Darker Days (As the Ash Fell Book 2)

by AJ Powers

  Megan and Ruth both had the same response—putting their hands over their mouths as they gasped in horror—while murmurs began to fill the room from the others. Lona found herself clinging to Blake’s uninjured arm, pulling herself close to him.

  “So, what do we do?” Geoff asked.

  “Well, that’s why I called for this meeting. After a long night of discussions and planning with Shelton and some other people in town, it was decided that the town leaders, along with volunteers, would stay and defend Liberty.”

  “Hell yeah!” Dusty shouted. “Bring it on!”

  “Easy, Dust,” Clay said, trying to get the teenaged girl to understand the gravity of the situation. “Also,” Clay followed up, “those who will not be staying behind to defend will need a place to go. Ruth, I know I really should have talked to you first, but I told the mayor that everyone was welcome to return to Northfield and stay on the farm until this all blows over.”

  Ruth looked at Clay with glassy eyes, “Of course, that’s okay,” she said, as if there was no other possible answer.

  Clay was relieved with her response. It wasn’t his place to volunteer her family’s land to house the refugees from Liberty, but there was no other option. “It’s not going to be easy and things are going to be cramped, but the folks need a place to stay, especially once winter hits.”

  “Winter?” Geoff asked. “How long do you think this will last?”

  Clay shook his head. “I have no idea.” He shrugged his shoulders before continuing, “Ideally, this man, Arlo, is bluffing and has a much weaker force than he claims. If that’s the case, this will be over in a hurry.”

  “And if we don’t live in a perfect world?” Megan asked, immediately catching the irony of her question.

  Clay’s eyes looked past the group of people in front of him and he found himself lost in thought. The weight of everyone expecting him to have a plan became crushing. “Weeks? Months?” he said as he once again shook his head. He blinked his eyes a few times, snapping himself out of his self-induced trance. He then met every eye in the room with his own before saying, “We hope for the best, but plan as if Arlo isn’t lying about the strength of his force.”

  The room was shrouded in darkness as Clay’s statement burrowed into their souls. Right then, they all knew that it was a strong possibility that within a few weeks, the beloved town of Liberty Township would cease to exist.

  “I have already volunteered to stay and fight,” Clay said. He saw Kelsey out of the corner of his eye trying to stifle her emotions. “The people of this town were there for me in my darkest hours; I couldn’t call myself their friend if I wasn’t willing to do the same for them. So…” Clay gave a quick glance around the room. “This is absolutely voluntary; nobody should feel ashamed if they decide to leave…”

  Dusty practically scoffed at Clay. “You know I’m in,” she said, a little too enthusiastically.

  Megan, who was fighting off tears, nodded. “I’ll stay.”

  Megan’s words evoked a confident “Me, too,” out of Levi, which came as no surprise.

  Geoff looked over at Ruth—she was terrified. He took a breath to speak, but Clay looked him in the eye and shook his head. Geoff closed his mouth, furrowed his brows and grunted.

  “I’ll stay,” a young voice said.

  Clay couldn’t help but respect his willingness, but there was no way he was going to allow it. “Blake, I appreciate the offer, but you need to give that arm time to heal.” Clay then looked over at Lona and said, “And I need you to see to it that he follows those orders.”

  Relief flashed across Lona’s face as she realized she would be returning home to Northfield with Blake and the others.

  “Are there any questions?” Clay asked, looking around the room.

  “When do we leave?” Ruth asked.

  “Two days…Three, max. Mayor Shelton wants everyone out of here by then so we can have time to stage the defense. We have our two wagons and Liberty is sending all five of theirs. There won’t be enough room to carry everyone on the wagons, so the wounded and children get precedence. Be ready to do some walking,” Clay said glumly.

  With no other questions, Clay adjourned the meeting and the room quickly emptied as they prepared for the coming departure.

  Geoff walked up to Clay, “What gives, man? You know I can help out here,” he said.

  Clay put his hands up to try and calm his irritated friend. “Do you really think I would doubt that?” Clay asked, almost offended. “I want someone that I trust—someone I trust with my life—to keep things safe back home. Shelton is sending a few of his guys to help out, but I need to know my family is safe. If I can’t be there to do it, then I don’t want anyone else to but you. Besides, I imagine Ruth wouldn’t mind having you around to help out during her morning sickness…”

  The frustration in Geoff’s eyes subsided. He was honored with Clay’s reason to bench him for the game.

  “All right,” Geoff said, conceding to Clay’s request. “I’ll make sure things run smoothly until you get back.”

  “Thanks,” Clay said before his shoulders dropped and his expression twisted into solemn anguish. “Geoff…just in case I don’t—”

  “Shut your mouth, fool,” Geoff interrupted. “Don’t you finish that sentence or so help me, you’ll be limping your way over to the wagons with the other wounded,” Geoff said with a half-smile.

  Clay wanted to laugh at Geoff’s response, but the words that never left his lips were still bouncing around his head. He looked Geoff in the eye and said, “Take care of them.”

  “As if they are my own, brother,” Geoff said.

  ****

  Clay walked into Shelton’s office. The mayor’s face was buried in inventory sheets, maps, and an alphabetical list of the residents—several names had been scratched off.

  Shelton looked up at Clay. “How ya holdin’ up, Clay?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “It’s been a long day; go get some sleep,” Shelton said.

  “I will, but I needed to stop by and let you know that Megan, Dusty and Levi are also staying here to help out.”

  “Are you sure? Are they sure?” Shelton asked. “Clay, this isn’t your fight. You don’t need to do this.”

  Clay mustered up a smile. “Your fight is my fight, Barry.”

  Shelton was overcome with gratitude. “Clay, I don’t even know what to say…”

  “Just tell us how we can be of most use to you.”

  Shelton glanced down at the mountain of papers on his desk. To say he was overwhelmed would have been a gross understatement. How, in ten short years, did he go from a maintenance manager for a small cable company to mayor, and now military commander, of a post-society town? It was beyond believable to the aging man, but in a world where crazy is the new normal, it almost started to make sense.

  After a lengthy sigh, Shelton looked back up at Clay. “Go get some rest, Clay. I’ll have Captain Kohler sync up with you in the morning and we’ll get y’all started on some things.”

  Clay nodded before giving a feigned salute. “Aye, aye,” he said, giving Shelton a much-needed laugh. As Clay reached the door, he turned back around and looked at Shelton, a serious look on his face. “We’ll win this, Barry…We will.”

  “Yeah…I know we will,” he lied.

  Chapter 22

  It was a ghost town, or it certainly felt that way. In the nearly nine years Clay had visited Liberty, he had never seen the place so still; so hushed. Only the frosty breeze in the air kept the sound of silence at bay. Many of the town’s buildings had been repurposed into war rooms, armories, and barracks, while others had been sacrificed entirely for materials to harden the defenses around the perimeter. The few dozen vehicles that remained inside the gates had been strategically positioned around town, most of which were placed near the main gate, creating a choke point for the attackers if they were to break through. Drums—both steel and plastic, filled with sand and water—haphazardly po
ckmarked the streets and grassy fields separating the homes. The three-story clock tower—which had been erected just six months before the ash fell—had been fortified with steel plates, sandbags, and an enormous amount of lumber. The tower, which was located at the center of a roundabout near the front gate, would be a crucial asset for Liberty. With a sharpshooter and a spotter stationed there around the clock, the once-iconic structure would be the eyes for the town—about as close to satellite feed as one could get anymore.

  Most of the northern and eastern boundaries took advantage of a steep drop-off down to a stream, giving it a nice geographical border. The sharp natural grade of the landscape coupled with a reasonably sturdy fence erected shortly after the first winter made that entire area an unlikely point of attack. While some efforts were made to strengthen the northern property line, reinforcements were focused to just a few vulnerable locations, most of which were on the western side.

  Though unlikely to be breached, Captain Kohler wouldn’t allow for such a large section of perimeter to go unmanned, so he stationed three small groups to cover the entire back border. With baseball fresh on the mind, the entire northern most half of town was known as “outfield” since only three “players” would be covering such a large swath of land.

  As he sat in one of the dozens of foxholes dug on Captain Kohler’s orders, Clay marveled at just how much the peaceful city had transformed over the past week. The quaint town of Liberty Township now looked like it belonged next to the Alamo rather than part of an HOA. It went from Mayberry, USA to Camp Mabry overnight. The sight was both ominous and awe-inspiring, truly something to behold.

  The seventh day looked to exit the same way it had entered: with a whimper. As the sun dipped behind the horizon, the warriors who stayed behind to defend the town sat anxiously at their assigned posts, waiting for an enemy that had already struck fear and terror into their souls.

  Clay started to wonder if Arlo had been bluffing after all. But then he recalled the look on Arlo’s face—the sincerity in his eyes. His gaze was filled with determination, but lacked deceit. No, Arlo and his men were coming and thinking otherwise would be a dangerous lie to tell himself.

  Clay looked up at the clock tower and wondered what was going through Dusty’s head as she kept her scope glued to the tree line in the distance. Clay and Dusty had been through their fair share of battles in the past, but this was different; this was war. Over the years, Clay had seen the flash of fear in her eyes on a few occasions, and though she’d never admit it, Dusty got scared like everyone else—she just happened to be better at masking it than everyone else.

  Nevertheless, Clay wasn’t terribly worried about Dusty. She was tougher than most guys he had met in the wastelands, and regardless of what cruel situations the world slung at her, the teenager would grit through and emerge victorious.

  Megan, on the other hand…

  Clay was worried about his sister—the last of his kin from the old world. As with everyone in this new world, Megan had not been exempt from facing violence. But, apart from that fateful night in their childhood home many years ago, she had never even pulled her gun on another man, much less squeezed the trigger. It wasn’t that he doubted her toughness—Megan had always risen to whatever challenge that came her way—but there was no telling how she would handle this kind of stress. For that matter, there was no way to tell how Clay would handle the stress. The unknowns terrified him, but there was no turning back now. The wheels were already in motion and there were only two ways to get off this ride: victory or defeat—the latter likely meaning death.

  Though he fought against it, Clay couldn’t help but think about Kelsey. It was not the time or place to worry about the look she had on her face when he decided to stay behind, but every moment that his mind wasn’t already occupied with another thought, there she was.

  He hated disappointing her. More than that, he hated hurting her, and there was no doubt that, with his complete lack of presence over the past few months, he had been doing it a lot lately. He didn’t blame her for the cold shoulder she gave him before leaving for Northfield. But with no way to make things right between them, Clay was not only frustrated; he was distracted. And that was the last thing he needed as he prepared for the upcoming battle. He just prayed that he would have another opportunity to right his wrongs with her.

  As if dealing with the psychological stress wasn’t bad enough, sitting in the frigid, rock-hard dirt all day added insult to injury. After a brief, but chest-rattling cough, Clay realized just how sore his body had become. He stretched his back the best he could inside the shallow trench, but was no more satisfied than before. Then, without warning, a ferocious Charlie horse struck Clay’s leg, causing him to shuffle back and forth as he frantically searched for a position that would bring relief to his throbbing calf.

  He let out a violent growl as the tightened muscles in his leg began to release, then a relieved sigh as he leaned back into the rear wall of the trench. Another barrage of coughs rattled the foxhole, triggering a nagging headache. He looked down at his watch—still four more hours until shift change. Before he even finished his calculation, Clay felt a droplet hit his head. Then another. Within minutes, he sat in a half-inch of muddy water.

  “Fan-freakin-tastic,” Clay grumbled.

  Chapter 23

  Clay startled himself awake with a deep, raspy cough. Though the cough had significantly improved, the pain in his muscles was agonizing. Even a small hiccup felt as if someone jammed a shiv between his ribs. That pain, however, was more tolerable than the aching lungs he still battled with.

  He was far from being completely well, but Clay felt better than he had since the wet, frigid night in the foxhole the previous week. At one point, while Megan checked in on him, Clay told her he felt like he was going to die. This slightly melodramatic comment resulted in a swift smack to the back of his head from his sister. Ordinarily, Megan had as much of a sense of humor as one could have these days, but joking about death was a crossed line too far. “Not now. Not ever,” she said adamantly, pointing her finger sternly in his face, leaving no room for negotiations. Throughout the years, far too many loved ones died under the care of Clay and Megan. And even though the news was always gut-wrenching for Clay, his constant outings often spared him from witnessing the last moments of their short, precious lives…

  The same could not be said for Megan.

  Megan was always there, sitting right beside their beds, squeezing their little hands until their palms went cold. She watched helplessly as their frightened eyes begged her to do something...but there was nothing she could do. Just thinking about it made Clay’s stomach churn with grief. Whenever he thought about just how much Megan had been through over the past ten years, it was surprising that she never ended up on the roof of the tower, walking carelessly along the edge as she waited for a strong gust of wind to finish what she couldn’t.

  For his own sanity, Clay forced the thoughts out of his mind. The lives lost during the attack, the grisly scene he discovered at the FEMA camp, and the memories of all his departed loved ones over the years made it difficult to find the necessary motivation to get out of his comfortable bed and return to his post, to wait for an enemy that may never show. It was sixteen days and counting—nine past the deadline Arlo had given to Shelton. Though he had been convinced that Arlo wasn’t bluffing, Clay started to have his own doubts.

  The entire week that he was bedridden, Clay relied on Dusty to keep him up to date with the latest happenings around town before starting her shift each day. His spirit was filled with hope when she mentioned overhearing a conversation between Kohler and Shelton. If Arlo failed to make a move by the end of the month, then they would call back all citizens from Northfield and scramble to prepare for winter. Even if they made that decision today, it would be an uphill battle at best. But waiting until November, after the lakes started to freeze and the already scarce deer population thinned even further, the struggle would be like trying
to shave a porcupine with a spoon. Still, preparing for winter late in the year was a more preferred alternative than fighting a war—especially when that alternative would have Clay sleeping in his own bed, in his own house, next to his beautiful wife.

  After managing to break out of his toasty cocoon, Clay climbed out of bed. The waves of dizziness that had been pestering him the last forty-eight hours went nuclear as soon as he planted his feet on the ground, causing him to fall back into bed. After a few slow, deep breaths, Clay slowly got back to his feet and gingerly made his way across the room to get dressed. His legs shook and buckled as his muscles got used to supporting weight again. It was a disconcerting sensation that he hoped would go away soon.

  Once dressed, Clay picked up his ARAK-21 and did a quick visual inspection to make sure everything was in working order. Though he had given it a pretty thorough cleaning after the rainy night at the farmhouse, he wanted to make sure there was no rust or nasty film from the rain. It was good to go. Clay threw on his chest rig and double-checked his magazine pouches. He had nine spare mags and one already in the rifle. Sliding his Glock 17 securely into his holster, Clay picked up a small backpack—a more compact version of the one he usually carried— before leaving his room.