From the Ashes

by Chris Kennedy

  Blood gushes from the wound in copious amounts. Twisting and turning wildly, its claws reaching for me, the Geno Freak moves closer to the large windows to our left.

  I continue striking. I want this abomination dead. It wants to live. We stumble closer to the windows. The creature flails about wildly, trying to get rid of me. It jumps through the partially opened window, shattering the glass into a million pieces.

  We hit the ground hard. I lose my grip and tumble off the brute’s back. I roll to the side and lie face-first in the grass. It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. Did I end the beast, or is it still alive?

  Every muscle in my body aches. I don’t think anything is broken, just bruised and battered. I push myself to my knees and lift my weary head. Someone stands before me, and it isn’t the creature.

  I glance to my left and see nothing more than busted glass and a pool of blood that has stained the concrete. I look back in front of me. The haze over my eyes clears, and I notice Stacey standing there.

  “Where is it?” I ask.

  “Gone,” Stacey responds. “It got up and ran off toward the woods.”

  I sit up straight and lean back on my arms. I suck in a gulp of air as Stacey comes over to give me a big hug. She wraps her arms tightly around my neck and squeezes.

  “I thought I told you to wait for me,” I say.

  “I don’t listen too good,” she responds. Stacey removes my coat and hands it to me.

  “Stacey!” a woman yells behind me.

  Stacey’s eyes light up, and she dashes past me.

  I stand up straight and slip my coat back on. When I turn around, I see a crowd of people standing on the concrete landing. Stacey hugs a man and a woman at the base of the stairs. Tears are streaming down their faces.

  The little boy from the town hall walks up to me with my hat clutched in his hand. “Here’s your hat, Mister.”

  I take it from him and place it back on my head.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done,” Stacey’s dad says. “I’m not sure we can ever repay you.”

  I grab the front of the Stetson and nod. “No thanks needed.”

  Stacey turns and looks at me with a happy glimmer in her eyes.

  “Let us look at those wounds and patch you up. It’s the least we can do,” Stacey’s dad says.

  “Thanks. It’s much appreciated.” I glance toward the woods, in the direction the Geno Freak ran off. It had better run far from here, if it hopes to survive.

  * * * * *

  Derek Shupert Bio

  Derek Shupert is an emerging Science Fiction Author known for his captivating dystopian storylines and post-apocalyptic-laden plots. With various books and anthologies underway, he is also the author of the Dead State series.

  Outside of the fantastical world of sci-fi, Derek serves as the Vice President at Woodforest National Bank. During his free time, he enjoys reading, exercising, and watching apocalyptic movies and TV shows like Mad Max and The Walking Dead. Above all, he is a family man who cherishes nothing more than quality time spent with his loved ones.

  To find out more about Derek Shupert and his forthcoming publications, visit his official website at www.derekshupert.com.

  * * * * *

  The Coward of Leon County by Ian J. Malone

  Ethan woke with a start as the last of the familiar images retreated to the darkest corners of his consciousness. The burst of light, the shrillness of the screams, the rancid scent of burning flesh. Then…nothing.

  Ethan sat up from his grass pallet and rubbed his eyes. He hated that dream, almost as much as he hated the reality that had spawned it.

  We did what we had to, the passenger said in Ethan’s mind. It’s why we’re alive, and they ain’t.

  Ethan ignored his invisible companion and ran a grimy palm over his stubble-covered face. Alive. For six long months, he’d grappled with that word, with what it meant. Still, try as he might, he couldn’t find the perspective to move past it. No amount of running or sleepless nights had changed that, either.

  Resigned to the notion that tonight would be no different, Ethan laid back in the grass and focused on his surroundings to clear his thoughts. An owl hooted in the distance, followed by a cricket, a toad, then any number of other species who called the forests of Northwest Florida home.

  Funny, Ethan thought. For all his travels since leaving Galveston after high school, the one place he’d never been stationed was back home on his beloved Gulf Coast. He’d been to San Diego, Naples, Okinawa, São Paulo. He’d even spent time in Australia where, as far as he knew, he’d become the only Texan from Ball High to dive the Great Barrier Reef opposite a Great White shark.

  But never here. Ethan had been good with that in his twenties—the adventures of youth and so forth. As time wore on, however, and the missions in less savory parts of the world began taking their toll, that started to change. The breaking point came on Ethan’s thirty-fourth birthday, a night when, in lieu of a party, his wife had presented him with an altogether different surprise—the one with two pink lines on it.

  Ethan had placed two calls the next morning—one to his CO about retirement paperwork and another to an old realtor buddy in Galveston. We almost made it back, too.

  A bloodcurdling scream interrupted Ethan’s thought.

  Don’t, the passenger said. This ain’t your—

  Ethan was already up and moving. With a machete in hand, he tore off through the woods like a ghost, bounding over cypress stumps and slipping past palmettos—all the while leaving nary a trace for any would-be tracker to find.

  Just like on the Island. Ethan cringed.

  Hearing the commotion escalate ahead, Ethan crept to a halt in the tree line adjacent to a clearing bathed in moonlight.

  “You’ll pay for that, bitch!” a man said with a growl.

  Ethan peered past his pine tree.

  Two small forms were backing away from three larger ones in the field ahead. The pair included a boy wearing frayed trousers and a long-sleeve shirt, while his companion, a twig of a girl with dark, tangled hair, wore a dress and torn sweater. The other three forms belonged to the trio of men facing them with baseball bats and a crow bar.

  “Please,” the boy pled, his words showing as thick plumes of moisture in the January night air. “I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Don’t matter what you meant,” the leader said. At just over six feet with a scraggly beard and leathery features, he was a tough-looking joker. “You trespassed on Evans land. Now you’ll pay the toll.”

  “I’m tellin’ you, mister, I didn’t know,” the boy begged. “Even if I had, it ain’t like I got anything to pay you with.”

  The leader licked his lips at the sight of the girl.

  Nice. Ethan frowned and studied the kids. They were terrified.

  Not, our, problem, the passenger stated.

  Stow it, asshole. Ethan sheathed his machete and started forward, rustling some brush to announce his presence.

  All three men whirled.

  “Evenin’, gentlemen,” Ethan said. “What’s the trouble?”

  “Who the hell are you?” the leader demanded.

  “Nobody special,” Ethan said coolly. “I’m just a guy passin’ through to Bonifay. I heard the fuss, so I figured I’d come check it out.”

  The leader shouldered his bat. “How very curious of you.”

  “I’m a curious fella.”

  A husky man in grease-stained overalls stabbed a fat finger at Ethan. “This here’s private property. You got no right to be on it.”

  “I’m sorry, private property?” Ethan scratched his whiskers. “I’ll be damned. I honestly didn’t know such a thing existed anymore.”

  “Yeah, well now ya do,” the third man said. He was thinner than the others, sporting sharp features and thick flannel attire.

  Ethan studied his opponents. The leader and Flannel Man seemed content to stand their ground and play things as they came. Overalls, though, appea
red antsy. He’s gonna be a problem.

  Check his stance, the passenger said.

  Ethan obliged the tip. Sure enough, Overalls was favoring his left leg.

  It was then that Ethan noticed the wet stick in the girl’s hand and the gash on Overalls’ right thigh. Atta girl.

  “I’m gonna need you to move along now, stranger,” the leader said.

  “You know, I think that’s for the best,” Ethan said. “Before I go, though, I’d like to make you gentlemen an offer. I’ve got some supplies back at my camp. It ain’t much, just some canned beans and tuna fish. I do, however, have three rolls of toilet paper that I picked up on my last scavenging run. It’s all yours for the children.”

  The leader furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?”

  “Slappy the Kid, there, just so happens to be my nephew.” Ethan pointed to the boy. “See, it was his scream I heard before, and in total candor, that’s why I came runnin’.”

  “Your nephew,” Flannel Man said.

  “Yep,” Ethan said. “Were it anybody else, I’d happily leave them to you. Problem is, if word got back to Bonifay that I was in the neighborhood when junior got smoked, his mama would never forgive me. So, here I am, ready to cut a deal. Never mind that it’s gonna cost me the softest damn TP I’ve seen since The Fall.” Ethan sighed. “I kid you not, fellas. This stuff’s like wipin’ your butt with angel kisses.”

  The leader and Flannel Man traded glances, while Overalls sidled up beside the former.

  “We can take him, Pa,” Overalls said.

  Pa.

  “We’ve got him outnumbered three to one,” Overalls said. “We can take him now, then find his camp and take his stash. After that, I can come back here and get what’s mine from the girl.”

  The girl eased back another step.

  “Who needs three-to-one odds?” Flannel Man snorted. “Look at him. He’s a damn midget. I could take him myself.”

  Ethan detested being small. He’d been five-foot-five inches and a hundred-fifty pounds, soaking wet, for months, yet the sight of his reflection still pissed him off.

  “This loot you speak of…” the leader said. “You said you scored it on a scavenger run. Where at?”

  Ethan didn’t miss a beat with his answer. “Pensacola.”

  Five gasps pierced the air. Even the kids looked mortified.

  “Pensacola.” Flannel Man blinked.

  “Nobody goes to Pensacola,” the leader said. “Nobody who values their flesh, anyway. That’s savage territory.”

  In a Herculean feat of self-restraint, Ethan held back the pot and kettle joke that danced near the tip of his tongue. “Do we have an agreement?”

  Overalls flared his nostrils. “He’s full of it, Pa. I say we take him.”

  We will gut you like a fish, Pillsbury, the passenger said.

  Flannel Man had frozen. The leader tugged at his beard, considering.

  “Fine,” Overalls snapped. “I’ll do this myself.”

  Ethan watched from a lazy stance as the fat man unbuckled his hip sheath and drew out twelve full inches of double-bladed stainless steel. Ka-Bar field knife. Don’t see many of those anymore.

  Overalls lunged and swung hard.

  Ethan sidestepped the charge with a redirect right. He then caught his attacker’s knife arm by the wrist and twisted hard, using a frontward sweep and the fat man’s momentum to faceplant him into the ground.

  “Move an inch, Fluffy, and I will slit your throat like warm butter.” Ethan let the passenger and Overalls’ knife do the talking. The next line, however, was his. “You, with the beard. Am I to presume from Overalls’ use of the word Pa that you’re his daddy?”

  The leader stepped forward with Flannel Man.

  “Eh.” Ethan pressed the knife even deeper into Overalls’ windpipe, eliciting a yelp. “I gotta hand it to ya, pops. This is one helluva cub you’ve raised. Real classy.”

  The leader seethed through his nostrils. “What do you want?”

  “Simple,” Ethan said. “You and the Busch Beer guy are to drop your weapons and head out through that tree line. Once I’m satisfied you’re far enough away, I’ll cut Fluffy loose to come find you.”

  “That would leave us defenseless gettin’ home,” Flannel Man said. “What if we run into marauders?”

  “Maybe you can charm them with your magnetic personalities.” Ethan cocked his head. “Or better yet, maybe you can flip the script from pitcher to catcher and get some sugar tonight after all. Either way works for me.”

  Flannel Man sneered a retort.

  “How do I know you’ll let my boy go if we walk,” the leader said.

  We won’t, the passenger said gleefully.

  “You don’t,” Ethan said. “You’ll just have to take my word for it that honor still matters to some of us, even in a godforsaken world like this.”

  Neither aggressor moved.

  “Decide now, gents.” Ethan pressed. “Do we have a deal, or am I gonna go all Pensacola on this kid and start carvin’ up my supper for the next two weeks?”

  It took a second, but eventually the leader and Flannel Man laid down their bats.

  “Yo, kid.” Ethan nodded to the boy. “Scoop up those weapons along with Overalls’ knife sheath, then get back there with your girlfriend.”

  Flannel Man scoffed. “So, not your nephew then.”

  Ethan rolled his eyes while the boy collected the weapons then got back. “Now, get to steppin’.”

  Flannel Man uttered a final protest but moved off just the same. So did the leader. Eventually, the two men were gone.

  Kill him, the passenger demanded. If you don’t, he’ll come for us later.

  Ethan pondered that for a moment. Honor still matters to some of us.

  Overalls let out a sigh that could’ve knocked down a skyscraper when the knife left his throat. He stumbled upright and stepped back. “My great granddaddy served with the Eighty-Second Airborne out of Fort Bragg in Vietnam. That Ka-Bar belonged to him.”

  Ethan flipped the knife in his palm, regarding its sleek lower blade and serrated spine. “Well, as of today, it belongs to me. Thanks for your contribution. Now walk.”

  Overalls exhaled, then was gone.

  “Excuse me, Mister?” The boy stepped forward.

  Ethan turned, causing both kids to jump. “Relax, y’all. I ain’t really a cannibal. I was just playin’ the part for show.”

  Neither relaxed.

  Ah, right. Ethan sheathed his new toy and put it aside.

  “Thank you, sir,” the boy said with an Alabama drawl. “Thank you for comin’ when you did. I don’t know how to—”

  “Shut it.” Ethan cut him off. “What in the blue blazes of almighty hell are you two doin’ out here this time of night?”

  The children stared awkwardly at each other, then at the ground.

  “Oh.” Ethan’s gaze turned skyward. Freakin’ teenagers. “Where are y’all from?”

  “Panama City,” the boy said. “Our families are part of the community there.”

  “Good,” Ethan said. “If memory serves, that ain’t far. Take a pair of those bats and get movin’.”

  The girl needed no more incentive. She turned at once, only to wince in pain and topple forward.

  “Sally!” The boy ran to her side.

  The girl’s ankle was swollen up like a grapefruit.

  Son of a…

  “She twisted it while runin’ from those men,” the boy said.

  “Can she walk?” Ethan asked.

  “Not on her own,” the boy said. “If I could find something to use as a crutch, we could likely get home, but it’ll take a while.”

  Ethan chewed his lip, recalling Flannel Man’s warning about marauders.

  Not, our, problem, the passenger repeated.

  “My camp ain’t far from here,” Ethan said. “Y’all can stay with me until sunup. Then we’ll get you home.”

  The boy put out a hand. “Thank you, sir. I mean it, thank you. I
didn’t catch your name.”

  Ethan eyed the kid’s hand before shaking it. “Garrett. Ethan Garrett.”

  “Good to meetcha, Mr. Garrett.” The boy grinned. “My name’s Bradley, Bradley Russo. This here’s my girlfriend, Sally Tanner.”

  “Miss Tanner,” Ethan greeted her. “This way.”

  The trio didn’t talk much after returning to camp, though it wasn’t for a lack of effort from Bradley. The boy did everything he could to strike up a conversation, but to no avail. It wasn’t anything personal. Ethan just didn’t feel like talking.

  The next morning, Ethan packed his belongings into the duffel he kept, then scavenged a pair of tree limbs for the girl to use as crutches. The group was on its way soon after.

  “Bradley!” a middle-aged woman exclaimed upon seeing them walk up the beach. Of slim build and average height, she wore her bright blonde hair in a ponytail and tattered jeans with a long-sleeve garnet blouse over her sun-coppered skin.

  “Hey, Mom,” Bradley said sheepishly.

  The woman raced down the shoreline and threw her arms around her son. “Where in the world did you go?”

  “I, um…” Bradley paused. “I went scoutin’ for cabbage. Rob Sampson told me about a patch he’d spotted out by Rutherford Creek, so I went to investigate.”

  “Cabbage, huh?” The woman flicked her gaze to Sally.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bradley shot a look at Ethan that said, “Are you gonna help or dime me out?”

  Horny little schmuck, the passenger said.

  Ethan cleared his throat. “The boy’s tellin’ the truth, ma’am. When I happened upon him and Miss Tanner out in the woods, they did indeed have a bushel of fresh-cut swamp cabbage with them, only Miss Tanner twisted her ankle so they had to leave it behind.”

  Bradley exhaled.

  “And who might you be?” the woman asked.

  “The name’s Ethan Garrett. I found your kids limpin’ through the woods about two miles west of here, and I figured I’d see them home safe.”

  “Sally!” another voice shrieked.