Falling Ash

by Douglas, A. T.

  “Take whatever time you need,” Silas encourages as he squeezes my shoulders one last time before letting go.

  When I hear him exit the kitchen behind me, some of the weight feels lifted from my chest and I can fully breathe again. I remain braced against the counter as I bow my head, close my eyes, and try to regain control of myself.

  “What the fuck is wrong with me?” I whisper, vocalizing my thoughts as I quickly shake my head in admonishment at myself for being so weak right now. After taking a few deep breaths, I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is my left hand and the awkward position of my fingers as they fail to grasp the edge of the counter because of their inability to fully bend that way. It’s a reminder that I have a lot of work to do if I have any chance of surviving in this world. I need to fix what’s broken both outside and in. I need to become stronger, need to be ready to face my fears with steadfast confidence instead of hesitation and worry.

  As terrifying as it is, I need to go on this excursion into the outside world with Silas. It’s my opportunity to learn how to use the weapons that might one day save my life.

  “I can do this,” I encourage myself in a whisper again as I remove my left hand from the edge of the counter and slowly attempt to open and close my fingers a few times. I can already see an improvement in their range of motion compared to what it was when I first arrived here.

  Then I see the scar across my palm, the remnant of my past that I’ll never get rid of, and the hard scabs on my reddened wrist, the marks of my present that will continue to appear on me as long as I remain with Silas, and I begin to feel the bits of the resolve I’ve just built up slowly crumble away.

  I won’t vocalize my thoughts now. They’re expressed in the form of tears instead. For one full minute I remain at the brink of complete breakdown as the tears pour silently down my face, but at least I remain standing. I’ve proven to myself that I have enough resolve left to withstand the difficulties that will continue to be thrown at me.

  Now I need to move on to the next step: not just holding up against the hardships, but learning how to overcome them.

  18

  I’ve been working diligently with one of the hand-exercising squeeze balls we got from the physical therapy office, giving the appearance that I’m getting in some therapy for my left hand while I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Silas’ shiny black Chevy extended-cab pickup truck. I’m actually using the therapy aid more as a means of stress relief: to focus my attention somewhere other than the roads and houses we pass by and to help to calm the panic that threatens to rise within me every time I think about the fact that we’re no longer tucked away within Silas’ fortress in the woods.

  After everything Silas has put me through in that goddamn house, I never thought I’d miss being there, but I do. I know it’s not fully safe, that it’s still under constant threat of attack or intrusion, but it’s a hell of a lot more secure place to be than out here.

  Despite my concerns about being more exposed and vulnerable out on the road, I do feel strangely comforted having Silas by my side. It’s difficult to reconcile these thoughts within me, though. I should be afraid of him, hating him, pushing him away, yet I take comfort in his embrace and protection. I fear the people in the outside world more than I fear the man who has kidnapped me, tortured me, and taken everything I have left. When his life was in danger, my gut reaction was to help to save him instead of letting him die as he deserves because of all that he’s done to me.

  My heart beats rapidly within my chest as I realize I’ve developed a dangerous dependence on Silas and a loyalty toward him. I’m playing right into his plan to make me his partner in this life, and I fear that once I go too far down that path, there will be no going back.

  I’m working the rubber exterior of the squeeze ball and the malleable gel underneath it even harder now, embracing the associated pain in my palm as it helps distract me from my thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Silas glance toward me occasionally, but he doesn’t say anything.

  It feels like hours go by while we’re driving in silence northward to the remote place Silas has in mind for us to camp, but by the time he’s pulled us off onto a rough dirt road for a few miles and then comes to a stop, only about an hour has gone by.

  He’s barely cut the engine before he’s getting out of the car, his enthusiasm and excitement over this excursion abundantly apparent in how quickly he’s moving. I’m in no rush as I set the stress ball aside and unbuckle my seatbelt to reluctantly step down from the truck.

  The moment my tennis shoes connect with the dirt and I take in the serene forest view around me, I’m immediately brought back to thoughts of my brief time on the run with Jake before Silas took us. The scene is reminiscent of those days we spent together in the woods after we were forced from our refuge into the outside world. There’s beauty and calmness everywhere, a perfect paradise of nature all around us, seemingly untouched by the plague that is the remnants of a society struggling to survive.

  As I step away from the truck, my eyes are drawn in every direction, desperately scanning the trees and bushes. Everywhere I look, all I see is Jake, but in reality he’s nowhere to be found.

  He’s nowhere at all. He’s gone, his body discarded in a makeshift grave in the dirt.

  My legs give out on me.

  I’m going to be sick.

  As my knees hit the ground and I fall forward onto my hands, the entire contents of my stomach hurl out of me onto the dirt. My throat burns as I expunge every last bit of it. By the time my body is done with its violent reaction, my eyes are soaked with involuntary tears.

  I don’t dare look forward at the evidence of what has just happened and instead keep my head down and sit back on the dirt. My entire body is shaking as I scramble backward to put some space between me and the site of my breakdown.

  When my back connects with what can only be Silas’ legs, I want nothing more than to get to my feet and run as far away from here as possible. I don’t want to have to face Silas like this. I don’t want to explain what just happened.

  As I remain still other than my heavy draws of breath, a hand appears extended in front of me. I know I need to take it and get back on my feet and recover from this, but I’m dreading the look on Silas’ face when his eyes meet mine.

  I grab his hand and let him steady me as I rise to my feet. A slight tremor still reverberates throughout my body as I take an uneven breath and dare to look at his face.

  His expression is sympathetic, but not full of pity. There’s no judgment there, no look of disgust or frustration or ridicule. I’d almost say he was giving me a look of compassion if not for the fact that I know he’s a monster.

  Is the devil really capable of normal human feelings?

  Can the devil be forgiven?

  I divert my gaze and let go of Silas’ hand to wipe the wetness from eyes, determined to regain control of my emotions. When my vision has come back into focus, I look out at the forest only briefly, not willing to give myself the opportunity to imagine Jake being out there among the trees again.

  “If it’s too much, we can go home,” Silas offers.

  “No.” The last thing I need right now is more time sitting around the house tortured by my thoughts while Silas is thinking I’m too weak to train or do anything of use. I struggle for a moment to find the right words, then finally say, “This just hit me a lot harder than I thought it would. I see him everywhere out here.”

  Silas takes a step closer to me and grabs my hand before I have the chance to move away. I know what he’s trying to do, and as much as I want to give in to it and let him provide the comfort and support I know I need right now, it’s not something I can handle, not when Jake is at the forefront of my mind.

  “Please don’t,” I plead as I rip my hand away and step backward. “Not right now.”

  Part of me expects Silas to be upset with my reaction, but he seems to accept it rather easily. “At least sit down and drink som
e water,” he suggests before moving to the back of the truck to unfold the truck bed cover.

  While Silas is distracted by unveiling the supplies and weapons he stored in the back of the truck, I take advantage of the opportunity to do as he suggested, taking up the passenger seat in the cab again and closing the door behind me, sealing out the outside world. I close my eyes and take small sips from my water bottle as I try to will away what’s left of the unease still affecting my stomach.

  It’s not working, though. If anything, hiding in the darkness behind my eyelids only increases the anxiety within me, so I quickly open my eyes and look straight out through the windshield into the thick trees and brush that surround this area.

  For a few moments my mind plays the same trick on me, providing mental images of my brother out there in the woods as if everything were fine and Silas had never encountered us, but I don’t let the ruse continue, and I don’t let myself break down again, either. I keep my eyes trained forward as I scan the trees and bushes again like I did before, but at the same time I tuck away thoughts of Jake and focus on my reality instead.

  He may be gone, but I’m still living. I have the opportunity to quickly acquire the survival skills that would take months or years to learn on my own. Whether I eventually manage to escape Silas’ grasp or not, I have the potential for a solid future in a world that’s crumbling away, and I have to take advantage of it. I won’t let Jake’s death have been for nothing.

  When my mind is fully back in the moment and my water bottle is empty, I open the door and let my feet fall to the dirt again. I scan the area as I did before, but there’s no internal reaction this time. All I see now is the forest, the backdrop for this latest leg of my chaotic journey with Silas.

  I look to the back of the truck just as Silas closes the tailgate. He has the black backpack on and two rifles slung over his shoulder. He slips the handgun he’s carrying into the back of his jeans before picking up a small, army-green metal box from the ground.

  “You ready?” he asks hesitantly as he steps toward me.

  I only nod in response before following him into the thick of the brush, more than happy to get away from this area. There’s no defined path through the woods, but we manage to push through just fine, our jeans protecting our legs from getting scraped up along the way. The terrain has a gradual incline until we reach the peak of the ridge. It looks down toward a valley below that connects with an even higher ridge on the other side.

  “This should work,” Silas determines as he looks out toward the valley, then back to the way we came. I follow his gaze in that direction and see that even through the thick of the woods, the truck is still visible from here.

  Silas drops the metal box then unloads the rest of his gear onto the ground. As I begin to realize one of those deadly weapons will soon be in my unexperienced hands, I quickly become intimidated, doubting whether or not I can actually do this without making a complete fool of myself.

  “I’ve never even held a gun before,” I warn.

  “That’s good,” he replies with a smile. “No bad habits for me to undo.” He selects one of the black rifles and approaches me. “This is a semi-automatic .22 caliber rifle. You need to get used to the recoil before we can move you up to the higher calibers.”

  I somewhat reluctantly accept the gun from Silas. It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be, but it’s got some decent weight to it. It feels solid in my hands, as if it could stand up to anything this fucked-up world could throw at it. It also feels powerful, not just because of its obvious ability to do physical harm, but also because it provides an almost instant advantage to anyone who holds it.

  “Hold the stock in your right hand, but keep your finger off of the trigger,” Silas directs as he steps around me to get a better view. “Rest your finger along the stock above the trigger instead.”

  I follow his instructions, resisting the urge to touch the trigger which is where my finger naturally feels like it should go when I’m holding the gun like this.

  “Hold the handguard with your left hand.” He points to the black piece that surrounds the middle part of the rifle’s barrel. “You only need to rest it on your palm to steady your aim. Don’t worry about gripping it with your fingers.”

  I can’t deny the relief that flows through me knowing my dysfunctional left hand won’t be an issue here. When I support the bottom of the handguard with my left palm and begin to lift the gun higher, it strangely reminds me of the familiar position of holding a violin.

  Maybe I can do this after all.

  Silas takes a step closer to me, grabbing the triangular black piece at the back end of the gun and shoving it backward into my right shoulder. “This part is important. The stock of the gun should be firmly against your shoulder whenever you’re shooting. Your shoulder will absorb the recoil of the gun. If you don’t keep it under control, you could get hit in the face.”

  It’s slightly terrifying to think this weapon can do damage to me even when I’m the one firing it. It causes me to reinforce the gun against my shoulder as much as possible, even though Silas already did that step for me.

  When I raise the rifle so that I’m in position to fire, Silas steps up behind me, closing any space between us until his chest is against my back and his arms are around mine. I’m instantly distracted from the slight adjustments he’s making to my hold and the aim of the gun, as all I can think about is how his body is conforming to mine at this moment.

  “You have perfect position now,” he comments, his words causing me to shiver as he’s close enough that I feel his breath against my right ear as he speaks. “Now you just have to…”

  I hold my stance but glance the slightest bit to my side toward Silas when he stops talking mid-sentence. The hungry spark of need I see in his eyes causes an inferno of heat to ignite within me, and my breath catches as my heart rate soars. I feel the slightest movement of Silas touching his head to mine, some primal gesture beckoning me to come closer to him, and my body instantly complies. I turn my head until our foreheads connect, and I can feel his breath across my lips. All of the tension in my body releases as I close my eyes and relax into him, and he openly receives me, reciprocating with equal pressure against my touch.

  It’s easy to let myself go like this, to give in to my body’s need for human contact and support. The weight of the world feels lifted from my shoulders. All of the worry and pain is gone. I’m not plagued by my past or worried about my future; I’m just here in the moment, alive and feeling. The burdens I carry feel lighter when I’m not bearing the weight of them alone.

  I don’t have to face this new life in solitude. Just because I lost everything doesn’t mean I can’t gain some of it back. Maybe Silas is right in what he said that first night we slept in the same bed together: I do need this. For years I’ve neglected my natural need for companionship and affection. It feels too good giving in to it now after being deprived of it for so long.

  But it also feels wrong. Horribly wrong.

  “Why does it have to be you?” I whisper, my body’s verbal expression of the conflicted feelings within me.

  “Why should it be anyone else?” Silas counters, holding me just a little tighter. “Why can’t it be me?”

  I release an uneven breath. “You know exactly why.”

  For just a moment longer, I let myself exist in this blissful state of ignorance in which I feel safe and comforted and protected from my reality, pretending that I’m in the arms of a normal, caring human being who’s not a twisted monster. As hard as it is to abandon this euphoric state, I know I must, so I open my eyes and lower the rifle as I step away from Silas.

  “Ash,” he calls out to me.

  “My name is Ashleigh,” I respond defiantly, trying desperately to reclaim some small part of who I was before Silas took over my life.

  When I dare to turn around to look at him, he’s just finished running a hand through his dark hair, and there’s a look of debate on his face. I w
orry that he’s on the edge of losing control, and I don’t want to see the unpredictable side of him play out right now. I opt to take charge of the situation instead.

  “Can we continue?” I ask as I gesture toward the rifle, hoping I can get Silas to focus with me on the task at hand. I could really use the frightening experience of firing a gun for the first time as a means of distraction right now.

  Silas hesitates and doesn’t respond for a moment, then finally nods. He steps over to the backpack on the ground and begins to dig through it for something.

  I don’t bother waiting for him. After turning toward the valley and taking a few steps forward, I plant my feet in a steady position and follow the steps again to hold the rifle properly in my hands and against my right shoulder. I raise it close to a firing position and scan the area ahead looking for a potential target, something that stands out from the rest of the trees and brush.

  “Don’t aim too far,” Silas advises as he steps up next to me, though he’s keeping his distance this time. The conflicted look on his face is gone, and he appears to be back in full control now. “You don’t have much range on that rifle.”

  There’s a large fallen tree maybe a hundred feet in the distance that seems like an ideal target between the other trees. I carefully raise the rifle to what I think is the correct position, then wait for Silas’ guidance as I realize that he hadn’t gotten past this point in his instructions before, or if he had, I wasn’t paying enough attention at that point to absorb anything.

  “Pull the slide on the right side of the gun to chamber the round.”

  I do as he says, my heart beating a little faster as I hear the sound of metal against metal preparing the bullet to fire.

  “The button near the trigger is the safety. Always leave the safety on until you know you’re ready to fire.”

  I put my hand back on the grip of the stock and push in the small black button with my forefinger. It pops out on the other side with a red ring around it, warning me that the weapon’s live.