A PERMUTED PRESS book
Published at Smashwords
ISBN (Trade Paperback): 978-1-61868-410-3
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-409-7
The Journal: Ash Fall copyright © 2014
by Deborah Moore
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Matt Mosley
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.
Table of contents
Acknowledgments
The Saga of 510
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
About the Author
Acknowledgments
When I first started The Journal, as a blog, it was meant to be a short term lesson in preparedness; what to stock up on, why and how to use it. Short term. Five months later, after daily entries, I had to end it. Once I did, I realized the story wasn’t over, and immediately started the sequel, Moose Creek, which eventually became Ash Fall.
Many thanks to my sons: Jason for his inventive expertise in my flights of fantasy in building and so much more, and to Eric, with his military experience that has kept me on the road of reality, in this book and the next one. (Yes, there IS a next one!)
And I can’t forget to thank my sister, Pam, who let me ramble on and on with thoughts and doubts while I foraged ahead in my writing.
Where would we all be without our fans? Those who keep clamoring for more of the story are why I’m still writing.
A huge thank you to Felicia Sullivan, my editor, who made sense of some of my ramblings and turned it into the coherent book you now hold in your hands.
Finally, to Permuted Press for taking the chance on me, an unknown, unpublished author, who had never been rejected because I’d never submitted anything.
I love you all for helping me realize my dream of being an author.
THE SAGA OF 510
The rain is falling along 510
The creeks are rising
and I don’t know when
I started missing you all over again.
It started with one raindrop
It started with one tear
Both came from the storm clouds
With the thunder rolling near.
You were the breath between my heartbeats
The reason for my smile
But I couldn’t make you happy
and after awhile
The rain started falling on the 510
The creeks were rising and then
I started missing you for the first time again
The clouds roll in across my mind
I thought you were good
I thought you were kind
You said you loved me and said you’d be true
So why is my bed empty, cold, and without you?
Oh, the rain is falling on 510
She tempted you once and then once more
That’s when you walked out, right out the door.
You left me empty and broke my heart
Now what I need is a brand new start, ‘cause
The rain is falling along 510
The creeks are rising
And here I am
Missing you all over again.
D.D. Moore
PROLOGUE
The cool, wet spring, with muddy roads and soggy lawns, eventually gave way to the more pleasant warm breezes of the approaching summer. As the long slope down to the small spring-fed creek dried out, the wildflower seed Allexa had strewn about last fall took root, and a rainbow of color began to dot the landscape. With the warm gusts of wind and warmer sunshine, it was just too tempting. Allexa set aside the rototiller and took her glass of iced tea to sit by the creek, hoping to straighten out her chaotic thoughts.
All the tragic events of the harsh winter paled next to her loneliness. The months of being without power, the sickness that had swept through her town of Moose Creek, even the fires and shootings she could and had dealt with. Though the loss of her brother was difficult, she could visit his grave if she wanted to. John was a different matter. He was out there, somewhere. And she missed him fiercely. Letting out a sigh, , she rehashed that last day in her mind. Pride had kept Allexa from begging John to stay with her. Pride had kept her from telling him how much she loved him, needed him. Pride had watched him walk away, six weeks ago.
Eric, her oldest son, had found her collapsed in the bathroom, her cat Tufts curled up tight against her chest. Eric had come across the road to borrow something that was quickly forgotten when he found her too still form lying on the cold tile floor. A cool, wet towel to her face, much to Tufts’ chagrin, had brought her around, enough to tell her firstborn that John had left, and wasn’t coming back. Eric and his younger brother, Jason, wanted to hunt John down, make him see reason, or at least get a reason, for his abrupt departure Allexa had told them no. If he wanted to come back, he would, if not, then he wouldn’t. She was resigned to that fact. She didn’t like it. She felt the pain of loss every day, but facts were facts: he was gone, had chosen to leave her, with no explanation. She had taken him in after the massive earthquakes had crippled the country, shared with him, loved him and he had left her when recovery began. She remembered a quote from what seemed like so long ago: Never make someone a priority in your life, who makes you an option in theirs. Right now, she felt like an option.
Allexa referred to April as Apathy April, to remind herself of the mental and emotional hole she had been in. The month wasn’t all bad: Amanda had returned. Her daughter-in-law had come to the house early in April, wondering if Allexa knew where Jason and Jacob were. After staying in Marquette with her friends during the worst of the winter months, she had first gone to their home on the Dam Road, only to find it vacant and winterized, the power turned off and the house hauntingly empty. Allexa told her all that had happened that spring, with the death of Jason’s uncle and aunt, with the arrival of Eric and Emilee, ending with how the two brothers and their children now lived across the street in their uncles house. The reunion between husband and wife was strained, as was to be expected. Jason had felt abandoned by his wife of ten years and her return, though welcomed, was a reminder that he had spent all those harsh months alone caring for their young autistic son. Jacob, on the other hand, was ecstatic to see his mommy. After a few days, the three returned to the house on the Dam Road, leaving the new golden retriever puppy, Chivas, with Eric and Emilee, who continued to live in the big house alone.
CHAPTER 1
May 1
“Mom? Where are you?” Eric called out from the direction of the garden.
“Down here by the creek. I’ll
be right up.” I scooped a handful of cold spring water and splashed my face then dabbed the moisture off with my ever present cloth hanky, and made my way back up the hill, taking deep cleansing breaths as I went. I had gotten very good at hiding my pain from my family. They had their own grief to deal with, they didn’t need mine too. I greeted my son and granddaughter with a sincere smile, and gave each of them a hug once I made it to the top of the hill.
“Did you come over to help me work, Emilee?” I teased my son’s eleven year old little girl.
“No, Nahna, but Dad says I should if you really need me to,” she said, shrugging her thin pre-teen shoulders.
“That’s good to know. When I really need help, like for weeding, I’ll call you.” I laughed when she groaned at the thought of weeding. “What’s up, Eric?”
Since he and Jason no longer shared my brother’s house across the road, there was more than enough work and upkeep for Eric to stay busy, so I didn’t see him all that often.
“Jason and I were talking this morning about foraging, and I was wondering what might be coming up soon. I know the cattail flowers are a ways off yet. I haven’t even seen any shoots.”
I remembered the first time I fixed him that delicacy and he ate most of the plateful!
“They won’t be ready for another month or six weeks, but I was just noticing the fiddleheads starting by the creek. These are too young yet, we’ll give them a day or two and we can start picking. Ramps might be ready, though. Want to take a ride?” The wild leek patch wasn’t far, less than four miles, though we were still restricting gas usage. With their high miles per gallon, the 4-wheelers with which we had been gifted were perfect for a short trip such as this.
Although Moose Creek had power restored two months ago, we were still struggling. My contact at the County Emergency Management office, Tom White, came through for us again with a tanker of regular gas, though it wasn’t free. Limited supplies and limited availability from the refineries had jumped the price of gasoline to a whopping $20 per gallon. We no longer rationed the gas at Fram’s, the only gas station in Moose Creek. At that price, it was self-regulated. No one made a casual trip to Marquette anymore. Those with vans or mini-vans offered shopping rides for a share in the cost of gas. Food was still coming in to our new food bank, however with the grocery stores in Marquette being restocked, that was coming to an end soon. I was told we had one more delivery and then we were on our own. Again.
The series of earthquakes that ripped the country in half along the New Madrid fault line last November left many small towns and communities floundering. There were few deliveries between the East and West Coasts: little food, less fuel, and diverted electricity. Moose Creek suffered greatly, and though we made it to the other side, it was not without great cost and deep personal suffering.
* * *
“Give me a half hour to finish tilling the garden and to clean up, and we’ll go,” I told my eager granddaughter.
“Mom, I can finish that if you want,” Eric offered. My boys knew there were times I needed to do my own hard work and keep my mind and my hands busy.
“No need, but thanks. Since it was tilled up in the fall, it’s an easy walk through, and I’ll do it again anyway.” I was looking forward to getting the garden planted, though without a nursery to fall back on for plants, I couldn’t risk planting too early and having the tender house grown seedlings killed by a late frost. Planting was still a few weeks away.
Eric and Emilee arrived on the 4-wheeler left for Jason. No one touched the deep metallic blue machine parked in the lean-to that was John’s. With tools and cloth bags secure in the milk crate basket on the back of my camouflage painted machine, I led the way to the ramp patch, a few miles down the road.
* * *
“Wow, Nahna, look at all the pretty flowers!” Emi said, turning circles to view the patches of the Dutchman’s Britches, little flowers that looked like upside down white bleeding hearts, mixed in with the brilliant yellow of the low growing Marsh Marigolds, and my favorite, the tiny fragrant Spring Beauties, with their mix of pink and white and striped. There was even the occasional False Solomon’s Seal, a tall stalk of delicate white blossoms.
“Yes, they are very pretty, Emi. Maybe we’ll pick a small bouquet before we leave. First, let me show you how to identify what we came for: food!” I’d been collecting ramps to supplement my meals for many years, and only found out a few years ago that the greens were just as tasty, making the entire plant edible.
The long oval leaves with a pale rosy base were easy to spot, and abundant, though many of the bulbs were too small and immature to harvest. “Guess we’re a bit early for the ramps, but we can still gather the leaves. If we cut them off with these scissors, Emi, the bulb will keep growing and make more leaves.” I handed her a pair of left handed scissors and one of the three cloth bags I had stuck in my carrier, and let her work on her own. Of my two sons, Jason, was left handed while Eric was right handed. However, both of my grandchildren were lefties, as are their mothers, and my mother. With that genetic propensity, I made sure I had adequate tools for either. Eric and I used pocket knives to harvest our share of the delicate, tasty leaves. I even found a few bulbs that were large enough, and would add a zing to our meal later.
After collecting two full bags of ramp leaves, we walked over to the low wetlands near the river, looking for fiddleheads.
“Like these, Nahna?” Emilee had carefully snipped off a tightly curled fern stalk, and held it up for approval.
“That’s just perfect. Let’s see if we can find twelve of them.”
“Why only twelve, Mom?” Eric asked.
“That gives us four each. I want to see how you and Emi like them and react to them before we pick a lot. No sense in over picking if you can’t or won’t eat them. We might as well let them mature. The mature ferns are not only lovely to look at, they offer shade that helps keep moisture in the forest floor and protection for small animals,” I replied. It had taken many hours of study to understand our delicate woodland ecology, and I refused to upset it needlessly.
Pan fried Brookies caught earlier in the day and a big pot of ramp greens, along with our daily fresh bread, made for a wonderful dinner. I missed having Jason and Jacob here with us, especially at meals.
JOURNAL ENTRY: May 1
I spent a few minutes on the computer tonight and printed out my Fall Prep/Chore list. It’s past time I reverse the process and turn everything back on. It seems like such a very long time ago that I was wrapping up hoses for winter and turning the outside water off. Of all the chores, I dislike that one the most. I doubt that will ever change. It’s the first one I need to do though, because so many other things depend on having that water available.
Next will be turning the cistern over and hooking up all the gutters again, and that’s Jason’s chore. Then I need to make any repairs to the fencing. I need to put the flower boxes up on the railings, and run all the hoses. And, and, and……
So much to do.
* * *
CHAPTER 2
May 2
The world is run by those who show up. It was time I stopped hiding and showed up, not that I had any interest in running the world, but I did feel somewhat helpful in running Moose Creek.
I still stopped in to the office once a week, mostly to just to touch base with Anna and to keep up on the latest news in town. Otherwise, I was keeping a low profile. My emergency management position with the township was never meant to be a round the clock job as it ended up these past six months. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally drained from all that had been thrust upon me. I really didn’t feel like socializing and there were so many things to do at home with summer just around the corner.
I parked my four-wheeler between another ATV and an unfamiliar small gray car in the town hall parking lot. The township was given eighteen semi-new machines after we defeated a mob of escaped prisoners. The prisoners had stolen the 4-wheelers and started a pillaging ra
mpage that ended here, with us killing all of them. A grateful county and dealership told us to keep the vehicles.
“Hi, Anna, is anything new or interesting going on?” I asked as I walked into her office, not knocking and not noticing she wasn’t alone. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you were busy. I’ll come back later.”
“It’s okay, Allexa, please come in.” She was all smiles and professional. “I’d like you to meet our newest resident, Dr. Mark Robbins.”
I smiled and offered my hand. “Doctor, welcome to Moose Creek.” I couldn’t help noticing his unusually dark blue eyes, fringed with dark lashes, and the way his chestnut brown hair curled around the collar of his hunter green Polo shirt. He was right out of GQ.
“Allexa Smeth is our Emergency Manager, Doctor, and has been invaluable to the survival of Moose Creek these past few months,” Anna continued.
“My pleasure,” he said, his voice deep and soft, and he held my hand shake just a bit too long.
“A new member of our community? We sure can use you.” I smiled again and pulled my hand back. “What’s your specialty?”
“I was a trauma/ER doctor in Saginaw,” he replied. “After the collapse, I saw way too much of the cruelty man was capable of, and the damage he can inflict. So I escaped.” He grimaced, and though a very real shadow clouded his deep eyes enhancing the blue, it still seemed a well-rehearsed explanation, and there was an uncomfortable moment. Anna cleared her throat.
“I’m glad you’re here, Allexa. I’ve got something for you,” she said, opening the top drawer of the large desk. She pulled something out and handed it to me.
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