by Keary Taylor
THE ASHES
An EDEN Prequel
By
Keary Taylor
Copyright © 2013 Keary Taylor
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.
First Digital Edition: February 2013
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Taylor, Keary, 1987-
The Ashes : a short story / by Keary Taylor. – 1st ed.
Also by Keary Taylor
THE EDEN TRILOGY
The Raid: An Eden Short Story
The Bane: Book One
FALL OF ANGELS
Branded
Forsaken
Vindicated
Afterlife: the novelette companion to Vindicated
WHAT I DIDN’T SAY
It’s been three days since they brought any food. From the shouts and banging that echo throughout the block I’m guessing that I’m not the only one starving. The inmate in the cell next to mine lets out a string of cuss words you only learn when you’ve spent a few years on the inside.
“So this is how it’s going to be?” my neighbor shouts to no one in particular. “You’re just going to let us starve? What, did the red, white, and blue finally run out of flow or something? Just gonna’ leave me here to rot?”
The guy next door always did have a loud mouth.
My stomach rumbles as I lie on my hard bed and stare up at the gray ceiling.
Where is everyone?
The schedule in here is clockwork. No deviations. But no one on D block has seen a single guard in three days, not since they brought dinner four nights ago.
Guards don’t simply disappear.
Something’s wrong.
42°6′20.1″N 71°17′23.9″W
Five days.
We’ve all had to dig into our stock piles of hidden food. Some of us will be good for a week, some us for only a few days.
The hunger makes the violence and vile words grow worse.
Today we heard shots being fired somewhere out in the direction of GP. Even more shots out toward Medical. I didn’t think they were going to end when I heard them out toward Death Row.
42°6′20.1″N 71°17′23.9″W
Eighteen days now.
I ran out of food five days ago.
My hands are shaking and my eyes can’t seem to focus just right. My body wants to be sick but there isn’t anything except water in it.
Never thought I’d be so grateful for the tiny sink and toilet combo in my cell. Never thought I’d have to rely on it to survive.
I haven’t heard much from the guy next door in the last twenty-four hours. He’s worn himself out and reduced his ranting and shouts to just the occasional pounding. He’s getting quieter.
The whole block is.
42°6′20.1″N 71°17′23.9″W
Twenty-three days since we’ve seen anyone. At least a week since everyone ran out of their food hoard. And yesterday morning the water shut off.
It smells. D block always smelled bad.
But not like this.
I don’t hear voices any more. Occasionally someone gives a weak kick at their door. Every few hours someone moans. Or cries.
You don’t cry in here. Not if you want to stay alive.
But if I’m guessing right, a few of us don’t carry the status of living anymore.
I don’t want to think that I might be headed in that direction soon. I can’t even climb out of this bed. I can hardly lift my arms or move my head. I don’t even feel hungry anymore. I just feel…
42°6′20.1″N 71°17′23.9″W
I hear something.
A door creeks open, or maybe closed.
And suddenly there’s the familiar buzzing sound of the cell doors sliding open.
“Hello?” I say. At first my voice doesn’t work. “Hello? Is anyone out there?”
Feet shuffle somewhere out in the corridor, but they pause just outside my cell. I sense their hesitancy, as if they’re debating just taking off and leaving me here alone to rot.
“Please,” I said, my voice sounding weak. “Please don’t leave. Get me out of here.”
They hesitate a moment longer, their weight shifting back and forth.
“You may as well stay here,” a voice says. Something is tossed and lands on the floor of my cell. “Everyone’s as good as dead out there.”
“What do you mean?” I say as I try and roll over to see what was thrown.
“Don’t let them touch you,” the voice says. “Anyone. Don’t let anyone touch you. That’s all that matters.”
And then the footsteps retreat and I’m alone again.
42°6′20.1″N 71°17′23.9″W
I wake sometime later and find that I’m on the cold gray floor. My arm is outstretched, reaching for something lying on the ground. I can only assume I passed out earlier.
The man in the dark. Something was thrown.
I make my way to my hands and knees and crawl to it.
It’s a plastic bag. The kind you get at the grocery store. Inside it is a bottle of water, half a loaf of slightly moldy bread, two Snickers bars, and a small cup of applesauce.
I’ve devoured half of it before my brain fully registers that I’ve eaten.
Massive stomach cramps immobilize me and soon I’m lying on my back again, staring up at the gray ceiling. My eyes open and shut in pain. But it’s a good pain. It means maybe I won’t die today.
My eyes trail across the ceiling to the entrance to my cell. The door is still open.
But I don’t even have the strength to crawl out it.
Seven years. Seven years I’ve occupied this cell in the SHU. D block is the segregated housing unit. I deserve my stay. But after seven years, my chance at freedom is right there, and I don’t even have the strength to get to my feet.
42°6′20.1″N 71°17′23.9″W
“You still alive?” a voice says. Suddenly I’m blinded and I feel my eyelids being pulled open.
My fist connects with a jaw in fight or flight reaction.
Someone curses and stumbles away. A flashlight hits the floor and rolls into the corner. I shakily climb to my feet but nearly fall to the ground again. My muscles seem to have forgotten how to work.
The figure in the dark is still cursing when the flashlight is turned back in my direction.
“Guess you’re still alive then,” they say. “You’re the only one on D block.”
“Everyone else?” Once again my voice is haggard.
“They’re dead. Starvation and dehydration took ‘em,” he says as he walks closer to me. His gray prison clothes match mine. “Probably best. Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”
I don’t question him as we head out the door. I grab the sack with the remaining food before we leave.
Out on the walkway, the smell is overwhelming. Some of them must have died at least a week ago if it already smells this bad.
“The corridor leading to Medical’s blocked off,” the guy says and starts toward the isolation rec block instead of out toward GP. The only way in or out of the prison is though Medical. “Roof’s caved in. I was hoping there’d be another way out in your neck of the woods.”
I don’t look into the other cells as we pass by.
The doors are open out to the isolation rec block that separates the SHU where I reside and Death Row. I’m momentarily blinded as I look up at the barbwire-covered opening. Out to f
reedom.
We’re both deathly quiet as we walk through the narrow block toward the next door.
This one is open too.
Death Row is silent and smells worse than the SHU. I dare a glance into one of the cells. There’s a man lying on the floor, flat on his back. He’s staring blankly up at the ceiling, a bullet hole between his eyes.
Every single one of them was shot.
“Rough,” my companion says quietly as we work our way to the end of the block.
We luck out and find the door leading out to the main corridor open.
It’s as if someone decided we were all going to die anyway and just opened every single door. Maybe they figured we’d kill each other off.
We step out into the main corridor. I glance back in the direction of the SHU and GP and see the roof has indeed collapsed, blocking off the back end of the prison.
“What’s going on?” I ask. The entire prison looks abandoned. There are bullet holes and shell casings everywhere. “What happened?”
“Not sure exactly,” my companion says. “I saw something on the news before all this, something about zombies, I thought. Didn’t pay attention cause I thought it was a joke or something, you know? Haven’t you heard anything?”
“No,” I say simply, my jaw tightening.
“Oh, right,” he says, barely glancing back at me. “D block. Segregation.”
“There was someone else,” I say as we turn left down a hall. “Gave me food, kept me from starving. I think it must have been a guard since he opened the doors. But he said not to touch anyone. You know anything about that?”
He shakes his head. “Nope, but by the looks of this place, I think it’s safe to assume that’s sound advice.”
And I see a body. It’s lying across a table on its back. It’s staring at me, its eyes wide open. But they don’t look right.
“Yeah, I’d say that’s probably some pretty good advice,” he says as we pause.
The inmate’s eyes are metallic, with ridges that shouldn’t be there, its iris an opal-looking color, all shimmery in the wrong ways.
There’s nothing human about those eyes.
“Come on,” I say, glancing back once more at the body. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You think it was some kind of disease?” the guy says. “Think that’s what happened to the guards? There was some kind of outbreak and so they took off?”
“I don’t know,” I say and shake my head. All I’m thinking is that I need a way to defend myself.
We start checking doors and offices. I see a sign that says “Warden” and duck inside.
We find three handguns in a drawer and a small handful of ammunition.
“Keep this one,” my companion says as we both look at the extra. “I’m in for fraud. I’m not exactly the type who knows how to use this thing.”
I can’t blame him for assuming I know how to use a weapon. Fraud did find me in the SHU.
I take the extra ammo and slip it into my pocket after making sure both firearms are fully loaded.
We hear the sound of movement outside the office.
“Who’s there?” I shout, leveling both firearms. I haven’t handled a weapon in seven years, but it all comes back in an instant. Just like riding a bike.
No one replies, but I hear the sound of feet coming closer.
I pause for a moment when I see something on the warden’s desk. There’s a letter. And it has my name on it.
I grab it and tuck it into my back pocket.
“Come on,” Fraud says, a hint of fear creeping into his voice. “Let’s just get out of here.”
I nod, my eyes still on the door.
I peek around the corner before we exit. No sign of whomever, or maybe whatever else is out there. But I can still hear it, just around the corner.
“Medical’s this way,” Fraud says as we turn a corner.
At the sound of his voice, our pursuer seems to catch onto our location. Feet pound against the gray pavement underfoot.
“Move it!” I yell, shoving my companion from behind.
The sound of feet keeps getting closer as we dodge down halls and around corners trying to shake it off. It disturbs me that I don’t hear anything else. No hard breathing. No one shouting at us. Only the sound of running.
I dare a glance back. There is a man in a doctor’s white lab coat chasing us. His eyes gleam.
I suddenly stumble, something soft and lumpy bringing me down to the ground. I’ve tripped over Fraud, taken down by all the debris on the floor. We roll in a tangled heap for a moment and I know that thing following us is going to catch us.
Grabbing the guns that have fallen from my hands, I turn to take aim. But I stop. The crazed doctor has his hand around Fraud’s throat, lifting him a good six inches off the ground.
I consider running for a moment. Medical is right behind me. I could make it. I could finally get out of here and be free.
But instead, I take aim and squeeze the trigger.
The doctor instantly drops my companion, his hand a bloody mess from my shot. His eyes turn on me and without hesitating I shoot again. Exactly where I aim. Right between the eyes.
It drops to the ground in a heap.
“Come on,” I say, looking at Fraud as he places his own hands around his throat, coughing violently.
Don’t let anyone touch you. That’s what the guard had said. His warning echoes in the back of my head as I watch Fraud stumble through the door into Medical receiving.
“You okay?” I ask as I look around for the exit. It isn’t difficult to find.
“Yeah,” he replies, his voice scratchy.
I push the door open and step out into the blinding light. We stumble toward the Sally Port, through the open gate, and past the razor-wire fences and into a parking lot. I check the abandoned cars but of course none of them have keys inside.
“What now?” Fraud says, looking at our surroundings.
“Hit the deck!” I bellow, raising the handgun. The man behind Fraud drops to the ground in a heap of gray prison clothes. His inhuman eyes don’t even close when he falls dead.
“Thanks,” Fraud says, looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes as he stands.
“Come on,” I say and take off into the trees that surround us. My hands and insides shake from exhaustion. I dig into my plastic bag and start in on the last of the food.
I’ve always had a good sense of direction and as we move through the trees I’m sure we’re headed the right way. I decide to keep to the wooded areas. They feel safer than traveling on the road, especially considering our attire.
“Where we headed?” Fraud asks. He struggles to keep up with me. He’s small. The type that doesn’t usually last long on the inside, not without having to give up some of his pride and humanity.
“My aunt lives not far from here,” I say, checking my back pocket to make sure the letter is still there. “I’ve got to check on her. Maybe get some supplies there.”
“Supplies to go where?” Fraud says. He seems to catch a second wind and his pace picks up. He isn’t breathing so hard now. “And won’t she be freaked out when you just show up on her doorstep?”
I don’t respond because I do not have an answer.
I get a bit of energy back as the food hits my system and we jog through the trees for a good hour and a half before we come to a highway that cuts through the trees. I slow my approach, crouching behind a tree on the edge of the road. Carefully glancing around it, I look both directions.
There is a police car about two hundred yards to the west. It’s parked in the middle of the road, as if it was blocking off anyone from going into the city. Its lights are flashing but the siren is silent. The driver’s door is hanging wide open. I watch it motionless for a full minute but don’t see any activity. It looks as if the vehicle has been abandoned.
The entire highway is empty.
“I don’t think there’s anyone out there,” I whisper. My hands tighten around
my firearm. “We’re going to have to cross this road, then travel parallel to it for about an hour. We should reach my aunt’s house in about two.”
I notice then how deathly quiet Fraud has been since we approached the road. I glance back at him, only to do a double take.
He’s staring straight at me, but he has this glazed over look. He’s blinking rapidly, almost as if he’s trying to clear something from his head.
Or maybe the metallic veins that are spreading in his left eye.
I curse under my breath and shift my aim between his changing eyes.
“You okay there?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Don’t let anyone touch you.
“I…” he stutters. “I…don’t…”
A twitch starts above that left eye. Within ten seconds it works its way down his left arm and soon his fingers are moving rapidly, flexing and twitching.
He’s lost all control of his hand.
“I’m going to go now,” I say, my voice calm and even. “And you’re going to stay right here. You’re not going to follow me or I will shoot you. Got it?”
“I…” he stammers again. “Must… What…”
“I mean it,” I say, the warning tone in my voice rising. “You stay here and don’t follow me.”
Fraud doesn’t even try to respond now and I see his jaw flex, his muscles grow rigid. His fingers now curl into fists, the twitch dying away.
I curse under my breath again.
Slowly, I back up, never taking my eyes from him.
His left eye is now more metallic than human white. I can see tiny lines forming in the other eye.
My heels meet the pavement of the highway. I keep both fire arms leveled on him.
He takes one step toward me.
“Stop right there!” I shout. “I will put a bullet between your eyes!”
He takes another step toward me. He moves differently now. Stiff, slightly jerky. He looks disoriented and empty.