine their powerful speed, flitting from one town to the next like a dragonfly zipping across the water. The abandoned and rusted-out train engine stuck on the track ahead, an orphan from another time, didn’t seem like it was capable of any movement at all. Some had thought trains and planes and other means of transportation had brought people closer together from all parts of the country and even the world. But for some, they had only driven them farther away from family and loved ones, all means of running and escape more easily accessible, the trains always one step ahead of those who would follow. He always felt sorry for the people he read about left on the train platforms, waving as the trains pulled away. That was before the machines of the world had come to a grinding halt with the Disaster. So now the people plodded on, one foot in front of another toward their destinations only within walking distance.

  Boswell’s market was smaller than in Jesse’s Hollow. Everyone seemed to know each other. As Sam looked around for a place to set up
his shop, he noticed too how they kept to themselves, no one smiling or talking to him, their trust of strangers long since abandoned. Every few minutes a child would run into the square, quickly grabbing an apple or a loaf of bread, then disappear among booths and patrons. Sam thought of Ethan having to live that way, and absently reached his arm around the boy’s shoulders as they made their way through the crowd. Looking around the square, a flash of color against the gray clothing and white snow caught Sam’s eye. He stopped, trying to find the source. A woman stood near him in the line for the Council of Doctors, trying to hold a sleeping child, who she shifted from one hip to the other. Every so often, she would look over her shoulder as if she expected to see someone. Sam was struck by her appearance. She seemed to embody all the colors of the sunset at once—her hair the fire of the setting sun, her eyes the color of the sky left behind.

  “Sam!” Ethan’s voice broke into Sam’s consciousness. “Did you hear me? There’s an empty booth over there a lady said we could use. Do you want to start setting up?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you bring the things over, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

  Sam was only half paying attention to Ethan and what he was doing. He heard the woman talking to the young man at the window of the Council of Doctors. No citizens were allowed in the building until the government worker at the window determined if they would be able to see a doctor. Initial requests were filed at the window where the citizens were forced to wait in long lines despite the weather. Here this woman stood with a child wrapped in a blanket in the biting cold. She seemed agitated and worried.

  Sophie tried to talk softly, not wanting to wake Bridget. “Joshua, you know me. Can’t you spare at least a few doses of medicine to help my child?”

  “Sophie, you know I would if I could. An extra ration of food here or there is one thing, but you know the medicines are more closely regulated. I couldn’t possibly give them to you without being discovered.”