Fire, Ruin, and Fury (Embers Saga)

by Matthew Taylor

  And family’s family.

  Emily generally didn’t agree with her mother—especially when she’d been hijacked by her anger, but in this case, she wasn’t completely buying her father’s logic either. The family had been split up for years, though. But she knew better than to say that. Her father was resolute. It had just come down to who would go, what the route would be, how long it would take, and how long Shay would wait.

  Of course, Christian at first insisted that he go alone. “It’ll be faster that way,” he reasoned. The idea was a nonstarter. After all they had been through on the road, it was an uncharacteristically foolish proposition. Someone would need to stay behind to maintain a presence with Shay, but there was no good way to split up the family. Tim was too young to be on the road again, and her mother would never survive the stress—or would drive them all insane in trying. Joshua could fill in with some of the work, but his skills were rusty, Shay didn’t know him, and her father would need the extra trigger finger. Emily, still just a journeyman, wasn’t ready to fill in either, and she insisted on staying with her father, as she had done since she was a toddler.

  So, at great risk, her mother, and Tim headed north to the next work site with the convoy, while she, her Uncle Joshua, and her father made their trek. At least Dorian Lee would be with them.

  “We’ll have to travel at night,” her father said, stating the obvious. Travel through the Wilds during the day was statistically more dangerous than traveling at night, but to Emily everything seemed more unpredictable and terrifying in the dark. They had already missed the day’s volunteer convoy westward, and they didn’t have the money to pay for it anyway, so they set out on their own.

  “Tonight.” Her father used his matter-of-fact tone, which always instilled confidence—even when the news was bad. “The convoy is scheduled to depart at first light. Marauders’ll be looking for stragglers after they go, so we should get on the road before that.”

  They spent the rest of the day packing up, just as they would have to join the work-convoy, except with more weapons and ammunition positioned in place for quick access.

  The near-constant bumping and jarring lasted all night, as their vehicles lumbered over the cracked pavement and rocky trails between Troy Township and the shell of Denver. She wondered if her head would explode from the noise, the jolts, and the anxiety. They made only brief stops to switch drivers, check weapons, re-caffeinate. The turnouts offered a brief respite from the noise and the nauseating bumps, but no one could really rest, and they felt even more exposed when they weren’t moving. So, they were back on the road before her headaches could really subside.

  The first light of dawn cast a luminous pink over the sky, the fractured suburban buildings, and the skeleton-like skyline of Denver. Her father called out from the cab that they would arrive at the rendezvous in just a few minutes. Emily looked wearily through Oscar’s wire-reinforced windows at the purple-gray haze of floating dust and smoke that veiled the battered shops and warehouses. The faint glow of campfires and the phantoms of disused vehicles punctuated the roadside. As they crawled through the blurry maze, her palms became sweaty and her heart pounded in her chest. She didn’t realize she had another level of fear left in her. She only loosened her sweaty grip on her rifle when the sun’s stare pierced the haze, revealing walls of brick and steel towering over them. Though they could still be hit from any side—and from above—she felt curiously cocooned in the plaza of a shopping mall, a church of commerce from the High Times.

  The “hello’s” and hugs and kisses with Aunt Nessa, Victoria, and Paul were exhilarating, but thankfully brief. Daylight was at hand, and her father grew impatient to get out of the area. The trickle of people milling in the streets was growing, with clusters forming in the plaza nearby, taking interest in the road-worthy vehicle that had wandered into their domain. It was inevitable that the news would spread, bringing covetous—and probably armed—people into the mix. Her father finally made his discomfort known and expedited the group back to the trucks.

  Her father led in the larger truck, their beloved Oscar, rolling through the streets at a slow, but steady clip. The few people who ventured into their path learned quickly that her father would not be stopped, not with his with his family at stake. Before long, they were moving at speed out of the suburbs, beyond the exurbs of scorched and dilapidated houses, and into the barren countryside, where structures were infrequent and lonely. The ever-thinning trail of wanderers on the roadside made no move to slow their progress, if not because of their velocity, then because of the weapons peering from the windows.

  They had driven for over an hour, when their exhaustion finally caught up with them. Her father turned off the main road and wound down a small dirt road into a ravine. He had consciously picked an isolated spot with low attack stats—at least according to GEO—but they were a soft target for marauders and desperados.

  If there’s territorial militia anywhere nearby, Emily pinned, they’ll never find us. …Maybe it’s better that way. They’d be as likely to rob us as the road raiders.

  She was glad to see her father immediately set to planting the laser-field alarm nodes in an extended circle around the camp. The poor-man’s warning system, the laser alarms were easily defeated, but it was all they could afford. Her aunt wasted no time in handing out sidearms and dictating assignments.

  Check weapons and ammunition—again.

  Unfurl the massive tent hitched to the top of Oscar.

  String the overhead canopies between Oscar and their telescoping posts.

  Raise the solar panels.

  Activate the electronic insect and rodent repellant consoles.

  Set the schedule for guard duty. Paul and Uncle Joshua assigned to go first.

  Christian, tired from the trip and the heavy-lifting, had a few nibbles from the assortment of dried food on the table. He took a couple gulps of tepid Cafecito and then got up. “I’ll help with clean-up,” he said.

  Ohhhh no. The last thing we need is to drive into a ditch because he does chores all day instead of sleeping. She shot an insistent look at her aunt. ‘He has to go to sleep,’ she telegraphed.

  Her aunt acknowledged with a wink.

  “I don’t think so, Brother Bear,” Nessa cajoled. “You’re off to bed. We’ll handle clean up.”

  There were still plenty of chores to do, but by the time the essentials were finished, everyone at camp was dead on their feet. Her father slept on a cot suspended from the side of Oscar. Emily rested on the cot below his, but she couldn’t sleep, and before long, Paul and Joshua returned from watch patrol. Emily forced herself up and went outside to take her turn.

  Joshua passed his rifle and its goggle-scope to her. She pulled the goggles onto her face and pressed a few buttons on the rifle stock until the rifle and the goggles bleeped that they were in sync. She was a terrible shot without the scope.

  Beside her, Paul helped Victoria strap on an attack-pack and a utility belt. “Water skin, insect-killer, short-range stunner,” Paul enumerated. “pistol, flare-gun, remote alarm fob.

  “Wear your helmet and neck scarf.

  “Stay with Em.

  “If you get into a jam, hit the alarm fob, and we’ll come for you. If the fob fails, send up a flare.

  “Stay close to the laser-wall perimeter.”

  Emily could see that Victoria wasn’t a fan of being patronized like a child. Victoria rolled her eyes and twisted free of her brother, who merely shifted to fiddling with the buckles on her rucksack before shuffling over to check Emily’s gear. Paul’s concern was both endearing and comforting to Emily, and she caught Aunt Nessa admiring her son with the same adoring look her father gave to her.

  “Beso,” Paul insisted of Victoria, who leaned in feigning annoyance for a peck on the cheek. “Love you, Vic.” Victoria rolled her eyes again, but also squeezed her bother’s arm gratefully. With their equipment check done and their endearing adieus completed, Emily set out with her Victoria for wat
ch patrol.

  Apart from the anxious twist in her stomach, Emily found that the hardest part of watch patrol was staying alert. The glare of the mid-day sun seemed to go right through her polarized goggles, forcing her to squint as she fought off the desperate desire to sleep. Her eyes strained as she forced them to scan up and down, back and forth. To the thickets of chaparral lining the trail, where scrappers, snakes, and feral dogs lie in wait. To the shivering horizon, where sandstorms arise with frightening speed. To the sky, where marauders’ drones surveil their prey—or wipe them out as automated kamikazes or poison-gas dusters. She wanted to talk to her cousin, but she had to focus on any sound she might detect over the wind and Victoria’s shuffling footsteps behind her.

  Emily’s mind relentlessly pleaded for her to stop and rest.

  Just a short break, came the seductive voice from the recesses of her mind.

  She willed herself to recall the many images she had seen on the V-plat over the years. Migrants mauled by animals, suffering or dead on roadsides and desert trails. Travelers beaten, raped, and robbed—or murdered—often in broad daylight. Stragglers on the road overcome by thirst, dehydration, exhaustion, or exposure. The bloated, lifeless bodies captured by news drones for the macabre entertainment of the citizenry.

  Despite the winter wind, sweat dripped down Emily’s arms and into her gloves. Drops of perspiration meandered down her back, into the crack of her ass, down her legs, and into her boots, making every step a slippery discomfort. Her wet hair clung to her cheeks and neck beneath her helmet and thermal neck-wrap. She drew a small sip of cool water from the hose-nipple affixed to her balaclava, worrying that the water-skin on her back was already too light. Victoria gulped the vestiges of water from her own skin.

  When Emily felt she couldn’t take another step, her arm-plat vibrated, signaling the end of their patrol. They made their way back to camp, where they found Nessa and her father already dressed and ready for their shift. Emily trembled and shivered as she passed her rifle to her aunt and unfastened her pack.

  Her aunt, recognizing the raw exhaustion on their faces, set the equipment on the meal table and swept them into the tent. Sheltered from the biting wind, her aunt wiped their faces with a warm wet rag and supervised deep draws from a fresh water-skin. She then set to peeling off their sweat-soaked and dust-caked coveralls, stripping them down and wrapping them in blankets.

  They need to get out on the trail, Emily fretted to herself. There’s no one on watch.

  Victoria immediately laid back on the cot and fell asleep, but Emily couldn’t bring herself to push her aunt away. She was shaking and nauseated, and her aunt’s comfort felt like the only thing holding her together. The dread and resentment she felt in her own mother’s moments of tenderness was noticeably absent. She fought back tears as she stared at Nessa. Always eager to prove to her parents that she was a strong little soldier, Emily hadn’t cried in as long as she could remember. But she was more scared and exhausted than she ever remembered being—like being swallowed whole by the sand and wind itself—and her eyes gave way.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, muddying her face as she wiped her tears across her dirty cheek.

  “I’m sorry too, Honeybee,” her aunt replied softly, rubbing her arm and cupping her cheek. “This isn’t the life we wanted for any of you.” Nessa paused and took a deep breath to regain her own composure. “We’ll be OK, Honeybee. It’ll all be OK.”

  “Thanks,” Emily answered, not knowing what else to say as the panic attack began to subside. “I’ll take care of Vic. You guys should get out there.”

  “Beso?” her aunt asked, leaning in to plant a kiss on each of Emily’s tear-soaked cheeks. “I’ve set a wake-up alarm on your wrist-plat,” Nessa, regretfully. “Thirty minutes before we’re ready to pull out. You get a bye on chores, so you can get some sleep, but we’ll need you to drive Oscar for a bit tonight.”

  Emily nodded in agreement. She laid down beside Victoria and watched Aunt Nessa leave the tent and start down the sandy path with Christian.

  Emily prayed for some sleep before sundown, when they would break camp and make for home. She couldn’t remember a time when she so desperately wanted to escape from consciousness. The feeling was foreign, as she usually resisted sleep and the paralysis it brought as it forced terrifying images to her mind. On this rare occasion, though the sandman arrived promptly and took her so deep into darkness that she had no memory of it when she awoke.

  The next thing she knew, her father was shaking her gently, her arm-plat alarm still chiming. She had incorporated the alarm into her dream.

  “Almost ready to pull out, Em,” he said, quietly.

  “OK,” she replied groggily. “Coming. Any news about the route?”

  “Tumbleweeds and dust devils.”

  As her father left, Emily nudged Victoria, still sleeping beside her. Victoria’s face was contorted, resisting some torment, and Emily wasn’t certain whether to deny her cousin a few more minutes of desperately needed rest, or rescue her from sleep’s vindictiveness.

  “It’s OK, sweet girl,” Emily whispered, stroking Victoria’s hair. That was all it took for Victoria to turn over and open her sad and tired eyes.

  “Is it time to get up?” Victoria croaked, stretching intensely.

  “You can sleep some more, if you want,” Emily replied softly. “I think they’ve got the packing under control.”

  “Fuck that,” Victoria answered. “I’d rather be awake—even if I’d rather be asleep.” She paused. “That didn’t make any sense,” she grinned, pitifully.

  Emily leaned over and placed a kiss on her cousin’s salty-tasting forehead. “Made sense to me. Time to get up then.” Emily relished the warmth of affection she felt toward her brand-new, erstwhile sister.

  It was nearly morning when they had roused themselves and gotten dressed. The camp was almost completely packed-up when they emerged from the tent. Nessa had set out a buffet supper.

  “Tapas to-go,” Nessa cheerfully chimed. Emily plucked from the table a few drought-oat crackers, a fortified water packet, and two shrimp-flavored biotein slices. She saddled up next to her Uncle Joshua.

  “How are you getting back to the ministry,” she asked Joshua. In all the commotion, she had not considered her Uncle’s predicament. The family was headed to one of Shay’s northern worksites, but Joshua’s ministry was still encamped in Ogallala.

  “I’m not going back.” A slightly forlorn look descended on his otherwise calm and cheerful face.

  Another person we’ll have to worry about, she through, immediately struck by guilt at the thought of her uncle being a burden. Still she knew it would be hard enough to justify her aunt and cousins with their employers. Hoping Joshua hadn’t picked up on her initial reaction, she was quick to respond.

  “That’s great! …I mean, is that great? You don’t want to go back to the ministry?”

  “I think it’s the best dec—”

  “There’s an east-bound volunteer convoy leaving Denver in 20 minutes,” Christian interrupted. “Shay paid the fee for us, but we need to get to the rendezvous point.”

  As always, her father didn’t have to use a lot of words to get things moving, and the whole group hopped-to.

  Emily climbed into the driver’s seat of Oscar, Paul riding shotgun and tuning to GEO. Joshua piled into the rear cab and started a weapons check. The others piled in, discussing who would get to rest on the cots mounted to the cargo-hold’s walls, and who would thread their riffles through the windows and go on look-out. She traded thumbs-up signals with her father through the rear-view mirror set off again on the road.

  Chapter 17: Building the PetrolChurch

  (Jasmine Goodwell)

  As the bitter cold of winter retreated, Jasmine Goodwell relished the thought of spring’s reprieve, though she knew destructive flooding would ensue somewhere, and the oppressive heat of summer would be close behind. Nevertheless, she sipped her coffee beside her brother Ali
as on the balcony of the brand-new church in Park City. They gazed into the hazy valley and admired the mixed hues of dawn’s sunlight flirting on the mountainsides.

  It felt to Jasmine like it had been forever since they had spent any time together—despite him being just minutes down the mountain—the way they used to in the caravan ministry. The uncharacteristic silence between them pushed a deep, aching nostalgia on her.

  “What should we do about Dad?” She had to break the silence, immediately regretting it as the specialness of the moment slipped away when the words passed her lips.

  “I’m not sure,” Alias sighed, visibly reluctant to bring himself back to a world of burdens and responsibilities. She could see that she had snatched a precious, peaceful moment from him too, and she wished she could undo her interruption. He turned to her at last, refocusing his attention. “I’m just not sure,” he sighed again.

  “I don’t know how much longer he can go on like this,” she added. Something about expressing her thoughts aloud cemented the worry she had been carrying for weeks.

  Not long, she thought to herself.

  Alias set down his mug and took her hand reassuringly. But the look on his face belied his comfort. She could see that he thought the same. Despite her deepening worry for her father, she was oddly relieved to find that she was still so in sync with her brother. It had always been easy that way between them, even though they were so different in personality and disposition. She had always been able to count on her brother instinctively understanding her. With everything else going on, and so much time apart, she hadn’t realized how much she’d worried about losing that connection.

  Since the craziness of their Christmas deal with the Ellies, and the wrenching departure of the defectors from their family’s ministry—especially Minister Joshua Goldbloom—her life had been a whirlwind. Her brother had been whisked off to the Nautilus Complex outside Park City to work more closely with their Ellie overlords, and the frenzied business of creating the Church of Salvation and Heavenly Peace, which they had secretly dubbed the PetrolChurch. So much responsibility—so much work—had fallen to her, and she found herself interminably harried.