Ash & Flame: Season One

by Geiger, Wilson

  He heard a muffled curse and smiled, his fingers reaching for the knife at his belt. Evie’s boots splashed in the mud and she knelt next to him.

  “Help me up,” he said. He reached up with his open hand.

  “Shit, Brad, what happened to you?” Evie took his hand and pulled him up with a grunt.

  “Bad day to be on shift,” he said. Lilith’s face smiled at him, and he smiled back. So close now.

  He drove the knife up, and Evie looked at him with shocked eyes, her brow knitted in confusion. She peered down at the hilt stuck against her chest, then back at Brad again. Her mouth opened, but she only wheezed, the words dead on her lips.

  Her hands shot to the knife, gripping the hilt, but she slumped against him, her eyelids drooping. Brad let her down softly, fog washing over her still body.

  He scanned the eastern compound, the mist moving in, the rain and haze obscuring Haven’s interior. Shadows moved on the fringes of the fog, and Brad heard chittering sounds, like teeth gnashing. Something growled, low and guttural.

  It was going to be a bad day all around, for all of these people. To think he used to be among them.

  Move now, a voice whispered in his head. Now.

  He focused on why he was here, remembering what was promised him, the thought driving him forward. He left Evie’s lifeless corpse behind, and sprang towards the inner compound, sprinting past an abandoned dome made of concrete, half the top caved in.

  A narrow gulley cut across the field, and he scrambled into it, his boots splashing just beside the standing water. The mist shifted ahead, and he spotted the shack about twenty yards off, across a pressed dirt road.

  One sentry, leaning against the platform’s railing. That was it, all that stood between him and the girl. All that stood between him and Lilith. All this for her.

  He grinned, felt the savage glee as he grasped the pendant in one hand, and whispered its name. Even seeing that the sentry was one of the Blessed wasn’t enough to dampen his excitement.

  The sickle sword flashed in his hand, the curved edge a deadly glimmer. He crossed the road, the sickle held low, the Blessed guard’s back to him.

  The mist approached the shack now, and the Blessed stood up, his attention focused towards the thickening fog. He jumped over the railing and crept towards the mist

  Brad fought the urge to cry out as he leaned forward, the sickle drawn back past him. He was strides away when rifle shots rang out in the distance, echoing across the compound. He heard cries and panicked shouts, the telltale signs of struggle. The Grigori had sent the Ashen in to attack, the timing nearly flawless.

  The man must have felt the movement behind him, or he’d reacted to the echoes of conflict, because he spun around, his hand still on his pendant.

  But, by now, it was much too late. The sickle was a blur, an instrument of death that could not be stopped, the edge so sharp that flesh, gristle, and bone had no chance against it.

  The man’s name came back to him then. Logan. He’d been young when Ithuriel had called his name, even younger than Brad.

  And he’d died younger.

  ▪▪▪

  Kevin was stretched too thin. Haven was stretched too thin, too many losses to cover the entire compound. He got less and less sleep, constantly worrying over defenses and the condition of the survivors, and now he moved more on the basis of habit.

  He knew he could only push himself so far, but what else could he do?

  And it wasn’t just him. All of Haven seemed to be on the ragged edge, and he feared that the slightest push might be the one to finally send them all toppling over.

  The rain came down hard as he jogged past the trucks that littered the field south of Ithuriel’s dome, dark storm clouds hovering over the coastline, blotting out the sun.

  Sam sat on the hood of one of the trucks, her hard stare aimed towards the western fringes of the compound and into the forest beyond. Rain dripped from the clumped strands of her dark hair and ran freely down her soaked clothes.

  She barely acknowledged Kevin as he paused beside her, her eyes flicking to him and then back towards the line of trees.

  She and Jackson were close, so she’d cried the night he had died, but not since. In fact, she’d not shown much of anything since. Her face had become an impassive mask that Kevin had difficulty recognizing.

  “What’s new, kid?” Kevin nearly had to shout over the rain as the torrential downpour slammed against the carcasses of rusted metal. He put a hand on her shoulder as thunder rumbled in the distance. “Want me to take the rest of your watch? Or Anderson? Get you outta this rain for a bit?”

  Sam stared ahead. “Nope, I’m good.”

  Kevin opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Everyone held to their own course of mourning.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Alright then, you know how to get a hold of me if you need to, Sam.”

  The young woman reached through the broken windshield of the truck and pulled out the cowbell. She flicked it once and set it back on the dash, her eyes never leaving the wilds to the west.

  Kevin nodded, and turned back towards the interior of the compound. He didn’t know what to do with her. He could hardly order her to open up. But she was one of Ithuriel’s Blessed, and he needed her to be on her game. He’d give her a little bit more time, but luxuries didn’t exist anymore.

  He walked through the muddy slop, heading for Haven’s headquarters, the hub near the center of the compound, when he caught movement on the roof. The rifleman shifted the barrel of his gun, leaning over his sights.

  A bell rang once, then rattled back and forth, the clang muffled by the swirling storm. Someone shouted.

  Kevin spun around, his hand darting to the pendant.

  Sam had risen to her feet on top of the truck, and she swung the cowbell again. She flung it back into the cab and jumped down, her boots splashing up water. Kevin saw a spark of light, and the gleaming, curved edge of a knife appeared in her hand.

  A shot echoed through the compound, and a second bell sounded.

  Fuck. Kevin swore, and ran towards Sam, a calm dread settling over him as his fingers touched the pendant at his neck. He saw them now, figures emerging from the trees, clambering over the earthen wall that surrounded Haven. Hints of metal, and white painted faces, streaks of ash running over their clothes.

  He heard the report of a rifle, and one of the invaders collapsed. Another shot, the round catching a woman in the arm. Her torso twisted to one side, and she staggered forward.

  “Lahat,” he whispered, and the sword popped into his grip, blue flames hissing against the rain.

  He charged ahead, closing on Sam, his boots chopping through the muck. Sam waded forward purposefully, beckoning towards the invaders with her blade. Over a dozen of them now, right on top of their perimeter, and more bursting from the forest. A pack of them split off from the others, aiming for Sam.

  “Sam!” Kevin pushed himself forward, gritting his teeth. He could see the savage grins on their faces as he neared Sam, heard their whoops and shouts. He couldn’t lose another one. Couldn’t take the thought of it.

  Sam ignored his call. She crouched, and her free hand reached towards her belt. A second blade flashed in her hand, and she strode forward, weaving her knives in front of her. One of the Ashen swept back with a club, and Sam darted past him, her arm whipping to one side as she ducked. She spun, the Blessed blade a blinding arc that tore through the invader’s stomach. He stumbled and fell face-first into the mud.

  Kevin heard a bellowing cry, even over the rain and wind, as a group of invaders charged at him. He glanced at Sam, and lost her in the crowd of Ashen as they rushed towards him with knives and makeshift weapons.

  He roared at them, and reared back with the sword, blue flames surging over the blade. A desperate anger rushed through him, and he felt the warmth of it in his core. He embraced it, and lunged towards the Ashen, Lahat’s fire swirling over his hand.

  He brought his fist forwar
d, slammed it into the face of one of the Ashen. The man’s nose crunched, blood spurting free. He squealed and dropped, holding his nose with both hands, blood spilling freely between his fingers.

  Kevin swung the sword around and caught another Ashen right under her ribs. The woman’s snarl cut off into a choking gasp as the blade bit into her side, flames licking up her exposed skin.

  He felt a sting across his arm as he twisted to face another of the Ashen. He set his jaw and bowled over a young man, little more than a boy.

  No more soft lines, only hard ones. You crossed it, you were on the wrong side.

  Kevin shouted as his blade impaled the boy. He sliced another, kicked and punched, swung the Blessed weapon in gleaming arcs that cut through the Ashen like chaff.

  Get to Sam. The thought burning in his mind, searing, driving him through the Ashen.

  He wouldn’t lose another one.

  Wouldn’t.

  ▪▪▪

  The rain came down hard, pelting the rocks and sand, slanting with the biting wind. A gust sprayed rain in Ren’s face, the wind driving the downpour off the roof’s ledge. The dark clouds overhead roiled and churned, a greenish tint to them, sweeping to the east over the river. A flash of lightning split the skies past the trees to the west, followed by a roaring peal of thunder.

  Dark skies as far as he could see, a mist sweeping in, low to the ground. Not that he felt much like actually going outside to get a better look. A glance at the Blessed stationed out there, his hair plastered to his head, fatigues soaked and dripping, was enough to convince him otherwise. It had rained for hours, and might come down for hours more yet.

  He looked again at the soldier outside. What was his name again? Logan, Lyle, maybe? He’d only just met him a few hours ago, and he looked young, not much older than a kid.

  Ren had a brief thought about going out and talking to him, but the Blessed looked surly enough as it was. No sense in making it any worse for him.

  He swung the door closed, and the sounds of the storm abated, save for the patter of rain against the roof. He ran a hand through his damp hair.

  “Still bad out there, Dad?”

  He glanced over at his daughter, the lantern’s light casting its warm glow across her young face. “Well, let’s just say that I don’t think it’s the best time for a hike.”

  “We’ve been through worse. It’s just rain and some lightning.” Emma shrugged. Her eyes flicked over to the door and away again. “Maybe it is the best time for a hike.”

  “Please, not now, Em,” Ren muttered, the word baby doll on his lips, but he kept it to himself this time. It wasn’t worth the attitude right now.

  He sat down heavily on his bed and stretched out, trying to relax his head on the thin rag of a pillow. The soreness that had gripped his whole body seemed to have faded over the past day or so, but it lingered in his back, running up through his neck. His calf was wrapped, and they’d done a good job cleaning it up. It looked like, outside of a thin scar, it’d heal up just fine. When he walked, he couldn’t even tell if he was still limping.

  Tired and exhausted, though, that was a different story. Even as much as he wanted to leave, it felt like he hadn’t slept right in forever. He’d barely slept more than a few hours at a time, and when he did he’d wake up in a cold sweat, his sheets soaked. At least he didn’t remember those dreams, and for that he was glad. He didn’t know if he could take them.

  Every morning he pretended everything was okay, and in the same breath he prayed his daughter never caught him lying. But Emma was smarter than that.

  Another flash lit up the window, drowned out a moment later by the surging tide of thunder. The sound of the rain pounding against the metal roof lessened to a steady patter.

  Thunder sounded again, but Ren realized it was the door. Someone was knocking.

  He almost let it go. The mattress so welcoming, the rain the perfect sedative. Whoever it was could come back later. What could be so important right now?

  Another knock sounded, echoing across the room. Emma sighed and walked around her bed towards the door.

  “Emma, no, I’ll—”

  She swung the door open a crack anyway, ignoring Ren. She peeked over the edge of the door, and glanced back at Ren, confusion written on her face. “There’s nobody here.”

  “What? What about the guy out front, what’s-his-name?”

  “Nope.” Em frowned and shook her head. She looked out again, and licked her lips.

  “Shut the door and lock it.” Ren blinked, shutting out the exhaustion, and swung his legs over the mattress. His knees popped as he pushed himself off the bed and hurried over towards Emma, his exhaustion forgotten.

  He looked past her bed, out the small window. No sign of the Blessed who’d been standing guard outside. Ren climbed over the creaking mattress and pressed his hands to the window, scanning for any sign, his breath fogging on the glass.

  Wait. His gaze froze on a lump beyond the landing outside, rainwater pooling beside it. No, much too small to be somebody lying there. It had to be just a pile of sand, or a mound of—

  His mouth went dry.

  There were two misshapen lumps, one tossed haphazardly a few feet away, the toe of a boot sticking up out of the muck.

  Shadows moved in the gloom, flitting just out of Ren’s vision. He caught a glint of metal on top of the squat guard tower just before the lantern hanging off the rail sizzled. There was a sparking flash, and the light went out, smoke wafting away in the drizzle.

  Shitshitshit.

  “Emma, go turn the lantern down,” he said. He rushed over to the door and checked the handle, made sure it was locked while Emma leaned over the lantern.

  The light dimmed, and Ren pressed his back against the door, his mind working, panicking, struggling for options. He couldn’t risk opening the door and him and Emma making a run for it. There wasn’t much that could be put to use in the spare room outside of a dented Coleman lantern, the old wooden crate it stood on, and two ratty beds. It was hole up and wait, pray that someone came, or try to hightail it.

  He wasn’t about to open that door.

  Emma moved towards Ren’s bed, crouching by the frame. She bit her lip, craning her neck as she tried to catch a glimpse out the window.

  “Em, get down,” he hissed.

  Ren leaned back, his heart racing, and he watched Emma out of the corner of his eye as she ducked below the bedframe. If she was scared at all, she’d gotten good at not showing it. The trace of nerves but that was it, the twitch of her eyelids, the way she bit her bottom lip.

  Ren had never been as good at hiding it, his mind whirling, his fingers absently clawing at his leg like fear was an itch he could scratch.

  Sweat trickled down his neck as the silence stretched, and he had to fight the urge to pace. He closed his eyes, the back of his head resting against the coarse grain of the door. His back ached, his calf starting to burn from standing still for so long.

  Emma sat still, like a stone fixture, except for her hand, her fingers kneading at the edge of the bed’s crumpled sheet. A practiced soldier by now, knowing when to jump, when to stare into the shadows, daring them to move. Or maybe she’d been born that way, and the end of the world had only revealed it.

  He nearly jumped at a knock on the door, the vibrating wood rattling his head.

  “Hey, Ren?” a voice called, coming from just outside. The doorknob shook. “Okay in there?”

  Ren let out a heaving sigh of relief as he recognized the voice, one hand pressed over his thumping heart. Brad. He crept over to the window and peeked over the window’s frame, angling to one side so he could see the ramp.

  Still dark outside, the lantern and the fixed lights all out, at least what he could see of the compound. A drizzle fell, a steady, light rain, making the puddles dance. Mist trailed over the drenched sand, a haze that hid anything more than a couple dozen feet out.

  Ren glanced over his shoulder at Emma, flashing her a quick smile
. He’d meant it to be reassuring, calming, but then his lips thinned. The smile hadn’t been for her.

  The Blessed stood by the door, his hand gripped around the knob. He flashed a thumbs-up at Ren’s face in the window, and motioned towards the door.

  “What the fuck happ—” Ren started, flipping the lock and swinging the door open, but his voice ended in a lurch as Brad and his smiling face walked through the doorway and he shoved Ren roughly back onto the mattress.

  “So, Emma, right?” Brad asked. He took a step towards her, his head canted to one side. “Someone very special has asked to see you, and I’m going to make sure they do, okay?”

  Somewhere in the compound a shot rang out, then another. Screams and muffled shouts.

  Ren had been pushed down a hundred times. A thousand. And he might take another thousand. But not now, not if it meant losing his little girl. The angel, the demons, the constant running, the weariness of it all a grind that had churned him up too much. This compound, feeling trapped here, the safe place he thought it was ending up like a dream. Like he’d woken up, the dream fading into an uneasy, half-forgotten nightmare.

  Something clicked in his head. There was no haven. Not here, not anywhere. And he was tired of being afraid, tired of being the one who needed protecting. Tired of hating himself. Emma needed him, now more than ever.

  He roared, leaping off the bed and into Brad’s side. He carried them to the ground, one arm wrapped around his chest, the fingers of his other hand digging into Brad’s jaw. They rolled over, crashing into the crate, the Coleman’s glass shattering against the wall.

  Brad pushed and struggled, his forearm levered against Ren’s chest. Ren let go of the man’s jaw, brought his fist up, hammered it into Brad’s temple. Brought the fist up again, and Brad twisted, wrenching Ren over on his side.

  “Thought you weren’t a fighter,” Brad grunted, his face scrunched up as he jammed a knee into Ren’s gut and forced his weight on top of him. He leaned back, and Ren squeezed his eyes shut just before Brad’s elbow tore across his forehead.