From the Ashes

by Chris Kennedy

  From what I could tell, my bag was untouched, which was good since it was booby trapped. Trust was something they would have to earn, and we weren’t there yet.

  In the old days, it would have been about a two-hour drive. Who knew how long it would take now? I sat back in the seat and looked out the window. The transition after the last downtown checkpoint, as we passed over the Don River on Queen Street, was obvious. Gone were the people walking the streets in relative safety. The buildings were decaying, crumbling in many cases, and the people I saw looked desperate. Several looked up with a glimmer of hope in their eyes as the convoy passed, but we had nothing for them.

  As we were getting on the 401 Expressway, the first trouble cropped up. We came to a stop, and a voice over the vehicle’s radio said, “Barricade up ahead. Sit tight, we’ll take care of it.”

  I couldn’t see what was happening, but after a few moments, I heard gunfire and an explosion that sounded like a small C-4 charge. Neither Jim nor Scotty reacted. About ten minutes later, we started moving again, and I saw what caused the hold up. There was a makeshift barricade, now littered with dead bodies. Rather than moving the logs that were part of the barricade, they had used C-4 to blow through them. It hadn’t been set up to let people through; it was there to stop people and kill them.

  “Is that the new normal?” I asked.

  Jim nodded without looking back. “Pretty much. A new group tries to block access every few weeks, charging a toll or taking everything. We always try to negotiate but, as you saw, it rarely works.”

  “Why not clear it out of the way?”

  “We have, several times, but there’s no shortage of broken-down vehicles and other materials to use to rebuild. People are desperate. One group even used a rocket launcher to take out one of our transports.”

  I shook my head and sighed.

  The next hour on the 401 was uneventful, then we slowed down again.

  A voice came over the radio, “Coming up on Port Hope. Anarchist territory. Stay alert.”

  The top of the VM 90 transport in front of us opened, and I saw one of the men take control of the M2, .50 caliber machine gun—a gun that offered plenty of killing power in a short period of time.

  I drew my 9mm from the holster at my hip and double checked the chamber. It was still loaded, and there was a round in the chamber. I rested the gun on my lap and waited.

  I didn’t have to wait long. About ten minutes later, the voice on the radio spoke again, “Contact, three o’clock.”

  Rounds began harmlessly bouncing off the armored vehicle. Most of it seemed like small arms fire, but a few of the hits were louder, likely from some kind of rifle. The machine gunner opened up, spraying the buildings as we passed. Then he took a few rounds and went limp. I saw someone push his body up and out of the vehicle and assume control of the gun, then I felt the thumps as we ran over the corpse. So much for not leaving a man behind.

  The ambush, if you could call it that, only lasted a few minutes. It was really nothing more than harassment, but someone got lucky, or unlucky, depending on which side you were on.

  “Those are the Anarchists? They don’t seem like much of a threat.”

  “They didn’t know we were coming. Sometimes when we take this route, they’ve got something heavier set up, especially if they got wind of our plans. We cleared the road a few days ago in anticipation of this trip,” Jim replied.

  “I’m guessing it wouldn’t be as simple as sending a strike team to clear them out?”

  Jim chuckled and shook his head as he scanned the area to the right of the vehicle.

  “Afraid not. They move around a lot. We’ve sent teams into the area before, only to find no one there. They’ve got a decent intelligence network.”

  I thought for a moment as I holstered my gun. “There’s probably an Agent in charge.”

  “Or one of yours,” Scotty shot back.

  “Nope. That’s the difference between us. We went through intense psychological evaluations before we were hired and trained. Your folks stuck you in a machine, and boom, you were someone else. The lethality factor is similar, but we always knew who we were.”

  “He’s right, Scotty,” Jim said. “Some of the imprints didn’t exactly come from stable people.”

  Scotty grunted.

  “If you’ll pardon me, I’m going to get a quick bit of shuteye before I tackle a nuclear weapon.”

  “Go ahead. You’ll know if we run into trouble,” Jim said.

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I was never a soldier in the truest sense of the word, but I had learned to sleep whenever and wherever I could. Within a few moments, I drifted off. Sleep can be a valuable commodity in this Fallen World.

  * * *

  Part 4

  I woke up when I felt the vehicle stop and heard the doors opening. My eyes snapped open, and I surveyed my surroundings. We were on the tarmac of CFB Trenton. The nuke was about 100 yards away.

  It was a Teledyne-modified W87 tactical warhead with a yield somewhere around 500 kilotons, 30 times more powerful than the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. At least it was the 87, which had more safety features than some of the others. But, Teledyne had increased the yield and introduced flaws in the shielding. Idiots.

  At one point, it had been half buried, but someone had used a crane to pull it out of the ground. That was good, since I wouldn’t have been able to access the control panel otherwise. The thicker end of the warhead was still connected to the crane by straps. I didn’t blame them for doing what was necessary, then leaving it alone.

  I pulled a radiation meter from my bag and checked the reading—0.45. That was pretty much the new normal, even in areas away from a blast zone. I got out of the truck and started climbing into my radiation suit. The other vehicles were unloaded and moved, leaving a small army of armed men around me.

  “Expecting trouble?” I asked.

  “Always, around here. The Anarchists have tried shooting the nuke more than once, and a few even tried crashing trucks into it.”

  I looked around and saw the burned out remains of several vehicles and more than a few dismantled aircraft—basically what you’d expect from a scavenged air base.

  I finished securing the suit with the help of a couple of people standing nearby. They were meticulous with the seals. The last step was to activate the built-in two-way radio.

  “Audio check.”

  Jim gave me a thumbs up. “Good audio. You ready?”

  I nodded and grabbed a small tool kit from my bag, then headed around to the back of the vehicle to pick up the container for the core. Some men were setting up a decontamination tent, complete with receptacles for the suit and anything else that became irradiated. At least they came prepared. I also noticed snipers on top of several of the hangars and some of the other buildings and in the air traffic control tower.

  “This will take a while. You might want to have your men back up.”

  “Most of them will move out to establish a perimeter, the rest of us will accept the risks,” Jim said. “We’re prepared, just in case.” He tapped a radiation detection marker on the front of his uniform.

  “Trust me, we’ll have no qualms about leaving you if it looks like things are going badly.”

  I smirked. “That’s comforting to know. What’s with the snipers?”

  “They’re for your protection. We expect the Anarchists to try to stop you or to take advantage of the open warhead.”

  “No sense delaying. Move your men back.”

  I started walking toward the warhead as they moved to set up the perimeter. I was somewhat reassured when I noticed that none of them were facing me—they were all facing outward—though I was sure at least one of the snipers was watching me closely. I had no intention of dying though, and the more I saw, the more I wanted to help people survive. I suppose this was one step toward penance for all the things I’d done in the past. I’d always tried to limit my work to my specific target, but I would be fo
oling myself if I thought innocents hadn’t died because of things I’d done.

  I stood, looking down at the warhead, while I planned how I’d disarm it. I noticed bullet marks in several places on the thicker end of the device and shook my head. Idiots. As I knelt and set my tools and the containment box down, I heard the whine of a bullet hitting the tarmac beside me. I instinctively rolled to the side and jumped behind the warhead for cover, then I heard two shots from somewhere behind me.

  A voice came over a loudspeaker, “Sniper down.”

  Disarming a nuclear device while hoping I didn’t get shot was going to be interesting.

  Because of aging and weathering, not to mention a few more sniper rounds hitting close to me, opening the warhead was difficult. I was very glad it was a windy day and the Anarchists were shitty shots. It took me about 30 minutes, but I eventually secured the core in the containment box. As I expected, the radiation levels were dangerously high, but not as high as I thought they might be. Still, the suit and my tools were going to be trash.

  I stood up and gave Jim an exaggerated thumbs up. I should have given him the mated handset for the suit’s radio. Idiot.

  I picked up my tools and the containment unit and headed toward the decontamination tent. Those around me started to pack up and load the trucks now that the big danger was over. They’d still need to explode or bury the warhead, but the radiation risk was gone.

  I went through decontamination, grateful my suit had done its job, and I didn’t have to totally strip. I really liked my shirt. I placed the container with the core in a second, larger container in the MRAP. I had kind of hoped it would be in another vehicle, but no such luck. The convoy would escort us to Darlington where we would put the container in a large storage bunker or one of the non-functioning reactors.

  Jim handed me a few protein bars and a bottle of water as we got ready to go.

  “I hear being in those suits can really drain you. I figured you might want these.”

  “Thanks. You know, the Anarchists will probably be ready for us, and I don’t want them to get their hands on that core. At the very least, they could make a dirty bomb, and that would be very bad for anyone within a few miles.”

  “We’re ready for them. Don’t worry,” Jim said confidently.

  I started to eat and drink, and I realized how hungry I was. I’d have to see if I could get some decent food after we were done.

  As we travelled down the 401 to Darlington, I saw how prepared they were. Every few miles, we passed an armored personnel carrier or a truck that used to belong to the local Mounties. They took the core’s security seriously, and that was reassuring.

  Darlington Nuclear Generating Station was well fortified and looked like it hadn’t changed. The fencing, razor wire, and security stations were intact, though worn and rusted. It would take a small army to get inside the facility.

  Depositing the core was somewhat anti-climactic after all our preparation, but it was finally done, and we made our way back to downtown Toronto.

  “I don’t suppose there’s somewhere I could get some real food? You guys interrupted me just before lunch.”

  Jim nodded. “You’ll be meeting with the bosses again, and they’ll have something for you. I understand they want your help with the Anarchists.”

  I shook my head. “You guys have a small army. I really don’t see how I can help.”

  Jim shrugged.

  There’s always an element of the unknown in this Fallen World.

  * * *

  Part 5

  We stopped in front of Scotia Plaza, and I got out. This time I tucked my pistol into my bag and re-armed the booby trap. One gun wouldn’t help me much if things went bad, and I could always take someone else’s. Once again, Jim escorted me to the top floor, only this time I was immediately ushered into the conference room. A plate covered by a silver dome and an open bottle of wine waited for me. I hadn’t seen the two guards in the room before.

  “Go ahead and eat; the bosses will be along soon.”

  I shrugged and sat down, uncovered the plate, and inhaled deeply. Steak and potatoes. I knew it couldn’t be beef, but I didn’t really care. It smelled good, and I was hungry. I looked at the wine and frowned slightly. I recognized the label; it was a fairly expensive wine even before the war. Something didn’t feel right.

  Jeremy and Jonathan entered the room and sat.

  “Something wrong, Mr. Smith?” Jeremy asked.

  I looked at the food and the wine, then at Jeremy. “I don’t trust you.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough. I don’t suppose I would if I were you. But we really do want your help with the Anarchists, so killing you would serve no purpose. Besides, if we wanted you dead, we’d pick a much quicker method than poisoned food or wine.”

  I thought for a moment. “Okay. Why the two goons?”

  “For your protection, actually,” Jonathan said.

  I looked at him and raised my eyebrows.

  “Word of your identity has gotten around. People know you’re here, and some of them want you dead. They don’t see the long-term benefits of keeping you alive. Apparently, you killed some of their friends and family.”

  “Shitty internal security you have.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “People talk. Not much we can do about it.”

  I nodded and looked at the food again. I was hungry, and I could have died several times already. Screw it. I poured a glass of wine and took a sip before cutting into the meat. It was real meat. Cow meat. My head snapped up, and I looked at Jeremy.

  He grinned. “Yes, we still breed cattle. When that nuke didn’t go off, some of the farmland was spared. We lost a lot of it to others, but we saved some.”

  I ate like I hadn’t eaten for days which, unless you counted MREs, I hadn’t. I could tell the wine was getting to me after one glass, so I stopped. I hadn’t had alcohol in over a decade, and I didn’t think getting drunk would be a good idea. I finished eating and sat back in my chair with a sigh.

  “Thank you. Best meal I’ve had in years.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Good. Now that you’re full, it’s time to decide. Are you going to stay with us or go back to your hole in the ground? Just so you can make an educated decision, here’s where we are.”

  He spread out a map of Ontario on the table.

  “Everything west of us is a nuclear wasteland. Mississauga and everything west of it that we’ve scouted is unlivable. North of New Tecumseth is gone. CFB Kingston was also hit, so it’s gone. Basically, everything around us is useless. We’ve got scouts checking south across Lake Ontario, and we’ve made provisional contact with a few factions, but nothing concrete. Right now, we have firm control of downtown Toronto from the Don River to Spadina Avenue and north to Bloor Street, Darlington Station, and CFB Trenton. We are doing our best to hold on to the solar and wind farms. Anything outside of that…”

  He shrugged.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Help. Our intel says you have an incredibly good memory and an extremely versatile skillset. We have a lot of work to do, and we need the help of skilled, intelligent people. The Anarchists and several other factions don’t want us to succeed. Outside of Toronto, people have set themselves up as local warlords, and they control areas block by block. Some rule with an iron fist, while others are more humane. There are some we think we could work with, but we need help getting started.”

  “I still don’t see how I fit in.”

  “Mr. Smith, we put on a good show for the public, but our supplies are running out. We’re almost out of fuel for the trucks. We’ve drained the nearby refinery, and while we might be able to get it up and running again, we don’t have a crude oil source. We might have enough fuel left for another month, but that’s it. We have access to some electric vehicles, but the batteries are dying quickly, and we don’t have a way to replace them. We’re losing people every day as factions try to take over the solar and wind farms. And we can’t imprint any more A
gents. We’re trying to train people the old-fashioned way.”

  “And?” I saw no reason to make it easy for them.

  “Mr. Smith, who were you before Teledyne recruited you? We have a thick file on you, but we have no idea who or what you were before your time with them.”

  I looked down at the empty plate. “I was on my way to becoming a professor in nuclear physics.”

  “So, you know how to teach people. You’re obviously very creative in your approach to things, given that you created a base right under our noses.”

  “Mr. Smith, there’s no simple way to put this. We need someone like you. We need someone who knows how to teach people. We relied too much on our imprinting technology. We know how to run an organization, but we need someone who can motivate hearts and minds,” Jonathan said.

  Jeremy picked up where Jonathan left off. “You can live, here, in the tower. You’ll have full access to everything. Bill and Ted will stick with you to ensure your safety.”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn’t help chuckling. “Bill and Ted? Seriously?”

  They looked at me, puzzled.

  I sighed. “Never mind.”

  I looked at the map, at all the areas shaded in red that were inaccessible or under someone else’s control, and thought about all the people that had survived. That they had survived was nothing short of a miracle. The warhead should have gone off and killed them. Winter would be coming in a few months, and with low fuel reserves, things would get bad. I’d killed more people than I could count, but I had always convinced myself it was for some greater good.

  “Fine, I’m in.”

  Sometimes, you get a chance at redemption in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Alex Rath Bio

  Alex Rath is a long-time fan of science fiction and fantasy books and gaming, going back to his youth when he started playing Dungeons & Dragons, Traveler, and Battletech, among many others, at a young age. He decided that becoming an author was the next logical step. He has written many stories for his own use, but decided it was time to start sharing his writing with others.