As the Ash Fell

by AJ Powers

  “What was that?” Kelsey said in a panicked whisper.

  Clay was already on his feet heading for the door, his rifle at the ready. “Stay here,” he said, “I’ll go check it out. If something happens, just hide under the desk,” he said as he handed Kelsey his pistol.

  She acknowledged his command by standing behind the desk.

  The sounds continued, echoing through the otherwise silent building. Following the audible trail, it took him right to where he had expected—the same doors they couldn’t get into earlier that night.

  He heard three or four voices on the other side. Not Screamers. Although Clay couldn’t understand what they were saying, their calm chatter distinguished them from the babbling psychopaths he had expected. Most likely just a group scavenging for food like him, but that didn’t make them any less of a threat.

  The crashing sound intensified as the men began alternating blows on the door in an attempt to weaken it. Suddenly, there was a heavy impact that caused enough of a gap from the door frame for Clay to see their flashlights coming through between the doors. He shouldered his M4 and took aim. He thought about firing a warning shot or two, but that might just cause them to respond in kind, and he had no idea what he was dealing with on the other side of the heavy steel doors. Plus, he would lose all element of surprise should they successfully breach.

  “I’ve almost got it,” one of them said loud enough for Clay to understand.

  Anxiety with a hefty dose of adrenaline shot through Clay’s body as he waited. Despite the chill in the air, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and on to the tip of his nose. The gap in the door seemed to increase with each successive blow. Clay wrapped his finger around the trigger, squeezing ever so slightly. He felt the pounding of every heartbeat in his head. They were almost through.

  Silence.

  He heard one of them shush the others. What was happening? Something wasn’t right.

  “Screamers!” one of them shouted.

  Clay listened from the other side of the doors as the group of men were brutally slaughtered with frightening efficiency by the Screamers. It felt as if the massacre went on for hours, when in reality it was less than 10 minutes. The screams eventually hushed; the cries fell silent. And after Clay was able to shake off the horrific sounds, he returned to the office.

  Kelsey nearly shot him when he returned. Even she had heard some of the screams from the attack and was terrified she had been listening to Clay’s murder.

  “They’re gone,” he said as he returned to the chair.

  Neither of them could fall asleep after the attack. They both wanted to get out of there and just get back to Watson’s, but the last thing they wanted to do was run into a group of Screamers now. So, they both pretended to sleep until dawn.

  Morning took forever to arrive. Clay noticed how ironic it was that it always came too quickly when you were sleeping well.

  They dumped the bags of chips and candy bars into a couple of trash bags. Clay took the cans of soda out of the box and put them in his backpack along with his cut of the snacks. They hid the remainder of the goods the best they could, seeing as the locked doors were all but compromised. They would return a bit later to retrieve the rest.

  They walked back out into the main room and saw the remnants of the battle that occurred early in the morning. Almost perfectly centered in the roller rink was a massive pool of blood. Too much blood for any victim to survive. Markings and crude drawings surrounded the pool, which was common to see at a Screamer’s kill site.

  Even though Clay was preparing to shoot those same men himself, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for their demise. It was one thing to be shot and killed; it was something entirely different to be hacked to death.

  Clay and Kelsey headed for the exit. They both felt a huge weight roll off their shoulders as they were greeted by fresh air outside. They arrived back at Watson’s in less than two hours. As expected, he was quite enthusiastic with what Kelsey had brought him, and offered her a fair price on the whole lot. Kelsey was grateful to Clay—more so than she could ever articulate. Watson’s offer was so generous that they decided to leave the rest back at the roller rink. They dubbed it their “rainy day” stash.

  Clay decided to get a jump start and head out early so he wouldn’t be racing the clock to get home before dark. As Kelsey said goodbye, she gave him kiss on the cheek—not a peck, but a real kiss. She stepped back and smiled, thanking him for all that he had done for her. He kept his composure until he left the property, then he couldn’t stop smiling. Even though a kiss on the cheek was hardly an act of romance, it made him think that perhaps she had some feelings for him too.

  The pair had decided to meet up every Thursday to scavenge and barter together. Clay was thrilled; it gave him something to look forward to each week—at least until winter hit.

  The trip home was uneventful, exactly how Clay liked it. He saw home in the distance and began taking the evasive path. He tried to never walk the same exact path twice, but after a few months, he realized how impossible of a task that would be long-term. Still, he tried to always be random and elusive each time he came home.

  Clay saw Charlie sitting on the steps on the 14th floor landing. “What are you doing down here?” Clay asked.

  “It’s quieter here,” he said and tapped his book.

  Clay knew exactly what he was talking about; he had gone as far as the basement to get some quiet time of his own. The stairwell could still get noisy, especially as the kids headed to the roof to play, though after Michelle’s accident, both Megan and Clay made it a concrete rule that there was to be no playing in the stairwell itself.

  “You at a good stopping point?” Clay asked. “I’m gonna need your help with a couple of things.”

  “Sure!” Charlie said enthusiastically. The kid loved to learn whatever Clay was willing to teach him.

  Clay swung by the kitchen and handed Megan the loot. Her eyes got wide, as if she had just witnessed a miracle. Without saying a word, Clay left. He was nearly halfway down the hall when he finally heard Megan’s excited shriek. He smirked as he imagined the animated dancing she was likely doing.

  He rounded the corner and saw Charlie standing in front of the armory door. Though he had been entrusted with the combination to the lock, he still was not supposed to go in without Clay unless it was an emergency.

  “Ready to do some reloading?” Clay asked.

  Charlie was confused. Clay had shown him how to reload when they had gone to the shooting range and wondered why they were going over that technique again. Had he been doing it wrong?

  They walked inside and up to the bench where Clay cleared up the misunderstanding. They were going to reload bullets. He could tell Charlie was apprehensive at first, but after Clay showed him how it was done, Charlie realized that when done properly, it was a very safe process. Anyone unfamiliar with the procedure could easily think it was dangerous. Even Clay thought so until his dad showed him.

  Smokeless gunpowder wasn’t quite as volatile as most people thought. Holding a match to a small pile of it for a brief moment wouldn’t ignite it, though that was not something Clay would ever recommend doing. The real danger to reloading, especially in such hazardous times, was the finished product. Not enough powder would drastically reduce the effectiveness of the bullet and most likely cause the gun to jam as it cycled the next round. Conversely, too much powder could rupture the barrel, causing all sorts of damage to the person holding it. Improper overall length of the cartridge could also cause jams. Those kinds of details were the difference between life and death and why Clay always double-checked every single step.

  He went through the process a couple of times, explaining very carefully what he was doing and how he was doing it; from depriming, to trimming the cases, to seating the bullet—and most importantly, powder measurements. Charlie picked up on it quickly. They began to load the V-Max bullets Clay had purchased from Vlad. Clay trimmed some of the brass while he ke
pt a close eye on Charlie’s work.

  “Perfect,” Clay said giving him a slap on the shoulder as he finished a few rounds. “This is a very important skill to have.”

  “Is all your ammo reloaded like this?” Charlie asked.

  “Not all of it, but a good deal of it. Most of the factory loaded ammo is for the shotgun, the .22, and your .30 carbine,” he said pointing over to Charlie’s rifle leaning up against the wall. “Oh, and the .38 special, too,” he added.

  “Why don’t you reload those?”

  “Well, I don’t have the dies for the .30: I don’t have any of the tools I need for the shotgun, and we can’t reload the .22 caliber.”

  “Why not?”

  “The .22 is something called rimfire which means that the primer is essentially built into the shell. You can’t just pop the used primer out and put a new one in like you can with those,” he said pointing to some of the rounds Charlie had just finished loading.

  “Oh, neat!” Charlie said genuinely and smiled. “I like learning these things, Clay.”

  Clay returned the smile, “I like teaching them. You’re a good student.”

  Charlie’s smile faded as his thoughts got deeper, “I wish my mom could see how much I’ve learned and see how responsible I am.”

  Clay put his arm around Charlie and gave his shoulder a squeeze, “I think she knows and is very proud, Charlie.”

  “I never knew my dad,” Charlie said as he seated a primer into the case Clay had just trimmed. “Mom said he had died saving a bunch of people in war.”

  “Sounds like he was a brave man.”

  Charlie nodded. “I think he would be proud of you, Clay” he said.

  “Me?”

  “I think he’d say that you are doing a good job raising me.”

  Though Clay had thought of himself as a father figure to these kids, Charlie’s statement brought a whole new perspective to their situation. He and Megan were raising kids that weren’t theirs. Every single one of them had a mother and father, and now Clay and his sister had taken over those roles. It was both humbling and frightening.

  Clay snapped out of his thoughts as Charlie pulled down on the lever to deprime a shell and heard a snapping sound. “Oh no!” Charlie shouted, “What did I do? Did I break it?”

  The sound was a resounding yes to Charlie’s question. Clay looked; the die had indeed broken. He examined the case and saw it was zinc-plated steel, not nickel-plated brass like he thought it was. More importantly, it was Berdan primed, not Boxer, which was why the die broke.

  “Crap,” Clay said with frustration.

  Charlie’s eyes watered up, “I’m sorry, Clay. Please don’t be mad.”

  Clay’s frustration turned to guilt as he looked at the remorse on Charlie’s face. “Charlie, it wasn’t your fault.”

  Charlie wasn’t convinced.

  “Here, take a look,” Clay held up the steel case and shined a flashlight into it. “You see those two little holes next to the primer hole?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “That means its Berdan primed. We can only reload a shell using Boxer priming, which means there’s just a single hole for the primer to sit in. It’s my fault for not pitching the case when I was sorting through.”

  Charlie was relieved that he wasn’t at fault but was still upset for Clay. He could tell that it was bad. “Can you fix it?”

  Clay stared at the broken die for a moment and shook his head. “Maybe if I was more of a gunsmith or even a handyman, but I just don’t know enough about this stuff.”

  They tallied up the rounds that had been loaded. 273. Clay took 125 of them and put them into a plastic bag. He would still honor the deal he had made with Vlad and hoped he would be able to find a replacement die somewhere. It wasn’t unheard of to come across them for trade, but it was rare and always expensive.

  It was close to six. Clay figured Megan would have dinner ready soon, so they cleaned up and made their way back to the other side of the building. Charlie went to his room, and Clay found Megan in the cooking room stirring a pot.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked noticing Clay’s long face.

  “One of the reloading dies broke.”

  “That’s not good,” she said then lowered her voice. “Charlie?”

  He sighed, “No, it was my fault. I got lazy with my sorting.”

  Megan added a few ingredients to the pot and asked Clay to hand her a packet of salt. “Can you find a new one?”

  “Well, it’s not as if I can run down to Cabela’s and pick up a new one,” he said and paused for a moment. “Though I know Uncle Ted had at least two sets of dies…I wonder if he’s even still alive?”

  Ted was a family friend who had adopted his title as uncle before Clay was born. He was a little off the deep end when it came to conspiracies. Though he often spoke of legitimate issues that most people should have been more concerned about, Ted always found ways to spin them with crackpot theories that removed any credibility the original discussion might have held. Clay remembered his dad having to go over to his house several times one year to calm him down when he got really riled up about some laws that had passed. Clay had been to his house quite a few times, but his dad never let him go there alone. It wasn’t that Ted was a bad man, but his unbridled passion to find an ulterior motive for every event in the headlines was not something his father wanted Clay subjected to. At least not without a buffer.

  “Now, that’s a name I haven’t heard in years,” Megan said, “but Clay…”

  “I know,” Clay replied.

  If Clay really pushed himself, he could make it to Uncle Ted’s in two days, maybe three. He lived just a few miles from the house Clay and Megan had grown up in. Screamers were just one of a handful of murderous gangs that set up camp in the area. The terrain was also a major challenge; fissures, massive sinkholes, and collapsed bridges were just some of the headaches for a traveler going through. There was a reason why Clay avoided going east. However, the vast amount of land combined with the relatively low population did make it one of the lesser scavenged areas, increasing his chances of finding food and supplies. It was tempting to go, but it was an awfully dangerous trip, especially for something that, while important, was not really essential.

  Megan finished cooking and began to pull the bowls out of the water they had been soaking in since lunch. “Can you go round up the kids?” she asked.

  Clay nodded and walked over to the craft room where Tyler and Blake were in the corner, feverishly working on a collaborative comic book. He thought back to days when he was their age and remembered doing the same thing. The girls were all along the wall, recreating scenes from a nature magazine with water paints. Clay left the room and got Charlie who still looked upset about the broken die. Lona was already helping set the tables, and Bethany was in her playpen, doodling with some crayons. Everyone was accounted for.

  They all sat down and held hands while Clay blessed the meal. The eating had commenced before Clay had even finished saying amen. Everyone had brought their appetite to dinner, and those that expected seconds were sorely disappointed with Megan’s response. Clay also would have liked another helping, but Megan was doing the right thing. She had already started rationing conservatively for the daunting winter ahead. The kids wouldn’t ever miss a meal, but their requests for seconds would go unanswered, especially since several of them would only eat a few additional bites.

  After he finished dinner, Clay stood up and walked over to the kitchenette. None of the children really took notice as they talked across the table. He opened one of the upper cabinet doors just enough to reach in and pull out a couple of candy bars that he quickly hid behind his back.

  “Watch’ya got, Clay?” Sarah asked.

  Sarah's question sparked all sorts of speculation amongst the other children.

  “I’ve got a treat for you all, tonight,” he said as he held up two chocolate bars.

  Only about half of them truly grasped what he was hold
ing. The others had heard of the mysterious ‘candy bar’ before, but couldn’t recall ever having one. Once the realization set in, the kids went bonkers with excitement, several of them dancing and skipping around the break room. The atmosphere was contagious, and even Bethany began rocking in her playpen.

  Clay split the bars up and handed them out to each of the kids. It was only then that he realized it was probably a mistake to give them their first taste of such pure sugar in years just before bedtime. He looked over at Megan, expecting a scowl, but her eyes were closed as she began to set sail in a chocolate paradise. Each nibble on the sweet chocolate was followed by a sigh of enjoyment.

  Clay had decided he would not partake since he had split one with Kelsey the night before. Plus, watching the kids’ faces was a treat in itself.

  Per Megan’s request, the kids ran off to get ready for bed. The screams and shouts echoed down the halls as they discussed just how delicious their dessert was. Megan cleared the tables, then snuck a sip of the milk in the fridge. She tossed a dish towel onto the counter and placed her hand on her hip, “Ya know what? Those calories were too good to burn off with cleaning. I think I am just gonna go put the kids down and go to bed myself.”

  Clay nodded. Megan worked harder than anyone he had ever met. Being a stay-at-home mom was a thankless job in a civilized world; it was downright brutal now. She had more than earned a night off.

  She turned and opened the cabinet door and pulled out the chocolate and bags of chips and handed them to Clay. “You should probably lock these up in your room.”

  “Good idea,” Clay said. “Don’t want the kids getting into these, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a smile, “it’s not the kids you’d have to worry about.”

  Clay laughed, “Oh yeah, I forgot what kind of chocolate fiend you used to be.”

  She flicked his arm and left the room to get the kids ready for bed.

  Chapter 11

  “I can’t sleep,” Charlie said.

  Clay had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but was fully awakened by Charlie’s statement. “Why not?” he grumbled.